Chapter 6 - The Cabin in the Pines
Three weeks later, the bitter reality of the northern wilderness had set in.
Deep in the shadow of the Pine Ridge mountains, miles away from the nearest paved road, stood an abandoned, half-rotted logging cabin. It had no electricity, no running water, and a roof that leaked every time the mountain mist turned to rain. But to Monica, Emily, Grace, and the baby—whom the girls had defiantly named Leo—it was a fortress.
Inside the cabin, a modest fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting a warm, flickering glow across the rough-hewn log walls.
Emily sat cross-legged on a faded wool blanket near the fire, holding a wooden spoon while Grace carefully guided a tiny, homemade cloth diaper over Leo’s squirming legs. The baby had grown surprisingly strong over the last few weeks; his cheeks were no longer sunken, and his dark, bright eyes tracked his adoptive sisters with endless, curious fascination.
"He smiled at me, Mom! Did you see? He smiled!" Grace squealed softly, clapping her hands together.
Monica smiled, kneeling by the hearth to stir a pot of wild onion and potato broth bubbling over the flames. Her face was weathered by the mountain wind, her hands calloused, but her eyes held a spark of genuine peace she hadn't felt in years.
"He loves you, Grace. He knows you're his big sister," Monica said gently.
Life in the mountains was hard—backbreakingly hard. Monica spent her days chopping firewood, foraging for edible roots, and trapping small game or trading pelts with a reclusive trapper who lived three miles down the valley. She lived in constant, low-level terror of being found, but as the weeks ticked by and no black cars appeared on the dirt logging road, the paranoia began to fade into a cautious optimism.
Perhaps Alistair had lost their trail. Perhaps he had more important things to worry about than a former maid and a stolen child.
"Mom," Emily said suddenly, her small brow furrowing as she looked toward the small, frosted window facing the dirt track. "Someone's coming."
Monica froze. The wooden spoon slipped from her hand, clattering against the hearthstones.
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"Emily, get away from the window," Monica whispered sharply, her voice dropping into an immediate, defensive panic. She swept Leo up into her arms, pressing him against her chest, and motioned frantically for the girls to hide behind the large oak storage chest in the corner.
A heavy, crunching sound echoed outside. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and entirely unafraid.
