Journal
Read
Write poetry
Connect with myself
Bake
Garden
Embrace the solitude
Become my best Emily
Be happy
Give up on love
My heart grew heavy as I read the last line. It wouldn’t be easy to let go of something I’d wanted so badly for so long, but it was the reason I was here.
Thirty minutes later, I’d completely unpacked and returned to the kitchen for tea. I set a kettle on the stove, then retired to the sitting room, where I folded myself into an armchair before the massive fireplace, waiting for the water to boil. The chill of an early-fall night dragged goose bumps down my spine. I tucked my legs beneath me, curling my shoulders forward over a book on Emily Dickinson’s life.
By the time my kettle boiled, I’d read the opening page a dozen times without retaining a single word. Too distracted by the gonging silence and unnerving cold.
I fixed my tea and returned to the fireplace, giving it a careful exam. It was the first one I’d seen without a control switch on the wall. At myparents’ home, the logs were fake. The pokers, stage props. A gas flame waited to ignite.
I pulled my phone from my pocket to ask Siri how to build a fire, then remembered the manor didn’t have Wi-Fi. I considered looking for the thermostat but resolved to try it Emily’s way first.
A box of long-stemmed matches caught my eye, and I sighed. “Here we go.” I struck a match and threw it onto the logs, where it immediately died. I lit another and set it gently upon the logs. Where it also died.
I struck a third match and placed it under the small iron stand, letting the little flame lick upward against the logs, but it wasn’t enough to ignite the wood. Memories of Dad making campfires in the backyard returned to me, and I closed my eyes to clutch onto them.
He’d used crumpled papers and small twigs as kindling.
I hurried through the manor in search of something I could burn and returned with the gifted stationery from my welcome basket. I felt a little guilty about setting it on fire but resolved to buy more later, as I was currently on a mission. The papers lit easily and blazed against the underside of the logs, creating smoke. I crouched and puffed softly, hoping to stoke the flames.
A moment later, I stilled as featherlight ashes lifted and hovered several inches from my nose. For the space of one heartbeat, they were suspended like magic. Then a whoosh of cold air whistled down the chimney and blew a pound of ancient soot into my face.
“Fuck!” I rocked back on my haunches, coughing and tasting dirt and ash on my tongue. The pale-gray flecks became black smears as I tried and failed to brush them off my skin and clothing.
I stormed through the house, swearing, searching for more kindling, and wondering if Emily Dickinson ever said unladylike words, or if that was one more thing I needed to address.
I returned with the last of the stationery and Grace’s welcome letter, then tossed it all beneath the logs and struck another match. The fireplace had picked a fight I planned to win. I was sure both Grace andEmily would approve. Grace had called me tenacious more than once when I’d shared bookstore frustrations with her; then she’d celebrated my victories when I’d refused to give up. Emily had famously written that she dwelled in possibility. At the moment, I dwelled in the determination to make a damn fire.
Slowly, the logs began to smoke again.
“Come on.” I willed the flame to catch before the paper turned to ash. If I could start my journey on the right foot, building a fire with nothing but a match and kindling, just like Emily had, it would set the tone for everything that followed.
I lowered to my knees and chanted desperately encouraging words.
Wind whistled, and I cringed. Knowing what would come next.
“Damn it!” I closed my eyes and jumped back as another gust of air blew down the chimney, extinguishing the fire.
I jerked onto my feet and fiddled with the metal thing I assumed controlled the flue. Too much air was getting in, and I’d run out of matches if I kept this up. I couldn’t even call Grace or her nephew for help. I’d burned their numbers.
I struck another match, and it went out before I got to my knees.
