Every surface, every wall space seemed filled with… things. Collections of rocks and shells, bookshelves overflowing with volumes in multiple languages, dried plants hanging from ceiling beams, strange artwork that looked both primitive and somehow scientific, a large work table covered with papers, magnifying glasses, and what appeared to be bone fragments. It was chaotic yet somehow organized, as if the entire space were the physical manifestation of a brilliant but scattered mind.
Close your mouth girl, you’ll catch flies, Maeve said, hanging her parka on a hook by the door. The central space was dominated by a large wood stove, radiating blessed heat. Maeve immediately went to work, stoking the fire higher.
Sit, she instructed, pointing to a worn but comfortable looking armchair near the stove. Olivia sank into it gratefully, unwrapping Lily from her outer blanket. The baby’s cheeks were red from the cold, her nose running.
Without being asked, Maeve disappeared into what must have been a kitchen area, returning minutes later with a bottle of warm formula. How did you, Olivia began staring at the bottle. Figured that’s what she’d need, Maeve said with a shrug.
Been a while, but some things you don’t forget. As Olivia fed Lily, her maternal instincts warring with her exhaustion, Maeve disappeared again. This time when she returned, she was carrying what looked like a drawer, a actual wooden drawer, that she had lined with soft blankets.
Makeshift crib, she explained, setting it down near the stove. Babies sleep better with solid sides around them, feel secure. Olivia stared at her.
How do you know so much about babies? Maeve’s expression shuddered slightly. I’ve known many beginnings and endings, child. Before Olivia could ask what that meant, Maeve was moving again, gathering supplies.
She returned with a towel, some clothes that looked well worn but clean, and a bar of soap. Bathrooms through there, she said, nodding to a door. Water’s hot if you’re quick.
Generators working overtime in this storm. Only then did Olivia realize how disheveled she must look and smell. She hadn’t showered properly since leaving home that morning.
I can watch the Maeve offered, seeing her hesitation. Been a while, but I haven’t forgotten how to hold a baby. Trusting this strange woman with Lily seemed inadvisable, and yet, there was something about Maeve that inspired confidence.
A competence in her movements, a directness in her gaze that spoke of someone who had seen much of life and knew how to handle its challenges. Her name is Lily, Olivia said, carefully transferring the now calm baby to Maeve’s arms. Lily, Maeve repeated softly, settling into the chair Olivia had vacated.
Hello there, little Lily flower. The shower was glorious, the hot water washing away not just the physical grime, but some of the emotional weight of the day. When Olivia emerged, dressed in the borrowed clothes, which were too large but wonderfully soft, she found Maeve singing softly to Lily, an old folk song about mountains and rivers that Olivia had never heard before.
There’s food on the table, Maeve said without looking up. Nothing fancy, soup and bread. Olivia hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment.
The soup, some kind of hearty vegetable and barley concoction, tasted better than anything she could remember eating. As she ate, she surveyed the cabin more carefully. One wall was entirely covered with photographs, mostly of Maeve in various remote locations, always alone, often with scientific equipment.
She looked younger in the photos but just as intense, just as present. Another thing caught Olivia’s attention. A small door, different from the bathroom or what appeared to be Maeve’s bedroom.
It was painted blue and had a hand-lettered sign. Eleanor’s room. Keep out.
Who’s Eleanor? Olivia asked before she could stop herself. Maeve’s hand stilled momentarily as she was tucking the blanket around Lily in her makeshift drawer crib. No one you need to concern yourself with, she answered, her voice suddenly flat.
You’ll sleep there tonight, she added, pointing to a daybed in the corner. I’m through that door. I sleep light, so call if you need anything.
The abrupt change in subject was clear. Eleanor was not a topic for discussion. As Maeve prepared for bed, moving around the cabin with the efficiency of long established routines, she paused by Olivia’s makeshift bed.
Just until the storm passes, she said, though something in her eyes, a knowing look, suggested she understood it would be longer. The forecast says three days of this weather, maybe more. Thank you, Olivia said again, genuinely grateful despite the strangeness of it all.
I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t stopped. Maeve’s expression softened slightly. Get some sleep, girl.
Tomorrow’s another day. Later, as Olivia lay in the unfamiliar bed, listening to Lily’s soft breathing and the howling wind outside, she wondered what twist of fate had brought them to this place. The day had begun with her world falling apart, yet here they were, safe, warm, and somehow found by perhaps the only person strange enough to take in a teenage mother and baby during a blizzard without question.
Just before sleep claimed her, Olivia’s gaze drifted once more to that blue door with its warning sign. Who was Eleanor, and what had happened to make Maeve Callahan, a woman who clearly knew how to care for babies, live alone in the Alaskan wilderness surrounded by scientific specimens and memories? Days turned into a week as the storm raged on, trapping them in the cabin. What had seemed like a temporary refuge became, of necessity, something more.
Olivia learned that survival with Maeve Callahan came with structure and expectations. I’m not running a hotel, Maeve announced on the second morning, handing Olivia a broom. Everyone works here.
Despite her gruff manner, Maeve proved to be an unexpectedly patient teacher. She showed Olivia how to maintain the wood stove, explaining the different types of wood and how they burned. Pine burns hot and fast, good for getting things going.
Birch lasts longer, gives a steady heat. You always want to mix, she explained, demonstrating how to arrange the logs. When not tending to Lily, Olivia helped with chores around the cabin.
She learned that the peculiar collections had purpose, the rocks were geological specimens, the dried plants were both medicinal and for research, and the bones belonged to various arctic animals Maeve had been studying for years. You’re a scientist? Olivia asked on the third day, as they preserved vegetables from Maeve’s root cellar, was, am. Depends who you ask, Maeve replied, expertly slicing carrots.
Professor of arctic biology at the university in Fairbanks for 20 years, retired early to do my own research. What kind of research? Climate effects on arctic ecosystems, changes in plant cycles, animal migrations. Maeve gestured to her workbench, been documenting it for three decades now.
Changes that took centuries are happening in decades. Nobody wanted to hear it back then. And now? Now they’re listening, but it’s almost too late.
She handed Olivia another carrot, thinner slices, they’ll dry better. On the fourth day, the satellite phone rang, a startling sound in the otherwise quiet cabin. Maeve answered with terse responses, mostly yes and no, and finally, we’re fine, Thomas, don’t risk the trip yet.
Thomas brings supplies sometimes, she explained after hanging up. Good man, one of the few people I can tolerate for more than an hour. Olivia tried calling her friend Mackenzie on Maeve’s satellite phone, but the connection was spotty.
She managed to learn that her parents had told everyone she was away at a special school, their euphemism for erasing her from their lives. On the fifth night, Lily developed a slight fever. Olivia panicked, but Maeve remained calm.
Babies get fevers, it’s how their bodies fight, she said, examining Lily with surprisingly gentle hands, not dangerously high, probably just adjusting to the new environment. She prepared a lukewarm bath for Lily, adding something that smelled like mint to the water. Helps open the airways, she explained.
By morning, Lily’s fever had broken. When Olivia expressed her amazement, Maeve simply shrugged. Natural remedies work when you know what you’re doing.