Page 26 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

Only to be given to Hailey in the event of her taking up residence at True Heart Lodge.

I open it, mystified as to what Mom and Dad could have wanted to tell me. Something about the property, presumably. But what? Inside, I find a single sheet of thick, ivory-colored writing paper. The writing is in my mom's neat, careful script, the blue ink slightly faded by time, but nevertheless perfectly legible:

To our dearest munchkin,

(To be opened only if and when you move into the True Heart Lodge in San Juan County)

If you're reading this, darling girl, then it means you've gone and done it. You've taken the leap. You're on the land, something we had hoped and dreamed about doing ourselves one day if we could. But that was not to be, and we are so very happy that you are doing it instead. That's just as good—perhaps even better. We are both smiling—right now—somewhere out in the stars.

We always knew it would take courage. Not only to go there, but to stay. That land has a spirit. You might already feel it—not in your head, but in your heart, your breath, the way the light falls across the grass at dusk. Some people say the land is cursed. Your Aunt May used to roll her eyes at that—and rightly so. But the truth is, it is marked. Not by any curse, but by memory, by sorrow, by sacrifice. The Ute people knew this before any of us. If you listen—really listen—it will whisper to you. Teach you. Challenge you.

You might feel alone out there. But you're not. We left pieces of ourselves behind—in the soil, in the beams of the cabin, in the stories we never got to tell you. The land is part of your inheritance. Not just legally, but spiritually.

You come from strong stock, Hailey. You're a born traveler, yes, but also a builder. A healer. A keeper of things worth keeping. So if you ever feel lost, or small, or unsure if you're meant to be there—come outside. Sit in the dirt. Swim in the lake. Let your hands touch the trees. Say our names out loud if you want to. We'll be there.

And if—one day—you decide that it isn't your path after all, there's no shame in that. Dreams change. What matters is that you were brave enough to try. We are already proud of you.

Take care of the land, if you can. Let it take care of you, if you'll let it. And remember, when the drumbeat stops and the shadow climbs the third pine—that's where we gave it back to the land.

We love you more than words, always and forever,

Mom and Dad

x

PS: If you want the truth you just need to sleep on it. It's knot hard to find.

I read the letter once, twice, then a third time, but this time more slowly. My brow furrows as I try to make sense of it all. For one thing, it's hard not to shed a tear for my lost mom and dad, as their voices come back to me, hidden for decades in the words of this letter, brought back to life as I read them after all this time.

For another thing, and even though I still don't understand it, I am now fully resolved to stay on this land no matter what anyone else might advise me to do. This is where my parents wanted me to be. It is also the first place since my parents' death where I have truly felt myself. I feel whole here. Nurtured. Protected. Here I am, and here I will stay. For better or for worse. I will remain here at least twelve months and give it my absolute best shot to make it work.

For a final thing, I sense a deepening mystery within my late mother's words. There's something else. Something she is trying to tell me, but not overtly. Covertly. Hidden within the language she is using.

When the drumbeat stops and the shadow climbs the third pine—that's where we gave it back to the land.

There is that same line again, identical in every way to the line in her first letter to me. What does it mean? Again I recall a childish half-dream, half memory of people mingling, of drumming, chanting, of bonfires, of a great shout going up. Of sunlight streaming in through a gap… but that's it. That's all I can remember, though it's a little more than last time. Then there's that weird postscript:If you want the truth you just need to sleep on it.It's knot hard to find. What the hell does that mean? Perhaps if I stay here and don't try too hard, more memories will come back to me in time, and I will be able to solve this puzzle that my parents have set me.

Right now though, there are practical concerns, including the cabin itself. Turns out there's a lot to do.

Whilst the plumbing is in pretty good shape, much of the wiring is faulty and will have to be replaced. An electrician in town says that it might take him a couple of days to get it done. I book him in for as soon as he is next available. Then there's some mold on the north-facing side that needs treatment, and several of the wooden shingles on the roof need replacing. The fridge is ancient and desperately needs replacing, and there's no freezer and no washing machine. The hand basin in the bathroom is cracked, and one of the faucets has a small but annoying leak. The furniture is old, but serviceable and will do for now. Except for the rug by the hearth, which has definitely seen better days. Time for a new one. The windows, of course, need cleaning, but none of the panes are cracked. Everything needs a fresh coat of paint.

That's the cabin. But what about the farm? Where do I even start with that?

After about two days of deliberately not thinking about it, I sit on the veranda and try to organize my thoughts, wondering where I'm supposed to go from here. I need help, but no one is willing to help me. Everyone I've asked has led to a dead end.

Well… almost everyone.

I glance over to the north, to where the much larger lodge belonging to the three men is situated. All is peaceful and quiet in that direction and indeed I haven't seen much of my neighbors lately. Not that I've been on the lookout for them, but in truth Reed is right, it can get a little lonely staying up here by myself. Besides, I have to return their cleaning products at some point, so I can use that as an excuse. An opportunity to ask them for their help with learning how to run my farm.

As much as it rankles, they seem to be my only option, and so to increase the odds of them saying 'yes' I'll cut them some kind of a deal. Now… what sort of a deal would be likely to make them agree? It's Dean I need to impress. He's the leader and the decision maker. Reed has made that clear to me. So… what does Dean want that I've got?

Not much. I sigh and rise, heading back in to grab the bucket full of their cleaning products. Then, I traverse across the fields admiring the great variety of shapes and textures together with the wonderful change in shades of green of the stems and leaves of each plant, contrasting so beautifully with the azure sky. Not a cloud in sight.

Knocking on their front door, my heart rate picks up. I wonder who I'm going to get today.Bossy Dean,Grumpy Lennon,orFilthy-Minded Reed.

No answer. I wait thirty seconds and knock again, substantially louder this time, using the handle of the mop tosave my knuckles. This time I hear a deep, "I'm coming for fuck's sake," and heavy thuds echo on the floorboards, coming closer.

The door opens and my breath catches.Bossy Dean.Perfect. Exactly the man I was looking for.

---