A tapestry of scent, woven from pine needles and warming earth, hung heavy in the still morning air. Rowan shivered, pulling her black oversized hoodie tighter around her as she settled onto the worn wooden rocking chair on the wrap-around porch. Dawn painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange, but the vibrant colors seemed muted somehow. An old cherry tree stood sentinel in front of the old farm house. Rowan's mind wandered to childhood summers spent here: the endless days of picking cherries, staining her fingers crimson; the sticky sweetness of her grandmother's homemade pies, the comforting routine of farm life. Grandpa would usually be out by the barn already, whistling along to the radio, the cheerful tune carrying across the fields.
Her mother never accompanied her on those trips, and the reason for her absence was a topic that was never discussed. Perhaps it was because everyone knew the reason and discussing it was considered in bad taste. Rowan never asked, and no one offered an explanation.
Rowan hadn't minded, not really. She savored that time with her grandma. They would rise with the sun to collect fresh eggs, the warm shells still carrying the hens' body heat. She remembered how they felt against her palm as she gathered them into her apron – smooth, fragile, warm, a stark contrast to the cool morning air. Back on the porch, they'd enjoy breakfast together: toast slathered with homemade jam and steaming mugs of tea, the clinking of spoons against china was the only sound besides the distant birdsong.
Afterwards, they might wander down to the pond, tossing breadcrumbs to the eager fish, or venture into the old barn to peek at the newest litter of barn cats. They would be nearly invisible, swallowed by the mountain of hay, tiny paws tucked beneath their chins as they slept soundly, unaware of the morning commotion.
The rocking chair creaked with a familiar rhythm as she shifted her weight. The sound brought her back to present day. Rowan breathed out a sigh and stood to her feet. Even the air felt different now. Heavier somehow. She turned towards the old screen door, its hinges groaning in protest as she began to push it open.
"Hey!" She heard a deep male voice call out from a distance.
Rowan turned in the direction of the voice. A few yards away, a young man with dark tousled hair walked briskly up the drive. He looked familiar, but it was taking her longer than she liked to place his face. He moved with an easy confidence that suggested he belonged here, yet his presence felt unexpected.
Sensing her confusion, he slowed pace and smiled softly. "Sorry, maybe you don't remember me. Ellery, Ellery Thorne. We used to play together when we were kids."
Rowan's brow furrowed, her mind scrambling to match the name to his face. He chuckled, a self-deprecating glint in his eyes.
"My parents live just down the road. Well, lived," he corrected himself, a shadow flitting across his expression. "I live there now, I guess."
Her furrowed brows relaxed as she finally recalled a boy a little older than her who lived about half a mile away. At the time, his family was the closest neighbor they had, but since then, a few others had come to live on their short, unpaved road. Ellery had grown into a handsome man. His dark hair framed a face that had lost its boyish roundness, replaced with strong, defined features. His deep green eyes held a genuine warmth that belied the cool morning air. He wore a faded flannel shirt and dark jeans.
"Ellery," she said, her voice a little shaky. "It's been a while."
Ellery's smile widened, a hint of relief in his eyes. "Yeah, it has," he agreed. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me at all," he confessed, shifting his weight slightly.
"Of course I remember," Rowan replied, a smile touching her lips. "How many bones did you break climbing that oak tree near your house?"
Ellery threw back his head and laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound that echoed through the morning stillness. "Too many," he admitted, glancing back towards her, his eyes still smiling brightly. "Your grandpa wanted me to check in on the farm... on you, actually."
He turned towards the fields, his gaze sweeping over the familiar landscape. "If you need any help, you know, with anything... I'm familiar with the place. I used to help him out from time to time- mostly with the fences but also with the horses."
Rowan's fingers twisted in the frayed hem of her hoodie, a nervous habit she thought she'd outgrown. The horses. Her grandpa had kept them for her even though she rarely visited anymore. It was holidays, mostly, or the occasional long weekend when homesickness gnawed at her. A phone call, a hastily packed bag, and she'd be here, breathing in the familiar scent of hay and honeysuckle, the ache in her chest easing with every familiar sight. But it was a temporary fix. A few days, maybe a week, and then she'd be gone again, the city would always beckon her back before long. Guilt pricked at her, and she offered Ellery a tight smile.
"I... I could use the help," Rowan admitted, her gaze flickering towards the weathered barn in the distance. "Thank you, Ellery."
"Of course," he replied, his eyes following her gaze. An uncomfortable silence settled between them, filled only with the rustle of leaves and distant bird songs. Rowan traced a crack in the porch's worn floorboards with the toe of her shoe.
"How are your folks doing, by the way?" she asked, hoping to break the tension.
Ellery's easy smile faltered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "They... they passed away," he said, his voice tight. "Recently. A car accident, on their way home from..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Ellery, I'm so sorry," Rowan interrupted.
Ellery presses his lip together slightly. He stared intently at her for a moment, as if searching her face for something before smiling sadly. "It's okay," he said in a tone just above a whisper. In a tone that said that it was anything but okay. The weight of his words hung in the air. "It's...it's been tough."
The weight of his grief hung heavy in the air, a palpable presence between them. Rowan felt a cool breeze against her face as she inhaled deeply, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath. Ellery looked away for a moment, his jaw clenched, before meeting her eyes again. He gave a shaky sigh.
"I should go," Ellery said, his voice rough. "I'll let you get back to your morning. I'll stop by tomorrow to see what you need help with."
Rowan offered him a warm, genuine smile. "Thank you, Ellery. It means a lot," she replied, her voice soft and sincere.
-
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the farm, Rowan found herself drawn back to the porch. The sky blazed with deep orange and vibrant pink as she sank into the wooden chair once again, her body aching from the day's exertions – unfamiliar muscles protesting the unaccustomed work of stacking firewood and mucking out stalls. A cool evening breeze swept through the trees, carrying the scent of earth and hay. The porch creaked softly as she slid back in her seat, her gaze wandering over the landscape. The horses in the stable nickered softly, their silhouettes barely visible in the growing darkness. A familiar tightness settled in Rowan's chest. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, attempting to invoke a remnant of nostalgia, a feeling that seemed to elude her. Perhaps it was the yearning for the childhood she left here each time she returned to city. But everything felt different now. Heavier, she thought, her mind turning to her grandparents. Miles away, in a sterile hospital room, her grandmother lay in bed, her grandfather dozing fitfully in a nearby chair, clinging to the precious remaining hours of visiting time.
A sudden rustling sound pierced the stillness, and Rowan's eyes flew open. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She scanned the shadows, her gaze darting from the swaying branches to the darkened corners of the porch. Her eyes, still adjusting to the dim light, struggled to make sense of the shapes and movements around her. A sleek figure emerged from the darkness, moving with the stealthy grace of a seasoned hunter. It paused at the edge of the porch, its form a black silhouette against the moonlight. It was one of the barn cats, its fur black like the night, barely visible in moonlight. It was one of the barn cats, its ebony fur blended seamlessly with the night. As it padded closer, tension drained from her shoulders, and she unconsciously softened her posture. Bending down, she extended a hand, and the cat brushed against her fingers, a soft purr rumbling in its chest.
"Hello there" Rowan purred back, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. With a practiced movement, she scooped the cat into her arms, its weight a comforting presence against her. The cat smelled of hay and dust and something wild, something that spoke of the woods and the night. "Did you come to keep me company?" she asked softly, burying her face in its soft fur.
The cat purred louder, nuzzling against her cheek. A warmth spread through her, chasing away some of the chill that had settled around her heart. Rising from the chair, she decided to head inside for a nightcap, the cat nestled securely in her arms.
Inside the house, the air was sweet with the faint scent of lavender and old wood. Rowan set the cat down near the cold hearth and struck a match, the sulfurous scent momentarily stinging her nostrils. She tossed the match into the kindling nestled beneath larger pieces of birch, watching as the flames caught and licked at the wood with growing enthusiasm. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks dancing up the chimney. The warm glow cast long shadows that danced across the room, their movement a stark contrast to the oppressive stillness.
Rowan sauntered to the kitchen, her bare feet moving softly on the worn floorboards. She retrieved a decanter of amber liquid and a small glass from the old oak cabinet. After tossing a few ice cubes into the glass, she tilted the bottle, the amber liquid awakening the ice with a chorus of clinks and pops; the chattering against the glass a crystalline counterpoint to the crackling fire. She made her way to a worn armchair by the hearth, sinking into its familiar embrace she barely registered the creak of the leather. The cat curled up on the rug, a black inkblot against the faded canvas.
Rowan sipped her drink, the whiskey burning a fiery trail down her throat and deep into her stomach. Her thoughts drifted once more, to her grandparents, to Ellery, to her mother. She took a slightly longer sip and savored the burn, letting her mind wander before closing her eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling her into a deep sleep.
-
Rowan awoke with a jolt to the sound of thunder cracking like a whip in the distance. The room was dark, the once vibrant fire reduced to a faint glow of embers. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows and sending leaves skittering across the porch.
A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the room in a stark white light. The cat hissed and darted under the couch. Rowan, heart pounding in her chest, rose and moved to the window, peering out into the tempest. The trees thrashed violently, their branches clawing at the house. Rain fell hard against the glass, driven by the fierce wind.
Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. Rowan's heart leapt into her throat as the sound reverberated through the house. The impact shook the very foundations of the house, sending dust and debris raining down from the ceiling. Rain water poured in, cascading around her like a waterfall. For a moment, she sat frozen, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. She looked up to see a giant hole in the ceiling and a branch penetrating that hole. The wind whipped through the house, scattering the cold ashes from the hearth and sending them swirling through the air.
The cat, its eyes wide with fear, emerged from its hiding place. Rowan scooped it up, clutching it close as she moved away from the window, her bare feet slipping against the smooth wooden floor as it filled with water. The house creaked and shuddered. Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced it down, her gaze frantically searching for a place of refuge. She spotted the small closet under the stairs.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Clutching the cat, Rowan scrambled towards the closet, squeezing inside and pulling the door shut with a desperate thud. The latch clicked shut, sealing her in the darkness. The small space pressed in on her, filled with the musty scent of mothballs. Cobwebs brushed her cheeks as she sank onto the cold, hard floor, the cat a trembling weight in her lap. The wind howled, and the rain lashed against the walls, each gust and torrent a hammer blow against the fragile house. Each gust of wind and peal of thunder made her flinch and burrow deeper into the hanging clothes behind her, her body tensing in expectation of some unseen impact. The floorboards groaned beneath her, the clothes swayed, making her feel as if the whole world were also tilting and swaying. She curled her self further around the cat. The minutes stretched into hours as she fought to stay awake, her mind a whirlwind of anxieties, but exhaustion eventually wore her down.
She drifted in and out of a restless sleep, haunted by fragmented dreams alternating between brief moments of languid wakefulness. She dreamt of shadowy figures, their whispers echoing the wind's howl. Each time she blinked awake, the shadows lingered, bleeding into the darkness before morphing back into hanging clothing as her brain struggled to put reality back together again.
-
Pale light seeped through the cracks in the closet door, painting a thin line across Rowan's face. She blinked awake, fighting the remnants of sleep that clung to her eyelids. It was quiet; morning had arrived. The silence was almost deafening after the cacophony of the storm. The small black cat still lay in her arms, fast asleep, its fur soft and warm against her skin. Rowan could feel its soft purring as a gentle vibration against her chest, a comforting rhythm in the stillness.
A soft knocking echoed from somewhere beyond the closet walls, breaking that stillness. Disoriented, Rowan glanced around the cramped space. Where...? She carefully shifted the sleeping cat, her body protesting the night spent folded in the cramped darkness. She stood, muscles stiff and aching. Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the cool, damp air and the smell of wet wood, ozone, and rain-soaked earth.
The knocking grew more insistent, a steady beat that mirrored the pounding in her chest. Rowan crossed the room, her bare feet stepping over debris scattered across the floor. She winced as a splinter pierced her skin. Hesitantly, she opened the front door. Ellery stood framed in the doorway, his deep green eyes etched with concern. For a fleeting moment, his presence calmed her, but then her gaze shifted past him. The barn was a mangled wreck, trees lay uprooted, including her grandmother's beloved cherry tree-a landmark of her childhood now reduced to splinters.
"Rowan, are you alright?" Ellery's voice was sharp with worry. "I saw the damage..." She managed a shaky nod. "I'm okay. Just...shaken."
Ellery stepped inside, his boots crunching on shattered glass and splintered wood. He surveyed the gaping hole in the roof, where rain dripped steadily onto the ruined floor. "I can't believe it," Rowan whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "I've never seen anything like this."
Ellery turned, his green eyes shadowed, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. He looked as though he'd stepped out of the storm itself. "That," he said quietly, "isn't the strangest part."
-
Rowan stood at the end of the driveway, out by the old dirt road. Across the road, farms stretched into the distance, untouched by the storm. The morning sun cast a golden hue over the fields, a stark contrast to the devastation behind her. Not a single broken branch, not a single fallen tree. Just the gentle sway of wheat fields in the morning breeze. It was as if the storm had deliberately targeted her farm, leaving everything else untouched.
"Your farm is the only one that seems to have any damage," Ellery said, his voice hushed, more to himself than to Rowan.
Rowan's hands trembled. "I don't understand," she whispered. "How is that even possible? The trees... they look like they were ripped from the earth."
Ellery frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense." He ran a hand through his damp hair. Silence fell between them, punctuated by the distant sound of song birds, oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded.
He turned to Rowan. "You can't stay here tonight," he said, his voice firm. "It's not safe." She hadn't expected such genuine concern from him. His green eyes, which had seemed merely amused moments before, now held a depth of emotion that caught her off guard.
Uncertainty clouded Rowan's features. "Where else would I go? I promised to look after the farm."
Ellery hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. "You can stay at my place," he offered, his voice softening.
Ellery's offer hung in the air. The scent of rain-soaked earth filled Rowan's senses, mingling with the faintest hint of woodsmoke from somewhere nearby. Ellery's place... A hazy image of the small house with a green roof and rambling rose bushes flickered in her mind. The thought emerged, unexpected and unwelcome, yet it carried with it a strange sense of familiarity. She glanced back at the farmhouse, its broken silhouette a stark contrast to the warmth in Ellery's eyes.
"I don't know," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Ellery stepped closer, and the scent of woodsmoke grew stronger. It was a comforting aroma, grounding. He didn't need to voice the reassurance; it was in his eyes, in the gentle tilt of his head, in the way his gaze held hers without faltering. "You wouldn't be imposing," he said gently. "I want to help." His words were a balm to her anxieties, a quiet affirmation of the support she hadn't realized she craved.
"Okay," she finally agreed, her voice steady.
Ellery nodded, relief washing over his features. "Let's get your things," he said, turning towards the house.
-
Rowan moved through the damp stillness of the house, gathering a few essentials: a toothbrush, a change of clothes. Her fingers lingered on a faded photograph on the dresser-her, her mother, her grandparents, their smiles frozen in time. She quickly tucked it into her bag. Don't think about it, she told herself, pushing down the wave of sadness that threatened to engulf her. Ellery waited patiently by the door, his gaze following her slender silhouette as it moved against the dim light filtering through the windows. When she finally turned to him, her eyes were red-rimmed but resolute. They stepped out into the morning light.
The walk to Ellery's house was short, but the silence between them stretched it out, each footfall a heavy thud against the damp earth. Rowan breathed in the cool morning air, the scent of pine needles and damp leaves filling her lungs. The small dirt path to Ellery's place wound through a cathedral of towering pines, their branches interlacing overhead to create a tapestry of light and shadow. As if emerging from a dream, Ellery's house came into view: a small farmhouse with a cheerful green roof, rambling rose bushes spilling over the porch railing, and a weathered swing swaying gently in the breeze. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney, a wisp of memory curling in her mind.
They climbed the stairs to the porch, the weathered wood groaning softly beneath their weight. Ellery opened the door, gesturing for Rowan to enter. The air inside was warm, carrying the faint, comforting scent of leather and woodsmoke. He led her through the living room now bathed in the soft glow of morning light, then down a narrow hallway and up a set of creaking stairs.
"This is the spare bedroom," Ellery said, opening a door to reveal a small, inviting room with a slanted ceiling and a window overlooking the woods. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The bed was neatly made with a patchwork quilt, and a worn wooden dresser stood against one wall.
"Thank you, Ellery," Rowan said, her voice subdued. She stepped into the room, setting her backpack on the bed. Ellery lingered in the doorway, his expression unreadable. She couldn't quite decipher the emotions swirling in his eyes, but there was a depth there, an intensity that made her shift slightly, uneasily.
"I'll let you get settled," he said finally. "I'll start on dinner. Just come out when you're ready."
Rowan nodded, offering him a small, grateful smile. As he left, she turned her attention to unpacking, the simple act of arranging her few belongings in the unfamiliar dresser drawers unnerved her a little.
-
When she finally emerged from the bedroom, the scent of a savory stew, rich with herbs and spices, drew her down the stairs. The aroma led her to the kitchen, where Ellery was busy at the stove. The air was filled with the comforting scents of simmering vegetables and something that was dark and umami. Rowan took a seat at the small kitchen table, its worn surface smooth beneath her fingertips. The room was cozy, the shelves lined with jars of preserves and dried herbs that hung in bunches from the ceiling. Ellery turned, a wooden spoon in hand, and smiled. "Hungry?"
Rowan returned the smile, a genuine warmth spreading through her. "It smells amazing."
He set two steaming bowls on the table - a hearty stew filled with pieces of tender beef, potatoes, carrots, and fragrant herbs simmered in a rich broth. The aroma filled the small kitchen, mingling with the lingering scent of cinnamon and cloves. As they ate, Rowan couldn't help but steal glances at Ellery, each one a silent exploration of his features. His face was a study in contrasts - rugged yet refined, with a strong jawline and high cheekbones that caught the light. His hair, a rich black, curled slightly at the temples, just long enough to brush the collar of his worn flannel shirt. But it was his eyes that held her attention-a startling, vibrant emerald green. She had the distinct impression that he was aware of her scrutiny, a subtle awareness that hummed beneath the surface of their quiet meal.
"My grandmother's recipe," he said, his voice a low rumble that broke through her thoughts. "She always said it was the perfect cure for a stormy night."
Startled, Rowan lowered her gaze, a warmth creeping up her neck.
"It's really good," she replied returning her attention to the food once more. She did not look up again for the rest of the meal.
After dinner, Rowan helped Ellery clean, their movements surprisingly synchronized in the small space. When the kitchen was tidy, Ellery leaned against the counter, observing her with a thoughtful expression.
"If you need anything, my room is just down the hall," he said, his voice low. "Don't hesitate to knock."
"Thank you, Ellery," Rowan replied, meeting his gaze with a warmth that surprised even her.
-
Rowan woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the faded floral curtains. The air was still, filled with the gentle hum of the house and the distant chirping of birds. A faint scent of greenery wafted in from an open window. Memories of the previous day - the storm, the damage, the encounter with Ellery - slowly surfaced bringing with them a wave of anxiety. She pushed the feeling aside, swung her legs out of bed, and stood, the cool wood floor a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed. The floorboards creaked softly as she crossed the room to the small, antique mirror that hung on the wall. Her reflection stared back at her – pale and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Quickly pulling on jeans and an oversized sweater, she headed to the kitchen.
Ellery was already up, standing by the stove with a cup of coffee in hand. He turned as she entered, offering her a warm smile. "Good morning," he said, his voice gentle.
"Morning," Rowan muttered, her voice still thick with sleep. She reached for a giant mug that resembled a small bowl and poured herself coffee. She brought the steaming brew to her lips as she peered out the window at a small garden in the side yard. It looked reasonably well-kept.
"Do you live alone?" she asked, the question tumbling out before she could stop it.
The question hung in the air, startling both of them. Ellery met her gaze, his eyes a striking emerald green, or how Rowan, who had never actually seen an emerald, imagined they looked anyway.
"I do," Ellery finally replied. "And you?"
"I do," she answered, her voice still quiet. She glanced up to find Ellery's eyes sparkling with amusement. He knew that already or maybe...did he mean her place in the city? The thought sent a strange flutter through her stomach.
"I should probably call my grandpa," she said quickly, changing the subject. "I should have called him yesterday, but-"
Ellery nodded understandingly. "Of course. There's a phone in the living room."
Grateful for the escape, Rowan hurried to the living room. The room was bathed in soft morning light that streamed through the lace curtains, casting intricate patterns on the worn rug. With trembling hands, she picked up the old rotary phone from the small table by the window. The phone was heavy and cold, its black paint chipped and faded. and dialed her a number. She dialed the number, the rotary dial clicking with each turn. It rang a few times before her grandfather's gruff voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Grandpa, it's Rowan," she said, her voice wavering slightly.
"Rowan. How are you, dear? Grandma and I were just talking about you! She's right here, say hello."
Rowan's heart sank. How could she tell him the farm had been destroyed? They were already going through so much.
"Hey, Grandma! I miss you too," she spoke through the phone, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. She could hear her grandmother's faint voice in the background, a fragile whisper.
They chatted for a while, her grandparents describing their time at the hospital. They spoke of the friendly staff, the nearby café where her grandpa got them breakfast, and their daily crossword puzzles. They seemed to be finding a sense of normalcy.
But as she hung up the phone, a weight settled on her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She returned to the kitchen, where Ellery was preparing breakfast. The aroma of eggs and bacon filled the air. He looked up, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"I-I didn't tell him," Rowan admitted, sitting down at the table. "I just-couldn't."
Ellery nodded, his expression soft and understanding. "I get it".
They ate breakfast in comfortable silence. The bacon was crispy, the eggs perfectly cooked, and the coffee strong and hot. Despite everything, Rowan felt a sense of calm in Ellery's presence. It was a strange dichotomy – the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her, yet she somehow felt safe and secure in his small, cozy kitchen. She watched Ellery as he ate, his movements deliberate and efficient. He exuded a quiet strength that both intrigued and intimidated her.
As they finished, Ellery began clearing the dishes, his gaze lingering on Rowan for a moment. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak, to break the silence between them. His eyes held hers for a beat too long, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. After a moment he turned and carried the dishes to the sink. The sound of running water filled the silence.