All I knew was I wanted to watch her spin forever. I wanted to be her. The soft, dark grass on my bare feet. Free of the fears I carried with me. We watched her, Terry and I did, until she had spun herself invisible. What a wonder it was, to stand side by side with someone and watch the same thing. And then all that was left was an open field and a moon and some cabins in the distance.
“Julia and I were warned before we bought this place that there were ghosts here. We didn’t believe it, or maybe we didn’t care. But the first time I saw them, I dropped to my knees.”
I turned toward him, waited for more. But he shook his head as though to break the memory. “Shall we?” he asked.
The mudroom was stocked with raincoats and boots and a full shelf of battery-powered lanterns. He handed a lantern to me and took one for himself. “Whenever you head into the dark, bring one of these with you. The paths are uneven and the field can get muddy. Keep one in your cabin and then bring back the others when you return to the house.”
We stepped out and crossed right through the space where the ghost had been. I thought there would be something—a scent, a breeze—but she was gone completely and the night was only the night.
“We’ll start with the bathroom,” he said, striding past the row of three cabins to a smaller structure behind them. “The door sticks sometimes. Push down a little bit. Lean into it.”
I tried and it worked. It was a simple, clean space with a toilet and a counter with a sink and a new bar of soap.
“It gets very cold. Not quite ideal for the middle of the night, but I hung this hook on the back of the door in case you wear a jacket over. The shower is around back.” We held out our lanterns and walked the perimeter of the building to a high gate that enclosed a patio of sorts. First there was a bench and several hooks. A few steps over was a showerhead, and next to that was a round, metal trough, the kind that animals might drink water from. I realized it functioned as a bathtub. “It is not the most comfortable, but it does the trick if you want a soak,” Terry said. “And you’re welcome to bathe in the house anytime.”
Back at my cabin, he stood at the doorway. “I’d like to show you a couple of things. How to light the fire, where to stack the wood. Do you mind if I come in?”
“Not at all.”
He checked the supply of wood. “Oh, good,” he said. “Billy made sure you had plenty. You’ll meet him and Liz tomorrow, along with all the children. Breakfast is at seven thirty in the kitchen. Have you used a wood-burning stove before?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“The best way to learn is by doing,” he told me. “So go ahead and take two logs from the pile and a few sheets of that newsprint.”
I did as I was told, placed them in the stove. He took a matchbook from a blue dish, began to hand it to me, and then froze—his arm in mid-reach, the matchbook between his fingers. I didn’t look at his face but I could see him breathing. My heart lunged into my throat—he is afraid of me, afraid of me—but then I remembered that he didn’t know the whole story, so he had no reason to be afraid. He was sorry for me, then. He thought it might be difficult.
“I don’t mind,” I told him. “I’m not afraid of fire.”
“Good, good,” he said. I took the matchbook from his fingers, tore off a match, and struck it. After the newsprint was lit, I closed the doors of the stove and latched them.
“Just one more thing and then I’ll go.”
I waited.
“You’re free to leave anytime. You are not a prisoner here. But if you do want to leave, all I ask is that you let us know so that we can drive you into town. Some people have set out walking. It isn’t safe.”
I nodded.
“Of course, I hope you’ll stay,” he said, and smiled.
“I plan to,” I told him, and we said good night.
I unzipped my duffel, pulled out my toiletry bag, and walked the path to the bathroom to prepare for bed. When I was heading back, the ghost had reappeared on the green. She leapt, she spun. I averted my eyes. Heard Terry saying, I hope you aren’t afraid of ghosts. My pace quickened as I approached my cabin. I shut the door fast and hard behind me.
I undressed and stepped into my pajamas, pulled the covers back and climbed in. My face touched the pillow.
Musty sleeping bag on a concrete foundation. My mother tucking me in.
Framed rooms, but no roof. Stars overhead. Dying eucalyptus trees, towering above.
A hint of smoke wafted from the firepit below as my mother leaned over me. She pressed her soft lips against my forehead.
“It’s like camping,” she whispered, zipping the bag to my chin. “Sweet dreams.”
She stood. She turned. She left me alone in that strange, cold place.
But no, no—I was in my cabin. Its walls and roof. Desk and duvet. Fire burning to keep me warm.
I covered my pounding heart with my hand.
“This is my home,” I said to myself.
I found my way back—to the soft pillow under my cheek, to the glow of the moon through the skylight, to the steadiness of my breath.
“This is my home,” I whispered as I shut my eyes. “All the rest is over.”
the schoolhouse
IN THE MORNING I OPENED THE CURTAINS to fog so thick and low on the grass that I couldn’t see the house beyond it. With the fire out, my cabin was cold, no trace left of last night’s warmth.
I put on my sweater to head to the bathroom. I hadn’t considered the possibility of running into anyone, but here were the other interns, headed right toward me.
Liz and Billy. Her, with short dreads and dark skin and a nose ring, smiling at me. Him, lanky and fair in a jean jacket and carefully slicked hair, as though he had sprung to life from a James Dean poster.
“You must be Mila,” Liz said as they drew near. She wore only a towel beneath her jacket.
“Yes,” I said, thinking of my tangled hair and sour breath. I thought they would stay to talk but they blew past me. Billy turned and walked backward a few steps. “See you at breakfast,” he said, and we went on in our separate directions. Had they showered together? I wondered. Or had they met on the path, coincidentally, as we just had? I would check the mirror in my room before leaving next time. I wished for my own bathroom. Scolded myself for my ingratitude.
There I was, on the beautiful rocky coastline, with a cabin of my own and a job and hot meals every day. There I was, with the prospect of a family. And I was worried about my hair and my breath. We are all humans; we all wake up messy and confused. It was nothing, I told myself. Get ready. Go on with your day.