Do you think the real reason I’m unhappy lies within me?
I stared at the words, hating them and questioning their truth.
Would I be sad wherever I went because I was the problem? Not my family, my job, or my singleness? I shoved the thought aside. All that mattered was that I made big changes in the next few weeks and went home happy. Besides, it’d only been a couple of days, and I was a work in progress.
I finished my letter, and then I closed my eyes and thought of all the times Emily mentioned home in her poetry. This town wasimportant to her, and it was important to me too. This was where my life would change.
Nearly an hour later, when my meal was gone and my spirit was revived, I carried the letter to the mailbox. Then I walked home to fight my next battle.
I dropped my lunch container in the sink and peered through the kitchen window at all my hard work outside. The process had been laborious and new to me, but I’d seen it through, and the results were worth the trouble. “I did that,” I whispered, letting pride swell in my chest.
The ring of black mulch around the patio was dotted with colorful mums and rosebushes. Leafy green plants stood like soldiers in tidy little rows several yards away. Maybe I could talk to them sometime—to help them grow.
Maybe I was lonelier than I’d thought.
I rolled my eyes as I contemplated my new plant babies and my unreasonable feelings toward them. Then something dark caught my eye at the corner of the patio. A brown-and-white cat pressed its body into the shadows beneath the eaves.
I strained my eyes to search for a collar. If the cat was a stray, maybe we could be friends. I made a mental note to put out a bowl of cream after I cleaned up. I’d always thought of myself as a dog person, but maybe that could change too.
The feline stilled, and its backside rose, twitching slightly as if preparing to pounce.
Across the lawn, a little rabbit hopped into my garden.
I watched in horror as the adorable fuzzball stopped near my newly planted turnips and nibbled.
“Hey!” I said, fumbling to unlock the door.
The bunny, unaffected, reared its head, stretching and ripping a leaf off its stem.
“Stop!” I called, rushing out and waving my arms. “Knock it off!”
The bunny stilled midchew. Its long white ears turned like satellites, as if trying to make sense of my appearance in its dining room.
It took another bite.
I launched toward it, fueled by adrenaline and despair. Two frantic steps later, I wobbled on tired spaghetti legs, tripped over my feet, and crashed to my hands and knees. Then I thumped onto my chest. A sound like “oof” blew across my lips as the air left my lungs.
Birds lifted from the treetops in a wave of complaints. The bunny darted away. And I rocked upright, noting the rip in my pant leg and sting in my skinned palms.
Living like Emily Dickinson stunk.
It took an hour and eleven trips up the steps to heat enough water on the stovetop to fill the bathtub. I pulled twigs and bits of mulch from my hair. After I’d dried off and redressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, I crawled onto the bed for a short rest.
Hours later, a full-body shiver opened my eyes to moonlight and darkness. The temperature inside the manor was frigid.
I craned upright, cussing a little as I gripped and kneaded the tender muscles along my neck and shoulders. I still didn’t know how to make a fire, and I didn’t want to fill the house with smoke again.
I took a moment to visualize the tantrum I was too tired to perform, then pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and crawled back beneath the covers.
Chapter Nine
I watched the sunrise the next morning, unaccustomed to sleeping more than a few hours at a time. In Willow Bend I typically had too much on my mind, and too many things on my plate. But a day of labor in the fresh air and sunshine, followed by carrying gallons of water, had knocked me out cold. Minus my midnight trip to the thermostat.
I shivered around the first floor, starting a pot of coffee, then checking the temperature in the house. “Fifty-eight,” I read. “Ridiculous.” I had to contact Davis. The nights would only get colder as October drew near.
I wound the dial to seventy and waited for the latent lament of an ancient furnace struggling back to life.
Sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, bathing the white cabinetry and appliances in a warm golden glow. Woven baskets and antique kitchen gadgets decorated a baker’s rack on one wall. Eyelet curtains hung over the small rectangular glass in the back door.
