I flip down my mirror and glance at Taylor, asleep in her car seat. She’s so tiny still, her face peaceful and innocent, unaware of the world we brought her into.
Sometimes the guilt of that can be a lot. Of everything I know she’ll go through, and all the things I can’t predict.
I can’t help feeling protected by Foxglove, though it is just a house. Just stones. Still, I think of all the stories Grandma used to tell me about it. The way the house holds memories, how theearth there knows us—our names and our blood. How it wraps us in its secrets.
I want Taylor to know those things, too. However imaginary. I want her childhood to be filled with the magic of the old cabin the way mine was.
I shift in my seat as Foxglove comes into view over the gravel road, and it’s as if it’s smiling at me. The goldenrod dazzles, blowing in the breeze, a gentle reminder that some things stay the same.
“One day this place will be yours, baby girl,” I whisper, the words meant for me more than anything. It’s a promise to us both.
The cabin sits at the edge of the clearing, its silhouette outlined against the sky. In the distance I see the meadow, and my throat grows itchy.
I never realized just how much I’ve missed it.
Foxglove draws me like a magnet, and something tightens then loosens in my chest as we pull into the driveway.
Lewis takes a sharp breath beside me, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he puts the car in park. He looks a bit like he can’t decide whether to go inside or slam the car into reverse and floor it.
“Look.” I point to the meadow, to the wildflowers waving hello. “See, she likes you.”
He shoots me a skeptical glance and rolls his eyes playfully, but it seems to do the trick of easing his nerves. He steps out of the car, and I hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel.
I unbuckle Taylor from her car seat, cradling her tiny body in my arms as I follow him onto the porch. It seems as though a lifetime has passed since I last walked through this door. I’m an entirely new person now. And I’ve brought an entirely new person with me.
Inside, the scents of cedar and rosemary, of earth and dust, fill my nose. The old cabin is just as it has always been—cozy, weathered, safe. As we move through the house, the smell of warm wood hits me, along with fresh herbs drying on the beams above my head and smoke from the hearth—though it has remained unlit for many years now. The combination of scents brings me right back. It’s something that seems to have always been here, something as old as Foxglove herself.
Despite the years I’ve been away, Foxglove doesn’t feel empty or forgotten. Strange as it sounds, she seems just as alive and lived-in as she ever has.
Lewis watches me from the corner of the room, a mix of wonder and incredulity flickering in his eyes. “You really love it here.”
“When I was little, my grandma used to tell me stories about this place. She said it was ‘special, more than just wood and stone.’” I repeat her words just as she’d said them, remembering every bit of her tone and cadence. “She said Foxglove has a soul, and we’re all a part of it. That’s why Foxglove doesn’t leave us, even if we leave it. It’s home. She always made it feel a little magic.”
His eyes scan the room with seriousness, and I love that he isn’t teasing me about something that feels so important.
“I like it,” he says softly. “I get why you do.”
I move past the worn sofa and the shelves lined with dusty knickknacks and old photos on my way to the fireplace. I stop in front of it, feeling intense reverence for this moment and this home as I lift Taylor, showing her the word carved there in stone.
“Wilde,” I read. “That’s you, my love. And me. I’ll make sure you know this place.” I brush her cheek softly with my finger. “It’s your home and always will be.”
Lewis comes up behind me, his arms sliding around my waist as he rests his chin on the top of my head. He doesn’t sayanything, doesn’t need to. This space isn’t his in the same way it is ours, and he doesn’t get it. But he’s here. That’s what counts.
We stand next to each other in front of the fireplace in silence, and I’m filled with wonder and curiosity about the women who stood in this spot before me. I wish I knew their names, their stories.
I read the word in front of me again and know that I will always have a part of them, and they me. Foxglove is our home, and we will always return to it.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY, ONE WEEK LATER
The warm scent of chamomile-and-mint tea fills Foxglove, hitting my nose the second I walk through the door. I know the recipe by heart. It’s the one Mom made me as a child whenever I was sick or sad, the one that feels like a hug from the inside out.
“Any change?” Mom asks from where she stands in the kitchen over the sink. She’s washed so many dishes lately, scrubbed so many floors, that her hands have been dry and cracking. Bleeding.
I drop my purse onto the couch. “He was sleeping for most of the visit. The doctors say everything’s healing better than they expected. Hopefully he’ll be cleared to come home soon.”
Mom pauses at the counter, watching me. “Want some tea?”
