Free The Northwoods Chronicles by Elizabeth Engstrom Page B

other
parties will check out today. That’s all for another week.”
    “We lucked out, honey,” Cook said, and gave her
shoulder a squeeze. “We just saw your sign on the highway.”
    “Things work out the way they’re supposed to,”
Mrs. Atkisson said. “Always.”
    Missie put her arm around Cook’s waist. “Did
Cook tell you we’re on our honeymoon?”
    “No!” That smile again. Mrs. Atkisson had a
beautiful smile, and with it came a twinkle to the eye.
“Congratulations. The cabin on the lake is very private, and very
romantic. I think you’ll enjoy yourselves.” She laughed. “Of course
you’ll enjoy yourselves. We’ve got boats. Row her across the lake
some evening, Cook. Just because she married you doesn’t mean you
can stop romancing her.”
    Missie liked this woman. She might come up and
spend some time with her. Have a cup of tea. Get to know her a
little bit.
    Missie walked down to the cabin with the key
while Cook brought the car around. There were cobwebs on the
doorframe, that’s for sure, with old leaves and dead mayflies
caught in them. She fitted the key and the deadbolt turned back
smoothly.
    The door opened into the epitome of an old,
backwoods cabin. Missie felt as though she had stepped back into
time. It was built of whole logs, as was the lodge, and filled with
antiques, but there was no new Formica here. The carpeting was old,
the framed prints on the walls were faded, the couch had definitely
seen better days. Missie felt as though she knew about the hard
times Mrs. Atkisson had gone through, just by looking at the
interior of this cabin, and when contrasted with the remodeled
loveliness of the lodge, she felt as though she knew about Mrs.
Atkisson’s hard-won prosperity as well.
    This cabin was exactly the type of atmosphere
she had hoped for. It was old, but it had charm. Character.
Ambiance.
    “Wow, look at this place,” Cook said as he
banged through the screen door with two suitcases.
    “Isn’t it great?”
    He dropped the bags and went right to the front
window that opened out onto a perfect, unobstructed view of the
lake at sunset. “Let’s move in here for good.”
    Missie wrapped her arms around his waist from
behind. “Okay,” she said. “Mrs. Atkisson could probably use the
company. And the help. But first, let’s unpack and make a
fire.”
    Cook turned and gave her one of those hugs that
cracked her back and lifted her an inch off her feet. She loved it
when he did that. Then he was back into the car for the rest of
their stuff and the cooler.
    After Missie hung their clothes in the tiny
closet upon hangers she had to untangle, and put their underwear in
the magnificent old dressers, and unpacked their travel kits in the
bathroom that was obviously an add-on, and not very well done, she
popped the thawing pizza in the gas oven and came into the living
room where Cook had lit the candles they’d brought and had a fire
blazing. He was drinking a glass of white wine, sitting on a couch
cushion that he’d pulled to the floor. Her glass rested on the
mantel.
    She knelt behind him and rubbed the back of his
neck. “Good driving today,” she said.
    “Good navigating,” he responded. “God, that
feels good.”
    “Pizza in twenty minutes.”
    “Hmmm . . . time for. . . .”
    “No,” she said. “Twenty minutes, Cook. I need
more time than that. I want more time than that. It’s my honeymoon.
I get more time than that.”
    He laughed, his teeth flashing, his dark hair
sparkling in the firelight. Fire looks good on him, Missie thought.
Everything looks good on him. She snaked around into his lap and
they sat together, happily silent, watching the flames.
    “Wife,” he whispered into her hair, the concept
new to both of them. She nodded. It was good.
    They ate the pizza and drank the whole bottle of
wine sitting in front of the fire, listening to the loons call to
each other from across the lake, and rehashed all the funny things
that happened at the