One hundred and fifty-five years after Mildred Hanson's death, Randy Upswatch carried his bride, Emeline Jannison Upswatch, across the threshold of Cabin #25. Randy gently set Emeline down on the heart pine kitchen floor. The windows let in bright splashes of the morning light through the wavy old glass. An antique black wood stove squatted in a corner, next to a small fireplace with an open hearth. The original porcelain sink had been retained but over the years the plumbing had been modernized. Across the room, an old gas stove nestled adjacent to a vintage Frigidaire. A scarred wood plank shelf was built into the wall between the stove and refrigerator, with drawers installed beneath. Knotty pine cabinets and shelves provided plenty of room for Em's collection of antique bowls and pitchers. Next to the fireplace, a pantry with floor to ceiling shelves completed the kitchen, empty storage begging to be filled.
Emeline's heart lifted, then sank, when she remembered the days she and her mama, Cleo, had filled their own pantry shelves. Mother and daughter would process their Sacramento Delta crops into jeweled jars of vegetables, relishes, jams, pickles and chutneys. Her eyes teared up, which she quickly hid from Randy. She scolded herself. Damn, girl, it's been two years since Mama's passing...[TG1] isn't it time for you to move on? She thought to herself.
"Sure, wish I'd paid more attention to Mama's cooking," she said aloud.
"What?" Randy asked.
"Oh! I didn't realize I said that out loud. Just thinking that Mama always needed my help with jamming and canning, but never taught me to cook. She really wanted her kitchen all to herself."
But Randy didn't hear this response as he was busily exploring the rest of the cabin. "Holy Shit, Em, lookit this!" he exclaimed. Emeline followed Randy down a central hallway leading to other rooms. At one end of the central hall was a large bedroom. Windows sparkled as lacy light fell through the trees surrounding the cabin. A smaller bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway seemed forlorn. A large tree shadowed the room, darkening the interior. In the center of the hallway and next to the kitchen was a small bathroom boasting an enormous clawfoot tub. A window over the tub with a deep sill would be perfect for African Violets and geraniums, Em thought.
Off the center of the long hallway was the living room. It was just big enough to hold their old couch, her mama's ancient Lincoln rocker, and two end tables. An old black stove, sitting on a raised platform of bricks was nestled in a corner of the room. At the far end of the room were glass French doors, obviously an addition to the original structure of the cabin. Throughout the cabin, light scattered through many antique windows. Emeline pushed Randy aside and walked through the French doors. "Randy, it's the best part of the cabin!"
Through the doorway, she had spied bookshelves. Views of the surrounding pastures were idyllic portraits framed in the old windows. Directly in the center of the room was another door to a back garden. It would be perfect for cross ventilation when both the kitchen and library doors were opened. Wildflowers of all colors were woven into the bucolic pasture in the distance. The flowers gently danced in the spring breezes from the surrounding hill, transporting the outside world into this inner sanctum. Shadows from a large willow tree quivered as the tree shook its slender green leaves on delicate branches, nearly touching the ground. Em was reminded of children around a maypole, all wearing long green dresses. "Oh, Randy, there's a window seat!"
The cozy seat under the large window was laced between the bookshelves. A stone fireplace beckoned in the corner. Em lifted the lid of the window seat and a smoky scent of old fires wafted up to her. It was the most peaceful room in the cabin, exuding warmth and history. Em imagined the hours other occupants had sat on this window seat, immersed in a book. She walked to the door. "Randy! It's a Dutch door!"
"A what?"
"A Dutch door, see, the top and bottom open separately. We can just open the top and get the breezes and leave the bottom latched. Oh, I've always wanted a Dutch door!"
Em turned to Randy and enveloped him in her arms. "It's a perfect home for us. It's beautiful. This room is where I bet I'll be spending my time. It's the jewel of the cabin. What a special place. It's a library, Randy."
"Oh, yeah. My mom told me the lady who built all these cabins insisted her people led educated lives. She had a little school where she taught the kids how to read. Imagine that, teaching slaves to read, even giving them places like this to live. Mom said everybody in the town thought the old lady was nuts. They couldn't stand the way she treated her slaves. She didn't even call them slaves! She actually paid them, as her 'employees'. That was 200 years ago. Things have certainly changed since then," Em said thoughtfully.
Emeline felt as though she were in the middle of a pumpkin with the cabin's knotty pine walls, the colors of burnt sienna and sunsets. She felt the rooms had been warmed by years of sunlight, woodsmoke and the fingertips of many inhabitants, completing the warm embrace of each room.
Emeline caressed the beautiful wood paneling as she returned to the living room where Randy stood next to the small Franklin stove. "I had no idea these cabins were so lovely. Mom just said they were old. She didn't tell me anything about what great shape they're in." The glow on his face helped to light up the room.
"We should set up our bed and try it out in our new home, don't you think?" Randy said with a bright smile.
Em's mind was elsewhere, busy with all she would do to make their new home a nest she could feather with her dreams.
They returned to a slower examination of all the rooms. The antique pine floors creaked beneath their feet. In her mind's eye, Em began placing their furniture in each room.
She lingered in the smaller of the two bedrooms as Randy left to retrieve boxes from their U-Haul. The entire cabin was infused with rainbows of light except for this small room at the end of the hallway. This room was darker, more somber. An enormous tree towered above this end of the cabin, blocking out the sunlight. The room seemed more silent than the others, with their creaking floors and squeaks. This room had a sad, lonely, uninhabited feel to it.
--Excerpted from Raising the Dead, by Jayne Lisbeth. Austin Macauley, U.K., 2023. Reprinted with permission.
Jayne Lisbeth was born in NYC and continued her life’s journey from Long Island, to New Jersey, Massachusetts, Vermont, California and Tampa, all places featured prominently in her writing. Her first book, a memoir, Writing In Wet Cement has been published internationally by London based publisher, Austin Macauley. Jayne’s second book, Raising the Dead, a work of historical fiction, mystery, friendship and the supernatural, was published in 2023, also by Austin Macauley. Ms. Lisbeth publishes monthly “Food for Thought” blogs on her website, Jaynelisbeth.com. Her “Food for Thought” blogs are based on her reflections of life, friendship, love, and topical subjects of interest. Ms. Lisbeth’s non-fiction, poetry, and short stories have been published from Vermont to California to Tampa, Florida where she has received awards at the local level. She has been published locally in Pages of Our Life, volumes I and II which is currently part of the USF, Tampa, Geriartic Studies Programs. Ms. Lisbeth’s short stories have been published in the LEC Phoenix Anthologies, 2015-2023. Jayne’s interests include writing, reading, exploring, traveling, calligraphy, gravestone rubbing, entertaining and cooking. Jayne’s author’s website is Jaynelisbeth.com.
Ms. Lisbeth and her artist husband, Tim Gibbons, are the owners and founders of Funky As A Monkey Art Studio, providing art in public places and launching new and emerging artists in exhibiting their art.
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