Echos of the past

Chapter 20

Isla awoke to a soft, muffled silence that wrapped around the cabin like a blanket. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she sat up in bed and peered through the frosted windowpane. The world outside was transformed, a pristine landscape of white stretching as far as the eye could see. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, swirling in gentle arcs before settling onto the already thickening blanket of snow.

Pushing back her warm quilt, Isla swung her legs out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor. She shivered slightly, the chill of the cabin seeping into her bones despite the crackling fire in the hearth. Quickly pulling on her thick woolen socks and sweater, she hurried to the window to take in the winter wonderland that had unfolded overnight.

"Henry!" Isla called out excitedly, her breath misting the glass. "It's snowing!"

Henry emerged from his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His face broke into a soft smile at Isla's enthusiasm. "Looks like winter came early this year," he remarked, stepping up beside her to gaze out at the snow-covered landscape.

"It's beautiful," Isla breathed, her eyes alight with wonder.

Henry nodded in agreement. "It is," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "But it also means we have some extra chores to do today."

Isla turned to him, curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

Henry chuckled softly. "First things first, we need to make sure the chickens have plenty of food and water. The snow can make it difficult for them to find their own."

Understanding dawned on Isla's face. "Right. Let's get started then."

They bundled up in their warmest coats, scarves, and gloves before venturing outside into the crisp morning air. Isla's boots sank into the soft, powdery snow with each step, leaving behind deep impressions as they made their way to the chicken coop.

Inside, the chickens clucked and fluttered about, their feathers ruffling against the cold. Isla quickly set to work refilling their feeders and water troughs while Henry inspected the coop for any signs of draftiness.

As Isla reached for a sack of feed, a sudden commotion erupted in the coop. One of the chickens—a particularly feisty brown hen named Daisy—squawked loudly and flapped her wings, making a break for freedom through the open door.

"Oh no!" Isla exclaimed, dropping the sack and lunging after the fleeing chicken.

Henry moved swiftly, blocking the coop's doorway to prevent Daisy from escaping into the snowy yard. "Isla, grab her!" he called out, his voice a mix of amusement and urgency.

Isla dashed forward, her boots slipping on the icy floor as she lunged for the elusive hen. Daisy squawked indignantly, darting this way and that in a flurry of feathers and beady eyes. Isla managed to corner her against a wooden crate, arms outstretched in a futile attempt to catch her.

Henry chuckled from the doorway, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he watched Isla and Daisy engage in their impromptu game of chicken and human. "Careful, Isla," he teased. "Don't let her outsmart you."

Isla shot him a mock glare, her cheeks flushed with exertion and laughter. "Easy for you to say!" she retorted, lunging again as Daisy made a break for it.

After a few more comical attempts, Isla finally managed to scoop up the wayward hen, cradling her securely against her chest. "Gotcha!" she exclaimed triumphantly, her breath misting in the cold air.

Henry grinned, stepping forward to help Isla secure Daisy back inside the coop. As they approached the doorway, Daisy squawked once more, flapping her wings indignantly as Isla carefully placed her back among the other chickens.

"There you go, Daisy," Isla murmured soothingly, stroking the hen's feathers gently. "No more escaping for you."

With the chickens tended to and safely back in their coop, Isla and Henry turned to head back toward the warmth of the cabin. As they trudged through the deepening snow, Isla couldn't help but laugh at the sight of them both—Henry with snowflakes caught in his beard and Isla with her boots caked in snow.

"We make quite the pair, don't we?" Isla remarked with a grin, brushing snow from her hair.

Henry chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Indeed we do, Isla. Indeed we do."

Arm in arm, they made their way back to the cabin, leaving behind a trail of footprints in the pristine snow—a testament to their morning adventure and the enduring bond that continued to grow between them with each passing day.

As they sat around the crackling fire, the warmth from the wood stove enveloping them, Henry continued to weave tales of winters past, his eyes alight with reminiscence.

"Michael and Sarah," Henry began, his voice softening with affection as he spoke of his children. "They were quite the pair. Michael, always the protector, and Sarah, full of curiosity and laughter."

Isla leaned forward, her mug of cocoa cradled in her hands, eager to hear more about Henry's family. The cabin seemed to hold its breath, as if the very walls were listening to these cherished memories.

"One winter," Henry continued, his gaze drifting into the dancing flames, "Michael decided he was going to build the tallest snowman Birchwood had ever seen. He recruited Sarah as his assistant, and together they rolled snowballs across the yard, piling them one on top of the other."

Isla chuckled softly, imagining the scene unfolding in Henry's words. "How tall did they manage to build it?"

Henry grinned, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Tall enough that I had to stand on a ladder to put the carrot nose on," he chuckled. "They were so proud of that snowman, decorating it with scarves and hats from our winter closet."

"They must have had a lot of fun," Isla remarked, picturing the joy on Michael and Sarah's faces as they worked together.

"They did," Henry agreed warmly. "And they weren't afraid of a little mischief either. One winter, Sarah convinced Michael to help her build an igloo out by the pond. They spent days packing snow and shaping it into walls, and every night they'd light candles inside and pretend it was their secret hideout."

Isla smiled, the image of the siblings huddled inside their icy fortress warming her heart. "It sounds magical."

"It was," Henry agreed softly. "They made the most of every winter, finding joy in the simplest of things. And even on the coldest days, they'd come bursting through the door, rosy-cheeked and laughing, eager for hot cocoa and tales by the fire."

Isla took a sip of her cocoa, the rich chocolate warming her from the inside out. "Do you miss those days?" she asked softly, sensing the tender ache in Henry's voice.

"Every day," Henry admitted, his gaze distant for a moment. "But I hold onto those memories like treasures. They remind me of what's important, even when life gets tough."

Silence settled between them, the crackle of the fire and the soft patter of snow against the windowpane filling the cabin with a peaceful rhythm. Isla felt a deep gratitude for these moments with Henry, sharing stories that painted a vivid picture of his life before Birchwood.

After a while, Henry turned his gaze back to Isla, his eyes warm with affection. "You know, Isla," he began gently, "life has a way of weaving its own stories. Birchwood may be a new chapter for you, but the memories you make here—they'll shape who you become."

Isla met his gaze, touched by his wisdom. "Thank you, Henry," she murmured sincerely, feeling a sense of belonging she had never known before coming to Birchwood.

"And speaking of stories," Henry continued, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "I haven't told you about the time Michael tried to teach Sarah how to ski down the hill behind the cabin. Let's just say it involved a lot of snow angels and laughter."

Isla laughed, the sound filling the cabin with warmth. "You'll have to tell me that story too," she teased, feeling lighter and more at ease than she had in a long time.

And so they sat by the fire, Henry spinning tales of childhood antics and snowy adventures while Isla listened with rapt attention, grateful for the warmth of the fire, the comfort of Henry's company, and the sense of family she had found in this remote corner of the world. As the snow continued to fall outside, Isla realized that in Henry's stories and in Birchwood itself, she had discovered not just a sanctuary but a home—a place where memories were made, stories were shared, and hearts were warmed against the winter's chill.