A mute, foundling girl hides from her pursuers with the help of a reluctant recluse. The two of them have nothing in common except deep emotional scars. Who is she? How did she end up unconscious and scantily clothed on Evan's isolated property? Why...
The weather in the Pennsylvania mountains could be brutally cold and damp in mid-November. Wearing only an insubstantial wedding dress and no footwear, the girl had been fortunate I found her. In the plummeting temperature after sundown, she could've died of hypothermia.
When we arrived at the cabin, I dismounted and helped her climb off.
The girl's nostrils flared as she breathed deep, seeming to enjoy the scent of the evergreen trees. She took in the surroundings, the rustic structure hidden deep within the mountainside forest. Her body visibly relaxed, and the tension drained from her posture. Whatever trouble she had encountered earlier, the girl now seemed to feel safe. She held her arms out at her side and twirled around.
I watched her little dance, enchanted by her movement. She acted as if she had just been released from a long prison sentence.
"C'mon, let's get you inside."
The girl followed me through the front door – the cabin's only door – which led directly into a modest living room. A wood stove, my only source of heat, sat dormant against an exterior wall alongside a stack of firewood.
The shabby nature of my abode embarrassed me. Surely, a young lady with her looks and obvious class had to be used to cleaner, more comfortable accommodations.
She glanced all around the cabin and, as if approving, she gifted me with a heart-stopping smile.
It took me a moment to snap out of my thrall. "Um...I need to set you up with some clothing more substantial than what you're wearing. Unfortunately, everything I own is going to be too big for you, but I have belts and suspenders—"
I stopped talking as she shrugged out of my coat. She pulled a denim shirt off a wall peg and put it on over her thin wedding dress. The sleeves were too long, but she made quick work of rolling them up.
"Good thing I just washed that shirt. I wear it on cold mornings when I chop wood for the stove, and it can smell a bit gamey after a while."
She didn't react to my attempt at humor.
"I'll fetch some socks for your feet and let you borrow my slippers." I left her to go root around in the bedroom. On my return, I found her balling up old newspapers preparing a fire for the woodstove. I watched in fascination as she added twigs and then larger kindling.
Although she looked like a pampered princess, she was no stranger to manual labor.
When she turned to face me, I held out the socks and slippers.
She took them, slipped them on, and brought both her palms together in a thank you gesture.
"You're welcome."
My silent stranger sat on the sofa, and I could feel her eyes watching my back as I took over to finish building the fire. I lit the kindling and waited a few minutes. Satisfied it had caught, I closed the cast iron stove door.
I turned and faced my pretty guest. "I have a leftover ham and bean stew in the refrigerator. Will that be okay for you?" I hoped she wasn't vegan or a fussy eater.
She nodded, signaling she was okay with what I had to offer.
"Before we eat..." I pulled a notepad and pen from an end table drawer. My sofa was the only furniture for sitting in the living room. I joined her leaving plenty of space between us, not wanting to frighten her. I handed her the tablet and pen. "I assume you can read and write. I already told you I'm Evan. What's your name?"
She wrote something and turned the pad around to show me. In neat, feminine cursive, she had written: Sophia, I go by Sophie.
"Pleased to meet you, Sophie." After a few seconds of silence, I continued, "What happened to you? Why did I find you at the side of that old logging road?"
She held a hand to her stomach and made a face.
"I don't understand?"
She rubbed her belly and pointed to the kitchen.
"You want to eat first?"
She nodded.
"I'll put the stew on the stove. While it's heating up, who should I contact to come and get you? Your husband? Your family?"
She pursed her lips and shook her head.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
She wrote on the pad: No family. No husband.
What was I to make of that? She had to be lying, but why? "Look, you'll need to confide in me if I'm to help you."
Sophie fixed her gaze on the floor and began to tremble. She hugged herself. The poor girl was too terrified to reveal her secrets. "Right. You can tell me later. I'll get supper started straight away."
She gripped my wrist before I could stand and shook her head. She pointed to herself, then at the kitchen.
"You want to help?"
She nodded.
"No, Sophie, I think it best if you took some time to relax and pull yourself together."
Again, she looked at the floor.
"Don't worry. You're not putting me through any bother. If you weren't here, I'd still have to warm up that stew for myself."
When all was ready, we sat at the little table in my kitchen. The only other rooms in my small cabin were the bedroom and bathroom. The place was just big enough for me, but having a guest made it feel cramped.
Before picking up her spoon, Sophie bowed her head and folded her hands together on the tabletop. I realized she was saying a prayer, something I hadn't done since the death of my brother.
My imagination recalled the cliché and conjured how Sophie might actually be an angel fallen from heaven. Was she now thanking God for a safe landing?
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There's nothing supernatural about this story, so any guesses as to how Sophie ended up appearing out of nowhere?
