Sadie’s Star - Chapter One

Chapter One

A flash of lightning illuminates the night sky, casting an eerie glow on the murky road ahead. Heavy rain-drops slam against the windshield as the glare from the headlights weave into misty swirls. My fingers curl tighter around the wheel in response to the abrupt bumps along the road. Perhaps what I’m driving on though shouldn’t be called a road but more like a flooded dirt path to the unknown.

A scream rings out as another flash of lightning strikes nearby, sending a rippling jolt through my body

“What’s happening?” Mom mumbles.

How she slept this long is beyond me. It’s not the first time I’ve screamed during this storm. Straining to see the shaking navigator on the dashboard, she pulls herself upright on the seat.

“Here, let me drive. You need a break.” She runs a hand through her short, tangled blonde hair and squints into the darkness.

I needed a break hours ago, but we’re almost there now. I want to see it to the end. This is my journey, and I need to finish it. It wasn’t really an offer anyway, and we both know it.

“I’ve got it. Just keep an eye out for the turn. It doesn’t look like anyone around here thinks signs are important,” I grumble.

Rippling with tension, I roll my head from side to side to loosen my neck and shoulder muscles. The muscles cling together in a desperate attempt to survive. I really can’t blame them, so I focus on my breathing instead. The months of counseling taught me to observe my chest rising and falling with measured control. One, two, three...

Thunder rumbles across the sky, and I catch the navigator before it falls with its blinking screen alerting us of the upcoming road. Squinting to see anything in the dense, wooded darkness, I slow to a near crawl. Another bolt of lightning flashes, illuminating a faded green street sign.

Redwood Lane.

It stands out like a beacon navigating a lost ship. Gently steering down the lane, I notice my heartbeat finally begin to steady itself. The irregular beats regain their rhythm, and my thoughts wander once more into the darkness.

It was raining that day too. Big drops drenched the ground, and my clothing clung to my body as I ran as fast as I could. Beads of sweat settled on my chileld skin and goosebumps prickled the hairs of my neck. The fear and panic were suffocating as my lungs battled for air. It feels like years ago and yesterday all at once. No longer does the memory send me into a spiral of nerves but rather to a deadened state where everything feels numb.

I jump at the blaring horn of the truck behind us. Through the fading memory I see the familiar worry lines creased on Mom’s face.

Stay strong.

I press the accelerator. A dense darkness settles around us. The moon and stars hide behind the rumbling clouds. They’re lucky. If only I could hide within the darkness too.

But if I did, would I ever be able to see light again?

***

The raindrops slow to a soft drizzle as we finally pull into the muddy driveway. The only sign of life is a faint light shining through the half-moon window of the rustic log cabin. Dark brown wood logs alternate with logs a shade lighter, giving it a smooth and dimensional appearance. A large front porch wraps around the sides to the back, hidden in the darkness. Two large flower beds filled with weeds flank the sides of the stone walkway.

“We’re home,” Mom says, holding the silver key up like a trophy.

This is our new home. “A new life,” Mom promised. It’s hard to think of this place as home since I’ve only ever lived in one place my whole life. And that place was my whole life. It was where I belonged until…I didn’t anymore.

The light beckons us in, but it’s hard to find the strength to get out of the Jeep. We saw pictures of the cabin before coming here but seeing it in person feels so different—familiar yet detached, like an empty, filtered photo from a social media page.

When Mom accepted the new veterinarian position at the Redwood Hills Biological Research Station, I thought it was a way to get me away from everything. The timing seemed almost too perfect. And then when they offered her this cabin to live in, everything was settled within a day. She never asked me if I wanted to leave, but just started packing our things in boxes.

“We’re going to start a new life in Redwood Hills, California,” she said that evening, with an unconvincing smile wobbling on her face. I quietly taped the boxes with displaced hostility as a single question reverberated in my mind: How could California ever be better than our home in Great Bear?

I grew up on a biological research base in the Great Bear Rainforest in British Columbia, where the green trees seemed endless, and the bubbling streams were the soundtrack to my life. Why would anyone want to leave?

I remind myself that we did leave, and the memories make it unbearable to stay.

“Come on!” Mom calls, bringing me back to the present.

She wiggles the key in the lock before the door slowly creaks open. A large brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, emitting the golden glow we saw from the Jeep. There is an openness I didn’t expect from the photos. The planked ceiling arches toward the center, highlighting a twisted staircase. A skylight above the curved stairway allows moonlight to shine down into the living room. A quick glance is all I need to know that the stars will be visible on a clear night.

“So glad I had our furniture moved in ahead of time. It already feels like home.” Mom looks around in awe. “Sadie, it’s just perfect.”

I wouldn’t call our faded brown leather couch perfect, but it is a welcome sight after the long drive. The quilted throw pillows aren't scattered from one of mom's recent naps. The cushions are equally spaced on the couch with a precise organization that never existed before. I run my fingers along the familiar patchwork of each pillow and give each a tug, so they relax their stance. I remember carefully picking the color designs and stitching the pillow fabrics one piece at a time. I hold the pillow patterned with dark red, purple, and green. Corduroy is one of the tougher materials to sew, and I almost gave up but loved the texture too much. I’m so glad I stuck it out.

The cream area rug is still as worn as ever, but now it lies in front of the most intricate stone fireplace I’ve ever seen. Its faded stones reach all the way to the arched ceiling. The stones are molded together in much the same way as the pillows, each one connected to the other, building a foundation for something lasting. I imagine someone building it, stone by stone, with each stone serving its own purpose. The precision and care it must have taken to build is evident in each stone’s placement. The smoothness surprises me as I slide my hand over them like I used to with the river rocks at home.

“Isn’t this cabin adorable, Sadie? Look at the cathedral ceiling and the crown molding…” Mom’s voice breaks into my thoughts, but something else grabs my attention.

Our boxes lay waiting for us in the corner. We don’t have many belongings, but what we couldn’t fit into the Jeep, we sent ahead with the furniture. It looks like they survived the trip. Maybe there’s still hope for us too.

***

“I’m going to bed,” I say about an hour later. My eyes are heavy from the day. “I’ll finish tomorrow.”

“Sure, goodnight love.” Mom kisses my cheek before delving back into the boxes. At least her nap during the drive helped someone.

I carry one of my remaining boxes up the wooden stairs to my loft bedroom. Each step creaks in its unique melody under the pressure. I remember the layout from the photos and make my way easily into the loft while Mom continues to move about downstairs.

I stop for a moment and take in the room before me. Slanted edges run from the ceiling to the center of the soft white walls, creating a cozy nook. The walls are like a blank canvas, and I envision varying shades of green, yellow, and red mingling on each partition.

Two large open windows are centered on the back wall, looking out into the surrounding woods. Their pine shutters are unlatched, allowing a crisp breeze to flow through the room. The fresh, natural scent of rain and dirt is familiar and comforting. A drop of water falls from the window to a growing puddle on the hardwood floor—a reminder of the storm that just passed.

I turn to the sound of rustling papers and see my cedar loft bed sitting against the wall, the angled ceiling hugging it on each side. A perfect fit. My matching writing desk is tucked comfortably underneath. A small stack of papers sits on the cedar desktop with a note card next to it. The handmade card is crafted from a heavy and weathered cream paper with delicately embedded yellow flower petals and strands of grass. I open the card to reveal a short message written in small, neat script.

Sadie,

Welcome to Redwood Hills! There is no better place to call home. I hope you and your mom feel comfortable with the cabin set up. I’m looking forward to getting to know you. We are all family here!

Warmest regards,

Ms. Maggie

No better place to call home. I used to feel that way about a very different place, but now there is no home for me anymore.

Placing the card back on the desk, I find myself gazing out the small window on the side wall. It’s enclosed in a built-in window seat with a top hatch shutter in the same shade of redwood as the paneling. A small rope hooks to a brass latch on the ceiling. A deep golden yellow cushion covers the seat, with a few down feathers poking out of the canvas fabric. The window is open like the others, but there’s no water. It’s like a sanctuary in the storm.

I glance through the window and spot a soft light flickering through a clump of bent, twisted trees. I can make out the silhouette of another cabin, slightly larger than ours. Smoke billows out of the chimney in spiraling clouds. The light turns off as abruptly as it had come on, and the darkness blankets the trees again. I reach for the shutter latch but decide to leave it open instead. Somehow the fleeting light is a comfort.

I spot my small vanity wedged into the corner nook. Its oval mirror reflects a girl that I don’t recognize anymore. A wave of sickness turns my stomach at the foreign image, and I walk to the center windows for a breath of fresh air. Inhaling the heavy air in gulps, I glimpse the starry sky. The clouds have cleared, and the sky is sparkling with millions of twinkling lights. I close my eyes for a moment, and the sound of the woods comes alive. Bugs chant, and leaves rustle a melody, as a wolf howls in the distance. It’s a soundtrack that I have fallen asleep to my whole life. I press my forehead to the cold glass of the upper window.

Goosebumps prickle my skin, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. My eyes fly open as a dark shadow emerges from the trees. Its human form turns toward me, and my breath catches as I feel its eyes on me. The shape shifts slightly, sending a flash of light into the darkness, like a warning sent straight to me. My heart pounds, and my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. But this time I don’t have the urge to run like I normally do. Instead, I look directly at the shadowed figure for a long moment before it turns and disappears into the woods.

I turn away from the window and flick the light off. The darkness sheltering me from the stranger. Could he be a neighbor? Maybe checking the land for storm damage?

Not in the dark, my mind screams. I close the windows and secure the shutters. Left with a nauseating uneasiness, I climb up onto my bed and curl into a ball under my worn patchwork quilt. The heavy fabric embraces me. Unwilling to open my eyes, I feel myself drifting away.

***

My feet sink into the mud of the riverbank. There’s freedom in the gentle breeze and warmth of the sun’s light streaming through the trees. I dip my bare feet in the chilly water and breathe in the musty scent of the forest, allowing it to nourish the emptiness within me. Sticks snap as a white bear pushes through the brush. The sunlight fades suddenly as a somber cloud covers the sky, and a darkness descends into my bones. I catch the bear’s eye. There’s sadness swirling in the caramel depths. A heavy foreboding overwhelms me. I reach for her, but she is gone.

I awaken damp with sweat. The brightness of the loft assaults my eyes and dots flash like fireworks as my eyes adjust.

I take a deep breath. It was just a dream.

But it felt so real. It was like I was in Great Bear on my favorite riverbank with Angel. My heart squeezes at the thought of my favorite spirit bear.

I need air.

My muscles ache as I climb down the ladder of my bunk. I push the side window all the way up and pause at the sound of the flapping wings of a small bird. As the cool air flows over me, I study the bird as it swoops away and then returns with a few twigs in its thin beak. The beginning of a nest is visible in the alcove at the base of the roof.

A cloud shifts. Sunlight streams through the window and reflects off the buckle of my clothing chest. The chest traveled with the furniture, and it feels like a lifetime ago that I packed it—not the mere week it has been. I run my finger over the clasp. Opening the chest is opening up my past. Am I ready for that?

I groan. As much as I would like to put it off or ignore it, I need to shower and get dressed. I’d rather stay here and take my time unpacking, but Mom asked me to go the clinic with her this morning. And, of course, I promised her that I would. Sometimes I wish there was just one day when I could think only of myself and not worry about what’s best for everyone else.

I know today is not that day though. So, whether I’m ready or not, it’s time. I take another deep breath and push any remaining thoughts of the dream into the back of my mind. I sit next to the chest and slowly lift the lid. A lump forms in my throat. It smells like Great Bear. It’s as if I packed a capsule of air with my clothing because I knew I would need it when I arrived. The familiar slightly mossy scent with just a tint of firewood drifts around me. I inhale deeply, savoring the moment before it’s gone forever.

When I finally open my eyes, dampness threatens my lashes from unshed tears. I take in the collection of dresses lying just as I packed them. I lift the sleeveless white cotton dress from the trunk and run my thumb over the peach roses embroidered around the neckline. The softness feels like home in my hands. I designed it for those carefree summer days—days I fear are only in the past now.

“A white dress won’t last long in the forest,” Dad said once with a shake of his head. But I didn’t care what anyone thought. From the very first moment I saw the fabric at the market, I knew exactly what kind of dress I would make. Each of my dresses has a purpose and reason for the design. Each fits a different part of me, and it’s been a long time since I’ve worn this white dress. The dress represents a part of me that I’m not sure exists anymore.

I hold it up to the sunlight streaming from the open window. It begins to flutter in the breeze. The thin, white cotton swirls around and around until my thoughts are no longer in my loft but back in a place I long for desperately.

“Sadie? It’s time for breakfast.” Mom’s voice rings out, and the stairs creek with each approaching step.

I jump up before Mom can reach the door. “I’ll be down in a minute,” I snap.

The stairs are silent for a moment before the creaking resumes as she descends. When her footsteps subside, I hurry downstairs into the hallway bathroom.

“We need to leave soon. Take a quick one, okay?” Mom calls to me above the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. “Oh, and there are towels in the cabinet next to the sink.”

I yank a fluffy, white towel from the bathroom cabinet and throw it onto the hook by the shower. An oval-shaped window sits next to it, revealing a clear view out into the woods. Closing the blinds with a flick of the cord, I step into the marble-walled shower and turn the water as hot as I can stand. Allowing the hot water to run over me and loosen my muscles, I hope to erase the vision from my mind.

***

At 9 in the morning, we pull into the long gravel driveway of the research center. I twist the last strands of my damp hair into a braid, letting it fall over my shoulder. I barely had enough time after showering to do anything other than to slip on the white sundress and lace up my brown leather hiking boots. When Mom parks the Jeep, I look up and see another log cabin. This one is larger and newer than ours. It blends in with the surrounding trees, like an extension of the forest itself.

A large, white oval sign hangs from the top of the entrance. A twisted rope secures the heavy wood etched in green with a single redwood tree and the words “Redwood Hills Research Center” carved boldly across. Opening the heavy wooden door, we walk into the front lobby as an earthy aroma of mild spice with sweet undertones envelopes us. Wood beams line the ceiling, offering not just strength but a rustic charm.

“Good morning! And how can I help you beautiful ladies this morning?” A woman peeks out from behind a large desk and greets us with a wide grin edged in bright red lipstick. Looking to be in her seventies with short white hair and a plump, round face, she has an unusual energy about her.

“Good morning,” Mom replies cheerfully. “I’m Dr. Samantha Foster. I’m here to meet with Dr. Allen.”

The woman’s eyes light with recognition. “Why yes, of course!” A mischievous glint flashes in her eyes. “Well, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Maggie Cole, the always reliable receptionist and well, main lady around here. If you need anything—anything at all—all you have to do is ask.”

Ms. Maggie smiles so big that smears of red lipstick mark her teeth, creating a somewhat frenzied and feral appearance. Mom looks at Ms. Maggie like she just discovered a new species, while Ms. Maggie continues to smile back at her. I can almost see Mom’s mind trying to categorize her into a genus and species, while mentally recording her characteristics. It’s an odd feeling to find myself having to hold in my laughter. I can’t remember the last time I laughed out loud.

“Well, thank you Ms. Maggie,” Mom finally says. “I do appreciate that, and it is so nice to meet you too. If you could point me in the direction of Dr. Allen that would be wonderful.”

“By golly, I’ll do more than that. I’ll take you to him myself.”

She walks around the desk, limping slightly as she moves. She’s wearing the khaki uniform of the park rangers.

“I’ve been here so long, they’ve gone ahead and given me my own uniform,” she says, winking at me. “This right leg of mine is a bit down for the count though. But no worries about that! No mountain lion is going to take a bite out of me without good ol’ Ms. Maggie fighting back.”

Mom’s mouth hangs agape while I take a step closer to Ms. Maggie.

Ms. Maggie is clearly enjoying every moment. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little heads over this! That mountain lion was going after my darling Fluffy, and nobody messes with my baby. I always protect my own.” She points a manicured finger at us.

“Fluffy?” Mom raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, she’s the cutest thing! Let Mama show you a picture or two.” Ms. Maggie takes Mom’s hand and pulls her back around to her desk, showing her the six framed photos of her little Yorkshire terrier.

“She’s adorable,” I say. “Especially dressed up as a cowgirl.”

“Is this from Halloween?” Mom asks while analyzing the cowgirl photo.

I swear she looks like she’s about to start a new field journal on poor Ms. Maggie. I feel a tug of pity for Ms. Maggie, but that may be unnecessary as she can clearly take care of herself.

“What? No, why would you think that? That’s her county fair outfit. She is quite the looker at the fair! Everyone says so. Funny you picked out that photo though. It was not long after the fair when that lion came for her. Jealous if you ask me—jealousy is the root of all evil,” she says with experience evident in her tone. “We were sitting out having ourselves some afternoon tea that very next day, and I was throwing her little ball for her, like she loves so much, when out of nowhere the mountain lion came darting out of the woods and straight for my Fluffy! I jumped from my seat, running as fast as I could. My little darling was barking and growling at that monstrous cat. Such a brave little girl she is. I got there just in time to stop the beast, but not before she had one good swipe at my ol’ leg here.”

I find that I’m beginning to really like Ms. Maggie.

“Oh, Colin could hardly believe that I fought that lion and won. I told him I have fight in me. He still comes by and checks on me every day. He’s a catch that one.”

“Colin?” I ask.

“Why yes, darling, Colin. He’s the park ranger. Ranger Anderson. Best park ranger we’ve ever had. And handsome too.” Ms. Maggie shoots a pointed look at Mom.

Mom begins to twist the gold wedding band around her finger. I look away, unable to watch the sadness flood her eyes, and notice a stack of stationary paper on her desk. Handmade pressed flowers and grass.

“You’re the one who set up our cabin.”

Ms. Maggie nods and clears her throat. “Why, yes dear. I hope you ladies like it. And if you need help with anything, just let me know. Ranger Anderson and Ronan moved all of the furniture. I just made it a bit…homier.”

“Thank you,” Mom gushes. “That was so kind of you all. It really is a lovely cabin.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say, “and for the note too. You’re stationary is amazing.”

Ms. Maggie studies me for a moment. “So glad you like it. Every girl deserves a nice stationary set.”

Mom flashes me a questioning look, but I quickly turn away.

“Well now, why don’t I take you to see Dr. Allen. And you,” Ms. Maggie says, sending me another wink, “can pick any seat you’d like. I’ll be back before the raccoons come to town.”

They leave through a side door as Ms. Maggie tells a story about raccoons, encouraging Mom’s laughter. Choosing the most inconspicuous seat against the back wall, I slouch down behind the large, green plant towering beside it.

Finally, alone.

I don’t know if Redwood Hills could ever be home, but this place could be more interesting than I thought.