There are two ways into Fox Hollow - by train, followed by a five-mile hike, or by driving up Cavegat Pass. The Pass had a reputation. In a word: treacherous. Cavegat Pass is a daunting stretch of road along the Newland corridor. There is nothing but wilderness on both sides of the road for seventeen secluded miles. The way is winding, steep, and made of dirt and gravel. For roughly three miles you are pinched between the mountain side and an iron guard rail that had seen more winters than Skole County would like to admit.
Jack Morrow had recently received the land as an early inheritance from his father Angus. Old Gus had grown tired of caring for the land, and decided to finally give in to his wife Moira’s pleas to travel. Whenever Gus and Moira weren’t on holiday abroad, they stayed in the guest house on the northwestern corner of the property that overlooked the orchard.
Jack gladly took the manor house and all one hundred and twenty seven acres of land, as well as the huge responsibility of caring for the animals. In all, there were seven horses, nine cows, countless hens and chickens, a herd of sheep, and a seriously obese pot belly pig that Liam affectionately named Ziggy. Add that onto his load of caring for his wife, their four sons with another baby on the way, and two hyper dogs, and you can definitely say Jack had taken on a bit more than he could chew. Fortunately, Jack had help.
Jack took great pride in receiving the estate from his parents. The Morrow family had owned the land for over five generations now. It wasn’t until his first month on the job as Mr. Do-It-All-Myself that Jack realized just how much responsibility he took on. Thankfully his sister Bridgette and her husband Frank had agreed to help out. They inhabited the guest suite on the second floor, while their son Shane slept in the room next door with his cousins.
Catherine loved living at Fox Hollow, for the most part. It reminded her of her childhood summers vacationing in upstate New York, long before her father had accepted the curator position at the Philadelphia Museum of Modern Arts. She enjoyed the calm that the farm provided. She had felt safe there, at first. Jack took great care to make certain that Catherine had a calm pregnancy, free of stress and worry. This was a daunting task, as Catherine was prone to bouts of extreme worrying and paranoia. Even more a complex task was getting their four sons to let her rest during the pregnancy. Her condition was considered high-risk; added stress could be devastating. Today Catherine was quite relaxed. Today was a good day.
Privately, Catherine wished Jack had inherited a property in a warmer climate. Though she loved the farm, she greatly disliked the cold that came with Skole County winters. Catherine succumbed to extreme bouts of loathing when snow decided to fall. On warmer days, Catherine enjoyed painting outside. Her choices of subjects were seemingly endless. Whether it is the lush mountainside covered in trees and laurels, the tranquil valley where the cows lazily chewed their grass, or the winding trails that stretched deep into the thick forest, where she and Jack would ride the horses, and see just how fast they could gallop.
In the spring, Catherine especially enjoyed walking to Croft Lake, on the far northwest corner of the property. She had always been drawn to the picturesque lake. The surface was as smooth as a mirror, not a ripple in sight. Overhead, Mt. Grier loomed, rising above the landscape, providing a breathtaking backdrop. In fairer weather, she would spend hours in the shadow of the mountain, admiring the crystalline reflection of the lake. When the summer sun became too hot, Catherine took refuge in the shade provided by the crab apple trees in the orchard. Often Jack would come out and spend the afternoon with her after a long morning of working in the fields. In the winter months, she was forced to take in the bleak scenery from indoors, and this dampened her spirit significantly.
Catherine's eyes, which had been staring out the kitchen window again, refocused. She blinked a few times as she awoke from her momentary day dream. Her warm breath had begun to fog up the ice cold window. With the sleeve of her dress, she wiped the window in a large, circular motion before peering out again. It was snowing.
Oh, for crying out loud! White Christmases are so overrated!
Snowflakes were beginning to fall from the gray sky. She stared at the snow fluttering to the ground for a few spoiled moments. Then a thought came to her.
The laundry!