Dear Reese,
Winter is going out with a bite. Another rainy day just above freezing dissolves into a wintry mix and warnings of icy roads and potential power outages. MorMor calls us this evening in warning, and we quickly pack up and head to the cottage an hour before your bedtime for a sleepover. If something happens, at least the cottage has a generator, and it’s a place I can work from if there’s yet another school cancellation. (Nothing yet, fingers crossed).
You take a bath in a big bathtub for the second time and have a lot more fun this go round. But after I give you your bedtime bottle and attempt to read you a book, you twist and throw your head back, bumping your temple against the corner of a side table. Ouch. The immediate remedy is your binky and a lullaby. It might bruise.
You still fall asleep fast enough in the pack n’ play in what was once my room in the cottage. Tonight I’ll be across the hall in your Uncle Wes’s room. Nearly five years after I moved to Door County and this is the first night I’m spending at the cottage since living here. I’ve always prioritized being home in my own bed and cuddling with Merlin and Arthur.
However, there are lots of benefits to being at the cottage. One of which is MorMor’s fried egg sandwiches. I eat one now while watching you sleeping peacefully on the monitor.
Love,
Mama
The Castle in the Pond, Part 18
The black swan is waiting for you on top of the wrecked beaver dam. You pause, wondering if it’s best to confront him or try to sneak away and find an alternate route back to The Great Bullfrog.
You feel the black swan’s power pulsing — it ripples the water and sends a shiver up your back. The Fierce Croc even shrinks back. The duck’s feathers go flat.
Seeing your friends’ fear inspires your courage.
You hold up the trowel, pulsing with blue light from the manatee. “We will defeat you with this power!” you call, holding the trowel up high as a threat.
“You know nothing of my power, little one.”
And here your luck is tested. One second he’s far away, and then the next a wing of black feathers slices near your face. You pull the trowel into your body, protected, narrowly avoiding the black swan snatching it away from you.
The wind from his wings creates a wave pulsing with the black swan’s power, and your friends take the opportunity to pull you under. “We must return the light to The Great Bullfrog,” the duck reminds you as you swim beneath the surface. “We can’t fight him now.”
The light. As you look at the trowel, it’s gone out.
To be continued.