Chapter 1
Home?
The old wooden gate creaked as I pushed it open, the sound echoing across the quiet property. For a moment, I just stood there. This was it. The farm. My grandmother’s farm. Or, I suppose, my farm now.
I pushed a loose strand of white hair behind my ear as I looked around the property. The path leading up to the cottage was nearly swallowed by overgrown grass and wildflowers that had taken over in the years since anyone had truly cared for the place. The garden beds that once must have been carefully tended were now tangled with weeds and vines, their original shapes barely visible beneath nature’s takeover.
The animal shed sat empty and silent at the edge of the property. Its door hung slightly crooked, paint peeling away from the wood. There was a decent sized chicken coop a little ways from the shed. That too had been neglected so long the wire was rusted. I wasn’t even sure if I could get the door to open.
Dust covered everything, and the faint smell of old hay lingered in the air despite the years of abandonment. It was strange seeing a place that had once been so loved look so forgotten. Almost like it was waiting. Waiting for someone to come back.
The cottage itself was small, but charming. At least, it had the potential to be charming. The white paint on the outside was faded, the windows desperately needed cleaning or more likely replaced, and the porch boards creaked beneath my feet as I approached the front door. I pulled the key from my pocket and slid it into the lock. The door opened with a soft groan, doorknob catching and protesting at my turn.
Inside, the cottage was exactly how I expected it to be. The once white furniture was covered in a thick layer of gray dust from years of sitting unused. The curtains were faded from sunlight. Cobwebs stretched across the corners of the ceilings, and the air smelled like old wood and forgotten memories.
I stepped inside slowly, letting my eyes adjust. Despite everything, there was something comforting about it. Maybe because it was mine. The first home that was truly mine. One that no one could make me feel uncomfortable or unwanted in. Or maybe because, in some strange way, it felt like a piece of my family that I had never gotten the chance to know.
I spent the next several hours cleaning, unpacking the essentials, moving boxes into their new places, and trying to make the old cottage feel less like a forgotten time capsule. A few decorations here. A few paintings there. A stack of books with colorful dust jackets on the shelf in the bedroom. Small touches that made it feel like someone actually lived here.
By the time I finished, it was early in the evening, my pale arms streaked with dust. At some point, I had somehow managed to get cobwebs tangled in my hair. Most of the boxes were empty, though. A few remained scattered around the house, waiting patiently for another day. I took one last glance around what was now my bedroom, the only bedroom actually. Cobwebs still clung stubbornly to the corners. I sat down at the old wooden desk near the window. The desk was worn, but sturdy. It felt like the kind of place where someone could create.
I opened the drawer and pulled out my journal and a pen from where I had stashed them just hours prior. I had kept a journal for as long as I could remember, though it wasn’t always this one. I had gone through several over the years, all of which I still had tucked away… somewhere. But none of them were like this. None of them were vibrant. The others had always been white or gray. Plain. Safe. My mother never allowed anything else. Color was prohibited, she said. Distracting. A “childish obsession unfit for the Frost name”.
When I left for college, I bought my own journal. Bright yellow. Impossible to ignore. And ever since then, it had been my faithful companion. A place for my thoughts. My dreams. My secrets. I clicked my pen and began writing.
June 20th
Dear Journal,
Sorry I haven’t been able to write in a while. Things have been hectic. I finally moved into Grandma’s old farm. It still feels strange writing that. Four years ago, when I found out she left this place to me in her will, it felt impossible. Like something that happened to someone else. But now I’m here.
I looked around the room. My bedroom was still mostly bare. The walls were an off-white, probably once pure white, before yellowing with age. Four years ago, I had finally been informed that this place even existed, and that my grandmother had left it to me. Four years of college and deciding whether or not I wanted to move in. Deciding yes, I did. Four years of preparing for my future, wondering what it would feel like to finally step inside.
I graduated from college last month, and since then it has been a whirlwind of planning, packing, moving, and figuring out what comes next. This place definitely needs some love. It’s fallen apart since anyone stopped coming here.
I smiled faintly. A bittersweet smile. I had never been here before now. Most likely, no one had been here in decades. I had only been a year old when my grandmother passed. This was my grandmother’s home before she married into the prestigious Frost family. My grandmother’s hometown. My grandmother’s life. And I knew almost nothing about it.
My parents still don’t think my plan is realistic. They think I should find something more practical, something stable. Mother thinks I should just “find a husband”. A Raw husband. Ugh.
I’ve wanted to be an artist for as long as I can remember. Ever since I could hold a brush, I knew this was what I wanted to do. How could I possibly choose anything else?
I glanced toward the stack of canvases leaning against the wall. Some finished pieces, some still waiting to become art. My paintings. My future. If I could ever get the courage to try to sell them.
Besides, I still have some of the money Grandma left me saved away. I have enough time to figure things out if painting sadly doesn’t work out.
It was weird. Living in a house belonging to someone I never knew. I had no memories of her. No stories of her from my own experiences. Just pieces. Little things people told me over the years. But why leave this place to me? Why an infant? I didn’t know. Maybe I never would. Still…
I’m grateful for it. I’m excited to fix this place up. To bring the farm back to life. Maybe this is exactly what I needed. A new adventure. A fresh start, in a new town.
I found myself smiling as I added a few final lines.
But I have to run now. I have a “date” with Mai. Now that we live in the same town, we’re going to be hanging out way more often. I’m so excited! I’ve missed her.
Love,
Pearl
I closed the journal and glanced toward the clock hanging askew on the wall. I immediately frowned. I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago.
“Of course,” I muttered. Perpetually late.
I stood quickly, pushing away from the desk and stretching. Despite the dust bunnies, the empty rooms, and the overwhelming amount of work ahead of me, I was happy. Nervous, but happy. This was my chance to start over, without the pressures of Raw society and my mother’s expectations hanging over my head like a guillotine.
On my way to the front door, I caught my reflection in the dusty mirror hanging nearby. My hair was a mess but cobweb free, my cheeks were still pink from cleaning, and freckles stood out across my nose and cheeks. Not exactly how I’d imagined making my grand entrance into my new town. I grabbed my shoes and slipped them on before stepping outside. The evening air was warm against my face as I locked the door behind me. Summer was definitely in full swing.
I looked back at the old cottage one more time after stepping off the rickety front porch. My new home. She wasn’t much: mostly weeds, dust, and more work than I knew what to do with, but she was mine. And for the first time, I could decide what happened next.
I turned toward the small cluster of buildings in the distance. Hearthglen. A tiny town I knew nothing about. A place where I hoped to learn about my grandmother. A place where I hoped to build a life of my own.
I took a deep breath and started walking. I had no idea that before the day was over, I’d meet the man who would change my life forever.