Сумерки

           Iwastryingtodecidewhethertoaskorbepatient,whenheturnedabruptlyontoanunpavedroad.Itwasunmarked,barelyvisibleamongtheferns.Theforestencroachedonbothsides,leavingtheroadaheadonlydiscernibleforafewmetersasittwisted,serpentlike,aroundtheancienttrees.

           Andthen,afterafewmiles,therewassomethinningofthewoods,andweweresuddenlyinasmallmeadow,orwasitactuallyalawn?Thegloomoftheforestdidn’trelent,though,forthereweresixprimordialcedarsthatshadedanentireacrewiththeirvastsweepofbranches.Thetreesheldtheirprotectingshadowrightuptothewallsofthehousethatroseamongthem,makingobsoletethedeepporchthatwrappedaroundthefirststory.

           Idon’tknowwhatIhadexpected,butitdefinitelywasn’tthis.Thehousewastimeless,graceful,andprobablyahundredyearsold.Itwaspaintedasoft,fadedwhite,threestoriestall,rectangularandwellproportioned.Thewindowsanddoorswereeitherpartoftheoriginalstructureoraperfectrestoration.Mytruckwastheonlycarinsight.Icouldheartherivercloseby,hiddenintheobscurityoftheforest.

           "Wow."

           "Youlikeit?"Hesmiled.

           "It...hasacertaincharm."

           Hepulledtheendofmyponytailandchuckled.

           "Ready?"heasked,openingmydoor.

           "Notevenalittlebit-let’sgo."Itriedtolaugh,butitseemedtogetstuckinmythroat.Ismoothedmyhairnervously.

           "Youlooklovely."Hetookmyhandeasily,withoutthinkingaboutit.

           Wewalkedthroughthedeepshadeuptotheporch.