Free Indigo Moon by Gill McKnight

and kindling and a fresh supply of logs were set nearby, ready for a new fire to be built. She wondered that there was no other form of heating in the cabin. It was a very basic home, more like a vacation rental that hadn’t been upgraded for year-round living. The threadbare furniture and fittings, the basic build of the kitchen, told her money was tight in this home.
    Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she wandered to the kitchen hoping Ren might be there, but in her heart she knew she was alone. Her insecurities rose and she had to wrestle them down, losing herself in the routine chore of making breakfast to ignore her misery.
    In a corner of the kitchen an antiquated kerosene heater belted out heat, and Isabelle blessed the small luxury. Ren had left sooty fingerprints all over the countertop from her earlier hearth tending, and Isabelle tutted loudly as she wrung out a dishcloth and quickly wiped the surfaces clean. Job done, she started foraging for breakfast.
    Herbs, plant roots, and stems seemed to be all Ren’s kitchen had to offer. It was not well stocked with food. Isabelle peered into the barren depths of the fridge and begrudgingly settled for a meal of leftover bread and cheese. A strong pot of coffee took the edge off her meager meal. If the roads were impassible there was a good chance they would starve to death, unless Ren had a secret larder somewhere else.
    Isabelle sat at the table and planned her day. She needed to sort out clothing. She couldn’t bear to slob around in this robe any longer. She felt cooped up and wanted to go outside into the fresh air and explore her surroundings.
    She took her breakfast dishes over to the sink, and noticed her teacup from last night on the drainer. She had forgotten she had left it on Ren’s bedroom table after the beastie had peeped through the window. Her cheeks heated. She’d been caught out snooping. Returning to the scene of her crime, she found the room pristine. The clothes were tidied away, the bed made, and the suitcase stowed on top of the armoire. All the shoes were lined up in regimental rows. The room had been restored to its natural order, but she was embarrassed Ren knew she had intruded.
    She showered and carefully inspected her wounds. Her shoulder hurt less and had a bigger range of motion than yesterday. She shrugged and rotated it, flexing and stretching under the stream of hot water. It was improving day by day. When she shampooed the gash on her hairline, the newly formed blood crusts washed away, leaving a thin pink line. She examined it in the mirror and was pleased at her rate of recovery.
    The bruising around her face and body looked fainter. Her older scars drew her attention. She touched the cut on her lip and the bump on the bridge of her nose. Ren had told her she’d been battered. Isabelle traced these old wounds, expecting some emotion to resonate within her—anger, upset, maybe even sorrow. All she felt was shut down and cold. She remembered the bloody dish towel pressed to her mouth and the man’s voice pleading for forgiveness. Was he her phantom husband?
    She stood straighter and looked herself in the eye, hoping for an answer. She could believe she’d come all the way from Portland to avoid an abusive man. Her heart was hard. She could feel it, flinty and sharp-edged in her chest. She’d come to Canada to visit family and be rid of him. Isabelle shook her head at her reflection. She had no idea where she belonged—Bella Coola, Canada, or Portland, America? For the moment, the answers could wait. Today, she felt healthy and invigorated. Her body was vibrant and alive, totally reenergized, as if she were emerging from a cloud of heavy pollution into fresh, open fields. All she needed was for her mind to follow.
    Back in her own room she was pleased to find clothes set out on her bed. They were Ren’s and far too big for her, but they would have to do. The shirt hung off her shoulders, and the jeans fit with the help