Indelible by Laurie Buchanan (classic children's novels .TXT) 📗

welcomed them at day’s end. More so, the large, smooth, walnut desk placed beneath a north-facing window, an invitation to survey the cool, quiet woods—Mother Nature’s sanctuary.

Fran stands still in the center of the room and takes a deep inhalation. She follows her nose and finds a beautiful glass fragrance diffuser with a handwritten note: Designed to comfort, the top notes are fresh pine sprigs and mandarin orange, the middle notes are pomegranate and cinnamon, and the base notes are roasted chestnuts and Madagascar vanilla. Enjoy!

The room’s warm embrace envelopes Fran. The walls seemed to whisper, “Come in and stay awhile. You can relax now and let your barriers down.” The tension in her stiff shoulders melts, and an unexpected smile perches on her lips. Libby was right. I’m going to love it here.

Hand gliding over the smooth surface of the walnut desk, Fran gazes out the window into the woods. The shadows have grown more profound now. The spatters of red and gold giving way to the blues and purples of dusk.

She thinks about how her life has grown small and claustrophobic.

In an article she’d read in an in-flight magazine on the journey from Boston, there was a quote that brought her up short. “Whatever you are not changing, you are choosing.” Just eight little words, but they captured her attention, and she resolves that her time at Pines & Quill will be a catapult to change.

Unfettered, she rakes her fingers through her lacquered hair, the first of many changes to come.

On the way to the west side of the property toward Austen cottage, Emma tells Libby, “I knew that as a wheelchair-friendly facility Pines & Quill would have smooth surfaces, but this is exceptional.”

“We learned so much when Mick was in a wheelchair,” Libby responds, smiling. “And we’ve put everything we learned into practice.”

Emma looks up in wide-eyed surprise. “Mick was in a wheelchair?”

“Yes, but that’s his story to share, not mine. Here we are now.”

Nestled in a glade of Blue Elderberry, Austen cottage features womb-like seclusion. Libby gives a hand signal to Hemingway that conveys, “Sit and stay.” After he drops to his bottom, she activates a button on the outside wall and the door swings open. “There’s a matching button on the inside,” Libby says, “but it works manually as well.”

Emma rolls up the ramp with ease, continuing right through the extra-wide doorframe.

“Oh my gosh,” she exclaims turning around with a face-splitting grin.

But Libby is already stepping out, pulling the door closed with her. “See you at six o’clock,” Libby says with a smile in her voice as the door shuts behind her.

Emma loves the welcoming, soft hues of sage and lavender. Her artisan’s eye appreciates the wheelchair-friendly design with interior elements spaced for smooth transition. The wood floor reflects the same warm, honeyed tones of a massive beam that runs the length of the structure, parallel with the pitch of the vaulted ceiling.

Something smells delicious. Emma rolls to the kitchen following the scent. On the granite counter she finds a beautiful glass diffuser with a handwritten note: Designed to enhance creativity, the top note is Caribbean pink grapefruit, the middle note is amber, and the base notes are Jamaican lemon, Tobago lime, and green florals. Enjoy!

Emma feels warm with welcome. A battered and loved square oak desk with ample clearance space faces sliding glass doors that reveal a smooth-tiled patio of faded terra cotta. Outside the doors a wild profusion of potted flowers greets her. She realizes that with a west-facing view she’ll enjoy an ideal vantage point from which to gaze at the sun as it bows farewell, making way for its alluring mistress, the moon.

After sliding the glass door open with ease, Emma wheels out and draws in a deep, invigorating breath. The pre-evening stillness is peaceful, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of San Diego. In the quiet, she hears the hum of a distant boat. From what she read online while researching Pines & Quill, she knows Austen cottage is near the water. If she remembers right, Bellingham Bay, a rather large inlet somewhat protected by Lummi Island, is to the west. I wonder how close we are to the cliffs that overlook the bay?

Back inside, canopied by the honeyed tones of the vaulted ceiling, Emma leans against the wheelchair’s leather back and exhales, her eyes once again appreciating the soft hues of sage and lavender accents throughout. From the moment she entered the quaint space she loved it, knowing it will be the perfect place to finish her manuscript.

On the east side of the property, Mick pulls the all-terrain vehicle up to Brontë cottage. Like its namesake, Emily Brontë, the cottage is reclusive behind a wall of Douglas Fir trees. Their massive evergreen branches provide an occasional glimpse of light reflected from a window, like a knowing wink.

Mick carries Cynthia’s luggage up the steps of Brontë’s front porch. “Welcome to your home away from home,” he says to Cynthia whose gaze is focused on Jason waiting in the ATV. “Is everything okay?” Mick asks, his forehead creased with concern as he remembers how Jason pulled his hand away from hers at the airport.

“I’m not sure,” she responds. To ease his worry, she continues with a smile. “One thing I know for certain, I’m looking forward to dinner.”

Setting her luggage inside the door, Mick reminds her, “We eat at six o’clock. Would you like me to pick you up in the ATV?”

“I’ll walk, thank you,” she says. “See you at dinner.”

The wrought-iron spiral staircase leading to a sleeping loft is first to claim Cynthia’s attention. She discovers a haven that strikes the ideal balance between Parisian chic and relaxed bohemian romance.

Second to claim her attention is the subtle fragrance flirting with her sense of smell. She follows the scent and finds a beautiful glass diffuser with a handwritten note: Designed to enhance clarity, the top notes are Sicilian mandarin and Italian