Driving home through the state-owned forest, the reality that David and I are currently living on an island finally started to sink in. The road we were on does not lead to other farms and homesteads, it leads to mountain hiking trails, picnic spots and beautiful views.
We are well and truly cut off from civilisation... at least physically. For as long as the dodgy signal holds (we are both surprised that it hasn't fully crashed yet), we are not completely isolated.
Craig said that when he heard about the storm and the flood on the news and couldn't reach me on the phone, he got into his car and drove as far as he could, which was Misty Falls. He is not going home right away because they need all the help they can get to evacuate people to safety.
I haven't heard that kind of sense of purpose in his voice for a long time. As horrible as the situation is, I hope being useful and making a difference take my cousin out of his slump and place him on an upward spiral back to the dynamic guy he used to be.
When we arrived home, David made us a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, cheese, and coffee. We have unanimously decided that he should do all the cooking for as long as we're here. Well, I unanimously decided it, and he accepted. I have plenty of long-life milk and instant just-mix-and-bake bread, but things like eggs, tomatoes and onions are unfortunately going to run out fast or rot if we don't use them.
Cheese! I'm going to cry when the cheese runs out...
David mentioned that he has occasionally run into some stray chickens on the farm and will round them up if he can find them again. They might be happy to be rescued from the storm, but he'll have to repair the coop first, or they'll all be scattered again in minutes. He's not sure where they came from. They're probably descendants of rogue chickens from the farmer's days.
Well, as long as they're happy to give us some eggs, we'll be happy to feed them, and they can be as rogue as they want to be.
Standing outside at the washing line in the area near the kitchen door, my eyes stray to where David is working to de-bush the various paths leading from the back of the house to the greenhouse and the paved area at the front of the yard. He is currently working near the kitchen, and I cannot stop looking at him. I can also not stop the stupid smile constantly creeping onto my face.
The man sure knows how to use gardening tools in a very pleasing way...
Sighing, I wring the water out of the garment I've taken from the basket of washed clothing at my feet. I give it a shake to smooth it out and pin it to the washing line. In a matter of hours, we've become a quaint domestic couple, with the husband doing the heavy lifting and manual labour while the little wife cleans the kitchen and washes the laundry.
How sweet!
I look at the black underwear flapping wetly in the wind and suppress a laugh. I've known the man for less than 24 hours, and I'm already washing his briefs. How is that for progressiveness?! Or is it regression? Well, he did handle my panties about two minutes after meeting me; this is not weird at all!
This might be a very good relationship-starting technique. Forget about speed dating; speed-shacking up in a spooky house will be all the rage as soon as I market it. You get to know each other's bad habits in record time. David already knows that I freak out when clocks spit at me, and rooms disappear, and he has hidden the fire poker from me.
I, on the other hand, have become fully aware of the fact that he has the audacity to sit at the kitchen island looking so friggin' yummy, and then I'm expected to eat nothing but the food on my plate. The man is a menace.
It's perfect!
"We need a washing machine! This is just bullshit!" I groan, wrestling with the jeans David was wearing yesterday. I've washed our paint-streaked pyjamas as well, but as predicted, not even thinners could make the streaks budge.
Satisfied that my hard work is done for now, I glare at the scattering of clouds above my head, daring them to rain before our clothes are dry and taken down. After another couple of minutes of enjoying the entertainment provided by David working his butt off, I enter the house to do what I came to La Belle Pêche to do.
David will be working in the gardens and orchards when there's sun and fixing things inside the house when there's none. I will be a good little art student and get my paintings and drawings ready for my evaluation, whether the sun is shining or not and I, therefore, head up the stairs to the solarium.
The atmosphere in the house has changed a lot since last night. The air is lighter, and the vibe is more friendly. I can walk around without jumping at the sight of my own shadow, but there are still a couple of areas that make me feel uncomfortable, specifically the short hallway with the small closet leading from the kitchen and some of the rooms in the hallway opposite from the one containing my bedroom.
The solarium doesn't scare me at all, despite the fact that both David and I have spent a lot of time up there doing fun things in our sleep. Taking a deep breath, I approach two of those fun things resting on the easels I set up for my use. I take out my phone and take a picture of the two portraits side by side, marvelling at how lovely the two paintings go together and how well the man and woman depicted in them suit each other.
Satisfied that I have a couple of nice photographs of them, I remove them from the easels and rest them against the wall under the windows, replacing them with two fresh canvasses for me to work on.
"Right," I say, shoving my hands into my sides. "Belle, I think your paintings are awesome! You have an abundance of talent. I'm a huge fan of your work. Seriously! Good job! I'm sure David is going to have them framed and hang them in the best place in the house... side by side...
"There are just one or two things we need to discuss... or... uhm... I'd really rather you listened and didn't talk... for obvious reasons... Not meaning to be rude here.
"Please stop using my canvasses. I've only brought enough for the work I need to do for the evaluation, and since we're cut off from the world, I cannot just drive into town and get new ones. I am now going to have to re-purpose two of those ugly discarded paintings stacked against that wall over there, and that is really not desirable. So, please, if you feel all creative again, just paint over one of those old ones too, okay? Or use one of my sketchpads. I don't mind.
"Just please lay off my oil paint because, at this rate, I'm going to run out, and you're mucking up our clothes. So, it will be great if you would use water-based products or stuff that will wash out. It will also be really cool if you'd just clean the brushes when you're done. I don't have replacements if they go hard.
"If you keep this up, I'm going to have to replace your signature with mine and steal your work. I know it's not fair, but I'll have no other choice. This is my final evaluation; I need to pass to be able to graduate.
"And yes, I am completely aware of the fact that I look like a blooming lunatic lecturing an empty room, but I don't care. I'm begging you. Give me a break."
I turn the easel I'm about to use to make the best use of the light spilling through the windows, and the angle I'm standing at is perfect for seeing David cleaning the stone paving around the fishpond. He does tend to jump from task to task and area to area when he works. He clearly loves variety... or he has the attention span of a guppy. Well, it's working; things are starting to look pretty good out there.
I take a soft graphite stick from the bag containing my drawing implements, suddenly very inspired to sketch out the idea for my first painting. Smiling wistfully, I thoughtfully tap the piece of graphite against my lips, not caring that I'm giving myself goth makeup.
I am loving this!
"One more thing, Belle... and Belle's lover! I know I'm sounding like a nag, but please, please leave David and me to do our own kissing. I prefer being present for that," I end my sentence with a girly giggle, once again sounding like a school girl with a crush.
I'm feeling cheerful, and I don't care whether it's caused by happy ghosts, energy or memories or the fact that I am in the process of falling in love with the most amazing man I've ever met. I'm going to ride this wave for all it's worth.
I lose myself in my work, sketching the scene, mixing colours and covering my canvas in shades complimentary to those I'm planning on using. When I'm done, David is a green Martian, surrounded by red and black shapes.
It's going to be awesome!
As is often the case, inspiration leads to more inspiration and by the time the sun is starting to hide behind a bank of dark clouds, I'm sitting with my butt on the paved area where my car is parked, happily sketching the steps and patio at the front door.
I've made some sketches of the way it currently looks, dilapidated, haunted and depressing, but beautiful in a miserable way. I have also made numerous sketches of what it could look like when it is repaired, and the flower beds on either side are brought back to life. Gazing at my sketches, I'm filled with joy and strong feelings of well-being.
A fat raindrop splatting down on my hand jolts me out of my contented stupor, and closing my sketchpad and gathering my pencil bag, I run into the house and charge through it to the kitchen, where I pause long enough to drop my art utensils on the serving island and grab the empty washing basket I'd left there.
David joins me when I'm done plucking our dry washing from the line and heading back into the kitchen. He follows on my heels, chased into the house by the rain coming down full force now.
"Wow! Just in time," I smile breathlessly from the exertion, placing the basket on the stone shelving and turning to watch David take off his dirty work gloves and shoes. He is wetter than I thought he was. "Well, almost in time..."
He pulls a face at me, wiping a hand through his wet hair.
"You are so dirty," I tell him, a grin splitting my face in two.
"So are you," he smiles, stepping closer to run his thumb over my lower lip and cheek. I do tend to draw and paint with my entire face. A shiver runs happily up and down my spine, and I return David's smile with one of my own.
"There are clean clothes for you to change into after your bath. Just leave those in the tub," I say, indicating his messy jeans and Craig's dirty t-shirt.
"Thanks, Belle, I appreciate it, but you really don't have to wash my stuff for me," he smiles, taking the jeans, underwear, socks, tank top and shirt from the basket, making it very clear that I do need to wash his stuff. Was he going to walk around naked if I hadn't? Did I shoot myself in the foot here?
"Hey," I point out sternly. "I'm not cooking!"
"Fair enough," David chuckles and off he goes to go take his bath... and I might even let him do it with the door closed this time.
My eyes land on the wad of folded paper David left on the table yesterday after photographing it for his grandfather. Sitting down, I unwrap it, grabbing the key when it clatters on the stone worktop. I'd forgotten about this key.
At the feet of Coppélia...
Could the music box be playing one of the compositions from that ballet? I don't really know the music for that specific ballet that well, and though there was something familiar about the bell-like music, it was so broken and off that I couldn't recognise it. It's like something that scratches at the back of your mind, but when you try to think of it, it just falls apart, and you cannot remember it.
Looking at this key and thinking about the message of needed information that can be found at the feet of Coppélia, there is one thing I know without a doubt.
We need to find that blooming music box and see if it has a ballerina with a box at her feet and if this key fits it... even if it means breaking down the door to the scary room.
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