“Since electricity is out of the question,” Margaret said, “tell us what you were thinking.”
“I mean, I really hadn’t…”
“You told me that your wedding was in your mind,” she said, encouraging me. “Tell me and Mom what you see in those thoughts.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. In only a few visits, I could picture the entirety of the cabin’s interior. From the handmade furniture to the old water pump in the kitchen sink. I recalled the blankets layered on the bed and the waders hanging in the skinny cabinet.
Opening my eyes, I gestured toward the fireplace. “I imagined we’d say our vows over here.” I turned. “We could move the furniture so our honored guests” —I grinned— “youhave a place to sit. And then after our vows, we could celebrate with something simple around the small table. Maybe wine and cake.”
“Do you have a theme?” Margaret asked.
“No. My mother did all the planning for my first wedding.” I shrugged. “Second, too.”
“Those don’t count,” she said. “This is your real wedding.”
I continued to peer up at the rafters and around at the wood walls. “My mother would not approve.”
Paula’s gloved hand covered mine. “Lace, bows, flowers. Tell us about your dress.”
I scoffed. “I don’t have one.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you realized who you were marrying. He’d spare no expense.”
“I guess after the first debacle of a wedding, I realized that it isn’t the production that matters. It’s the person I’m marrying. And I do know who he is—as much as I’ve learned so far. I have the feeling there’s a lot left to learn.” I took a breath. “I know he’d spend whatever I asked. My parents might even chip in…again. And I’m not without my own funds. I don’t want any of that.” I walked back to the fireplace. “I want Van and me here, where we first got to know one another, in front of a roaring fire, proclaiming our forever.”
I gripped the wood frame of the sofa. “Do you think Van made the furniture?”
Paula was the one to answer. “The furniture has been here. Mr. Sherman had new cushions made, but the furniture is presumably as old as the cabin, made from local wood. Some believe that the builder was a trapper. He would come up to these parts from the south in the summer and trap for fur. Fox. Beaver. Wolf. Bear.”
“Bear?”
Both ladies smiled. “Not as many of those around.”
A shiver ran through me, remembering the sight beyond the window. “Could a bear see into the cabin?”
Paula nodded. “That’s why Mr. Sherman is careful about leaving perishable food out here.”
“What happened to the man?” I asked.
“No one knows for sure. No one even knows if the legend is real. Back then the land was free to roam and squat. No deeds. No records. Truth is, it might not have been someone from the south of what would become Wisconsin. It could have been a member of a local tribe. No one much cared about this territory until they discovered its hidden treasure.”
I was fascinated. “What treasure?”
“Lead. The fur trade was superseded by mining. The builder of the cabin may have died south where most would spend their winters, or he could have been a casualty of the many wars and territorial disputes in this area. By the time Wisconsin became a state, most of the original inhabitants were forced from their lands and pushed west or confined to reservations.”
My nose scrunched. “That’s sad.”
“It is,” Paula agreed.
I thought about my fiancé. “Van’s desire to own more isn’t new.”
Paula shook her head. “As old as time. The process has become more refined and accepted, but it’s still the same. This cabin is a memory of a time long ago. It shows those who enter it a time when life was much harder than it is today.”
“Harder?” I questioned. “It represents simplicity to me.”
“Imagine living here all summer.”
I scoffed, thinking about the lack of fresh water, electricity, or even cell phone service. “Okay, you win. That would be hard.”