Indelible Laurie Buchanan (sad books to read TXT) 📖

to Mick, in front, pulling the baggage trolley. It’s evident that he’s fit and strong and moves quickly despite a limp. Focused on his gait, he watches Mick twist his left hip forward slightly, before propelling his right foot in front. No problem, Jason muses, with a self-satisfied smirk, this is going to be easy.

CHAPTER 2

“Plot is people. Human emotions and desires founded on the realities of life, working at cross purposes, getting hotter and fiercer as they strike against each other until finally there’s an explosion—that’s plot.”

—LEIGH BRACKETT

Much like a brilliant, multi-faceted gem nestled on the ragged hemline of the northern Pacific coastline, Pines & Quill, a wooded retreat for writers, sits Zen-like overlooking Bellingham Bay in Fairhaven, Washington, holding space to unleash possibility. The mango-colored sunrises and blood-orange sunsets compete in their breathtaking showiness, each vying for the rapt attention of would-be onlookers. One heralding the beginning of day, the other bids adieu, sending it off into the ink-black night sky.

Niall MacCullough brushes damp soil from the knees of his pants. “Libby’s going to kill me,” he mutters under his breath while snipping fresh dill for the evening meal and adding it to the basket laden with garlic, basil, and potatoes he’s already gathered from his late spring garden.

“Hemingway! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t bury your bones in the garden!”

A bustling, five-year-old, rough-coated, Irish Wolfhound, Hemingway tips the scales at just under one hundred and fifty pounds. Well-muscled, lean, and strong, his appearance is commanding. An ancient breed, Wolfhounds were bred to hunt with their masters, fight beside them in battle, and guard their castles. He possesses the ability of a fierce warrior, but he’s gentle with family and guests, a magnificent combination of power and grace.

His dirt-crusted paws—giant earth movers with strong, curved nails—put the final touches on his buried treasure between the yellow pepper plants, before bounding over the rows of vegetables and herbs. Not quite stopping in the nick of time, they both tumble over as Hemingway collides with his constant companion and second-best friend, Niall.

Libby rounds the corner in time to see Niall’s feet and Hemingway’s wagging tail sail over the snap peas. Then she hears the deep, rumbling laughter of her husband of thirty-two years. She shakes her head and smiles to herself before calling out, “Boys, company’s arriving soon, and we’ve got to be ready.”

With that, two bushy eye-browed, bearded faces peek at her over lush, green foliage. Niall’s hair is mussed like a boy’s, but gray-hued in the late afternoon light. Libby shakes her head in false exasperation. Humans do, indeed, resemble their companion animals, then bursts out laughing at their twin, mischievous grins.

Set on twenty forested acres, the Pines & Quill writer’s refuge provides respite from the distractions of everyday life so writers can focus on what they do best, write. An environment that offers peace, quiet, and inspiration, it boasts four secluded cottages, Dickens, Brontë, Austen, and Thoreau, each is handcrafted by a long-dead Amish man whose skill and devotion to his trade is still evident in his work. When the structures were modernized, painstaking care was taken to reflect the same excellence in craftsmanship.

Libby enjoys free rein expressing her natural flair for style and interior design in the main house, her brother’s cabin, and the four writer’s cottages. And while the original Amish builder saw that each cottage was similar in size and design, surrounded by its own type of tree, she ensures that they each have unique personalities: color scheme, furnishings, and hand-selected artwork created by local artisans.

In addition to electricity and internet access, each cottage has air-conditioning, a wood-burning stove, and a bathroom with a shower. They’re also equipped with an efficiency kitchen that includes a mini-fridge, microwave, toaster oven, coffeemaker, and a fat-bellied tea kettle, ideal for a long day of writing.

On each desk is a phone. Retro, they’re bulky and square, from an era before cell phones, even before cordless. Its sole purpose is to connect with the main house. A guest needs only to lift the receiver and dial zero to ring through to the MacCullough’s kitchen.

The main house, large and rustic, is inviting in a down-home sort of way. Built for comfort, not grandeur, it sits at the center of Pines & Quill. And while each writer has the option to have breakfast and lunch delivered from the main house to their cottage door, they gather for dinner each evening at the enormous pine table Libby acquired at an auction in Seattle. Said to have seated a dozen threshers at mealtime in the early 1900s, it now serves the writers who’ve come to escape the distractions of life, who’ve come to this nurturing place for the sole purpose of writing.

Not a brick-and-mortar churchgoer, Niall believes that anything done with care and joy is an act of worship; that’s why he strives to be a kind presence in people’s lives; that’s why the cookery and garden at Pines & Quill are his cathedrals. The casual atmosphere of sharing a meal in the spacious kitchen of the main house is conducive to esprit de corps—camaraderie.

Every scratch and divot, a history of purpose and bustling activity, reads like braille in the wide, buttery pine boards of the floor in his sanctuary.

With each group of writers in residence, Libby and Niall nod to each other under copper-bottomed pots that hang from the ceiling. In over thirty years of marriage, they’ve built an extensive repertoire of facial expressions that only they’re privy to the meaning of.

Each month they settle back like satisfied cats washing their whiskers and smile as they watch a small community form, bonds deepening through conversation, as their guests share stories, histories, breakthroughs, and roadblocks, offering advice and feedback, and challenging each other to take risks. This month’s group of writers should prove no different.

With its bevy of comfortable, overstuffed chairs, the living room is the after-dinner gathering place for guests