CHAPTER THREE
The Cabin
Breathing hard, Ruth found shelter in the thickest part of the forest. Several creatures slowly went toward the platform and began to shine lights on it. The platform was destroyed, and Ruth heard her name being broadcast. She thought she heard something about how ‘that woman’ had tried to kill one of the new creatures without provocation. The most Ruth had ever done was throw a boot at one of the creatures. She realized they wanted her to be the villain. If everyone believed she was the bad guy, they would turn her in.
She knew that she had to find some place to rest and read. She wished she had someone to run toward. The daylight was slowly starting to fade, and she needed to find a spot to hide and read. Deeper and deeper she pushed into the woods. At one point she had stopped, assuming her inky hunters far behind. Whistles nearby spooked her, and she began to run again. She knew that this book somehow contained knowledge far beyond what she could grasp. However, if she studied it for awhile, perhaps the components would align.
As she breathed in heavy gasps, she concentrated on escaping. Scanning the tree line, she saw a shimmering, like a spider web caught in the sunlight. Beyond that shimmering surface looked to be an abandoned cabin. The cabin was in a clearing that had now overgrown. As she touched the spiderweb surface, her balance shifted. She yelped as a tree branch grasped her boot.
In the moments of her fall, she saw the rock coming towards her head. She tried to push her arm out in front to help block the impact, but it was far too late. As her head smashed against the ground, she lost consciousness, the world turning black. The last thing she remembered were whistles nearby and someone stepping on the ground in front of her. She wondered why she was in the woods, as the world faded away.
The first thing Ruth recalled was the smell. Wherever she was, it smelled like a mix of refreshing rain and cut grass. The natural scent combined well with the sounds of birds chirping. The glow against the wooden walls illustrated the knots in the lumber. It was as if the lights were focusing on an art gallery of finely crafted oak planks.
Her head boomed, and she brought her hand up to massage it. When she moved her hand up, she noticed the fabric shift against the top of her hand. It was a rough wool spun blanket of some sort. Whoever had knit this had little skill, as the loops were large and the sheet barely held together. Still, it offered some home-spun kind of comfort to know that someone had used their handiwork to keep her warm. The custom care given to the blanket reminded Ruth of getting a hug from a stranger. Naturally inviting, but out of place.
Against all protest from her skull, Ruth forced her eyes to remain open. Her headache was a necessary pain to endure while she tried to figure out where she was. Staring down at her from across the one room shack was a deer, face stuck in a permanent pose of solace. Ruth closed her eyes again as the next wave of a headache sunk in from the light that poured in. She rubbed her head and groaned, waiting for the waves of pain to lessen. As they lessened, she tried opening her eyes again. She could see a simple stove in one corner, fire embers barely lit inside. She saw the deer head mounted on the wall, staring down at where she was sleeping.
A pile of furs in a chair, ignored until this moment, began to stir and move. Ruth wondered if a ink monster had been stuck underneath them. She then saw a face of a man peeking out from the pile of skins and furs. The man had a long grey beard, unkempt and wiry. When he rose from the chair, she could see that the pile of animal skins and furs were actually the man’s clothing. He rose up and began to walk toward the bed.
“Hit your head,” the man said in a way that mixed growl and parental concern.
To Ruth, it was as if the man wasn’t used to his own voice and was now trying to remember how to use vocal cords. Perhaps she should feel lucky for being able to understand him at all. Still, the words didn’t offer any insight into what had happened.
“Yes... yes I did” Ruth murmured. She wanted to say more, but the blinding pain throbbed again. She was forced to close her eyes and rub fiercely at her temples, in an attempt to quell the protest of her brain.
“Got you some water. Good for a hangover.” said the man's gruff voice.
“Hungover? No, I am not hungover. I haven’t been drinking.” Ruth explained, opening her eyes again to stare at the man.
He scratched his beard, trying to get underneath the hair to reach his skin. A sandpaper sound came out as he found his flesh.
“So, why are you stumblin’ in the woods? You’re not a camp partier?” he asked.
“I am sorry… where am I? And did you give me your name? I am Ruth” she said, holding out her hand. It was a risk, as a throb of pain could come back at any moment and require her to massage her temples.
“I told you that, but you may not have heard. You hit your head, falling onto a rock. Bit of blood. I saw you and shook you, but no response. Wasn’t sure what to do, so here you are.” said the wild looking man. He swept out his hand, showing off the room.
His outstretched hand showing off the entire room made Ruth smile. It was a tiny place to live, but to this man it was everything. It was an expansive world, full of challenges and success stories. To him, this small cabin was a reflection of his life. While that seemed small to Ruth's eyes, life never feels small to those who live it.
She grabbed the glass near the bed and began to drink. The water was fresh and amazingly clean. This man knew about good water, but she didn’t see a kitchen anywhere in the room. Furthermore, it was odd to her that the glass had such beautiful finishes when the room she was in was rough and patched together.
“I am Henry.” said the man, gently taking the now empty cup from her hands. His hands touched hers slightly, and he averted his eyes.
When her hands were empty, Ruth began to flex her fingers. They were stiff, but working just fine. It was at that moment that she realized they were empty. “The book!” she gasped. “Did you see a book?”
“Book? No. What color was it?” Henry said, setting the glass back on the nightstand.
“Brown, with green letters on the binding… I think? Or a green book with brown letters. Maybe?”
“I’ll go look,” Henry said, rising to his feet. “Stay here for now and try to sober up.”
Ruth nodded and lay back down in the bed. Since she wasn’t sure of her surroundings, she decided to pretend she was sleeping. If she needed to dart away quickly again, perhaps the extra element of surprise would help. As the sun came in through a window, it warmed her cheek. Pulling the covers up, she listened for footsteps. Soon, listening for footsteps turned into listening to birds. Shortly after that, the birds had sung Ruth back to sleep.
It was nearly night time when Henry came back.
“Look at this!” he yelled, waking Ruth from a dream about bubbles.
She opened her eyes slightly, snuck a peek, and saw his face flush. He then began to take off his boots quietly, as if being quiet now fixed being loud earlier. Ruth remembered her idea to fake being asleep, to get the element of surprise if needed. She closed her barely open eyes and listened intently. Soon, she heard scraping and began to imagine the worst. What was this man sharpening? She snuck another peek to see him shaving carrots. Her stomach growling gave up the ruse, and she sat up in bed.
“Hello. Did you find the book?” She asked.
“Hello. Yes.” Henry responded.
“Well… can I see it?”
“No,” Henry replied.
“Why not? It’s my book. You have no right to keep it from me.” Ruth said, putting her hands on the bed to rise.
Henry held out a hand and motioned for her to stop. He then pointed around the room. “It’s too dark to read. You’ll hurt your eyes. We’ll chat for a bit, might help you set your life straight.”
Ruth looked around the single room filled with various junk and garbage. If this was setting her life straight, she did not want any part of that philosophy. Still, this man had been nothing but kind to her.
“I wa
sn’t drunk.” she started.
“So, let me guess, you’re proud of your tolerance, is that it?” he responded, continuing to peel carrots into a pot. He then grabbed two potatoes from a nearby sack and started slicing those.
“No, that’s not it.” She protested. Was Henry going to cook for her? When was the last time a man had cooked for her?
“So you weren’t drunk, just a little buzzed, is that it?” He scoffed.
“No. You don’t know me. You just met me.” Ruth responded.
That bit of truth stopped his hands for a moment. He looked over and nodded. “So tell me why you were running in the woods, bumbling around.”
“I was being chased, by those ink blot things after I grabbed… the book...” she said trailing off.
“Okay. Not sure what ink thing you are talking about. I get the grab and run part. Gotta take care of yourself, right?” Henry said as he put out two bowls. The pot full of carrots and potatoes was now starting to bubble.
Ruth looked away and nodded. Her stomach sounded like a creaking wooden chair adjusting to a heavy weight. “I can just go if you want. I don’t have to stay in your home.”
Henry looked her in the eyes and nodded. “After soup,” he said.
Ruth spent the rest of the night talking to Henry. She was worried the soup had some addictive quality, as she requested two refills. Henry just said it was the way he spiced the deer meat in the stew. ‘Pepper and salt’ were the two ingredients he boasted most about. Regardless of being around dead animals, furs, and antlers; Ruth felt comfortable with this man. He reminded her of a brother she never had, but perhaps now wished for. Awkward and shy, yet kind and simple. She admired how much of a home he had been able to make out in the woods.
By the time morning arrived, she had nearly forgotten about the book she had grabbed from the bubble. Henry had one piece of advice to offer before she left. He said it would be more than repayment if she heeded it: make space for others.
She left the cabin worrying that Henry’s life must have been lonely. She vowed to visit him again later and bring him plenty of replacement pepper and salt. She was glad that it had worked out all right. However, she now wanted to find a spot alone to read. She wished she had a secret home, like Henry’s cabin in the woods. She had fled seeking an answer. As she neared the edge of the line of trees, she saw a shimmering in the air. It wasn’t till she walked through the shimmering that she realized she had just stepped out of a giant bubble. She looked back and saw that the woods she had been in were gone. Perhaps visiting Henry again would be harder than she anticipated. She was grateful that the bubble had allowed her to escape and rest. She inhaled deeply and continued forward. She needed to read this book and figure out what was going on in her life.