Volume Three
Old Magic, Wounded Hearts and Gin at Sunset
When the Veil Thins at Wyndhaven

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
A magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Conditions subject to change.

Chapter One
A Mysterious Stranger Appears

Returning and new staff keep busy until 5:00 pm gin and tonic gathering on the verandah.

The Okanagan Valley in early October blazed with color. The hillsides were carpeted with trees painted copper, amber and deep red, bright against mountains that faded into purple and blue in the distance. Okanagan Lake had deepened to a pewter stillness, reflecting the shorter days and the long shadows that crept across the water each afternoon.

The grape harvest was nearly finished. Along the valley roads, the last heavy clusters were being gathered from the vines and carried away to be crushed, pressed and transformed in cool, fragrant wineries. Banners announced harvest dinners, autumn festivals and final tastings before winter. Visitors wandered through farm markets beneath strings of lights, carrying apples, pumpkins and bottles wrapped carefully in paper.

The days could still be warm, particularly when the afternoon sun rested on the hillsides, but the nights had grown cool enough for frost to settle in the low places. Sunset came with shocking speed. One moment the lake shone beneath a clear golden sky; the next, the sun had slipped behind the mountains, the water had darkened and everyone was reaching for a sweater.

Wyndhaven sat in the middle of all this and looked as though it had been there longer than anything else and intended to stay.

It was a large house by any measure, three stories of stone and old-growth timber, with tall windows that caught the morning light and held it in the rooms like something collected and saved. A wide verandah wrapped around the front and south side, furnished with deep chairs and small tables that understood the value of standing still.

The gardens stretched from the front steps to the tree line in a series of terraces and beds. By October, they had the fragile, exhausted beauty of a garden that had given almost everything it had and was finally being allowed to rest. Perennials had been cut back, fallen leaves tucked around tender roots and beds covered with mulch against the coming winter. Red roses still lifted their heads here and there, particularly when Wyndhaven decided someone needed to be showered with petals.

The kitchen garden remained fragrant with herbs, though most had been harvested and hung to dry. A pumpkin or two still poked through the broad leaves, overlooked or deliberately spared, while the last tomatoes ripened slowly against a stone wall.

Beyond the gardens, Dreamweaver Forest began.

It began the way old forests often did, with a gradual thickening. The ornamental trees at the edge of the garden gave way to larger cedar, fir and pine. The light softened as the canopy closed overhead, and the ground became deep with moss, fallen needles and generations of leaves slowly returning themselves to the earth.

Together, the gardens and forest covered twenty acres, crossed by creeks, stone paths and small wooden bridges. Hidden among them were unexpected clearings, an old cabin and three secluded homes whose occupants Duchess had discovered while exploring the grounds of her new property. Over the following months, Mabel and Angus, the elderly caretakers; Grace, a Wiccan witch living in a beguiling purple cottage; and Zeb, the forest hermit, had become neighbours and friends rather than strangers living quietly beyond her windows.

Duchess had bought Wyndhaven while searching for a new direction in her life. She had not planned to open a retreat, nor had she expected the house to gather people around it as though choosing them for itself. Yet, with the help of an unlikely collection of friends, she had begun turning Wyndhaven into a place for people who needed rest, refuge or room to begin again.

The first retreat had ended only the day before.

The guests had returned to their homes carrying whatever comfort, confusion or courage they had found with them. They had left behind friendships, upheaval, several unanswered questions and enough information to help make some life-changing decisions.

Not everyone who came to Wyndhaven had left.

Angus had flown to Scotland, inheriting a castle from his father, who stubbornly held on to it until he was 107 years old. His wife Mabel had moved into Wyndhaven House and stayed to become House Manager. Jacob had spent the summer overseeing the construction of the guest cabins and had finally claimed a permanent home in the best cabin, the one he built for himself, without even realizing it.

George, an elderly wizard who was grieving his wife Nancy who had died some months previously, had arrived as a guest hoping to mend his wounded heart in ten days. Life and grief don’t work that way. But he decided to stay longer when his magic, which had died with Nancy, had slowly begun awakening in the peace and beauty of Dreamweaver Forest. He had claimed a cabin where he first met Zeb and his cat Mia, and where the three of them had spent long, quiet hours, whittling beside the campfire.

Then there was the unexpected arrival of Lucas.

Duchess had first seen him the previous evening, sitting alone at the end of the dock while the staff rested around the fire pit after the departure of the last guest.

They had been exhausted. The first retreat had asked more of every one of them than they had expected, and the quiet that followed had drawn a sigh of relief from the entire group. Duchess had been content to sit beside the fire and watch the late light fade across the lake until she noticed the stranger on the dock.

She went down to meet him and returned a short while later with Lucas walking beside her. Misty, who had apparently reached her own conclusions about him, was curled cozily in his arms, purring against his chest.

“Jacob,” Duchess said when they reached the verandah. “Meet Lucas, our new art instructor.”

Jacob looked from Duchess to the unfamiliar man and back again.

“Zeb sent him,” she added.

His expression cleared, slightly.

Duchess turned to Lucas. “And this is Jacob, our—”

“New caretaker, if you’ll have me,” Jacob said.

Duchess laughed out loud.

The words sounded so right that she wondered if they had been sitting in a corner of her mind all along, waiting for Jacob to say them first.

He had fit into life at Wyndhaven from the beginning, quietly becoming part of the household rather than remaining the outside contractor hired to complete the cabins. He joined them for meals, fixed whatever needed fixing and stepped into every unexpected crisis as though he had always belonged there.

Still, Duchess had assumed he would eventually move on to his next project, perhaps somewhere construction work continued through the winter. She had imagined him living as he always had, following jobs and seasons wherever they led him.

Instead, Jacob proposed a salary that included accommodation, and Duchess accepted before either of them could reconsider. She offered him the cottage Mabel had once shared with Angus, noting he would likely need to modernize it.

Jacob glanced across the grounds toward the last guest cabin, almost hidden within its own small grove of trees. He and his crew had preserved more of the forest around that cabin than any of the others.

“I’d prefer the far cabin, if you have no objection.” He pushed his cap back and grinned. “I can still renovate Mabel’s cottage. Just as soon as I finish the Cat Retreat for Misty and her new friends.”

The Cat Retreat had begun as one of Jacob’s more secretive projects in the trees behind Wyndhaven. He had not managed to keep it secret for long.

With Wyndhaven and Misty apparently contributing suggestions, the structure had grown increasingly elaborate. New ideas appeared in Jacob’s sketchbook, and whatever he found there, he did his best to build.

Duchess and Jacob shook hands.

She turned back to Lucas, who still held Misty as though they had known each other for years.

“Let’s find you a room for tonight,” she said. “In the morning, you can tell us more about what you and Zeb have planned for the art classes. We have a sunlit room upstairs that two of our previous guests used as an art studio. Jan and Sylvia left most of the easels and supplies behind.”

Lucas glanced toward the upper windows of Wyndhaven.

“It will require good light.”

“We have plenty of that.”

“And space.”

The house gave a soft creak behind them.

Lucas smiled.

Now, on the first morning after the retreat, Duchess stood in the dining room and listened to furniture being dragged across the floor above her.

Lucas had found his studio.

Jacob had found his home.

The guests had gone, and the people who remained were beginning to settle into their new places.

Before Duchess opened Wyndhaven’s doors to another group of strangers, the household needed time to recover its balance.

George paid for a month in advance and moved his things into one of the cabins. He took a day trip home to close off his house and forward his mail and newspaper. He shut the door behind him and drove back to his cabin in Dreamweaver Forest with a big grin on his face. He stopped in Orchard Bay to stock up on a few snacks, some craft beer and the best jackknife he could find. He couldn’t wait for Zeb to check it out.

Jacob drove back to his apartment in Orchard Bay for the last time that evening. In the morning, he parked his truck in the driveway beside his cabin in Dreamweaver Forest. The truck fit in the driveway like it was made for it, much like everything else in his cabin.

Jacob’s cabin, the largest, had a few extra flourishes. He hadn’t consciously built himself a new home. He had simply built it the way he would have liked and Duchess had approved the changes, anticipating some guests might like to stay longer than a week.

His stops in Orchard Bay echoed George’s — his preferred snacks, some Kettle Creek craft beer, but also a bookshelf. And, after considerable arguing with himself, a dog bowl.

Finally, he laid the new WELCOME mat in front of his door. His stomach clenched and he closed his eyes for a few moments and sighed deeply.

Lucas told them he was Dr. Lucas Hayashi, PhD in Art Therapy. He had spent over a decade at a Buddhist monastery in the B.C. Interior, taking university classes and travelling throughout his tenure. Eventually, he had left for good to fulfill the internship portion of his PhD and had since worked both as a therapist and an accomplished artist.

Neither he nor Duchess could imagine a better outcome —for either of them, for the retreat or for Zeb who had summoned Lucas out of retirement to teach art and offer therapy in such a beautiful setting. Wyndhaven was happy to prepare a suite for him in the house, but nobody even suggested it. He quickly gravitated to a cabin in the woods. The natural beauty and the solitude suited him.

He shrugged, glanced up at the third-floor window of the art studio and waved. The curtains fluttered and the light burned brightly. “I prefer to keep private life and work life separate.”

Willow stared out at the still lake, the evening cooling quickly. “You know, that’s a great idea.” She was silent for a moment. “Mabel, do you mind if I move into your cute little stone cottage?”

The staff kept busy catching up on personal things like shopping, laundry, maybe reading another chapter in that mystery book they never had time for. Time was also set aside to prepare for the next group of guests. By 5:00 p.m. each afternoon, everyone gravitated to the verandah or the fire pit down by the beach for the unofficial gin and tonic gathering.

Three days later, Mabel and the new cleaning staff had scrubbed Wyndhaven from top to bottom. The House glowed with pride. Lights flashed on and off inside and out, fairy lights sparkled along the eaves, and red roses appeared along the stone path.

By the time the first car turned onto the drive, everyone had settled into their new places and Wyndhaven had settled around them.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel travelled across the lawns.

Wyndhaven’s next guest had arrived.

🌿

Concept and Art Direction by Doris von Tettenborn

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Void where prohibited by reality.

Chapter Ten
Reflections by Firelight

The man at the end of the dock

Early the next morning, Sylvia was packing. She stuffed the teddy bear she had found on her pillow the first night deep inside her suitcase, wrapped in a sweater, as if it were worth its weight in gold and she was smuggling it out of Fort Knox.

The cello was out of her room already. She had told Duchess yesterday she was leaving it and she was relieved to see Duchess had taken her seriously.

Her parents had sent Justin, the chauffeur, to pick her up. Sylvia wouldn’t even get in the car. She was sure he was loyal to her parents; they were the ones paying his salary. She would call an Uber and get as far as Kelowna before deciding what to do. She only knew two things. She was not going home and she was going to find a beautiful property like Wyndhaven, nestled in nature to call her own.

Oh, and she was probably going to get a pet cat. Or three.

The cat condo Jacob was building out back was gorgeous.

Her bags were packed. She left them by the door and wandered back into the art studio. Her fingers trailed the walls as she walked, it was a new habit, something she had picked up, a navigating trick she didn’t even know she was doing. She touched everything in the room, completed canvases, blank ones, paints, clean brushes, brushes that had dried crusty and useless.

She spied her cello. It was still glowing. Propped up in a corner, on a small pedestal. Put there either by Duchess or Wyndy or both, she wasn’t certain. It made sense though. It was satisfying. The old dream led to the new one. She approached the cello slowly, almost affectionately. She was still bitter even though it wasn’t really the cello’s fault. Faint strains of Bach whispered in the air and she sat down cross legged in front of it and contemplated the past 15 years in servitude to this curved piece of wood held together by glue and magic.

She felt no sadness or tug of regret. It was already over as far as she was concerned. The glow from the cello dimmed a bit, but she had already turned away. She looked at the room where she had found herself or at least a big new part of herself and laughed and danced and swirled and never once looked back at the cello.

She was ready to collect her luggage and call her driver.

The farewells were bittersweet. She was anxious to start her new life. It was hard to believe she had been here less than ten days, it was as if she had been reborn. She was a snake, shedding her old skin. No, a butterfly, emerging from the goo. As an accomplished concert cellist she could hardly be considered a caterpillar. Still.

She shook her head, she couldn’t figure out what animal metaphor worked, maybe none of them did. She just knew she was both sad and glad to leave.

As the dust kicked up by her driver settled, and Duchess and Andrea finished waving, the women stood on the verandah, thinking of their first completed guest rotation. It was as fun and interesting as they had imagined and also strange, painful and unexpected. Give them a few days and they would be doing it all over again with a new group of people.

“I think we need to meet down at the fire pit on the beach for debriefing after lunch,” said Duchess. “Spread the word.”

Andrea rubbed her eyes. “That’s a great idea.” She peeked at Duchess. “Is that too early for gin and tonic?”

They both laughed, already knowing the answer. “We’ll meet closer to dinner then, the sun will be putting on more of a show by then anyway.”

Duchess walked back into the foyer and instantly made another executive decision. They needed a few more housekeepers from Orchard Bay to keep this place pristine. One guest rotation in and everyone was tired. It was just too much work to do the emotional lifting as well as the vacuuming.

Hours later everyone sat around a roaring, crackling fire, each in a comfortable wooden Adirondack chair, gin and tonic with a slice of lime on ice in the cup holders. Jacob had a beer, they let him have his Kettle Creek Ale. It was a quiet, soft, companionable air quilted with fatigue. Someone would murmur, a few would laugh.

A group of mallards floated by on the calm lake, muttering and skimming the water, splashing a bit as if winter were not just a month or two away.

Duchess sipped her gin, the warmth spreading through her chest. It was a tough week. She was certain they would face even tougher weeks as they went forward. Was this really what she wanted? She had wanted a home and she had found it. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she wanted to pay it forward. Did she still want that? She looked at the people around her who had become her family in just a few short months. Why mess with that? But without guests, the staff at the retreat had no reason to stay. She sighed. Even now, she was still wrestling with her motives. Selfish or not. She sighed again.

“Well…what did you think?” she addressed nobody in particular.

Everyone looked at her, could hear the exhaustion in her voice, felt it in their own chest and lower back.

There was silence and then everyone spoke at once.

“I need a community bulletin board or something,” said Willow. “Not everyone showed up to the yoga classes, and then they would say they didn’t know.”

Grace nodded. “I had a few herbal sessions planned and people showed up or didn’t and then were surprised or angry when they would show up at my place at the wrong time.”

“We can’t all be psychic,” Andrea laughed.

Jacob side-eyed her, sipping his Kettle Creek beer.

“I’m wondering if our intake needs to be a bit more detailed, or something?” Duchess ended the statement as a question. Shane and his unexplained departure was still on her mind.

Silence greeted her. There were no clear answers.

Willow cleared her throat. “I can give qualified massage therapy.” She sipped from her tall chilled glass. “But I wonder if we are equipped to handle things like Sylvia’s explosive secret.”

It was a good point. A very good point, Duchess thought. Grace was a trained nurse. She had given Jan a thorough physical the first day she woke up twenty years younger. She was monitoring George’s blood pressure.

Unresolved issues, and dreams fulfilled or not could bring up a lot of emotional baggage they probably were not equipped to handle. Did that mean limiting the types of guests, the types of problems they accepted?

Andrea answered, even though Duchess had not asked the question out loud. “The thing is, we won’t know the problem that may arise until it lands on our proverbial doorstep.”

Heads turned as gravel crunched under George’s hiking boots as he approached the group. He paused and lifted a hand in greeting. Jacob grabbed a log to sit on, offering his chair to George.

“I realize I am interrupting a staff meeting,” he started, then stopped. He gazed out at the lake, the lowering sun rays splayed across the surface, the ducks finally taking off, squawking as if something had spooked them.

“The thing is, I’m not ready to leave, and I’m wondering if I can extend my stay. I realize it may not be a matter of just paying for another session, but do you have room for me when the next group arrives?” he looked tired yet hopeful.

The meeting broke up as Duchess and Andrea escorted George back to the house to figure out the logistics and costs to let him stay longer. Grace left to feed her cats, Onyx and Pearl. Mabel and her cat, Daisy were ready for bed, they already loved their new suite in the lower level of Wyndhaven.

Jacob sat there alone, nursing his beer. A V wedge of Canadian geese flew overhead, honking at each other, echoing across the lake, offended October arrived and it was time to leave. “Yeah, I get that, buddy,” Jacob said, draining his beer.

The fire had burned down. He kicked sand into it, extinguishing it completely.

He strode up the beach toward the house. He hadn’t figured out how to approach Duchess, but he couldn’t let his fear and doubt destroy his opportunity to stay.

She was sitting alone at a table on the verandah with a fresh gin and tonic, staring out at the lake. He looked out to where she was looking, nothing specific, just contemplating like the rest of them. Or in a fatigue coma. He chuckled and approached her.

She was waiting for him, a plate of cookies and a chilled unopened can of Kettle Creek beer beside her gin. She smiled and patted the chair beside her. He wanted to stay so badly he could barely enjoy the cookies. He chugged back the beer easily enough.

Duchess pointed behind him and he turned to see a man sitting cross legged at the end of the dock, under the pagoda. He turned back to her, “Do you want me to check?”

She shook her head.

She approached the man as silently as she could. She wasn’t meaning to sneak up on him, but he looked so peaceful, she didn’t want to disturb him either. She glanced back at Jacob who lifted his shoulders.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Duchess.”

She dropped into the chair beside him at the end of the dock and stared at him. He didn’t open his eyes or move for a few moments.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “You know my name?”

“Zeb summoned me,” he said softly.

“Zeb? Our Zeb?”

“He would be gratified to hear you describe him that way, especially after he tested you with the rain.”

Duchess was rarely speechless but she could barely breathe, much less move. Sorcery much stronger than hers again. She stared at him. He exuded an air of calm, safety, quiet joy.

He was older, maybe early 60s, with short graying hair.

“Lucas, Dr. Lucas Hayashi,” he said, hands together in a prayer pose. “Zeb thinks what you are doing here is useful, and you might have need of an art instructor.” He spread his arms wide. “At your humble service.”

Misty padded down the dock, swirled around Lucas’s feet, and purring, jumped into his lap. She looked up at Duchess serenely. Wyndy dimmed her lights, and when they came back up they were a rainbow of colors, paints splashed across the rippling lake.

Duchess knew to bend to the inevitable even before the turquoise hummingbird arrived. She brought Lucas up to the verandah. Misty curled up cozily, purring in his arms. “Jacob,” she said to his inquisitive face. “Meet Lucas, our new art instructor.”

Jacob looked confused. Duchess added, “Zeb sent him.”

She turned to Lucas. “This is Jacob, our…”
“New caretaker, if you’ll have me.”

💫

hwssuniverse.ca

Concept and Art Direction by Doris von Tettenborn

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and a Sunlit Studio

Chapter Ten
Reflections by Firelight

The first guests have all gone home. The staff sit around a crackling fire as the late afternoon sun throws splashes of light on the lake.

Duchess and her staff, who feel more like friends than co-workers, sink into Adirondack chairs around the fire pit by the beach, exhausted. They discuss concerns and think of changes they may need to make for future guests.

There are no clear answers. They are willing to learn a step at a time, listening to one another.

Wyndhaven and the Forest make room as George asks to stay if they can find space. Jacob finds the courage to claim the resident caretaker job. And a mysterious man appears at the end of the dock.

Chapter Ten will be released tomorrow, Friday July 3, 2026. I hope you join me as Volume Two comes to a conclusion.

Warmly
Doris

hwsssuniverse.ca

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
May interfere with long-held plans and tidy narratives.

Chapter Nine
Decisions and Departures

This old house creaks…

Over the next few days, the retreat felt strangely quiet. Even Wyndy stopped whistling through her rafters. It’s not as if Angus had sang at the top of his lungs as he sloppily mopped the foyer floor, or laughed his way through a plumbing job, but something was missing.

Nobody thought they would ever miss his off key humming and the lawn mower was quiet; still parked askew half way to the garden shed where he’d left it the morning he left

Mabel smiled at Duchess through her tears. “We’ve known this moment was coming for years. Either that or his da would outlive us, darn near did.” She choked on a tiny laugh, swallowed tears. “The older we got,” she shook her head. “I knew I wasn’t going to leave Wyndy and the Forest.”

She blinked. “I’d like to stay if you’ll have me.”

Duchess and Grace sat silently in the kitchen with Mabel for a while. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can live in the cottage alone,” she whispered. “Do you think Wyndy would be able to find room for me.”

Duchess hugged her. “This is your home as long as you need it.”

Wyndhaven instantly promoted Mabel to House Manager.

As breakfast was being cleared, Duchess hurried to check on her two new cats. She had adopted two tabbies, beautiful striped sisters, Tabitha and Hazel. Last week, Duchess, Willow and Andrea had had coffee with Willow’s daughter Shannon in Orchard Bay at the Paws and Prose. Misty had been sleeping coiled in her cat carrier, ready to choose her new cat friend.

As Duchess went over to the Kat Korner, she opened the carrier, noticing Misty’s fur appeared grey in town, rather than the light lavender of the mists off the lake at Wyndhaven.

Casey, the cat lady, had advised Duchess to adopt both Tabitha and Hazel. First she didn’t really want to split the sisters. It also appeared to Casey that Misty was quiet, independent, possibly unlikely to completely adopt a new cat and so the new cat could end up lonelier in the end. Duchess didn’t argue.

The house had three cats, and Mabel was about to bring her pet Daisy with her.

Jacob had finished building the fire pits in front of each cabin and now he really did need to leave Dreamweaver Forest. The job was finished. There was nothing left for him to build and nothing left for Duchess to pay him to justify staying. He was packed, and had given notice at his apartment in town. He didn’t have another job lined up yet, but he was going to head down the highway toward Kelowna and see what came up.

What came up was cats. Too many cats to live in the main house with four live-in staff and up to 6 new guests a week. Jacob thought about it and decided to build a cat condo based on the structure of a gazebo, matching Wyndhaven’s style.

He wanted it as a surprise for Duchess, so he chatted with Andrea about timelines, and budgets. She grinned and nodded. She went to find Duchess to explain Jacob wouldn’t be leaving for a day or two, she had a few things for him to finish up. Everyone knew the summer construction project was over and Jacob would soon be leaving.

He had been hired back in late spring as the Project Manager, Construction Contractor to bring Duchess’s dreams to life as they planned the retreat. His stay was always going to be temporary. To Duchess’s surprise, and his own, Jacob had fit in with the staff and the guests as if he belonged there. She was certain others felt that way.

Jacob drove to town to pick up lumber and other supplies. His drawings for the cat condo might have gone a bit overboard. He was sketching his ideas one day at lunch and when he came back to his desk from the lunch buffet table, his open sketchbook pages ruffled. He looked down and the image seemed large and more elaborate than he remembered drawing just a second ago. He liked it though.

An hour later, he was unloading lumber in a corner of the woods near the woods. He wouldn’t actually be able to keep the secret from Duchess. It’s not as if he could magically make the cat condo appear overnight.

The leaves were golden and red, scattering across the lawns and driveway. It was October and he had arrived in May. For years he had traveled from one job to the next. He stared into the woods, hearing Zeb’s blunt “Then don’t.” when he’d said he didn’t want to leave.

The smoke from Angus and Mabel’s old cottage chimney blew over the tree tops, the leaves drifting, the blue jays chattering. Jacob sucked in his breath.

He looked back sharply at the pile of lumber and back to the smoke. Could he stay? He hadn’t imagined Angus leaving. Or that the answer to his problems meant someone else had to leave. But could he stay, could he survive on a resident caretaker salary?

He sat on an overturned log, doing some math in his head. Maybe if he moved here, got room and board as part of his pay. His chest tightness loosening, his breathing evened out. His body knew the answer before he had even asked himself the question.

Monday morning rolled around again. Mabel wasn’t sure she had the energy for a batch of early morning cinnamon buns. She felt old and tired and lonely since Angus left. Rita and Naomi, the new cooks from Orchard Bay had offered to come early and help her bake them. They hadn’t yet tasted them but had heard about the legendary buns.

Barbara awoke to the luxurious smell of cinnamon and brown sugar. She knew as soon as she opened her eyes that she was back in her older body. The room was back to normal, the way it had looked the night she arrived, no Justin Timberlake posters on the wall. She stretched, happy to be leaving, secure in her decision to have a consultation with Dr. Abeletto, a top plastic surgeon in Vancouver, the next morning. She would leave first thing. After a cinnamon bun of course. She remembered she was back in her less forgiving 42-year-old body. Sadly, no cinnamon bun for her.

Jan also woke up in her older body. She could feel the physical changes occurring as soon as she had decided a day or so ago she didn’t need to be young any longer to realize she had made the correct decision those many years ago. Even if her parents had made it for her, she chuckled and shook her head. Nobody likes to admit their parents were right. But healing people was what she was all about and being a doctor had made her the person she was today.

Her mistake wasn’t in not choosing art as a profession, it was putting the art down completely to choose something else. Wyndhaven had shown her that. She had some changes to make in her life when she got home. Working in the busy Emergency Department at the Kelowna General Hospital no longer sounded fulfilling, after a week at Wyndhaven it felt chaotic to return to. She contemplated her options as she packed her luggage.

She met Barbara in the hall, also pulling her luggage. “I’ll have to make two trips, now that Angus is gone,” Barbara grumbled.

Jan laughed and grabbed Barbara’s bag. “I got this. Go get your other stuff, I’ll meet you down at the entrance.”

“Don’t forget my cinnamon bun,” Barbara yelled back from inside the suite, having changed her mind with the delicious aroma.

Jan inhaled deeply. Right.

George was already seated at a table, working his way through his second bun, grinning happily, a smidge of cream cheese icing on his moustache. Jan touched her lip and he swiped away his icing, blushing.

Sylvia came down the stairs slowly. The last few days of quiet left behind in the wake of Angus leaving had been great for her. Soothing. And solitary. Everyone had left her alone. She loved this place, she never wanted to leave. Her inner turmoil was soothed with days spent by the lake, hiking in the woods and up Ridge Mountain. She hadn’t returned to the art studio, afraid in a sense to jinx her almost perfect painting.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the painting framed and hanging near the fireplace. She grinned and patted the banister. “Thanks, Wyndy.”

She wasn’t sure she actually wanted to leave it behind. “I might need it though, to remind me what I’m capable of.”

“That’s okay,” said Duchess behind her, instinctively knowing she was referring to the picture on the wall. Duchess was petting one of the new cats, Sylvia wasn’t sure if it was Tabby or Hazel. “I put it in a frame and hung it actually to show you how beautiful it is.”

Sylvia nodded. She reached out to pet the striped cat and Duchess handed the cat to her. Sylvia looked around, missing Misty for a second. She buried her face in the cat’s fur. “Thank you,” she said, looking back at the painting.

“I need it because even I can’t quite believe I painted it.” She laughed and shook her head. “I even wondered if Wyndy had tricked me, enchanted the brush or something.”

Duchess put her arm around Sylvia and nodded. She reached over to take the cat back, but it jumped out of Sylvia’s arms and ran down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Sylvia,” Duchess said. “I’m sorry that your parents felt the need to trick you. That must hurt.”

“There isn’t enough cinnamon and sugar to erase it, no.” Sylvia said as she watched everyone eating the famous buns. “But in fact, I’m kind of glad.”

Duchess looked up in surprise. Sylvia sat on one of the steps and Duchess joined her. “It made me mad enough, to be honest, to be able to tell my mother I’m not coming home.”

Her head went up, chin first, defiant. “Mind you, I could only do it over the phone.” She grimaced. “I still don’t know what she’ll be like in person.”

Duchess had no answer to that.

“I’m leaving the cello here though,” said Sylvia as she jumped up to join Grace and Willow at their table for coffee and a bun.

Duchess was still sitting there thinking a few minutes later when she noticed Jan and Barbara both packed and ready to leave by the front entrance. She rushed down to see them off with the others. The retreat was not over for another day or two but both ladies were ready to resume life as their older selves. Barbara had made her appointment for the next morning and Jan had a few more days off before she had to return to work. She intended to buy some art supplies and think about her life in the ER.

“Jan, did I tell you we heard old Dr. Clark was retiring?” Andrea said innocently. Duchess looked at Andrea and wondered what her psychic senses were telling her. She nodded and turned to Jan. “Yeah, when we were picking up Tabitha and Hazel at Paws and Prose Shoppe it’s all anybody can talk about in town. He’s been there for decades and everyone is worried what doctor would want to come to their little town on the lake.”

Jan barely heard them. Both women were exhausted from their week in twenty year old bodies that did way more than they should have now that the older bones were back firmly in place

It had been exhausting too, for Wyndhaven and all the sorcery of the staff and the Forest to hold that magic together. It was doubtful they could have done it without Zeb’s final touch.

And maybe a whisper or two of assistance from me, thought God’s Little Sister, as she sat at the table on the verandah, staring into her golden orb and sipping a scandalously early morning gin and tonic, patting Wyndy’s banister, encouraging the house to rest.

Concept and Art Direction by Doris von Tettenborn

Previously in Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio…

Dreamweaver Forest has opened its doors for the first time, and Wyndhaven — the magical House everyone now calls Wyndy — is already proving she has opinions, excellent taste, and very little interest in behaving like ordinary real estate.

Duchess and her growing household welcome their first guests: Sylvia, a young cello prodigy fleeing the wreckage of a public breakdown; George, an elderly widower grieving both his beloved Nancy and the quiet loss of his own magic; Jan, a physician haunted by the artist’s life she never chose; Barbara, a beauty-obsessed fashion designer determined to reclaim her youth; and Shane, who leaves almost as quickly as he arrives.

As the Forest begins answering wishes, nothing unfolds quite as expected. Barbara wakes young again and decides beauty may still be the whole point. Jan is returned to the age where her life split in two and finds herself drawn back to paint, color, and the person she might have become.

Sylvia, determined never to touch her cello again, discovers something far more unsettling than burnout: her instrument is enchanted, and the talent she built her life around may not be what she thought it was. With Jan beside her in the sunlit studio, Sylvia begins to paint through rage, grief, and disbelief — and for the first time, she creates something that might belong only to her.

Meanwhile, Dreamweaver Forest is changing the people who thought they were only passing through. George finds quiet companionship with Zeb, an ancient wizard with a cat on his shoulders and few words.

Jacob, who built much of the retreat and planned to leave when the work was done, keeps finding reasons to stay. Angus receives a startling letter from Scotland and learns he has inherited a castle after the death of his spectacularly long-lived father.

As Chapter 9 begins, the retreat is no longer simply welcoming guests. It is rearranging lives, loosening old griefs, and asking one very dangerous question: what happens when the place that heals you also becomes the place you cannot bear to leave?

Chapter 9 will be posted on Friday. Hope to see you there!

😻

VolumeTwo
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Proceed at your own metaphysical risk.

Chapter Eight
Laird McTavish of Ravencroft

Angus gets a letter

Out in the foyer, Angus was shuffling through with his cleaning supplies, cardigan buttoned wrong, socks unmatched, exactly as he’d done for forty-three years. Misty flicked her tail and followed him, sensing something. Wyndy sighed, the third stair up creaking in a fond groan. He’d been Wyndhaven’s custodian for longer than most of the current staff had been alive—so long, in fact, that Duchess joked he’d come with the property.

Morning, old girl,” Angus muttered, patting the doorframe as he passed. His joints protested the early hour, but routine was routine. The brass doorknobs needed polishing, and the foyer always collected dust overnight, though where the dust came from in a magical house was anyone’s guess.

Wyndy appreciated Angus in the way one appreciates an old sweater—comfortable, familiar, but perhaps a bit worn around the edges. He got the work done. Mostly. The essentials anyway. But she couldn’t help noticing that the third-floor bathroom tap had been dripping for two months now, and the garden shed door stuck every time someone tried to open it.

He sat at the breakfast counter, mop and pail on the floor behind him, and poured tea, and dripped honey in it. Mabel brought him a breakfast croissant. He only ever ate a bite or two, but nobody begrudged him.

The morning mail arrived at nine-thirty, delivered by a cheerful postal worker who never commented on the fact that the mailbox occasionally moved itself closer to the road when it was raining. Among the usual flyers and bills was a cream-colored envelope addressed to Angus McTavish in elaborate script.

Wyndy noticed it immediately. International postage. A wax seal. The weight of importance. The envelope was addressed in looping ink that looked like it belonged to another century. It smelled faintly of peat smoke and rain. Angus turned it over twice before opening it with the butter knife.

“Letter from Scotland,” Angus announced, turning the envelope over in his gnarled hands. He broke the seal and unfolded thick parchment, his eyes scanning the formal language. His eyebrows climbed steadily.

“Well,” he mused. “I guess that’s that.”

“What’s what,” asked Duchess as she and Andrea passed by his table.

“My father died,” said Angus. “Finally left me the castle.

The room went quiet. Wyndy held her breath, even the third stair didn’t creak. Misty froze, mid-lick, turned to stare.

“I’m sorry,” Duchess sat down with her cup.

“Your father?” Andrea asked incredulously. “How old is he?”

Angus pondered, finger to stubbly chin. “I’m 86. So I guess that makes him 107.”

He looked up, “Course he’s dead now, as I said.”

Everyone stared at each other, and then turned to Duchess who shrugged.

“You said something about a castle?”

“Mmm.” Angus kept reading, his expression shifting from solemn to amused. “Left me the estate. Castle Ravencroft and the surrounding lands.” He looked up. “And apparently I’m a Laird now.

He paused as he looked over at Mabel who shook her head slightly. Neither of them had ever really expected this moment to arrive. The old guy was stubborn and just didn’t want to die. Both knew, however, what this moment meant. They had discussed it over the years. Quietly, not so quietly and sometimes in complete silence. She was too old to go now that they had waited a lifetime.

Now that the moment had arrived, they stared at each other across the room. Everything had changed. Nothing had changed.

He nodded, turned away.

“I haven’t a moment to lose.”

He stood with more energy he’d had for years. “I’ll need to find my clean shoes,” he muttered as the broom and mop clattered to the floor, startling everyone. “Been waiting my whole life for this.” He disappeared down the hallway.

Mabel stared after him, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.

From the front door, two distinct thuds as luggage appeared. They rushed to investigate.

A pair of scuffed leather suitcases sat beside the entrance, buckled and ready. Angus emerged wearing his good shoes, polished to a shine that suggested they’d been preparing for this moment as long as he had.

Duchess looked from the bags to the ceiling. “Wyndy. You packed for him.”

A warm breeze wafted through the foyer, carrying the scent of heather and highland mist, though the windows were closed.

“Been waiting for this too, have you?” Angus patted the wall with genuine affection. “You’ll be better off with someone who knows what they’re doing. I kept you going, but that’s about all I managed.” He picked up the cases. “Time you had proper care.” The front door swung open to reveal a taxi idling in the driveway.

Angus stopped in front of Mabel. “Are you sure, lass?” he asked softly. She didn’t answer, she laid her cheek against his and gently patted his other cheek. He reached up and covered her hand with his own.

Angus paused at the threshold. He looked back once, really looked, at the beams and bricks and windows of the house that had held him for nearly half his life. For just a moment, emotion flickered across his weathered face, gratitude, maybe relief. “Been a good run, this. Wyndy’s a fine house.”

He nodded once to Duchess. “Take care of Mabel, m’lass.”

As he stepped outside, Wyndy blew rose petals on the walkway behind him. Then he was gone, shuffling down the steps with his inheritance waiting at the end of a long journey. The taxi disappeared down the drive, gravel crunching under its tires.
Everyone turned to Mabel. George stared at her, aghast.

“Mabel?”

The house plunged into darkness.

💫

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
May interfere with long-held plans and tidy narratives.

Chapter Seven
Pocket Knives and Paintbrushes.

George wants a fire pit…and a jack knife.

The House smelled lovely, bacon, eggs, toast, coffee. George sighed as he took a deep breath. He didn’t want to complain, he really didn’t. But he also really didn’t want to make his own breakfast. He could do that at home. Toast and coffee was all he managed there and he wanted more from his luxury retreat.

He wanted it all. He wanted the glistening lake, the late fall roses, petals floating in the grass. The leaves turning orange and red. The yoga classes and massage therapy sessions with Willow. The absolutely stunning comfortable luxurious yet homey suite. But he also wanted pampering and pampering included cooking. And baking.

It was a shame Mabel only made her cinnamon buns once a week. The business man in him realized that meant a paying guest only got those luscious treats once, maybe twice in a 7-10 day retreat. He made a mental note to talk to Duchess about that. The cinnamon buns deserved their own entry in the brochure. Mabel was a cinnamon wizard.

Witch? Sorceress? He wasn’t actually sure where Mabel fit on the magic spectrum between the guests and the staff. Nobody seemed to know or even talk about it. He was sure Duchess and Willow were sorceresses. Andrea seemed to be normal, even human, but tuned in, likely psychic. Grace, well, Grace was in a class of her own. A witch, for sure, a practicing wiccan witch who wore the most glorious powder blue gowns trimmed in gold with her long blond locks flowing behind her.

But Mabel? He wasn’t sure.

His thoughts returned to the delicious breakfast in front of him that now seemed to appear along with regularly scheduled meals with a menu even posted. Snacks in the fridge off the foyer, and even items that could be brought back to your own room, now that Naomi and Rita, two older women from the nearby town had come to work in the kitchen at Wyndhaven with Mabel.

He finished his breakfast, stuffed. He should have stopped at four sausages, but they were cooked so perfectly, crispy and crunchy, just the way he liked them. Burned, Nancy used to say, scoffing, but cooking them his way, nevertheless.

The front door opened for him as he approached. “Thank you, Wyndy,” he said as he stepped out.

Another beautiful day. Sunny, blue skies. He knew the Okanagan sky could be overcast when winter arrived, and he appreciated the beautiful fall blue canopy while he could. The gravel crunched under his feet as he crossed the path to the woods. He had found solace here more than once over the last few days. He didn’t have a heart monitor but he could swear his blood pressure was decreasing by the day. Maybe he would get Grace, who was also a western trained nurse, to check it for him.

He approached what he now thought of ‘his’ cabin. It was the third one in, where the drive curved before it met the driveway out of the compound, where Jacob and his crew had saved a particularly large tree.

Each cabin had a ground level deck on the front and down one wall of the cabin where benches had been built into the railings. Logs were cut and stacked neatly for the inside fireplace even though nobody lived in the cabins yet. George sat in the Adirondack chair he had ‘borrowed’ from the beach side fire pit. He was pretty sure somebody had noticed but that same somebody hadn’t said anything, so he let himself enjoy his borrowed chair on the borrowed deck of his borrowed cabin.

An ancient man with a tuxedo cat sprawled casually on the shoulders of his black cape joined him. George looked up in surprise, but didn’t say anything as the old man sat on the bench by the railing. The other man tipped his hat to George, “Zeb.”

“George.”

Zeb nodded and after a few minutes pulled out an ancient pocket knife and a piece of wood out of his pocket and began whittling.

George’s breath relaxed.

Zeb’s aura glowed silver and indigo, indicating a master. George felt safe and humbled.

His eyes widened. He could see the aura. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

The tuxedo cat jumped down off the man’s collar and padded toward George.

“Mia,” said Zeb.

“Hi, Mia.”

The cat approached George and stopped a few inches from his feet. The cat sniffed George’s shoe a few times, and then headed back toward Zeb before settling down in a patch of sun on the deck floor between the two men.

George smiled. He would need to get himself a pocket knife.

The two men were sitting there enjoying the morning sun when Jacob joined them. He grabbed a thick stump and plunked it on the deck and sat down. “George. Zeb.”

The other men nodded. Nobody said a word. Jacob sat for a moment, then got up, rearranging logs on the deck, moving his stump, lifting his cap and checking out the roof of his freshly built cabin. He was restless. Not that there was anything left to do, he was restless because there was nothing left to do, nothing left to keep him in the woods.

The grounds were looking neater, Jacob had picked up a bit of the slack left by Angus, the resident caretaker, when he helped prepare Wyndhaven and the woods for the Autumn festival. He had quietly nailed a board or two down and stopped the garden shed door from squeaking. He didn’t think anybody but himself had noticed he was trying to keep busy by picking up Angus’s long to do list. Nobody wanted to admit Angus was getting too old and slow to manage the entire compound now that it was so large.

“If I lived here, I think I would want a fire pit in the yard over there,” George pointed to a spot to the side of the driveway.

“We weren’t thinking of people living here exactly,” said Jacob. “But I get your meaning.”

He strode over to the spot. Walked around it a bit. This was great. A project that would keep him busy another day or two. “I’ll have to source out some stones…”

He cursed. “I just don’t want to leave the woods yet.”

Zeb got up, stretched and Mia jumped back up on his shoulder. “Then don’t.” he muttered as he patted the cat securely in place. He strode off, back to his cabin in the corner of the woods where it butted up against Ridge Mountain.

George and Jacob looked at each other, reading each other’s minds at that moment.

“I need a dog.”

“I need a jack knife.”

They both turned as dust and gravel spun in the air as tires squealed and brakes jammed.

Barbara was back in town, with the top down on her car, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. She barely parked the car before she was running for Wyndy’s door, who knew better than to get in her way, opening before she even reached the stone stairway.

She nearly crashed into Duchess, Andrea and Willow who were on their way to Orchard Bay, to the Paws and Prose Shoppe, a coffee shop, bookstore and cat lounge, where Andrea had worked part time last summer, to adopt a cat or two to keep Misty company.

Misty lay in her cat carrier, calmly licking her faint lavender paws, not lonely in the slightest.

“Duchess!” cried Barbara. “Oh thank you so much for this week. I’ve had so much fun, don’t ask.” She paused and laughed.

“I just have a couple of calls to make and then I’m probably out of here. I’ve loved being young and beautiful again for the week. There is nothing better. I’m just going to book a consult with the best plastic surgeon in Vancouver, and I’ll be on my way.”

She hugged Duchess, who stood there stunned, holding Misty’s carrier, unable to react fast enough to hug her back.

The three women stared at each other as Jacob strode up the walkway. “I was thinking of building fire pits for all the cabins, what do you think?”

Duchess shook her head and blinked. “Sure, sure.”

The door slammed behind Barbara. Everyone turned to look. Wyndy was not usually that determined. The wind blew leaves and rose petals against the door in a swirl, and then gradually slowed and calmed to a halt, dropping to a pile on the deck.

Duchess got the message, and took a deep breath. She needed to refine her definition of success with the guests and their wishes, requests and healing goals. She wasn’t in charge of determining what everyone’s finish line was. Shane left. Barbara wanted to stay young, Sylvia never wanted to touch her cello again, much less return to the concert tour ‘refreshed’.

She shrugged and turned to Jacob. “That’s a great idea. Good atmosphere, and maybe even a bit necessary as the weather turns colder. We are on our way to Orchard Bay to get a cat or two, can we pick anything up for you.”

Jacob took a deep breath himself, mentally adding cat condo to his ‘to-do’ list. He closed his eyes. How was he ever going to be able to say good bye to this place? To these people?

“No thanks,” he tipped his cap to Misty in the carrier, “Good luck, buddy.”

“Oh and thanks so much for picking up some of the slack around here, Jacob.”

He flushed, pretended to drop his keys, then bent over to retrieve them, brushing rose petals out of the way.

Upstairs, Jan and Sylvia were in the art studio, the late afternoon sun spilling peach rays over the lake and into the room, lighting everything with a soft glow. Jan was humming softly, painting the view of the lake from the perspective of sitting on the verandah, the light twinkling off the two wine glasses perched on a wooden table.

Sylvia was a bundle of energy. Emotions flashed across her face as her wrinkled brows tightened, a frown morphed into a scowl. Her face crumpled, and she brushed tears from her eyes with the sleeves of her pink sweater.

She was painting. Furiously. Canvas after canvas. She would start with the intention of painting a calm vision of the lake and suddenly a slash of purple would mar the middle of the canvas. She would throw it aside.

Jan had quietly driven to town and bought a few more canvases. She had also asked Andrea to order some canvases and brushes for Amazon to deliver, Orchard Bay’s art supplies had pretty much been depleted by then. She had attempted to show Sylvia she could paint over the canvas and re-use it, but the flash of anger in Sylvia’s eyes had silenced her. She started painting over the canvases herself.

“Leave them,” Sylvia had demanded harshly.

Sylvia didn’t know what she was doing, but she knew she didn’t want to cover up the canvases. They weren’t mistakes, they were explosions.

What were her parents thinking? They didn’t need the money. Her father was a well-known CEO and philanthropist, they didn’t need fame. She had no way of knowing what they had been thinking. The only thinking she could do was her own. And she wasn’t going to live like this anymore.

She had made plans in her mind, and written some of them out. She was definitely moving out of her parents’ house. She just wasn’t sure yet if she was going to shut the door behind her or slam it.

“Damn!” She slumped to the floor, paint splashing her face and clothes and the floor on the way down, tears streaming down her face. She waved Jan away.

Half an hour later she got up and calmly washed her face and hands at the studio sink. She grabbed a cloth and wiped up the floor. She pulled a fresh, new, white canvas from the closet and sat staring at it.

She squeezed out some paints onto her palette, picked up her brush and formed an outline of the lake and the mountain behind it. Grabbing a stool, she sat in front of the canvas, squinted her eyes and tackled the picture determined to capture what was in her mind’s eye. As she worked, the picture began emerging, infused with an energy that hadn’t been there before.

Jan glanced up a few times and then washed off her brushes, pulled up a stool beside Sylvia and watched her work. Neither said a word.

As the sun dipped farther and the room darkened, Jan took a deep breath. Sylvia’s painting was stunning. She had just witnessed the girl’s talent crack open as if her tears had washed away some of the fear.

Sylvia finally took a step back. She stared, blinked a few times, then turned to Jan with a large grin, fatigue and unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

“Wow!” Sylvia laughed. “It’s good!”

She carefully put the brush down, her chin lowered. The joy vanished. She closed her eyes. She no longer trusted anything, including herself.

She looked at the brush in suspicion. “Wait! Wyndy, did you put an enhancement spell on this paintbrush?”

Wyndy dimmed the lights in the room, as the fading sun dropped lower behind the mountain.

“Oh, honey,” Jan stood and enveloped Sylvia in a hug.

It was going to take a while for Sylvia to believe in herself again.

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and a Sunlit Studio

Chapter Seven
Pocket Knives and Paintbrushes.

George wants a fire pit…and a jack knife.

In Chapter Six, Sylvia discovers what is making her cello glow from within. She is devastated to discover her parents have been manipulating her talent for years. How will she recover?

Sylvia’s emotions spill onto the canvas.

George is feeling more at home, and invites himself to one of the cabins where the wizard of the woods, Zeb, and his cat Mia greet him with calming silence.

Barbara has learned all she needs to know about youth and beauty to take the next step in her life.

How will Jacob find a way to stay at Dreamweaver Forest now that his construction project is finished?

Do any of us ever really know what we want?

Chapter Seven: Pocket Knives and Paintbrushes will be posted tomorrow!
Join me to see how the magic of the woods is gently stirring up everyone’s dreams.

💫

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Avoid direct sunlight, moonlight, and sudden revelations.

Chapter Six
The Sunlit Studio

The artist in me sees the artist in you.

Sylvia spent the next few days exploring the grounds. She loved it all. She didn’t know what was next in life for her, but it definitely needed to include living near nature. Trees, flowers, even grass held a sense of joy for her. She was getting up earlier, to walk beside the lake, watch the early morning mist rise off the water, and eventually evaporate in the warm air.

She discovered the daisy patch with the stone angel that moved around, she assumed it was Angus moving it around for some strange reason known only to him.

She sat by the creek that bubbled between the forest and Mabel and Angus’s stone cottage that could be reached only by a curved stone bridge. She waved at Daisy, the white cat, that lazily guarded the entrance to the cottage.

Grace’s purple cottage made Sylvia gasp in delight. She clapped as she walked around the yard, the raised gardens, the herbal garden, the table carved out of a huge tree trunk. She was joined by Grace’s two black cats, gracious sentinels of the property.

Delicate musical notes floated out over the creek behind Grace’s cottage. Sylvia followed the music and discovered Grace swaying, eyes closed, playing the harp and she was intrigued. She was still stubbornly avoiding her cello. Something was going on with it, and it felt familiar and foreign at the same time, Wyndhaven seemed to have brought out some kind of eerie glow. She had asked Andrea, the psychic business manager, to take a look and now she was fearful what the answer might be.

Sylvia was filling her days with nature and painting, she wasn’t missing the cello and its mysteries and the painful memories of her grueling tour.

Jan had set up the art studio and spent hours painting, sketching, humming. She experimented, painted realistic images of the lake, then veered off to impressionism, capturing light and shadow glistening off the lake . Sylvia sat watching her, quietly, patiently, the silence broken only by the brush strokes, the strike of a palate knife, and the splashing brushes clean in the sink.

The room smelled of paints and solvents, a heady mixture to an artist and, Sylvia thought, even a would-be artist. Jan flicked paint around in abandon, as she danced around her easel, the images appearing on the canvases.

She would explain to Sylvia, “Well, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” then laugh. “But I can work with it.”

Sylvia could swear Jan deliberately smeared paint on her cheek and on her overalls each day, she looked so at home here, in the studio, the light overflowing through the windows. Jan came alive in that room. Sometimes she hummed, sometimes she put on music. She loved classical, but Sylvia and Barbara would only let her listen to pop music.

Sylvia had had enough of classical music.

Nobody had seen Barbara for a few days, she had gone off to the city, having exhausted her possibilities in the small town nearby, Orchard Bay,

One day, Sylvia was watching Jan when she drew a stroke of purple under the fragile flowers in a meadow near a brook and the shadow jumped out at Sylvia as if by magic. She jumped, drew a breath and asked, “Can I try?”

Jan turned, paint on her cheek and fingers, “I thought you’d never ask.”

She laughed and walked over to a closet where she had a canvas sitting on an easel, ready for Sylvia when she would finally ask as Jan knew she would, she had been spending too much time in the studio for it to be a polite interest.

Sylvia’s hands were shaking when she chose the paint colors from Jan’s wide array. Even though she had watched Jan for days, she had no real concept of colors, or color mixing, much less composition.

The lake and the roses were so beautiful, the grounds mesmerized Sylvia. She knew she was going to buy a larger property, on a lake, or with a creek, large enough to garden even if she had to hire that part out. She wanted to try to paint the lake

Jan spent a few moments explaining some elemental color mixing with Sylvia, stuff you’d learn in school, whites, blacks, primary colors, and so on. She had a color wheel Sylvia could use.

“Don’t have too many expectations at first,” Jan advised. “In fact, I would spend awhile trying to find the right blue color for example, rather than try and paint the lake right off.”

Sylvia laughed, “How did you know I wanted to paint the lake?”

“Anyone watching you for even a minute knows you’ve fallen in love with Wyndhaven and the grounds.”

Sylvia swallowed. She wasn’t sure her mother would have noticed that. She would have only noticed the cello getting dustier by the moment. It wasn’t though. Getting dusty that is, it still seemed to be glowing mysteriously, like a maniac, it even glowed in the dark.

Sylvia and Jan spent a few quiet hours painting and color mixing. Jan moving easily between her painting of the lake, a sunset image she had started the day before and was filling in the peach glow on the lake from memory, and Sylvia’s color wheel exercise.

Sylvia was impatient to start a ‘real’ painting and barely breathing, she began to sketch in broad strokes like she had seen Jan do many times over the last few days. The shadowy Okanagan mountains in the distance, so many colors, pink, rust, brown, blue, green, in a mottled montage that looked like a painting even in real life, particularly with the mist of the Okanagan lake floating in front, the lake itself, the tree tops, the near shore line.

She hadn’t had a chance to put any color in the outlines when she heard the door open.

Sylvia turned when she heard throat clearing and saw Andrea in the doorway. Misty padded over to Sylvia who instantly put the brushes down and picked up the softly pale lavender cat who began purring.

“Hi Sylvia,” Andrea cleared her throat again and looked at Jan. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to chat.”

Jan walked over to the sink to rinse out her brushes. “I’m almost finished, I’ll be out of here in a sec.”

“No, it’s okay.” Sylvia said, hugging the cat closer. She felt something, had for days, something she was avoiding. “I think I would rather talk to Andrea down by the lake, down on the pagoda on the dock.”

She looked out the window and blinked quickly. “It’s so beautiful out there…”

Andrea could see Sylvia struggling with something, some knowledge everyone in the house had been avoiding for days. “That’s a great idea, I’ll meet you out there.”

“Bring wine!” Sylvia called out.

She washed her brushes without looking at Jan.

“There’s something wrong with my cello.”

Jan nodded.

Misty purred and snuggled deeper into Sylvia’s chest.

The late afternoon sun was setting over Lake Okanagan in front of Wyndhaven , the golden glow perfect for Jan’s picture, if she was still painting up in the studio. Sylvia glanced in that direction before she burst into tears.

The cello was enchanted. There was a magical spell cast on it and Andrea and Willow speculated that being in Wyndhaven’s magical realm had made the enchantment visible.

She sobbed.

Andrea gently patted her back. Sylvia let her, even though she wanted to run as fast and as far away as she could. Misty was sitting solidly on her lap, holding her tightly to the deck, as if on purpose.

Sylvia drew a ragged breath. She turned a messy face to Andrea, mascara running, nose dripping.

“So the whole thing, my whole life has been fake?”

“No,” Andrea said, more forcefully than she intended. She felt for Sylvia, she really did, but the mother in her also understood wanting the best for your child.

“I hate them!” the girl screamed. “I hate her.” She balled her fists into her eyes.

Her voice rose higher, singsong and mocking. “You can’t hide a talent like this from the world, darling,” she said, pantomiming her mother sipping from her wine glass.

Andrea flinched. “Willow assured me it was an enhancement spell, meaning it can only enhance what is already there.” She grabbed a few clean tissues from her pocket and passed them to Sylvia. “You are definitely talented. The spell wouldn’t let me be able to play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, much less Bach.”

Sylvia smiled weakly, and took the tissues, wiping at her face, smearing mascara across her cheek without noticing. She stared at the hills, the colors changing rapidly in the setting sun, her mind already taking an artist view of the world around her.

“It’s kind of evil,” she whispered.

“I don’t know about…” Andrea stopped talking when Sylvia glared at her.

She sighed. She knew her own daughter would be furious too.

“It’s bad.” Sylvia insisted.

“They were faking it, or making me fake it. And they pressured me so much.” She shuddered, past pressure and exhaustion catching up with her.

Andrea didn’t say anything. She had to let Sylvia sit with it. As if she heard her thoughts, Sylvia said, “I’d like to be alone now, please.”

Andrea got up. She was walking toward the house when she heard a quiet, “Thanks, Andrea.”

Sylvia huddled on the dock, tears dripping. Misty snuggled her, a slight lavender mist rose off the lake, floated over the dock and settled around Sylvia like a warm cloak.

Back in the art studio, Jan sat on the edge of the desk, staring at her latest canvas. It was good. Her chest tightened. She sighed and wiped her paint brush on her jeans. The room smelled of paint and solvents, sharp and familiar. For a moment, she was back in high school dabbing paint on her clothes to look more like an artist. Everyone thought she was clumsy, but her instructor had smiled at her from under his paint dabbled burgundy beret.

Her art had not been a whim. Not then. Not now.

The doors to the balcony were open, letting in light and birdsong. Voices drifted up faintly from the dock.

She stood and crossed the room, pushing the doors wider to let in more of the late afternoon light. It spilled across the floor and caught in the jars and brushes, warming the room, making everything look more alive than it had a moment ago. She gripped the balcony railing, glimpsed her paint stained hands—soft, unlined, young—and almost laughed.

She didn’t need to be twenty anymore.

Movement below caught her eye. Sylvia was hunched over on the dock, shoulders drawn in tight, Andrea nowhere in sight.

Jan frowned, her attention shifting immediately.

She turned back into the studio, quickly rinsing her hands at the sink, wiping the still damp blue fingers on the towel.

Sylvia’s words drifted back to her.

There’s something wrong with my cello.

Jan headed for the door.

💫

Whispers From the Woods

Volume 1 · Issue 11

Volume Two

Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and a Sunlit Studio

Chapter Six

The Sunlit Studio

The artist in me sees the artist in you

In Chapter Five, guests Jan and Barbara both woke up as college students in their old dorm rooms! Wyndhaven magic at its finest. Barbara promptly heads into town to buy a bikini, and make friends at Karaoke night at the Rusty Anchor Pub.

Jan buys all the paint supplies she can find in Orchard Bay, the small tourist town nearby and Duchess shows her the beautiful sunlit room she thought would make a great art studio.

Sylvia finds out the secret of her cello, and it is devastating.

What do each of the women do with their discoveries?

Chapter Six will be posted tomorrow! See you then!

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Contains trace amounts of destiny

Chapter Five
Runaway Guests, Cold Breakfast and Lonely… Cats

This place needs more cats.

Breakfast was a casual affair, improvised while Duchess pretended she knew what she was doing. She and Mabel had set out cereal and milk, bread and a toaster, butter, jams, boiled eggs, tea, and coffee. It was not the kind of spread Duchess had imagined offering at a magical luxurious retreat, but she couldn’t expect Mabel to get up at 5:00 am every morning to make cinnamon buns.

Somehow she had to find time to plan menus and hire kitchen staff. Andrea could take some of the business end, sort out budgets, decide on meal hours and snack options. All of it should have been settled before guests began appearing with suitcases and emotional baggage. A thousand small decisions that should have been made already, and despite their conversations with gin on the verandah and the endless lists were somehow missed.

She stood at the end of the buffet table, hands wrapped tightly around her signature teal coffee mug she had already forgotten to drink from. She hoped people didn’t mind the cold breakfast—or the do-it-yourself menu. Or if they did mind, they didn’t grumble too loudly. A slight breeze lifted the corners of the napkins, heavily illustrated with pumpkins and cornucopia, leftover from the Autumn Equinox Festival.

She exhaled through pursed lips. There was always something else to think about. Something that always seemed obvious…after.

Andrea and Willow stood near the counter speaking quietly while they fixed their plates. “Thanks for meeting with me yesterday in Sylvia’s room.”

She popped a piece of bread in the toaster and paused. “I mean, I’m glad you confirmed for me that her cello is somehow enchanted, some kind of spell.” She glanced up at Willow, “Now, I just have to figure out how to tell her.”

Willow nodded slowly in sympathy, both for Andrea having to share the news and for Sylvia. “Do you want me to come with you? I can’t imagine she will be very happy to hear it.”

Andrea shook her head. “I should tell her myself.” She buttered the toast. Honey or peanut butter…ooh, strawberry jam.

“I didn’t actually let her know I was bringing you in to check it out with me.” She grimaced. “It wasn’t my story to share, really.”

She noticed George, staring at the buffet table. “Here, George, take my toast, I’ll make some more.”

He gratefully took the plate as though she had offered him something far more meaningful than toast. He grabbed a cup of coffee as he sat at a table. The women joined him, a tray full of coffee, toast and a few pots of jam.

Grace and Sylvia were already digging into their breakfast at another table with Jan and Barbara, who were chattering about their trip into the small town yesterday and their purchases.

“I’m sure I bought every bit of art supplies that Christmas store had!” Jan said, biting into her toast. “I can’t wait to set up in the studio upstairs.”

Sylvia’s eyes lit up. “Can I join you?”

“Of course!”

“Anyone want to join me tonight at the Rusty Anchor Pub? It’s karaoke and wings night!”

When nobody answered, Barbara muttered, shook her head then laughed. “Fine, all the young guys for me, I guess!”

Jan laughed, while Grace hid a grin in her toast. Pink spread on Sylvia’s cheeks, the beginning of a blush.

Wyndy wasn’t laughing. The House felt unsettled this morning. The stairs moaned quietly when people came down. Lights flickered in the dining room. The front door was slightly ajar.

Before Duchess could think much about the signs, Mabel burst into the room carrying a tray loaded with coffee, toast, and honey. She slammed the tray on the first empty table, making the spoons jump.

“Duchess,” she said, slightly breathless, pulling an envelope from her apron pocket. “There was no answer at that nice young man’s door, and then I noticed this peeking out from underneath it.”

Duchess took the envelope and saw her name on the front. “Thanks, Mabel.”

“His car is gone too.” Willow crossed the room and sat at the table, calmly biting into her toast.

Andrea met Duchess glance across the room and shrugged. Duchess rose with the envelope in hand. “I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

It was too early in the morning for the verandah, too chilly. She headed to her office, switched direction mid-stride. The balcony off the sunlit art studio was calling to her.

She stood in front of the French doors. The lake was calm and a bright blue, She loved her roses, the ones in tidy rows and the ones that tangled around each other, curling around the stone figures of the serene older couple half hidden among the blooms.
She tapped the envelope on her hand. She was certain she knew what was in it. The only question was why.
She opened it.

Duchess
Thank you so much for your warm hospitality.
The staff were kind, especially Andrea and Mabel
It just wasn’t the right place for me.

Shane

It wasn’t much to go on. She read it twice, then lowered the note and stared out over the lake as though it might provide more explanation than the letter had.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” she said to the empty room, lowering herself into the chair by the fireplace. “A breakup letter.”

The lights flickered.

Misty poked her whiskers into the room as she padded over to Duchess’s lap. The sorceress absent mindedly stroked the silky pale lavender fur.

Was it the intake process, did they not do their due diligence? She struggled to remember what was on Shane’s application form, something to do with his father? Had she been too enchanted by her own idea of the retreat to see clearly who was actually ready for it? Or maybe, it was simpler than that. Maybe he was right…it just wasn’t the right place for him.

She sighed. They weren’t going to be able to solve everyone’s issues. She went to find Andrea, standing carefully as Misty slipped to the floor and padded beside her.

“Misty, you poor dear,” Duchess was grateful for her spirit companion that had seemingly materialized out of the lavender mist over the lake on Duchess’s first night at Wyndhaven. “I bet you’re lonely.”

She put another task on her mental list. “We need to find you some kitty friends.” The thought made her smile and the lights brightened, spreading a warm glow across the glass door.

Misty, who was not lonely, tipped her whiskers affectionately toward Duchess. The cat and God’s Little Sister exchanged winks.

Jan and Sylvia arrived in a gust of laughter, their arms full of brushes, paints, sketchbooks, and canvases. Jan stopped short. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She looked around the room for a moment. “Is this a bad time?”

Duchess waved the envelope in the air. “No, no problem. I forgot you two asked to set up the art studio today. I was just leaving.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Probably,” Duchess said. “At least in the general cosmic sense.”

Jan shifted the canvas under her arm. “We’ll try not to make too big a mess.”

Duchess looked around the room as the two women entered it, sunlight already catching at the jars and brushes. She had loved this room from the moment she first saw Wyndhaven. She had known immediately it would be an art studio. The lake, the light, the hush of it. It was made for making beauty.

“You can’t make art without making a mess,” she said lightly as she smiled at the women, envious it was not her standing there with paint on her hands.

Andrea was already halfway down the hall, when Duchess met her and they turned toward the office. Andrea was silent. Duchess mentally shrugged. Obviously Andrea didn’t know much more than she did. “Please give him a full refund.”

“On it.”
Duchess hesitated. “Do you think we missed something?”

Andrea glanced at her. “Maybe. Or maybe he just got scared, wasn’t ready.” She shrugged. “We aren’t going to bat a thousand, you know.”

Jacob arrived from the village an hour or so later. He headed to the dining room, there would at least still be coffee. He had missed yesterday’s Monday morning cinnamon bun special, having stayed overnight in Orchard Bay to finish up a few things and do some reluctant packing. The project at Dreamweaver Forest was essentially complete. He had a week, maybe less left in the woods.

The apartment he had rented in town came furnished, like most places he stayed on long term projects, and he owned little enough that packing was rarely more than an afternoon’s work. Usually, he started lining up the next contract before the current one was finished, he just got on with it.

This time, though, he had not even started looking.

He paused at the dining room doorway, aware that something felt off. He poured himself a cup of coffee and let the warmth seep into his hands.

The room held the particular charge of a place where something had gone wrong and everyone was pretending it had not changed the weather.

People lingered, discussing a guest’s abrupt departure in the vague, speculative way they did when they had known someone too briefly to miss them and yet were still unsettled. Mostly they seemed bewildered that anyone would choose to leave this place.

Jacob understood that feeling more than he liked. No place had felt this much like home since his wife died.

He pushed the thought away as soon as it rose.

He waved at Grace and Willow. A pretty blond young lady, college age maybe, sat at their table, staring at her phone. He was surprised. He couldn’t imagine what the retreat had to offer someone like her. There were less expensive places to stay.

Sylvia could have told him being young and beautiful and even rich doesn’t mean a life with no problems.

On the other hand, the older man at the other table looked like he could use some help. He was glancing at the door, as if expecting someone else to step in the room.

Jacob looked away, a little too late.

“My wife died,” said George.

Jacob stepped back, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” sighed George. “I’m still getting used to it.”

George’s eyes sharpened slightly, and for an instant Jacob had the strange feeling that the older man had heard something he had not actually said aloud. George seemed to feel it too.

“I can’t usually read minds, young man,” he said.

Jacob stared at him.

George gave him a crooked grin. “But you were practically shouting.”

The man held out his hand. “George.”

“Jacob.”

Their hands met.

George let go abruptly as he sensed a slight return of something, a minor magic, a bit of the veil lifting. One night in this restful woodland mansion, and a glimmer had returned. He didn’t know what that meant, but he intended to stay long enough to find out.

Soon, some of the guests wander into the woods around Wyndhaven. Each of them will see something a little different.

Whispers From the Woods
Volume 1 · Issue 10
April 24, 2026

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and a Sunlit Studio

Chapter Five
Runaway Guest, Cold Breakfast and Lonely…Cats

This place needs more cats.

We’re a little deeper into Volume Two now, and something has shifted at Wyndhaven.

People woke up to changes and they weren’t sure what to think. Thank goodness for Mabel’s cinnamon buns.

In Chapter Five, one of the guests is nowhere to be found, Andrea and Willow dig deeper into the mystery of Sylvia’s glowing cello, and George shares a surprising moment with Jacob.

Chapter Five will be posted tomorrow.

Book Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Please read the instruction manual

Chapter Four
As the Magic Begins to Answer

Laced with secrets and cinnamon

The House stirred early, sending a soft breeze through the verandah. Chairs nudged themselves neatly under tables while dust motes spun in the dawn light and petunias tipped their faces toward the sun.

Mabel had awakened earlier, prepping her famous cinnamon buns for breakfast. Wyndy inhaled the aroma deeply, the stairs sighed, contented as cinnamon and brown sugar permeated the halls completely, like an aromatic alarm clock.

Barbara woke and pushed up her eye mask. She sat up so quickly, her old spine would have protested. This one didn’t. Loud laughter rang out as she realized the room had transformed overnight into her old dorm room from college, down to the posters of Backstreet Boys and Justin Timberlake.

Last night she had fallen asleep in a golden wooden room, and here she was. Thankfully Wyndy had kept the king bed, although the blankets and spread were from the dorm days. It made sense, her wish had been to be younger for the week. She had paid a lot of money to come here, be younger for a time and see if beauty was really all important, or if she could learn to let go gracefully.

She stared at her soft, smooth hands like they belonged to someone else. She bolted for

the mirror, touching her face in amazement. Luminous skin—hers. She was young again! Beautiful! Shrieking, she flung her arms wide and spun in a circle, long blond hair flying like a banner.
She danced around the room shouting and cheering as if she had won the lottery. Hairbrush in hand, she jumped on her bed, knees bouncing, hair flying, singing into her makeshift mic.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah —” she sang, wild and triumphant.

“Hit me, baby, one more time.”

Barbara collapsed on the bed, giggling at the thought of the week ahead with her borrowed youth.

Let’s see what you do with this, whispered God’s Little Sister.

A few floors down, George’s room was nearer to the kitchen, still he woke slowly, the scent of fresh baking reminding him of special days. Nancy hadn’t baked every day but when she did it smelled like family.

Two floors up, Sylvia opened her eyes. Sometime in the night she had changed into pajamas and crawled under the covers. The cat had left the room. She was hugging a small bear and didn’t remember any of it.

This place was certainly mysterious. She smelled the cinnamon, shrugged and rolled over, tucking the blanket under her chin.

Over coffee, Duchess moved quickly around the tables, greeting people already seated. She waved and smiled at George, the older wizard who was here to learn how to mourn and let go of his wife of 49 years. He had expected to be the first to go and hadn’t been prepared to be the one left behind. He grimaced slightly and lifted his chin toward Duchess.

She sensed something else was going on. She nodded back.

Grief has no schedule, she would let George lead the way.

A young woman bounded into the room, singing. She looked to be college aged. Duchess thought back to the guests the night before. Of course! This was Barbara.

Oh my, she really was beautiful.

Jan, one of the other guests, walked much slower into the breakfast room. She appeared as young as Barbara, but she had not asked for this and wasn’t sure what to think about it.

“The Magic senses reliving part of your youth when you made the initial decision, might make you feel more comfortable with your life choices,” Andrea had told her the night before, during the introduction session.

Jan, a physician, had thought she meant the setting, or something to make her feel young, she certainly hadn’t expected her body to de-age. She touched her cheek again and marveled at the softness. Maybe she wasn’t going to completely hate this. Still she asked Duchess to set up an appointment with Grace, the staff nurse at Wyndhaven.

How would her life have turned out if she had chosen painting instead of medicine? As a doctor, she hadn’t found the time to form relationships, start a family. Would life as an artist be different?

She groaned. She had no real interest in a do over, the first time was traumatic enough.

Barbara was ecstatic with her younger body. Jan kept her eye roll to herself as the other woman skipped from table to table showing off her beauty. Maybe they thought we could keep each other company.

She grimaced. Older Barbara had been someone she didn’t think she had much in common with. Younger Barbara was even more annoying.

When Shane hadn’t come down, Duchess went to his room and softly knocked on his door. No response.

“Shane?”

“I’m not hungry.”

She pursed her lips and turned to leave. Instead, she knocked again, softly. “Are you all right? Is everything okay with the room?”

He opened the door then. A tall thin man with black hair, he was dressed and looked ready to come down. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He looked at her, and glanced down the hall. “I really don’t know.”

The hall lights flickered, uncertain.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m sure there will be a cinnamon bun waiting for you when you make it down.”

He smiled then. “Mabel brought me one earlier.”

At Duchess’s raised eyebrows, he said, “Sweet old lady, someone’s grandma I’m sure. She introduced herself and left me a bun and tea on a tray.”

Back down in the kitchen Duchess thanked Mabel for checking in on Shane. Mabel’s smile faltered. “It’s not my place to say, but I don’t think he wants to be here.”

Maybe he had been sent by someone rather than initiating the visit himself.

The two young women, Barbara and Jan ran by in the hall. “We’re going to go explore Orchard Bay,”

Jan slowed and poked her head into the room. She nodded toward the door, “That woman was already in love with herself. Anyway, she wants to go find a bathing suit, preferably a bikini.”

Mabel wrinkled her brow, “Not that something like that is ever on my list but I’m not sure what she’ll find there now that tourist season is over.”

“Do they have any art supply stores?”

Duchess laughed. “Really, it’s a small quiet town this time of year. Most of the stores
have more than one purpose, like the Paws and Prose Shoppe.”

“You might try the Christmas Shoppe,” Mabel suggested as she wiped down the counters.

Angus was outside cleaning up the Autumn Solstice decorations, saving what he could. She would find him and bring him a cup of coffee before starting lunch.

“We need to hire some people to help you out here, Mabel.” Duchess smiled, all the way up to her crinkled eyes, affectionately considering the older woman. “You’re a great cook, but we can’t expect you to do it all anymore.”

Once the last of the cabins were finished, they would have room for over a dozen guests and staff. It was already too much for her and Mabel to handle, and she didn’t want to spend all day in the kitchen.

How quickly the summer had passed and these people had become such an important part of her life. She couldn’t believe winter would soon be here, and Jacob would be leaving.

Back on the third floor, Sylvia stretched, the smell of breakfast faint by now, the teddy still in her arms. It felt like a thousand nights had passed, she had never slept that well in her luxurious hotel rooms. She padded to the shower and dropped the bear as she came to a sudden full stop.

Her cello, expensive and gleaming, stood propped in a tiny alcove, backlit with a warm glow emanating from the wood itself.

She glanced up half expecting the house to send her a reassuring signal, or had she imagined everything last night? She shivered. Maybe someone had come into the room to straighten.

While she was sleeping?

How tired had she been last night? She would ask Angus, but she was certain he had put her cello in its case into the closet with the other luggage.

She showered and dressed quickly, determined to ask Duchess or Andrea about it. As she closed the door, soft strains of Bach whispered through the halls.

She strolled into the empty breakfast room and grabbed a sticky bun and a napkin and headed out to the grounds. She hadn’t seen much last night, having arrived late and it was dark by the time introductions were over.

She grimaced a bit, remembering how that had gone, when she had had to own up to leaving her tour. Nobody had seemed to care, so she shook it off and headed to the dock.

“Did you get one of Mabel’s famous cinnamon buns?” Andrea asked her later as she led her around the stone walkway down to the lakefront, early morning steam drifting off the lake.

“I did,” Sylvia shivered. It was cooler than she had expected, next time she would grab a sweater.

Andrea glanced at her. “Do you like your room?”

“I love it!” Sylvia enthused. She was coming to life, skipping little steps ahead. The sparkling diamonds on the lake as the sun continued to rise glistened and enhanced the roses and petunias that edged the walkway. She turned and spun, loving it all. The house, the lawns, the forest. She thought she saw a few cabins hidden in the woods. She wanted to explore everywhere.

“It’s strange, though.” Sylvia said, as she turned back to Andrea. “My cello is out of its case. Propped up on a little pedestal and kind of, well, glowing.”

Her brows wrinkled. “I don’t remember taking it out of its case. I was tired, but still I don’t have any intention of picking it up, so…”

“I’ll come have a look after lunch,” Andrea said. “I’ll check it out when I come get you for yoga class.”

Andrea stared thoughtfully in Sylvia’s direction, not really seeing the young woman. The cello…that didn’t sound right.

If it wasn’t Dreamweaver magic, what was it?

Wyndy deepened the glow in Sylvia’s room, revealing the shadows hiding in the music.

Soft strains of Bach drifted through the halls, along the rafters and beams. The sound swelled deep and resonant, as the cello took a breath, briefly laid bare by Wyndy’s reflection.

Wyndhaven sighed.

The melody faded to a whisper, softly echoing in the halls.

🎵

We’re a few chapters into Volume Two now, and Wyndhaven is beginning to do what it does best… quietly rearrange people’s lives.

Guests have begun to arrive at Wyndhaven, each carrying their own quiet questions.

Sylvia has run away from her concert tour, unsure of what comes next.
George is grieving a love he wasn’t ready to lose.
Others are beginning to wonder whether the life they chose was the one they truly wanted.

And now… the magic begins to answer.

Tomorrow brings:

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Chapter Four
As the Magic Begins to Answer

The magic doesn’t always fix things.

Sometimes… it answers in ways no one expected.

Step onto the stone path… the Forest will meet you there. 💫😻

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Unscheduled outcomes possible.

Chapter Three
Moonlit Memories

Wyndy weaves luxury and welcome into every room.

Later that evening, Sylvia couldn’t believe her luck. She had braced herself to white walls in a tiny room. Her parents hadn’t threatened a psych ward, but then she’d never walked off a tour either. They stood to lose a lot of money. She didn’t care. They could afford it.

This room was worth her father screaming over the phone, threatening she didn’t know what as she hung up.

A king-size bed with a pink duvet, piles of pillows and a few teddy bears took centre stage. The walls were bathed in a golden glow. A sitting room off to the side was spacious with two leather sofas. A deluxe spa bathroom peeked through an open door.

She stepped out on the balcony and blinked back tears. So quiet. The lake was calm and dark, reflecting the night sky. The outline of the rose bushes was barely visible below the balcony. The railing warmed under her hands as she leaned over to smell the perfume wafting up.

Stop and smell the roses.

She never had. Not since her parents gifted her that first cello at Christmas the year she was five years old. She’d wanted a doll. She had friends from school that had followed all the latest trends, Beanie Babies, Care Bears, Barbie.

No doll ever showed up under the Christmas tree. Her grandmother had sent her one the next Christmas, but it stayed in its box.

“You don’t have time to play with dolls,” her mother said, putting grandma’s doll on the top shelf of her closet.

She remembered getting the cello instead of a doll, but she couldn’t actually recall learning how to play the instrument. It had come naturally to her. At first she had loved it, but then her parents, especially her mother became more and more demanding.

Her cello was carefully stashed in the closet behind her luggage where she had asked Angus to put it earlier. She knew she wasn’t going to touch it while she was here, there were too many roses to smell. She was being a brat, and it felt wonderful.

She turned to rush down to the lake, twirled instead, throwing her head back, arms flung wide, dizzy with freedom. She stopped. Misty, Duchess’s pale lavender cat, lay coiled on her pillow, purring. Her breath caught. Pets were not part of the life her parents had built for her. She was already in love with this cat.

She approached the bed slowly, a lump in her throat. She sat on the edge of the bed, the path, the lake and the roses forgotten. She laid down, the cat snuggled into her neck. Sylvia’s tears dripped in Misty’s fur. The night tucked around her like a second duvet.

The breeze from the lake floated up, carrying the aroma of roses, pine needles and something magical as she fell asleep to the music of Misty purring.

Down the hall Jan and Barbara were unpacking in their luxurious rooms. Barbara was shaking with anticipation. Somehow Duchess and Wyndhaven were going to make her wish come true. She’d paid a lot of money to be here. No guarantees, Duchess had said.

Her trembling fingers were barely able to wash off her make-up and pull on her sleep mask.

Jan sat on the edge of her bed, staring out the balcony windows, hugging the stuffed orca she found waiting on her pillow. She’d almost laughed out loud, it was just like the one she had in junior high when she wanted to be a marine biologist when she grew up.

Andrea’s comment from earlier by the fireplace drifted back to her. Keep an open mind, Andrea had said, about how Wyndy might help her untangle the regrets she carried from her younger days.

Two floors below, grief was awake. George sat on the balcony in his guest room. The room was stunning, the view of the lake even more so. He sighed. Why hadn’t he and Nancy travelled more like they talked about so many times? He sniffed and pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

It was so hard to appreciate anything without having someone to share it with. He wasn’t sure mourning at the retreat was going to be any easier than mourning at home. He glanced around. At least he didn’t see Nancy coming around the corner here, or imagine he heard her voice.

His sons said he should have learned by now to stitch her absence into the quilt of his life. He headed back into his room and almost slammed the beautiful glass doors, but stopped himself in time. The glass rippled as he rested his forehead on the wooden door.

How could he admit his grief was for the untimely disappearance of his magic as well as the loss of his wife?

What will the new day bring besides Mabel’s cinnamon buns?
Every morning we are born again – Buddha

If you are enjoying the stories and would like to ask Duchess a question, visit her in The Staff Lounge.

Volume Two

Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia

where mountains whisper to the lakes,

a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.

Objects in the Forest may be closer than they appear.

Chapter Two

Welcome to Wyndhaven

Duchess welcomes the first guests.

Sylvia closed her eyes, breathing deeply. People would know! There was no way to hide from the headlines. She had been the top story in the news cycle for a few days.

Sylvia Marshall, cello protégé, walks off her tour!

She glanced back at the driveway where Justin was already halfway to the highway on his way back to Vancouver Island. Heat radiated off her cheeks and she blinked back tears as her stomach clenched.

Every first day of school flashed through her mind when she had flailed until the laughter and stares settled and she could walk around unnoticed. She wanted to skip that step and walk into this house already invisible.

The taunts weren’t just about being famous now, but rather infamous with angry sponsors, and embarrassed orchestra members interview snippets playing over and over again.

She shook off everyone else’s narrative, including her furious parents. She needed to be outside of the bubble, stripped of the weight of expectations and pressure. Nobody had interviewed her, they weren’t interested in her version. She wasn’t entirely sure herself what that was. But she was more than ready to find out.

She smirked. Her parents probably had no idea they might have been doing her a favor sending her to this lush, serene lakeside mansion.

Sighing, she stepped over the threshold, the pale lavender cat padding along beside her.

Her luggage ignored, she scooped up the cat and buried her face in the soft fur, losing herself in the reassuring purring.

The light from a high stained glass window deepened into gold, tinting everything as it threw rainbows on the woman approaching her, shimmering in her hair and glinting off her gold jewellery.

She was one of the most vivacious, cheerful people Sylvia had ever seen. Her dress was a multicolored empire waist caftan, she was wearing gold jewellery, bangles, necklaces, earrings, and she jingled as she approached Sylvia.

“Welcome to our Dreamweaver Forest!” the woman said. “I’m Duchess and we are so happy to have you.”

Sylvia took the outstretched hand and felt a slight jolt, tingling and pleasant. Duchess’s eyes were sparkling, her face framed with long, dark, wavy hair, piled half up on her head, tendrils flying.

Her stomach settled and her shoulders softened, Sylvia smiled back.

The room was bright and spacious with a huge river rock fireplace and soaring windows let in the moonlight reflecting off the lake. Baskets dripping in fall colors draped the staircase and second floor balconies. It was as luxurious as any of the hotels she had stayed in, but warmer, welcoming.

Two women, possibly her mother’s age, were seated in comfortable dark green leather recliners near the fireplace, deep in conversation. A beautiful blond woman was sitting with a young woman in an unexpected flowing blue gown at a small table in front of a huge arched window. An older man sat by himself, staring down at his hands as he twisted his wedding ring.

Sylvia withdrew her hand. Duchess smiled. “Come on in, we’ve been waiting for you. Wyndy should have your room ready by now.”

“Wyndy?”

“The house,” Duchess said. “Her real name is Wyndhaven but we call her Wyndy. Angus will get your bags.”

A very old man tipped his cap to Sylvia as he grabbed her luggage and headed for the stairs. She could barely believe he would be able to manage her bags and took a step to help.

Duchess eyed him, not for the first time thinking an elevator might not be a bad idea. “Thanks, Angus.”

“I’ll be back for the case later,” he waved Sylvia off.

Conversation stopped before they had reached a table.

Sylvia Marshall was recognizable from her concert promotion images that had been flashed online as the story of her “breakdown” made the news.

Duchess put her arm around Sylvia’s waist. “Everyone, we are all here, let’s introduce ourselves.”

Only then did Duchess notice Shane had not made it down to the Grand Room. She glanced at Andrea who shook her head ever so slightly.

When the guests had been shown to their rooms, they had found a note:

Meet us in the Grand Room near the front stairs at 7:00pm for cocktails and introductions. We look forward to meeting everyone.

Shane had either not found his, or choose to ignore it.

She turned back to the others. “I’ll start. I’m Duchess,” as she and Sylvia took two chairs closest to the refreshment table. “I am the owner and dreamer of this place, our Dreamweaver Forest.” She stood, and bracelets jingling, she grinned her huge magnetic grin, startling everyone in the room.

It was hard to not fall in love with her instantly.

“The Forest isn’t just a retreat. We hope to give you what you need, which might not be the same as what you thought. I am so happy to welcome you, our first guests.”

“Guinea pigs, you mean?” the blond woman snickered, but quieted when she realized nobody joined her.

One of the women stood. “My name is Andrea and I’m from Alberta. I came for a vacation and decided to stay when I found Duchess and her Dreamweaver Forest. I’m the Business Manager so if you have any issues, you probably want to find me. I live right here in Wyndhaven and I’ll be around.”

“I’m also part of the welcoming committee.” She glanced over at the woman who had snickered, who defiantly kept her chin up. Andrea sat.

An older woman with long, thick silver hair strolled over to their table, offering a tray of cookies. Sylvia gratefully took one.

“My turn,” the woman said. She glanced over at Duchess. “I first met Duchess many years ago at a retreat, much like this, except we had a pool.”

“Next summer,” Duchess promised.

She continued, “I’m Willow, the yoga instructor and I also live here in the beautiful Wyndhaven mansion.”

The young woman in the gown was already standing, almost on toes, twirling. She titled into a full spiral, the cape billowing around her. “My name is Grace and I’m the nurse.”

As if fully aware she didn’t fit the part, she stopped twirling for a moment. “I’m a Wiccan practicing, forest dwelling, dwelling, herbalist witch, western trained nurse.”

“Oh.” The woman who had been chatting with Andrea, startled.

Grace took a breath, “I promise to wear my scrubs if I am dressing your wound or something.”

“I believe I am the most blessed here.” She almost unconsciously began gently swaying, it was if the magic in her had to move, to sparkle. “I have lived in these woods all my life and felt so grateful the Forest sent Duchess to us and showed me how I could stay.”

Duchess’s heart was full. Wyndy and the woods had brought these people together. She blinked rapidly, gratitude blurring her vision for a moment. Misty leaped off Sylvia’s lap and padded over to Duchess. The stairs faintly hummed.

“Well, now that our little lovefest is over,” Duchess said, turning to the guests. “We want to hear from each of you. You don’t have to tell us more than you are comfortable with. Your name and where you are from is enough. Or even just your name.”

Nobody moved or spoke.

Misty jumped back onto Sylvia’s lap.

She petted the cat, stroking the soft head as the cat stretched. She glanced at Duchess, who was rapidly becoming her anchor. She cleared her throat and people studied their phones, someone coughed. She grimaced.

“I’m Sylvia Marshall. Some of you may be aware of my uh, ‘nervous exhaustion,’” she air quoted, then sighed and was silent for a few beats. “I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I’ve been doing this for four hours a day since I was 5 years old.” She blinked rapidly.

Where did those tears come from? She bit into her cookie and stared at the top floor railing. She knew she had done the right thing for herself. Right?

Wyndy dimmed the lights as the floor gently hummed.

The two women guests surreptitiously glanced up. The brochures marketed the place as “magical”. Most people thought that meant, cozy, cute, not actually ‘magical’.

Wyndy’s signals seemed to warm Sylvia. She had felt enough from the house to deeply appreciate its empathy.

empathy.

“So maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it is a ‘nervous breakdown’. Either way, I’m kind of glad my parents shipped me off here,” she waved toward the ceiling slightly.

Wyndy brightened the lights.

Grace leaned forward. “Sounds to me like you needed the break.”

Silence reigned. About the time Duchess was trying to figure out how to lighten the mood, one of the women stood.

“My name is Barbara. I’m a fashion designer from Vancouver. I uh…just wanted to give myself some time to figure out what’s next in life.”

She sat, staring at the staff, daring them to share any of her secrets. Andrea met her gaze mildly and sipped her cider.

The other woman followed. “I’m Jan,” she stood. “I’m originally from Vancouver Island. Currently, I’m a physician at Kelowna General Hospital.” She sat. “I’m not really sure why I’m here.”

She paused. “I always wanted to be an artist, a professional artist. I guess I wish I could figure out how my life would have gone if I had defied my parents and entered the Fine Arts department instead of medicine.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “At any rate, it’s gorgeous here. Thanks for having me.”

Nobody dared look in the older man’s direction, but it was obvious he was the only one left. He didn’t stand. He wasn’t slouched, he held himself up with dignity. Emotions played across his craggy face.

Finally, he stood. “I’m George and I am here because my wife, Nancy, is not.”

The lights dimmed to a soft glow and violet flames flickered in the fireplace.

God’s Little Sister stared into her golden orb, swirling the magic within.

It’s ready.

Are you?

Keep the Spark Going

When I began writing The Tales from Dreamweaver Forest as a serialized cozy fantasy, releasing one chapter at a time for free on Substack, I also launched a companion website:

https://hwssuniverse.ca/

The chapters are available there for free as well. Readers who sign up for the email newsletters on the site also get access to Duchess, the chat agent based on the sorceress who owns Wyndhaven in the story.

Duchess reads tarot cards, enjoys talking about writing, and may share a thought or two about Dreamweaver Forest itself.

A free Substack subscription is essentially the same as signing up for the website newsletter with your email.

So I wanted to find a way to give access to Duchess to the Substack subscribers without having to go to the website and sign in again.

Good news. My programmer figured out a way to make that work.

If you are interested in chatting with Duchess about tarot, writing, or Dreamweaver Forest, you can subscribe to the newsletter on the website or subscribe here on Substack.

Subscribers will receive instructions on how to access the chats.

Duchess and I are looking forward to meeting you.

Warmly

Doris

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and the Sunlit Studio

Somewhere in central British Columbia
where mountains whisper to the lakes,
a magical Forest bestows miracles on its visitors.
Proceed at your own metaphysical peril.

Chapter One
I Promise Not To Run Away

Guests begin to arrive

The sky deepened to the velvety blue of early autumn in the Okanagan. The lanterns and fairy lights glowed and twinkled to the soft beat of the music.

The sky must know something is about to happen, mused God’s Little Sister.

The House, Wyndhaven, was a master at setting mood.

It had sat empty only four months earlier, waiting for Duchess to appear. When she did, her plans to open a luxurious healing retreat were rapidly accomplished with the help of Jacob.

Wyndhaven knew then it had found the right owner, the one worth waiting for.

After the construction wrapped up, Duchess and her staff had spent a few weeks preparing the retreat, now named Dreamweaver Forest, to be ready for an Autumn Equinox Grand Opening.

A few town council members and some merchants from the nearby town of Orchard Bay had been invited for a tour. After they left Wyndhaven—Wyndy, as everyone had taken to calling the House—Duchess wordlessly set about cleaning the foyer. Willow and Andrea stacked cups and plates, Jacob scooped up napkins and cookie crumbs. Grace followed Mabel into the kitchen to clear the counters and set up fresh cookie trays for the guests about to arrive. Angus swept up the immense grand hall floor, making the wood gleam again. Wyndy sighed in relief.

Duchess walked around the room, rearranging bowls of nuts before pushing a wreath on the mantle. She turned back. “I’m sure it will change as we go along —”

Andrea snorted, shaking her head. Grace laughed outright, and at Duchess’s look of confusion, Jacob pointed behind her. Wyndy had pushed the wreath back where it belonged.

Duchess should have known better.

She chuckled and fell back into a comfy chair. She was bone tired. She couldn’t blame Wyndy for being a little off-balance. They were all tired. Even the House had been working overtime, adjusting lights, nudging wreaths, softening the music to match the approaching dusk.

“I have only three rules for when our guests arrive. I’m almost certain that will change,” she continued as if Wyndy hadn’t interrupted her. “But for now: Do no harm. Be kind.” She looked around at all the solemn faces in the room. “And have fun!”

The grand entrance hall and the grounds were pristine and shimmering with a welcome glow. It was ready for the first of the real guests, the ones the Forest had been waiting for who would arrive at the retreat to heal wounded bodies or souls, or make their dreams come true.

Angus and Mabel strolled back to their cottage. Jacob drove back to his apartment in Orchard Bay. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the guests on their first evening.

The women sat at a table on the verandah, sipping cider, while the last of the daylight slipped under the calm surface of the lake. Each would greet a guest, offer a tour and give Wyndy and the magic a chance to prepare a room exactly as needed to make people feel at home.

Sometimes the best path forward might be unexpected; not everyone knows what they actually want.

Rose petals spread on the stairway pointed to a barely visible new stone statue of an old wizard, shimmering, as the steps whispered welcome.

The retreat was ready.

The first vehicle to arrive was a blue Escalade. The car slowed as it approached the small lot beside the driveway. The parked car sat still and silent for a moment. An older gentleman stepped out. He was wearing a grey suit, a darker wool coat, and carried a cane. He hesitated, then lifted his bag from the back seat. Duchess approached him. Grief and fatigue were etched on his face, deepening the wrinkles.

She softly held out her hand. He grasped it with both hands, cane slung over his wrist.

“I’m George,” he cleared his throat, voice raspy from disuse. He stood, slightly bent at the shoulders. “Thank you for having me, what a beautiful retreat.” He blinked a few times. “I only wish my wife, Nancy, could be here with me.” A spasm crossed his face.

He hesitated a moment as they slowly headed for the house, stopping frequently as he stretched to recover from his long drive. Duchess pointed out the roses and the grounds as if it had been her suggestion to rest. She noted the stone statues were back close to the entryway after they had hidden themselves earlier, joined by a new statue.

She glanced at the statue, then at the old man walking slowly beside her. She pursed her lips and nodded toward Wyndy. The lights faintly dimmed. George dropped his bag just inside the entrance. Duchess had not wanted to take it from him. She should have had Angus stay after all. She texted Mabel to send Angus back.

“Let’s go find your room,” Duchess said gently. “Angus will get your bags and bring them up later.”

George sighed, grateful. He didn’t need to know Angus was even older than he was.

A Lexus slowly drove up the drive and stopped at the curving stone stairs leading to the front door. A beautiful blonde woman, early 40s, stepped out of the car, wearing shades in the dusk and carrying a large tote bag. She lifted her brows and glanced at the women on the verandah, wordlessly expecting someone to park her car for her.

“You can park beside the blue car,” Grace called, her voice light. “I’ll meet you there.”

The woman huffed audibly and slid behind the steering wheel to drive the 50 yards or so to the parking lot. Willow met Andrea’s eyes with a grimace. Andrea shrugged.

Not everyone would arrive all roses and sunshine.

The two women waved, faces welcoming as Grace and the guest headed for the pagoda. Grace changed direction when she saw the tight red pencil skirt and high heels the woman wore. She cheerfully steered her to the foyer to direct her to her room. The woman introduced herself to Grace as Barbara and could be heard complaining how hard it was to be so beautiful. Grace smiled and placed her arm around the woman, who hesitated before letting the arm stay.

Andrea greeted a young man, early 30s, wearing jeans, puffer vest and hiking boots as he stepped out of his green jeep. “Shane?”

He nodded and they chatted a few minutes as they walked toward the pagoda and the lake, glittering by the lights thrown off by Wyndy and the lanterns. He grabbed his bags on their way into the house where Andrea showed him to his room. He hadn’t said much. Andrea stared at the closed door. She needed to speak with Duchess. She couldn’t get a read on this man at all, as if he were intentionally blocking her.

His mind was as closed as the door. Maybe even to himself.

A woman wearing a blue windbreaker, black jeans and a wide grin approached Willow on the verandah. She wore no makeup and carried a bag slung over her shoulder and another on wheels trailing behind her. She joined Willow at the table. She had an easy grin. “I’m Jan.” She and Willow chatted a bit and admired the beauty around them, before heading in.

An hour or so later, a black Mercedes glided up the drive, tires crunching on the gravel. It stopped in front of the walkway and a man in a dark uniform and black hat stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. No one appeared. The blue jays squawked at each other. Misty, the lavender cat, was sprawled on the verandah. She stretched and lazily padded down the walkway.

Misty always knew who needs comforting.

A young woman, not much older than a high school student, got out, still staring at her phone. Her chauffeur opened the trunk and grabbed her suitcases.

“Leave the cello.”
“You know I can’t do that, Sylvia.”

She shrugged, “Just say I forgot it.”

He didn’t reply.

“Fine.” She snatched the cello out of the trunk. Instinct made her gently place it on the ground as she turned toward the house.

“Wow!”
She hadn’t bothered to read the brochures when her parents said they were sending her away to a retreat for a week. Her opinion never mattered anyway.

When she had burned out on the tour, refusing to go on, she assumed they were sending her to rehab when they told the press she was being treated for exhaustion. Everyone thought she had lost her mind.

But this place! It was beautiful, almost as big as her family’s home. It was a mansion, yet cozier somehow, hugging the banks of the cool sparkling lake, red roses surrounding it and cascading down the stone pathway. It belonged in a fairy tale, made of stone and logs with arched windows and a gabled, moss-covered roof. Tiny lights twinkled around it, fireflies or fairy lights she wasn’t sure.

Behind it, the manicured lawn gave way to a wildflower meadow creeping up to the edge of the woods. A lone squirrel stood near the gravel drive. She waved before she could stop herself. The squirrel paused for a moment before scampering into the forest.

Great! She was already hallucinating. Day one.

She rolled her shoulders and her neck cracked, the stiffness easing. Maybe she could relax here. The breeze changed direction, brushing her cheek. A white lace curtain on the third floor waved at her, the light in the room blinking once, twice. She checked if Justin, her chauffeur, had noticed it, but he was ahead of her on the stone walk halfway to the door.

She knew mystical places existed, but had never been to any, none she was aware of anyway. Her life the past five years had been spent in hotel rooms and concert halls as she toured the world. She whirled back to check the house again.

It didn’t move.

Of course it didn’t. She laughed, startling herself, the sound so unfamiliar.

The last of the rosy glint of sunlight on the roof burned brighter for a heartbeat, the color deepening as if Wyndhaven laughed with her, a faint glow flickering off the stained glass window.

Sylvia had already turned back on the stone pathway. She followed Justin as he neared the curving stone staircase leading up to the double glass doors. The doors slowly opened, revealing a beautiful foyer. She glanced back, looking for a sensor or a switch. Nothing.

Of course the door opens by itself.

Her driver put her bags and cello down just inside the door. He waited.

“I’m fine, she said. “Tell mother I promise not to run away.”

The lace curtains in the third floor window fluttered slightly as Wyndy and the magic prepared a tranquil sanctuary for the girl.

Keep the Spark Going

Nestled deep in the fading scarlet roses, a new stone statue appeared, a weathered
old wizard leaning on his cane, rose petals softly floating by.
—God’s Little Sister, Volume One

Hello Forest Visitors!

Volume One – The Lakehouse, Lavender Mist and Rose Petals is complete and posted!

The lanterns are lit, the rose petals have settled and the doors of Wyndhaven are officially open —magically by itself, of course.

Duchess and her enchanted crew have transformed Wyndhaven into Dreamweaver Forest and are ready to receive guests.

Tomorrow brings:

Volume Two
Autumn Leaves, Silent Strings and a Sunlit Studio

Chapter One
I Promise Not to Run Away

The townspeople from nearby Orchard Bay have left the Grand Opening sated with hot cider, cinnamon-honey cookies and warm hospitality.

The Forest is ready for the first of the long-awaited guests, some seeking dreams, some seeking solace, all welcome.

Sylvia arrives with a chauffeur and a cello she has rejected mid-tour.

George carries grief in a grey wool coat and hopes the forest will soften it.

The stone wizard now stands closer to Wyndhaven’s entry, peeking out from the rose bushes.

If you’ve been walking the woods with me from the beginning – thank you.

If you’re new – welcome.

Thank you for joining us.

Warmly,
Doris

“Do you know the odds of you existing?”

Me: (Whispering) Wait! We used this word in a title already.
Also Me: 🤔True. But it’s so appropriate here!

I heard someone say once something about
“Do you know the odds of you existing?”
Something close to zero.

Mathematically zero,
but clearly not literally zero.
Here I am typing…..

A couple days ago I asked a friend to check out my blog.

I gave her the actual URL because my name is the domain and,
uh… well, that still feels weird, but cool to say.

She messaged back: nothing there.
Not even 404,
Just white space.

Me:😱
Also Me:😬

I checked, heart pounding
She was right.
Blank!

My first step was to message my son, my website developer.

Okay, my first step was panic

Turns out the server was down for forty-five seconds.

45 seconds

The server was down for forty-five seconds over the last 100 days.
There are 8,640,000 seconds in 100 days.

What are the odds that the server blinked
at the exact moment she clicked?

Zero?

The blog is back…
Here I am typing…

When we think the odds are against us,
maybe the universe was blinking just then.

Refresh. Try again.

Also Me:😇Proof the universe works in mysterious ways.
Me:🙄Proof you should back up your website.

Me: The website at dorisvontettenborn.ca should be good to go 🤞