“This is the laurel bush I told you about,” she said quietly as she stroked a branch. Despondently, she added, “No more poems.” Her sadness made me want to hug her.
But Trey beat me to it. Gently touching her shoulder, he asked in a tender voice, “Are you okay?”
She nodded and pointed to the right. “Come on, it’s this way.”
Twigs cracked under our feet, and I furiously swatted at mosquitoes until we came to a small clearing, upon which stood a cabin. Actually, calling it a cabin was generous. In the shadowy light, it appeared more like an old toolshed.
“This is where he lived,” Iris said as she pulled open the canvas flap covering the doorway. “Jasper offered to have some of our members build him a real cabin, but Marlette didn’t want it. Said he only heard from his muse when he slept close to nature.”
“Do you know if anyone’s been inside since he died?” I asked.
Iris shook her head. “No one ever came here that I know about. Other than Jasper or me, that is. We used to bring him food.”
I peered inside and was assaulted by a mixture of smells created by an odd blend of body odor, rotting wood, and hemp. It was not unlike Marlette’s own stench, though not as overpowering. Trey moved back from the entry.
“Do you really want to go in there, Mom?” he asked, waving his hand in front of his face. “It reeks.”
Scrunching my nose, I stepped through the opening but couldn’t see very far inside the space. “Is there any kind of light in here?”
Iris thrust a small flashlight at me. “You can use this. I’ll wait outside with Trey.”
After giving her a nod of understanding, I shone the narrow beam into the interior, illuminating a cozy-looking refuge. Despite the smell, it was a tidy space, with bedding arranged neatly in one corner, a makeshift table in another with a wooden crate in place of a chair, a basket filled with clothes, and an old cabinet with missing doors and dangling hinges. Its shelves were jammed full. One held paperbacks, and the others contained a leather-covered journal with ragged paper edges, two chipped teacups, a dented saucepan, a tin can filled with pens, a ball of twine, numerous empty chip and cookie bags, and dried bouquets of flowers.
An ancient typewriter stood on top of the cabinet. I touched its dusty keys, remembering Marlette’s pathetic questions about his query, and wondered if he had written anything significant using this decrepit machine. There was also a hand-carved walking stick resting against the table. To me, it seemed to be waiting for its owner to return, for Marlette to grasp its polished knob and set forth for the steepest, most secluded parts of the mountain.
I stood transfixed. The place was crude and simple, but it had been special to Marlette. A sense of security and peace hovered in air filled with the dust motes. I found this sense of tranquility surprising, considering his lack of possessions and the fact that he had lived in what most people would consider a hovel.
“‘His house was perfect,’” I whispered, borrowing from The Hobbit, “‘whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking, best.’”What had Marlette liked best? What invisible element remained in this crude shelter, giving it a coziness that seemed incongruous with its appearance?
My musings were interrupted by Jasper’s voice calling in the night. “Iris! It’s getting dark.”
In unison, Iris and Trey stuck their heads inside the cabin and beckoned urgently.
“Ms. Wilkins?”
“Mom! We gotta go back.”
My head swiveled to the entrance and then back into the dimness. “I’m coming.” I redirected the flashlight beam to the cabinet. On impulse, I grabbed the journal and jammed it into the waistband of my jeans, untucking my shirt to conceal the bulge. I followed Iris and my son, glancing back once at Marlette’s deteriorating cabin. It seemed as though it was aware that its owner would never return and was now willing to be claimed by the encroaching forest.
My sleep that night was deep and dreamless, thanks to my being exhausted from the day’s packing and cleaning, settling into my mother’s place, and all that followed at the Red Fox Co-op. Unfortunately, I’d set the alarm for five thirty to get a head start on my work, and its buzzing woke me all too soon.
At six twenty I stood at the door to Espresso Yourself but was dismayed to read on its sign that it wouldn’t open for another ten minutes. Through the window I could see Makayla behind the counter stocking the bakery case with muffins, so I tapped on the glass. She looked up and smiled, opening the door for me just as my mouth stretched into a big yawn.