staircase to the left. The entire place smelled of wood. It was a
soothing scent. There were a couple of other closed doors opposite the kitchen,
but I was more interested in the stairway, so I took it. Tomas had taken my
duffel up there and probably tossed it into my room for me, so I would soon know
which one was mine. The stairs were made of halved logs covered in gleaming
layers of shellac. A tiny oval of green carpet had been affixed to each one—to
prevent slipping, I supposed. The railing resembled a twisting, knotty, sapling
trunk and was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The bedroom doors were lined up
along one side of the upstairs hallway and the other side was open, so I could
look down into the living room below, with a continuation of that same railing
preventing someone from sleepwalking over the edge.
Upstairs was much like down, wood everywhere. A tall fountain
stood in the corner near the top of the stairs, slightly dusty and not working
at the moment. Tomas must shut it off when he left, and I guessed he hadn’t
gotten around to turning it back on yet. But it was a beautiful piece, with a
flat stone as tall as my head standing upright in a water-filled basin that
resembled a stone pond, and cobbles stacked up around it. Crouching down, I
inspected the area just behind the fountain, located a power cord with a switch
and turned it on.
The thing whirred softly, gurgled and chugged, and then the
water began flowing down the face of the flat rock. It could use some more.
Still, it worked. I rose and stood back to admire it. “Beautiful.” In fact, this
entire place was beautiful.
So why did I still find it scary?
I headed down the hall, stopping to open each door I came to
along the way. There were four of them, two on the right side and one on each
end. The first two I inspected were smallish guest rooms, each done in a
different woodland theme. The beds were all knotty pine four-posters, the
dressers matched. But each one had a different creature stenciled along the tops
of the wooden walls, and on the bedspreads, curtains, framed prints on the
walls, and even the bedside lamp. The first was black bears. The second
white-tail deer. Neither of them seemed to be occupied.
So I switched my attention to the far end of the hallway, and
its single door. I glanced toward the stairs, wondering if there was time to
snoop just a little more. I wanted to see what Tomas’s room was like. The man
fascinated me, and I was itching to know more about him. But no, this wasn’t the
time. I took a quick look inside the room at the end of the hall and knew it had
to be his. Like everything in this place, it was mostly wood, but with a bed
made out of an entire white birch tree. The four posts were made from lengths of
its trunk, and the headboard was woven in a twisted pattern from its twigs. It
was a stunning bed, really. His bedspread was hunter-green plaid, and the art on
the walls was all wildlife—but they were photos. In one a doe was curled around
her spotted newborn fawn, licking its head, in the shelter of a fallen pine. In
another, a huge hawk was feeding something icky to its squawking, wide-beaked
chicks.
I heard voices below and quickly backed out of the bedroom into
the hall, closing the door quietly and tiptoeing—why, I couldn’t have said—on to
the final room, the one at the end of the hall near the stairs. It was
butterscotch and cream, a far softer look than his. The bed was identical, but
everything else was different. The soft chair by the window looked so inviting,
I wished I had a good book with me to curl up and read. There were photos in
this room, too. Shots of the lake and the surrounding hills taken at various
times of year. My bag was on the bed, so I knew this was where I would be
staying, and I was glad.
The bathroom was through a door to the right, and it was huge,
luxurious and apparently all mine.
I wanted to unpack but figured those steaks must be just about
done by now,
soothing scent. There were a couple of other closed doors opposite the kitchen,
but I was more interested in the stairway, so I took it. Tomas had taken my
duffel up there and probably tossed it into my room for me, so I would soon know
which one was mine. The stairs were made of halved logs covered in gleaming
layers of shellac. A tiny oval of green carpet had been affixed to each one—to
prevent slipping, I supposed. The railing resembled a twisting, knotty, sapling
trunk and was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The bedroom doors were lined up
along one side of the upstairs hallway and the other side was open, so I could
look down into the living room below, with a continuation of that same railing
preventing someone from sleepwalking over the edge.
Upstairs was much like down, wood everywhere. A tall fountain
stood in the corner near the top of the stairs, slightly dusty and not working
at the moment. Tomas must shut it off when he left, and I guessed he hadn’t
gotten around to turning it back on yet. But it was a beautiful piece, with a
flat stone as tall as my head standing upright in a water-filled basin that
resembled a stone pond, and cobbles stacked up around it. Crouching down, I
inspected the area just behind the fountain, located a power cord with a switch
and turned it on.
The thing whirred softly, gurgled and chugged, and then the
water began flowing down the face of the flat rock. It could use some more.
Still, it worked. I rose and stood back to admire it. “Beautiful.” In fact, this
entire place was beautiful.
So why did I still find it scary?
I headed down the hall, stopping to open each door I came to
along the way. There were four of them, two on the right side and one on each
end. The first two I inspected were smallish guest rooms, each done in a
different woodland theme. The beds were all knotty pine four-posters, the
dressers matched. But each one had a different creature stenciled along the tops
of the wooden walls, and on the bedspreads, curtains, framed prints on the
walls, and even the bedside lamp. The first was black bears. The second
white-tail deer. Neither of them seemed to be occupied.
So I switched my attention to the far end of the hallway, and
its single door. I glanced toward the stairs, wondering if there was time to
snoop just a little more. I wanted to see what Tomas’s room was like. The man
fascinated me, and I was itching to know more about him. But no, this wasn’t the
time. I took a quick look inside the room at the end of the hall and knew it had
to be his. Like everything in this place, it was mostly wood, but with a bed
made out of an entire white birch tree. The four posts were made from lengths of
its trunk, and the headboard was woven in a twisted pattern from its twigs. It
was a stunning bed, really. His bedspread was hunter-green plaid, and the art on
the walls was all wildlife—but they were photos. In one a doe was curled around
her spotted newborn fawn, licking its head, in the shelter of a fallen pine. In
another, a huge hawk was feeding something icky to its squawking, wide-beaked
chicks.
I heard voices below and quickly backed out of the bedroom into
the hall, closing the door quietly and tiptoeing—why, I couldn’t have said—on to
the final room, the one at the end of the hall near the stairs. It was
butterscotch and cream, a far softer look than his. The bed was identical, but
everything else was different. The soft chair by the window looked so inviting,
I wished I had a good book with me to curl up and read. There were photos in
this room, too. Shots of the lake and the surrounding hills taken at various
times of year. My bag was on the bed, so I knew this was where I would be
staying, and I was glad.
The bathroom was through a door to the right, and it was huge,
luxurious and apparently all mine.
I wanted to unpack but figured those steaks must be just about
done by now,
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