I left Edmund and my grandmother on the steps to the village hall. Grandma Daisy spoke about flooring tile and paint colors for the exhibits in her museum. Edmund cautioned that she was getting ahead of herself. I could have warned him that Grandma Daisy always got ahead of herself, but I thought that was something he could figure out on his own. Perhaps I was still a little miffed by how he’d talked about his mother too, so I would let him fend for himself when it came to dealing with my grandmother and her big plans.
I had roughly forty minutes before I had to be back at the bookshop to relieve Lacey. It wasn’t a lot of time, but I knew I had to visit the cabin in the woods. If I didn’t go now, it would drive me crazy for the rest of the day.
I crossed the street to the side of River Road that ran along the Niagara River, just a few feet away from where Roma’s body had been.
Did I really believe that Roma’s death had been an accident? I knew the evidence pointed in that direction and that Rainwater believed it, but I couldn’t forget the remnants of a cloth book cover discovered under her fingernails.
Then, there was the shop’s essence. The shop had never led me astray before. If it wanted me to look into something, it had always been before a crime was committed or because something was very wrong and needed to be corrected. I didn’t believe that this time was any different.
A path ran along the river that led to Cascade Springs Park. The river turned away from the park at that point and the area around me grew more wooded and quieter. I could no longer hear the rushing water to my right.
When I used to get the spring water for the tree at night in winter, the woods felt close and foreboding. The branches looked like reaching arms and crooked hands, and the sounds were amplified by my thundering pulse.
But in the late morning light, the woods now welcomed me. Squirrels jumped from tree to tree. Birds twittered in the high branches, and fresh snow glistened on every surface.
It was like walking into Narnia. It felt magical. If I didn’t believe in the power of the springs before, I would believe it now. I also would not be surprised if Mr. Tumnus, the faun, hopped out from behind the birch trees and offered to play his flute for me.
The cabins were a short walk from the entrance of the park. Charming Books was on the west side of the park, and I was coming into the park from the south. The cabins were in the southeast corner.
During the summers, this part of the park was constantly busy, especially this last summer. Grandma Daisy had advocated renting campsites out to visitors, and to begin renting the four cabins out there for week-long and weekend rentals.
At first the village council had been against the idea. They’d liked the fact that many people couldn’t stay in Cascade Springs because vacation housing was limited to high-priced bed and breakfasts that dotted the village. They said they wanted to keep it that way to keep trouble out, to make sure there wouldn’t be a drinking problem caused by tourists, and to keep the woods and springs pristine.
Grandma Daisy said in no uncertain terms that they were being elitist and that she wasn’t going to stand for it. It was a tense few weeks, but in the end, Grandma Daisy prevailed. The camping licenses and the cabin rentals became a major fundraiser for the village hall project.
As I grew closer to the campground, the snow-covered dirt path changed to a snow-covered gravel path. I couldn’t see the division between dirt and gravel because of the snow, but I felt it under the soles of my boots.
I could see all four cabins from where I stood. During the summer, because of leaf cover and vegetation, I wouldn’t have been able to see the cabins nestled in the trees so easily.
Now, the question was about which cabin Imogene was using. They were all one-room log cabins and looked like they could have been made by Thoreau himself.
“Are you here looking for me?”
I spun around. “Fenimore! What are you doing here?”
My father stood in the snowy parking lot with his guitar gig bag slung over his arm. His beard was grayer than it was when I’d seen him last summer, and he wore an oversized stocking cap that covered most of his thin ponytail. He wore a flannel-lined denim coat over his usual patchwork jeans. For the last couple of years since he’d revealed to me that he was my father, he spent summer in the Niagara region—mostly in Cascade Springs because it was a popular tourist trap and the tips were good from people touring the wineries.
“I thought that you didn’t want to talk to me after you saw me at the wedding,” he said. “You looked so upset.”
I had been startled at the beginning of the ceremony because I’d spotted Roma, but he was right, I had been taken aback when I saw him there as well. The truth was, I had never expected him to come.
He lowered his eyes. “After I saw your reaction, I didn’t bother to go to the reception.”
My heart ached that he had felt like he was unwanted. Now that he mentioned it, I hadn’t seen him at the reception. I had been so preoccupied with Roma’s death that I hadn’t realized it at the time. It was more proof of how distant I was from my own father that I didn’t even notice his absence at my own wedding reception.
“Are you here looking for me?” he asked again.
“I…” I trailed off.
“Because that does my heart good to think that you were. I was afraid that, after how you reacted at the wedding, you never wanted to see me again. I know I haven’t been a great father to you.” He shook his head. “That’s wrong. What I really mean to say is I know that I haven’t been a father to you at all.”
I didn’t correct him because what he said was true.
“But I want to make a more of an effort. You being here encourages me to think that you want to make an effort too.”
Again, I didn’t correct him or tell him that I had come to the cabins to look for Imogene. He seemed so happy about it that it seemed cruel to tell him the truth. To be honest, if I had known that I would find him there, I would have come looking for him, if for no other reason than sheer curiosity to find out what he was doing in my village in the middle of winter.
A thought struck me. “Fenimore, are you living in one of these cabins right now?”
His face turned bright red. “Just through the end of the year, and then I will be on my way south. I have to work some odd jobs and save up some cash to make bus fare. There’s not much need for a troubadour in the middle of the winter like this. I’ve been going to Niagara Falls when I can to play around there where the tips are better.”
“You came back for my wedding,” I said softly.
His face flushed red. “I got one of the messages that Daisy had left about the wedding for me three days ago. I was in Texas, close to El Paso actually. It was a long journey, and I spent every cent that I had to make it up here in time. I—I wanted to see my only child on her wedding day. I didn’t think about it. I just came.” He swallowed hard as if he were choking up.
I searched his face. Was he going to cry? I had never seen him cry before, not even when he spoke of my mother, whom he still claimed he loved.
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t even known that he ever thought of me when he wasn’t in Cascade Springs for the summer tourist season.
“I’m sorry if my reaction scared you away. It wasn’t my intention. I was just so surprised. A large part of me thought that you wouldn’t come. I asked Grandma Daisy several times if you’d planned to be there. Every time she said that she hadn’t heard from you.”
“You wanted me there?”
“I think every child wants their parents at their wedding. You’re the only parent I have left.” I looked into his dark eyes. “Yes, I wanted you there. Mom couldn’t be there.” I closed my eyes for a moment. I had been so caught up in Roma’s death and the missing book that I hadn’t allowed myself to grieve the fact that my mother hadn’t been at my wedding. It suddenly washed over me as an acute and piercing pain.
When I was in college and graduate school, and friends and classmates were planning their weddings, I remembered so many of them complaining about their mothers vetoing decisions and generally trying to micromanage their ceremonies and receptions. I could understand how that would be frustrating. At the same time, I used to want to tell them that they didn’t know how lucky they were to have their mothers there. But I never did. It was not their fault that their mothers were alive and mine was dead.
I licked my cold dry lips. “I’m glad that you came. I’m sorry there wasn’t time to speak before the wedding. I think if I had been a bit more prepared for you being there, I wouldn’t have reacted in that way. I am sorry if it upset you. I just was so surprised.”
His shifted the strap of his gig bag on his arm. “I should have expected you to be surprised. That was my mistake. I just wanted to get here in time for the wedding I didn’t think of anything else.” He paused. “And I did try to talk to you before the wedding.”
I stared at him. “When?”
His face flushed bright red. “Ummm…”
My mouth fell open. “You were the one in the woods banging on the trees early in the morning.”
His Adam’s apple bounced up and down.
“What were you doing there? Looking for me?” I squeaked.
“No, no, I wasn’t. I didn’t know you were there until I saw you.”
I took a step back from him. “Then what were you doing there, and why were you hitting the tree?”
He tugged on the side of his stocking cap until it covered one of his eyes, making him look like a hippie pirate. He pushed the hat back above his hairline. “I was spooked. I thought I had seen a bear in the woods, and I was trying to scare it off. It wasn’t until after I had made all that noise that I saw it was just a buck. However, I was glad to scare that away too. Deer can be dangerous.”
His story was plausible, but I wasn’t sure that I completely believed him. Fenimore had a history of stretching the truth when it worked in his favor. It had taught me to be leery of his stories.
“Okay,” I said. “But why were you there that morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was nervous about the wedding, about seeing you.” He swallowed. “And about how you would react. I thought a walk in the woods would be the best remedy for all of that. Imagine my shock when I saw you on the path. It almost frightened me more than thinking there was a bear there in the woods.” He cocked his head. “I saw you and just thought it was so odd that you would be walking in the woods that early on your wedding day. What were you doing out there?”
“When did you see me?” I rocked forward onto the balls of my feet as if I was getting ready to run away from this conversation. It was tempting to flee. That had been my modus operandi when dealing with Fenimore in the past.
“When you were walking back down the path on the way to Charming Books,” he said.
That meant he hadn’t seen me collect water from the springs.
I certainly wasn’t going tell him I was getting mystical spring water for my magical birch tree so I could receive literary clues from the shop’s essence. I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Why did you chase me?” I asked.
“I wanted to talk to you, but you ran away so fast,” he said. “So I just followed you.”
“You could have called my name out,” I said. “You could have told me who you were. You scared me to death.”
“I—I guess I was afraid. When I saw you run, I thought that you knew it was me and you were running away from me because you didn’t want to see me. Then when I saw you at the wedding and you had that scared and shocked look on your face, I thought I was right. I thought I made a mistake coming here for your wedding after all.”
“How would I have known that it was you? You were so bundled up that I couldn’t possibly see your face. And it was dark. “
“I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”
I made no comment on that statement. “Honestly, I’m still not happy that you chased me out of the woods like that, but I’m relieved to learned it was you and not…”
“And not what?” he asked.
“And not a murderer,” I said.
“Is that a reference to the woman who was killed back by the river?”
“Her death was ruled an accident.” I studied my father’s face. “Do you question that? Is there something you know that you’re not saying? Because if there is, you need to tell my husband.”
Fenimore frowned. I knew that he didn’t have a liking for the police. He had spent too much of his life living on the fringes of society to completely trust law enforcement.
“If you won’t tell the police, you need to tell me.”
He glanced at the cabins. “I’ll just say I’m not the only one living in these cabins.”
“You mean Imogene. I know that she’s living in one of these cabins too.”
“Well, that woman who died had been here. She and Imogene were friends, or so I thought.”
“She was living here?”
He shook his head. “No. But she was here. That’s all that I will say about it.” He took a breath. “When I raise my bus fare, I will be out of your hair. Come summer though, I do want to try again. I want to try to mend things between us, if not as father and daughter, then as friends.”
“I’d like to try that too,” I said quietly.
I watched as he shuffled away. His gig bag tapped a gentle rhythm on his back as he walked. I wished things could be different between Fenimore and me, and maybe they could, someday. At the moment, we were both too hurt by the past. But my heart lightened a little to know that he had come back to Cascade Springs to see me get married. I think that was truly the first ray of hope that I had ever had that someday we’d have a real father-daughter relationship. And maybe someday I would even have the nerve to call him “Dad.”
Time was running out. I had spent too long talking to Fenimore and I needed to get back to the shop, which meant I needed to make up my mind as to which cabin to start with. I was just about to head to the one closest to me when I heard a “Meow!”
I spun around and saw Emerson sitting as sweet as can be on one of the footpaths leading to the cabin to my far right.
He meowed again and then began licking his paw.
“Emerson, what are you doing out here? It’s the middle of winter. You’re supposed to be napping at the shop. That’s what a normal cat would do when there is snow on the ground.”
Emerson paused his grooming and looked at the paw he held up as if he was seriously considering what I had said. Then, he turned and began walking toward the far cabin.
When I didn’t follow him, he peered over his shoulder and meowed a third time.
I looked heavenward to gather myself, and then I followed the cat.
Emerson sat in front of the cabin door and batted it with his paw.
“Okay, okay,” I muttered. “I get your point. She’s staying in this one, Great All-Knowing Cat.”
Emerson rubbed my legs and began to purr. Clearly, he approved of this new title.
Each cabin in the wood had a hand-carved sign on the door with its name inscribed. This one read “Holly.” It was hard for me to believe the Imogene had picked it because of its Christmasy name. Perhaps it was just the most comfortable cabin of the lot.
I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I knocked a second time, a bit harder. Still nothing.
I looked down to consult Emerson on this matter, but he was gone.
“This disappearing cat game is super old,” I grumbled.
There was a muffled meow in response. Where on earth had he gone in such a short period of time?
A tap, tap, tap rapped on the window to the left.
I jumped and then looked through the window. My cat was on the windowsill on the inside. Of course he was.
I shook my finger at him. “You’re in so much trouble. Someday I’m going to figure out how you do that all the time, and it won’t be as fun for you anymore.”
He yawned, showing all his little pointy teeth. Clearly, I was boring him. Maybe that was why he was always running off and getting into trouble because he found Charming Books too boring. If he didn’t like being the shop cat of a magical bookshop, he would have hated being a regular housecat.
I went back to the door and tried the doorknob, which opened easily. Oh, I should have tried that first.
There was a single light bulb hanging overhead, and I pulled the chain. I gawked at what I found. It was like a serial killer’s layout to take out Henry David Thoreau. However, instead of plans to kill the already dead author, it was plans to prove Imogene’s relationship to him.
An elaborate family tree was thumbtacked to the cabin wall. On the kitchen table were dozens of photocopies of what looked like letters written by and to Thoreau. A magnifying glass lay on the table next to an empty white teacup.
There was evidence that the tea was recent. An electric teapot on the counter was unplugged from the wall but still warm. Imogene had been here not too long ago.
Henry David Thoreau would not have had electricity in his cabin in the woods, so I was a bit surprised to see that Imogene was using this modern convenience when it wasn’t exactly historically accurate. However, I reminded myself she was trying to prove that she was related to Henry David, not be him.
Emerson walked around my feet.
“We shouldn’t be here. This is an intrusion.”
He meowed at me. I didn’t know if his response was in protest or agreement. I knew I had to leave. I didn’t want Imogene to catch me here. It was too private. That being said, I wasn’t above slipping out my cell phone from my pocket and taking photographs of the family tree on the wall and the letters on the table.
Before I left the cabin, I squinted at the family tree one more time. It began with Thoreau’s grandparents, then moved to his parents, and then down to Thoreau and his three siblings—one brother and two sisters. Next to Henry David, there was a line that indicated a relationship. The line led to a woman’s name: “Elsey Hampshire.”
There was a small note written in tight print next to the woman’s name. “Local farmer’s daughter near Walden Pond.” I rocked back on my heels. So this was her theory. She believed that Thoreau had had an affair at Walden Pond. It would have been a scandal—one that would have ruined Elsey for certain. However, it might have ruined Henry David too. For all of his talk about doing good and upholding virtues, an affair would not have reflected well on him.
Then, another line went from Elsey to a man named Devon Crumpet. This was the man that Elsey had married. They’d had a son, Maxwell Crumpet. There was another note next to Maxwell’s name. “H.D.’s son. Passed off as Devon’s son.”
“What are you doing?” a scratchy voice asked.
I spun around to see a red-faced Imogene Thoreau standing in the cabin doorway.