The words were pouring out of her like milk from a breast; each image and phrase had to be suckled, but was readily there to nourish. Kat's fingers dashed across the keyboard swiftly, having a hard time keeping up. She did not bother to check for errors as she typed; there would be many, editing would come later.
This unabashed flow was a new experience to Kat. It was what she had come out to the cabin to find, and find it she had. In the past month of utter isolation, Kat had spilled out as many, if not more, pages than she had in the 23 years prior. It was refreshing.
As fat snowflakes whipped into a dance outside the frosty window, Kat sipped her cup of tea between pages. For once, she felt the world to be at peace.
The cabin was in the middle of the Sawtooth Wilderness of Idaho. Nothing, no one, existed for many miles around. This gave Kat exactly what she needed: a space free from distractions.
The cozy two-room cabin belonged to the parents of her best friend, Rachel. Eyebrows were raised when the question was posed.
"But, honey, you'll be stuck out there all winter until the roads clear. Don't you think that's dangerous?" Mrs. Freedman had asked.
But the good woman eventually acquiesced. They had once spent a month up there during the winter, and knew if she was smart, no harm would come. The Freedman's had known Kat since she was a toddler; she was nothing if not smart.
Maybe another person would have felt trapped, but not Kat. Her life had been thus spent in the congestion of Chicago; a dull gray place that hustled with empty strangers. She was an extremely sensitive girl, and all that muddled energy felt oppressive to her muse.
In Idaho, Kat felt more alive than ever before. The ring of mountains surrounding her whispered their secrets in the night. The lake, now frozen over, held the steady pulse of life in its watery depths. The pine trees and foxes and deer all bundled up for winter, surviving. Kat would survive, too.
It wasn't as if she had it all that hard. On the contrary, the cabin provided exactly what she needed. The entire set-up was off-the-grid with solar panels and windmills to power the space. A well on site provided water, running water, even hot water. There was a limited amount of sunlight, so Kat had to be very careful with what energy she used, especially on windless days, but for the most part, it made for comfortable living.
The cabin consisted of two rooms and a porch. The bedroom was cozy and painted in rusty reds and orange tones, with indigo accents. The Freedman's "summer bed" was finer than anything Kat had ever slept on. She always dozed soundly on "the cloud" as she thought of it.
The main room was a kitchen/living room combination. The kitchen was small but well designed, with a bar-stooled countertop that overlooked the living room. The living room consisted of a loveseat, a small television that Kat had covered over with a tapestry, and a large kitchen table that Kat had pushed against the wall and turned into a work desk.
She'd turned the back porch into storage; it held the winter's supply of firewood and food.
Ah, freedom! Kat thought as she pounded away at the computer.
Her novel was taking shape and a life of it's own. She had spent the first month developing characters, setting, tone and plot. This morning, she'd sat down to begin the actual story, and the voice of her narrator felt like a comfortable sister.
She had to pause when her tummy started rumbling. She'd forgotten to eat since that bit of cereal she'd had for breakfast. It was well past lunchtime.
Kat got up and rummaged through the enclosed porch. Though the screens had been replaced with windowpanes, no heat got to the space and she shivered through her layers.
There were so many boxes of food that Kat felt like a squirrel. Sighing, she looked for something appetizing, extracted a heat-and-serve box of curried vegetables and rice, and quickly scurried back to the cabin.
Before she could even set the pot of water on the stove, a pounding at the door startled her out of all action. She shook her head. I must be imagining things, she thought, as the pounding came again.
Setting the pot on the flame, she padded over to the door. Maybe the Forest Service, she thought, but why? Undoing the latch, the heavy door swung with a creak.
Outside stood a shivering, blue-lipped man huddled in a heavy navy parka. The hood was pulled so tight over his head that she could not make out his features. "Please," he said, "I need warmth."
Bewildered, Kat let the man in. He stood tall, nearly a foot over her, but it was clear he was not out to harm her. If anyone was in danger, it was him.
She led him to the small fire she kept burning in the wood stove. He was dragging his left leg as he walked. She retrieved a few logs from the porch to make for a brighter flame. He was rubbing his hands vigorously over the fire, the ice crystals began to droop and puddle.
In the kitchen, she made him a cup a tea and he took it gratefully, drinking the near-boiling liquid in fast, thirsty gulps. She had more water on the stove ready for a second cup.
"What happened to you?" she asked as she replaced the tea in his hands.
The man shook his head, "Later," he said. "Do you have anything dry I could change into?"
Kat had brought only a handful of clothes for her stay, isolation not being a fashion show. But still, she had the foresight to pack a handful of thermal shirts, sweatshirts and sweatpants. She rustled out the largest of these items tossed them near the man. "I'll be back in a few," Kat said, giving the man the warmth of the fire to change in front of.
Kat paced inside the bedroom. What was going on here? She would soon have some answers, but she was getting a sinking feeling that she would not like them.
If the situation weren't so awful, she would have laughed. This tall, thick hulk of a guy looked quite silly in her clothes. Her pink sweats barely reached his ankles, and the white thermal looked about ready to burst the seams. He was sitting on the rug now, with his bare feet extended to the fire. His left ankle was badly swollen and looked twisted out of place.
What could she do? She handed him the plate that was supposed to be her dinner. Sighing, she started another pot for her.
Sitting near him on the rug, Kat examined his ankle as he swallowed the food whole. She was no expert, but it looked serious.
When he'd finished the dinner in record time, he set the plate aside, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, "Thank you."
Kat nodded. "Who are you? What happened?"
The man turned to look at her, and for the first time she really saw his face. Color had come back into his cheeks, she could see now that he was an otherwise healthy creature, rather handsome with a strong jaw line, a perfect nose, and pale blue eyes. He wore his blond hair short, but his face was covered in stubble. He could have been 18 or 40, she wasn't sure.
He cleared his throat. "I'm Gabe," he extended his hand. His grip was strong, but his fingers still felt icy.
"Kat," she said.
He nodded. "I was driving back from school," he started, "in Seattle, to visit my folks for Christmas. They live in Santa Fe, so I wanted to enjoy the snow for a while. I rented a snowmobile back in Stanley, early this morning. And I was zooming around, wild and free," he turned his mouth up into a grim smile, "and I flipped over a tree stump, I think. Going too fast."
Kat rubbed her forehead but allowed him to continue. "In the process, I bent my ankle around, and demolished the snowmobile." Kat let out an audible breath. It was exactly what she'd feared.
Gabe continued, his voice blank, "I knew I was already a good deal away from Stanley. I was, luckily, on the top of a hill, and I spotted the smoke from your chimney. And here I am." He shrugged. "What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere?"
Kat gave a half-smile. "I'm writing a book."
"I hope it's not The Shining," he said with a light-hearted grimace.
Kat chuckled. "I think not."
