Although it was still very cool outside, it was very comfortable inside the greenhouse and I preferred that for the moment in spite of the rich scent of chicken and goat manure, earth, and compost.

The rustic structure had been roughly cobbled from barn boards and such second-hand lumber as could be found. There didn’t seem to be a single pane of glass that hadn’t been broken, and yet all had been carefully fitted together like a stained glass window. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the muntins in one wall had in fact been worked into the shape of a tree, the clear glass fragments separating the branches. When had I last seen a work of art? I couldn’t remember.

Everything here and in the house spoke volumes about the residents of the cottage: frugality, self-reliance, and ingenuity. Nothing was wasted if it could still be used. How did that relate to me? Suddenly, my heart leaped into my throat.

You told me to find a safe place, Val. Is this it? I whispered to the void. There was no response.