They came to a slim gravel track that rapidly devolved into rutted dirt. The dried mud formed craters deep enough to drown in. The truck and trailer lurched and bounced and Roy slowed. On the right rose densely wooded hillsides. On the left, an ancient fence whose wire was long rusted or broken, the remaining unrotted posts now serving as crooked supports for a series of homemade crosses.

The first few were straight and tall, made of long, notched timbers that Helene thought had been torn from the bowels of some ancient structure now lost to history. As Roy drove onward, the crosses became smaller, more rickety, until finally they were cobbled together with mere scraps and remnants. At a certain point, the makers switched to tree limbs and branches, bark stripped away to show the undulating, serpentine shapes. Some of these had rough Christ figures hung from them, fashioned crudely from sticks or woven vines and slowly coming apart over the years. Others had been painted with whitewash now faded to pale streaks on the bone-dry wood.

Beyond the crosses, an ancient forest fell away downslope to something she couldn’t see. She thought of that old fairy tale, “Hansel and Gretel.” Except she didn’t even have bread crumbs.

Ahead of her, the road ended.

“Honey, we’re hoooome.” Roy turned into the trees, piloting the truck down a precipitous dirt driveway with a raised stripe of weeds down the center. At the bottom stood an unmown meadow with a house and a barn and a partial view of the river below.

—

The house was tall and square, made of dark red brick with a wide porch. Its steep black roof reminded Helene of a witch’s hat. The barn was red-painted wood and looked like something from a picture book, built into the hillside with a dirt ramp to the upper level. Both buildings looked old but sturdy. Enduring.

The day was warmer than she’d expected, the sun warming her skin. Roy got her bags from the trailer, then led her up the porch and unlocked the front door. “Take a look around,” he said. “Get settled. I have a few things to do in the barn.”

Inside, the house smelled of dust.

The kitchen was large with a broad porcelain sink, a fridge and stove, shelves for plates and pantry staples, and a big square worktable in the center of the room. All of it had been there a very long time.

She turned the tap and let the water run. After a moment, it warmed.

As if she were considering living here. As if she had any choice.

At least it was nicer than the trailer behind the Gas and Grocery, she thought. Nothing she couldn’t improve with a little cleaning.

Then caught herself again. She didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t planning to stay, either.

She walked into the dining room, then the living room, then mounted the creaking stairs. In the bathroom, she found a clawfoot tub with no overhead shower. The door was new, and only locked from the outside.