When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae by Kirsten Mortensen Page A

flannels, not a negligee or something.
    “Hungry?” he said.
    She stifled another “oh, gawd,” and nodded instead. “I could eat.”
    He began ladling something into a bowl from a pot on top of the wood stove. “Hope you like venison.”
    She’d never had venison. “Sure. Love it.”
    ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    Bo slept on the rug by the couch. She heard his snuffy breathing every time she woke in the night, and sometimes he woke too and scratched himself, or got up and circled around and then laid back down again.
    She didn’t sleep well in strange places. And Dean’s house counted as a strange place. A log cabin, perfumed by wood smoke. Although the inside walls had been planed, they were rough and the dim light coming from the little glass panel on the front of the wood stove cast rough, wavering shadows across them.
    And no sooner was she able to get to sleep when she was startled awake by a clanking noise and sat up, and Dean was standing by the stove. Putting another log on.
    She lowered herself back down, glad he hadn’t noticed how she’d jumped.
    It took her a long time to settle back down again.
    On the other hand, lying awake there like that gave her a chance to savor being warm. All over warm.
    And then the next morning—another luxury. He had a back-up well with a hand pump—she got to wash her hair. He even offered to warm some water for her but she said no—a mistake, she realized a few minutes later. The water from the pump was so cold it practically knocked the wind out of her when it sluiced down over her head.
    She came back indoors, and he took the towel from her and handed her a comb.
    She sat by the stove while her hair dried.
    “I should check on my house.”
    “Don’t be surprised if your pipes have burst.”
    So she wasn’t.
    ♦ ♦ ♦
     
    Bitterly cold.
    Shivering, she changed into clean clothes.
    Then packed a duffel bag. Clean pair of pajamas. And books. And some of her own shampoo.
    When she got back, he was listening to his radio.
    He didn’t look up when she walked in.
    She took a seat and listened too.
    He was tuned to a local talk station, and the DJs there were in full hunker-down mode, relaying information about shelters, passing along tips, taking calls from people with stories to tell. After a little while of this, the enormity of what had happened started to sink in. There were no generators left in the stores, no chainsaws, precious little bottled water. The local power companies were overwhelmed, and although dozens of out-of-state utilities were mobilizing crews to come in and help, it was going to take time. Weeks, perhaps. Before everyone’s power was restored.
    After awhile, Dean stood up and switched it off.
    He didn’t say anything or look at her.
    Bo followed him outside, and a minute later she saw them start down the driveway, Dean carrying his chainsaw, and a minute after that she heard the growl of the chainsaw motor.
    She guessed then what he was doing. That long driveway was forested on both sides the entire length. When they’d walked in, they’d climbed over the branches and limbs, and here and there entire trees, some with trunks bigger around than Libby.
    He’d begun to clear it, near the cabin. And was back out now, clearing some more.
    She pulled a sweatshirt on over her head and went outside. When she got to him, she circled around the limb he was cutting and went to work dragging the smaller stuff off the driveway, out of the way.
    It was slow going. But faster, she suppose, than if he’d been working alone. When he finished cutting a bigger limb or trunk, she’d quit working on the smaller stuff and help him carry and stack the chainsawed pieces. Except for the ones that were too big for her to lift—those, she rolled.
    After awhile, he left all the hauling to Libby and concentrated on sawing. Sometimes he’d get far ahead because the stuff he’d cut was too heavy for her to move very fast; sometimes she’d catch up with the big stuff and