She consulted her watch...eight-thirty. She had been on the road an hour and a half and there was still no trace of the bridge. The gas gage registered three quarters of a tank. How far was it to the bridge? What if she had car trouble? It had been nearly a half-hour since the last car had passed her.
Trees arched over the road, forming a canopy of leaves. She rounded a curve and slammed on the breaks. In front of her stood a rusty old one lane bridge with ancient wooden slats. Hesitantly she urged the car forward, catching her breath as the bridge creaked and groaned under the weight of the tiny car. Far below, green water moved sluggishly around huge gray boulders. Only when she reached the other side of the bridge did she permit herself to breathe. Hopefully there was another route out of the mountains.
The road began to widen and after a sharp bend she came into the tiny town indicated on the map. She breathed a little easier as she drove through a town so small that it was little more than a wide spot in the road. The driveway had to be around that next bend.
Sure enough. A real estate sign advertising a house for sale peeped out from tall grass beside the road. The driveway consisted of two tire tracks worn into the grass. Brush grew close to the drive, but it was obvious that someone had mown a swath down either side of the drive not long ago.
The long drive ended abruptly as the brush cleared at the cabin. The lawn, if it could be called that, was overgrown with weeds and sadly in need of mowing. Settled into a backdrop of wooded hills, was the little log cabin. From the outside, it looked rough, but well maintained and solid.
She parked the car and worked her way through calf-high weeds until she reached the porch. The wooden planks were old and weathered, but felt solid enough. Rough cedar posts that still had remnants of limbs supported the porch roof, and an old vine rocker sat beside the door.
She unlocked the door and entered the small front room. There she stopped and gaped. The house was nothing like what she expected. Instead of dirt, the floors were made of hardwood so rich that the layer of dust couldn't hide its beauty. The walls were of stained pine, shellacked to a glow that reflected every ray of light that entered the large windows. A fireplace with a native stone hearth occupied most of one wall. Each of the other two walls had a doorway. The first door brought her to a small bedroom, and the other to the kitchen. An apartment sized gas range stood beside a small refrigerator that looked like something out of the 50's. A stainless steel sink was set into home made cabinets, whose cutting board top was marred with years of use. A bench style dinette set was the only furniture in the house.