The Comfort Shack by Mark Souza

The Comfort Shack
    Mark Souza
     
     
    Copyright 2011 by Mark Souza
    Smashwords Edition
     
     
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    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to
any actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
     
     
Table of Contents
    Story
    The Comfort Shack Tidbits
    About the Author
    Upcoming Titles
    Connect With Me Online
    Second Honeymoon Excerpt
     
     
     
    The
Comfort Shack
    By Mark Souza
     
     
    T he mini-van pulled
to a stop in the nearly empty parking lot. Its headlights lit a
sign mounted to a rustic stone rampart. Welcome to Historic Fort
Cavendish . A family of four crawled out, stiff and weary. They
unloaded the van and followed a concrete walk through a set of
gates dragging their roller-bags.
    “Mom, why can't we stay in a real hotel?” the
oldest daughter complained.
    “Shut up, Jenny. We're here now and this
place has meaning to your father.”
    Inwardly, Leanne Brown didn't want to spend a
cold night in a drafty pre-Revolutionary-War fort any more than her
daughter. But the decision had been made. Her husband, Stu, had
ancestors who had lived there during the eighteenth century. To him
this was a romantic adventure, a reconnecting with his past.
Letting Jenny's mutiny go unchecked would only invite a spat. She
clenched her teeth and hauled her bag dutifully, bringing up the
rear like a ramrod driving reluctant cattle down the trail.
    Light spilled from the office windows casting
intersecting crescents of light onto the walk. Panes of wavy glass
flecked with bubbles bracketed a heavy door crudely fashioned from
hand-hewn timber. Inside, functionality trumped historical
accuracy. Overhead fluorescents cast a pallid glow over a heavy
wooden reception desk fitted with a computer. The office walls had
been finished with sheetrock and painted a cheery yellow.
    Behind the counter, a woman looked up from
her terminal screen when the door opened. She was young and pretty,
and had a ready smile. Hair black and shiny as a starling’s eye
flowed over her shoulders down to her waist, boldly framing a
heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and bronze skin.
    “Hi, you must be the Brown family. I’m Ellie,
welcome to historic Fort Cavendish. We’ve been expecting you.”
    Stu gawked at the girl with a stupid grin on
his face. Leanne shot a quick elbow to his ribs to bring him back
to Earth.
    “Uh, yes, that’s us,” Leanne said.
    “We have you in the Commandant’s Cottage.
After you’ve settled in, would you like the tour?”
    “Sure,” Stu said.
    The girls rolled their eyes. They remained
silent though their posture sagged like snow burdened willows.
Under other circumstances Leanne would have taken them to task, but
it was late, everyone was tired, and it was enough that they didn’t
complain.
    The receptionist picked up on their
reluctance. “I promise to make it fun,” she said. “Let me show you
to your cottage.”
    She led the Browns out the door and across
the courtyard on a lit cobbled path. Suitcase wheels clattered as
they bounced over the joints in the walkway and no one spoke. A
stone structure jutted from the interior bulwark. Ellie held the
door while the Browns shuffled inside.
    The Commandant’s Cottage was better
accommodation than Leanne expected. A wood fire burned in the
hearth of a massive river-rock fireplace. Oil lamps lit the space.
The front room had an upholstered sofa and two leather club chairs,
antiques, though not old enough to be authentic to the fort by a
long stretch. A short hallway led to a bathroom with a tub-shower
combination and modern plumbing. Leanne was glad to see some
concessions