The Alaskan snow fell in merciless sheets, transforming the world into a white blur. At a deserted bus stop on the outskirts of Anchorage, stood 17-year-old Olivia Morgan, her thin jacket pulled tight around her body, and more importantly, around the tiny bundle in her arms, her two-month-old daughter Lily. The temperature had dropped well below freezing, the last bus of the night hadn’t arrived, and Olivia had nowhere to go.
Shhh, Lily please, I know you’re cold, I’m trying baby, I’m trying. Her voice broke as tears froze on her cheeks. Three hours earlier, she had been standing on her parents’ porch watching her father throw her duffel bag into the snow.
No daughter of ours will bring such shame to this family. Her father’s voice had been cold, colder than the winter air around them. Behind him, her mother stood with tears streaming down her face, but making no move to defend her daughter or granddaughter.
Olivia had hidden her pregnancy for months. The family’s pristine reputation in their conservative church community had meant everything to them, apparently more than their only daughter and her newborn baby. When finally discovered, her parents gave her an ultimatum, give the baby up for adoption or leave.
She chose her daughter, but now, as the snow piled higher and the night grew darker, that choice felt impossibly heavy. Her best friend Mackenzie couldn’t take her in. Lily’s father, a college freshman who had blocked Olivia’s number the moment she told him about the pregnancy, was certainly not an option.
Olivia began walking, her inadequate sneakers sinking into the snow. Each step felt like a prayer, a desperate plea that someone, anyone, might help them before the Alaskan winter claimed two more lives. Lily’s cries had quieted to whimpers, which somehow frightened Olivia more than her screaming, stay awake baby, please stay awake.
The headlights appeared like distant stars, growing larger as a vehicle approached. A battered blue pickup truck slowed beside her, its engine rumbling. The driver’s window rolled down with a mechanical whine, revealing an elderly woman with wild silver hair escaping from beneath a knitted hat and mismatched gloves on her weathered hands.
You two look like you’re in a proper pickle, aren’t you? The woman called out, her harsh Alaskan accent cutting through the howling wind. Olivia hesitated, clutching Lily closer to her chest. The truck looked ancient, its blue paint peeling in places, and the bed was piled high with what appeared to be strange items covered by a tarp.
The woman behind the wheel wasn’t exactly reassuring either. I don’t bite, girl, the woman called out. But that storm sure will, it’s dropping ten degrees an hour out here.
As if to emphasize the point, Lily let out another cry, this one weaker than before. I’m Maeve Callahan, the woman said, her voice softening slightly at the sound of the baby. That little one won’t last another hour in this weather.
Maeve was right, and Olivia knew it. With trembling legs, she trudged through the snow to the passenger side of the truck. When she opened the door, she was hit with a wave of warmth from the heater and the strange sight of the truck’s interior.
The dashboard was covered with small figurines, what looked like hand-carved animals, some antique dolls with unsettling glass eyes, and several crystals hanging from strings. The back seat was stacked with books, papers, and what appeared to be, Olivia blinked in disbelief, a taxidermied owl perched atop a cardboard box. Well, Maeve raised an eyebrow.
In or out, I can’t heat all of Alaska. Olivia climbed in, awkwardly settling with Lily in her arms. The truck smelled of pine, tobacco, and something earthy she couldn’t identify.
Where are you headed, Maeve asked, putting the truck in gear. I, Olivia’s voice caught, I don’t know. Maeve studied her for a long moment, her eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.
They were striking eyes, pale blue, almost silver, like the winter sky. No home then? Olivia shook her head, tears threatening again. Not anymore.
Maeve nodded once, as if confirming something to herself, then turned her attention back to the road. The windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the snow. I’m twenty miles outside town, got a cabin, it’s nothing but it’s warm, you two can wait out the storm there.
Olivia should have been frightened. Every warning she’d ever received about strangers screamed in her head. But when Lily’s tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb, seeking warmth, what choice did she really have? Thank you, she whispered.
Maeve made a dismissive sound. Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen where I live. The drive was mostly silent, save for Maeve occasionally muttering to herself, or to the truck, when it made concerning noises.
The headlights cut through heavy snowfall, illuminating a world transformed into ghostly white shapes. They turned off the main road onto what was barely a path, winding through dense forest. You’re not, you’re not going to hurt us, are you? Olivia finally asked, voicing her fear.
Maeve barked out a laugh. Girl, if I wanted to hurt you, I’d have left you at that bus stop. Nature would have done the job for me.
She glanced at Lily. Besides, I don’t hurt children, never have, never will. There was something in the way she said it, a heaviness, a history, that made Olivia believe her.
The cabin appeared suddenly between the trees, its windows glowing with warm light. From the outside it looked tiny, a simple A-frame structure with a steep roof to shed the snow, smoke curled from a stone chimney. Home sweet home, Maeve announced, parking the truck.
Getting from the truck to the cabin was an adventure in itself, with the snow nearly knee-deep. Maeve forged ahead, creating a path for Olivia to follow with Lily. By the time they reached the porch, Olivia was exhausted and freezing again.
Maeve pushed open the door, and Olivia stepped into a world unlike anything she’d ever seen. The cabin’s interior was surprisingly spacious, much larger than it appeared from outside. But what made Olivia pause wasn’t the size, but the contents.