Chapter 30

Curiosity prompted Brook to lay the books aside and look around. The daybed she was on was handmade, but done by an accomplished wood crafter. Its four posts were sturdy, but carved into them were intricate and old-fashioned designs and scrolls. Running a finger over one, she found the wood to be smoothly sanded and lightly finished, intriguing to the touch. It had brass corner fittings and bracings that looked as if they had come from another century. The daybed’s current position was not its usual spot. Instinctively, she knew it normally stood in the corner under the window to the right of the fireplace. It’s where she would have put it and the spot was now curiously absent of furniture. Lance must have moved it closer to the fire so she would be warm. She felt a brief rush of tenderness toward him.

Opposite the fireplace was the door leading to the bathroom, flanked by the built-in book shelves. Between those and the corner was a small door which she knew to be the cold pantry. To the right of the pantry was another window and next to that squatted a modest-sized black cook stove. She wondered how Lance had managed to haul it up the mountain. Considering its ancient appearance, she thought perhaps it had already been in the cabin when he had come here. Yet it carried a dull reflection as if cleaned and polished regularly. Another small set of built-in shelves housed glass jars of pasta, beans and rice, and separated the stove from the sink cabinet with its old fashioned hand-pump. Above the sink were more wooden cupboards. Dangling from the rafters supporting the loft were various dried goods, such as onions and herbs. On a short expanse of wall to the side of the sink area hung an assortment of kitchen tools and implements, some of which she recognized, and others that were strange to her eyes. Then came a doorway curtained with a heavy quilt. She assumed it to be a large walk-in closet or storage room. She knew Lance had been sleeping there since her arrival and she felt bad for driving him from his own cozy bed. She felt a pang of guilt as she envisioned him sleeping on a pallet on the floor.

Angled across the corner next to the fireplace was a beautifully wrought wooden cabinet, its doors closed, its contents a secret to her. The fireplace itself was a work of art taking up the rest of the wall. It was topped with a thick, deep piece of raw wood, sanded and rubbed to a smooth finish, and glistening in the light. Made of what appeared to be river stones of assorted sizes, the fireplace was cleverly designed with small nooks and crannies from floor to ceiling, each displaying an odd, old-fashioned looking device. The objects appeared to be from another century with their small pipes, gears, and brass fittings. She could not determine their functions by looking at them, but found them intriguing. She wondered if these were more of the steampunk objects Lance had talked about.

The final wall held the windowless front door and the empty spot where she felt the daybed should be. In the left corner of the intersecting walls sat a small potbelly stove. Then her gaze was back to where it had started, for next to the little stove were the bookcases that flanked the bathroom door. The center of the room contained a table with bench seats on two sides and a couple of comfortable chairs on either end.

So different from her own home, or any she had ever been in, the cabin provided a feast for her eyes. The vertical logs, finished with a dark satin stain, shone in the lantern light, the caulking between them a dull brown. Shutters adorned the inside of the windows, each with wonderful scrollwork routed into the surfaces. It was really more of a cottage, she thought, with all its eccentric touches and attention to detail. But it was definitely masculine.

She looked down. The floor beneath her was constructed of stone similar to the fireplace, but with much larger pieces. They were meticulously fitted and made the floor appear even and smooth. It was softened by a large rug that could only be hand woven, and several smaller-sized rugs of the same design. Though the colors were vivid, they too were masculine in tone and appearance.

Brook felt a new admiration for Lance. She knew he had selected, and planned, and worked on every detail in the place. It reflected his personality. The cabin was him. Manifest in wood and stone and metal was a portrait of his qualities, his tastes, his ways. It was a strong sturdy place imbued with comfort and serenity, filled with warmth and safety. A sanctuary, a refuge. And for her, that’s exactly what it was, and even in some respects what Lance himself had come to represent to her. Although it was rough, with no finished walls, no plush carpeting, and no modern conveniences, Brook felt comfortable here. She could see herself living like this and that surprised her. She had never lived without electricity or plumbing before, and maybe she wouldn’t like it after a couple of months. She figured she’d find out since it looked like she’d be here throughout the entire winter.