A Knight in No Armor

When I was a young girl, my dad bought a log cabin up on a mountain. It was nestled among the trees and near a small fishing lake. He spent almost every weekend for a year working on it before we, my brother and I, were allowed to go. I still remember that first trip as clear as crystal.

 We drove for several hours until the road shifted upward and twisted like a snake up the mountain between the trees. After a while, the road turned to dirt and we were followed by clouds of dust. Only a little further on, the road dead-ended in a small clearing. It was hardly large enough to turn the jeep around, which my dad did, while explaining that if it snowed it would be easier to have the car pointed the correct way down the mountain.

We got our backpacks from the jeep and shouldered them. Mine, mom’s, and dad’s were good-sized and held a lot of gear, while Nick’s was a little smaller since he was younger and not quite as strong. We hiked up a trail, well-worn by countless crossings by dad, for over an hour, but the excitement kept us from complaining about the extra weight on our backs.

As we emerged through the trees into a wide clearing, the forest canopy parted onto an open blue sky, dotted with puffy clouds. The sun was just beginning to set and the reds, oranges, and yellows were reflected on the waters of the rippling lake. A hawk screeched overhead as it rode the air currents in great circles. A cool, brisk wind hit me in the face and blew my hair around my ears and into my eyes.

The cabin itself was smaller than I expected. My dad’s enthusiastic descriptions had always made it seem larger than life. Other than the size though, it was exactly how I had pictured it, log walls, vertical-log door, angled-plank roof, four-pane windows, and a wall-length shaded porch, railed with tree branches. It was beautiful.

My dad sniffed the air and squinted at the sky, “I think it’s going to snow later. Let’s get into the cabin and get set up for the night. Everyone grab some wood from the pile on the way in and I can get a fire started.

There were only two rooms in the cabin and the second one was little more than a tall rectangle stuck in one corner – the bathroom. Somehow, my dad had managed to install an actual flush toilet using pipes running from the lake, as well as a deep sink with an attached spray hose, in lieu of a shower for washing.

The main room of the cabin was laid out simply, with vaguely defined areas for basic tasks. On the back wall was the kitchen, which was comprised of a large icebox, a bookcase converted into an open pantry, a medium-sized wood stove, a small sink, and a two-foot long butcher-block counter. Along another wall were two tall dressers, and two twin-size bunk beds, one with a sofa-bed on the bottom. The beds all had separate, thick, green curtains hung around them for privacy. The third wall held a stone fireplace, another, wider, multi-purpose bookcase, and two small armchairs with a nightstand between them. The front wall held the door and had a skinny, rectangular table with four cushioned chairs. There wasn’t much space in the middle of the room but my dad had managed to shoehorn in a large wool throw-rug in front of the fire, and a loveseat. To this day, I don’t know how my dad got all that to fit in the cabin, nor how he even got it all up to the cabin in the first place.

A short while later, we sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace, circled around a Monopoly board. We each had a mug of steaming hot cocoa and various amounts of play money and property cards in front of us. The fire crackled and a log settled deeper into the flickering flames. Between the fire and the stove, the cabin was toasty. There was no electricity in the cabin so we had some candles burning for extra light.

We played the game for a while, just talking and having fun as a family. It wasn’t long before Nick fell asleep on the carpet and I could barely keep my eyes open. My dad smiled at me, “Katie, go ahead and get to bed. We can finish the game tomorrow.” It was a testament to how tired I was that I didn’t argue. I was all argument and contrariness in those days and I never wanted to go to bed.

I washed up and climbed into my bed, pulling the curtains closed behind me. I got the lower bunk. Nick was already asleep in the top bunk. Dad and mom had opened the sofa-bed and lined it with clean sheets and blankets. My bed was partially aligned with one of the windows so I moved my curtains so I could look out. Thick, flat flakes of snow were pouring heavily from the sky. I smiled and watched for a few moments until I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up sometime later. I was freezing. I could feel the cold from outside leaching in through the window glass. I closed the curtain but it was too late. The air inside my bed was already cold and the fires had dwindled. I snuggled deeper into my covers.

We awoke the next morning in time to see the sunrise. The forest was covered in a world of white and we spotted deer, squirrel, rabbit, and fox footprints in the new snow. Mom cooked some eggs and bacon in a pan on the wood stove and we helped dad bring in more firewood.

That was the first time we went to the cabin. It was one of the most beautiful and perfect times of my life. We went to the cabin many times after that, but I’ll always hold a special fondness for that first time. I was eight.

Over the years, a lot of things changed, like moving to new towns and schools, mom getting deathly sick but then better again, new dogs and cats, and Nick and I learning to drive, but the cabin was always the same, a tranquil oasis from the hectic heyday of life. We went at least twice a year, once in summer and once in winter. As we got older, sometimes Nick or I would bring a friend with us.

And then dad died. I was eighteen. He was thrown through the windshield when a SUV ran a red light and slammed into his car. We were devastated, to say the least, and our lives crumbled around us. Mom fell into a deep depression and tried to hide herself in television. She barely left the couch, or her pajamas. Nick started acting out at school and I suspect that he was using drugs to cope. If it hadn’t been for my friend, Robert, I may have joined them in despair.

Robert had been in my school classes for several years and had always been more of an acquaintance than an actual friend, but after the car accident, he stepped up and helped me through the worst of it. So many nights he sat quietly listening to me vent and rage and plead to heaven to bring my dad back. So many nights he just held me as I wept sloppy tears and wiped my nose on his shirt. He seemed to know intuitively what I needed and I was so grateful.

None of us went to the cabin that year. We couldn’t bear the emptiness without dad. They say time heals all wounds. I don’t know if that’s true. That wound has always been with me. But, time does lessen grief and pain and eventually we can move forward again.

So, during the winter of the next year, the three of us went to the cabin again. It was tough without dad but we found, while maybe not joy, some peace and closure in talking about all the work he had put into the cabin and all the things that he loved about being there. We laughed at the plastic, cartoon moose head he had hung on the wall. Dad wasn’t a hunter and he thought it was a grand joke.

After that, we started using the cabin again. We went back to our usual schedule and sometimes Nick or I would go by ourselves with our friends.

Mom came out of her slump and joined a group for older singles where she met a nice man. She wouldn’t marry him out of respect for dad, but they were together for a long time. Nick cleaned up and started a dot-com business. His company crumbled within months and he ended up working as a team manager at a financial office.

Robert began courting me when I was nineteen. He was twenty. I know “courting” sounds funny in this day and age but that’s what it was. We didn’t just date. He brought me flowers and sang outside my window, he held doors and chairs for me, he wrote me sappy poems and love letters, and he never disrespected me or forced himself on me.

Robert and I went to the cabin for my twentieth birthday. It was his first time being there and he loved it too. After a few days I couldn’t take it anymore, and I jumped on him and passionately kissed him to the floor where we made love for the first time. I suppose the floor wasn’t a very romantic or comfortable “first time” but it was magical. We’ve been together ever since.

We got married at the cabin seven months later. We had a surprising number of guests considering the remote location. There were tents dotted all around the cabin. It was a beautiful ceremony mixed with moments of bittersweet when I thought about my dad and how proud he would have been. Mom and Nick, in a surprise gesture, presented me and Bob with the deed to the property and the cabin. We didn’t know what to say but there were tears and hugs all around. The cabin was so special to all of us. We assured them that they could still use it whenever they wanted.

I was twenty-four and Bob was twenty-five when we had our first child, a boy. We named him Samuel James. James was my dad’s name. Sam was only three months old when we took him to the cabin for the first time. He didn’t do much except eat, poop, and wiggle his arms and legs, but he enjoyed watching the fire and candles flicker.

Our family grew to four children and now we were the adults bringing our family to the cabin. “Grandma” would sit and read them stories while “Uncle Nick” would tickle their feet. We made so many great memories over the years and I am so grateful for my family, and for the cabin.

Our children blessed us with many grandchildren and we loved them all. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but little Anne, Sam’s daughter, was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen. I’d often sneak her a candy or mini banana muffin when the other grandkids weren’t looking. Sam would just roll his eyes at me.

***

We hiked slowly towards the cabin door. I sniffed the air and said, “I think it’s going to snow later. Let’s get into the cabin and get set up for the night.” We both laughed. We said that every time we came.

“Silly, Katie,” Bob said and his knuckle tenderly grazed my chin. His fingers were knobby and his hand shook a little. I smiled at him.

We took our time climbing the three steps up to the porch. My legs always ached and Bob couldn’t see as well as he used to. The cabin had changed over the years. It’d been updated with some new furnishings and carpets, but overall though, it was still the same. Timeless. Perfect.

Still the gentlemen, Bob pulled the arm chairs in front of the fire for us. We were too old to sit on the floor now. We sipped at our hot chocolate. We preferred coffee but we always drank hot chocolate the first night as an unspoken toast to history.

I could tell Bob had something on his mind. He was staring at the fire and had that look on his face. I waited.

“Katie? I don’t know how many more times we can make this trip. We both love this cabin but we’re getting too old. Maybe it’s time to let one of the kids have it. Anne and Steve have their own family now, and they would probably love it.”

I sighed. He was right but I hated to admit it. Finally, I answered him, “I know.” I reached over and took his hand, tears streaming down my face. He squeezed my hand. After a few more moments of silence, I said, “They’ll be here tomorrow. We can tell them then.”

“I love you, my Katie burger,” Bob said. He closed his eyes to rest for a moment and I just watched him. I wondered how I got to be so lucky.