Leoson teaches composition and psychology courses at the college level in Cleveland, Ohio. She loves to write with her dogs at her feet and somehow survives on decaf coffee and protein bars. She holds an M.A. in English & Writing from Western New Mexico University and an M.S. in Psychology from Walden University. Her writing has been featured in the Twisted Vine Literary Journal, TWJ Magazine, The Write Launch, GNU Journal, The Gyara Journal, and on NPR’s “This I Believe” series. You can learn more at www.maryleoson.com
Roots
in the Cove: A Modern Fairy Tale
Sunday Morning
James woke on the cabin floor. The smell of pine filled his nose and an ache like a dagger split his frontal lobe. As the world came back into focus and memory flooded over him, he sat up quickly. Was he alone? Was the creature gone?
He leapt to his feet, staggered, caught himself on a kitchen chair. He’d either drunken himself insane or last night was real. He glanced around, gingerly touched his forehead. It was sticky, red when he pulled his hand away. He moved toward the back door that stood ajar, afraid of what he might find. This wasn’t how this weekend was supposed to go.
Last Thursday
The Great Smoky mountains loomed in the distance, their silhouettes rising into the sky like frozen tidal waves, dark against a blue backdrop. A white cloud rolled overhead, casting a shadow that crawled across grass and trees seamlessly, like an impending monster. Veronica held her breath as it passed over her, and James reached for her hand but she didn’t notice. His fingers found hers and she received them, but did not tear her gaze from the landscape. She was like that sometimes—dreamily lost in a place where he couldn’t quite find her.
“Thinking about our wedding?” James asked, almost afraid to break the spell the mountains had cast on her.
“Yeah,” she whispered, glanced at him slowly. “I’m excited to announce the engagement.” Her eyes were pools of chocolate.
“Good, let’s go get that selfie by the falls,” he urged, but her gaze was back in the distance like a fly caught in honey. “We’ll post it tonight.”
She nodded slowly, then smiled back at him and pulled herself away from the picturesque scene. It dragged after her like gum on a shoe.
They cleaned up the remains of the lunch they had eaten at the picnic area and tossed the garbage into bins that warned: clean up waste—bears will pillage.
*
It was dusk by the time they pulled away from Laurel Falls and drove toward the vacation cabin. Google said it was several miles away, but the sun fell fast, its last rays sinking below the horizon, leaving them with only their headlights as guides. The darkness was thick on either side of the road and the land grew murkier as they climbed in elevation.
James felt disoriented by the change in topography. The road was the rim of a glass—if they veered off course, they would plummet down either side. It twisted and turned, mist played with the light, reflecting it back to them as they drove higher, higher. They ticked up the rollercoaster, the front of the vehicle on a sharp incline. Veronica’s breath quickened; her anxiety grew by the minute. It had been a mistake to wait until dark to head to the cabin.
“Are we almost there?” she asked with a shaky voice.
“Almost.” The discomfort was growing in him, too, but he wouldn’t let it show. “Watch for a sign that says Cave Road, then we want number 25”.
The road leveled out where they found their turn, but sloped back up to an incline sharply. Heading east, they passed driveways with signs in the teens that alternated on the left and the right. No cabins were visible—they were set back too far with no lights, no sign of humanity. They might as well have been in a tunnel underground. And then there it was, a carved 25 on a wooden sign, marking the driveway to their rented home.
James guided the front end of the Trailblazer down the rocky path, which was longer than he anticipated. Headlights illuminated the front of a rustic cabin nestled among trees that formed a canopy above. Only a small section of sky was visible above the roof, speckled with stars.
He pulled alongside the cabin where the driveway came to an end. Veronica gasped as the car went over a bump, began a sharp decline. The night was an optical illusion; they hadn’t expected the change in inclination. James slammed on the brakes, coins that had been in the cupholder spilling all over the floor. He put the car into park as they caught their breath, looked down into the thick woods illuminated by the headlights. Mist gathered among the trunks. Were they above the clouds or had the clouds descended to meet them?
“I think I almost had a heart attack,” whispered Veronica between breaths.
“Same,” said James, then he laughed apprehensively, hoping it would ease her nerves.
They headed up a short staircase to the front door, Veronica almost on top of him.
“Honny, it’s just the dark,” he said, clicking the flashlight app on his phone, handing it to her so that he could enter the code to the lockbox that held the cabin key.
“You saw those warning signs at the park.” Her hands were shaking as she held the cell phone. “There are bears.”
“Oh my!” he said without missing a beat. He could see her smirk in the glow of the phone. The lockbox popped open and the key was in his hand. “You go inside and check it out—I’ll get our things.”
“No argument here,” she said, stepping into the cabin, flipping on the lights. A yellow glow flooded out from the windows as he trekked back and forth to the car, unloading their bags.
By the time he closed the door for the night, Veronica had settled at the kitchen counter with a glass of merlot; she stared out the back window, lost in thought. He scanned the first floor of the cabin as he slowly moved toward her, taking in their rental.
Rich pine walls surrounded them on all sides except for the windows. The open floor plan included a living room and kitchen that flowed seamlessly into one another, with columns made of intact trees supporting the two-story roof that loomed over the living room. There was a full bath on the first floor and a staircase that led to a loft bedroom above the kitchen. The rustic railing was made of crooked twigs—right out of a storybook. He ran his hand over a column of smooth wood as he entered the kitchen, felt where the knots had once held branches. The cabin was the work of a craftsman.
His eyes settled on Veronica, still lost in her stare. He followed her gaze, seeing only the dark that lay beyond the picture window. It took him a moment to notice the small white moths gathered there, like miniature angels. Their wings were pure and shiny in the light, their underbellies visible through the glass.
James wrapped his arms around his fiancé, feeling her warmth against him. She relaxed into his arms for a moment, her breath steady and calming.
“I can’t wait till we have kids and can share this with them,” he said.
She mumbled in agreement, but wriggled out of his embrace, quietly walked to the window with her finger outstretched. She moved slowly, as if her presence would frighten the moths, but they were still—flowers resting on a puddle and Veronica beneath its surface like a mermaid. Her finger connected with the glass like she could capture some of their magic, but her movement was a rock tossed into still water; the flowers took off into the night. They were in another realm—beyond her reach.
“Hon, I’m beat,” he said, stifling a yawn. She glanced back at him. “Mind if I head upstairs to bed?”
She glanced back at him, her dark hair hanging softly around her face—his angel. “Nope,” she said. “I might just enjoy the quiet for a little while. Be up soon.”
He kissed her on the forehead and headed toward the stairs, too tired to lug a suitcase behind him. It would wait until morning. “Don’t drink too much,” he muttered, as he tried to find his way in the dim loft.
*
James lay still beside his fiancé, his chest rising and falling in a smooth pattern. Veronica danced on the fringes of sleep, lulled by the rhythmic plunking of rain on the cabin roof, a patchwork quilt tucked gently under her chin. As she fell deeper into relaxation and began to dream, a hum arose somewhere in the dark, seeping into the bedroom through a cracked window. It drifted on thick air to her ears, calling to her. Her subconscious crawled out of bed after it, followed it across the floor on tiptoes, chased it down the stairs to the back door. Then she woke.
She lay on the expansive porch at the back of the cabin, the glass door cracked open behind her. The night air swept through her hair, tickled her face, chilled her bare shoulders. The nightgown she wore was drenched with sweat, the spaghetti straps barely hanging on to her small frame under its weight. Alarmed, she staggered to her feet and quietly snuck back inside. Had she had that much to drink? James had said not to. As the door clicked shut, she locked the handle, backed away as if it might open on its own. Shame filled her, wrapped itself around her like a blanket as she crept back into bed.
Friday
“Eleven a.m. and we already have 100 likes.” Veronica’s smile was bright and cheery as she sat in the passenger seat of the Trailblazer. James wasn’t surprised she was having fun posting their engagement announcement on Instagram. The pressure her family had put on her to get married had been constant for the last few years; she’d sighed with relief when the post had been made and then called her mother to deliver the good news.
He knew Veronica loved him, but part of him wondered if she’d said yes just to quell her mother’s hounding. He decided that accusation might not go over well, swallowed the emotion that grew in his throat and it sank into his stomach like a rock.
Veronica read from the pamphlet they had found in the cabin, the one that had brought them on this driving tour in the first place.
“It says here this land was once Cherokee territory, then European settlers came. A town was here for over a hundred years, but then the government purchased the land in 1945.” She paused, gulped. “I wonder how amenable those families were to that transaction?”
James smirked and sarcasm filled his voice. “The government taking something without permission? Ha. Imagine that.” He huffed. “At least they got paid, I doubt the Indians got that much.”
Veronica pursed her lips, wondering if they were trespassing on sacred ground. She imagined echoes of the past beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for someone to find them like lost change. Her mother had said they had family ties to the Smoky Mountains, but didn’t know more than that. She envisioned a woman from the past driving in a covered wagon, her husband beside her. It would have been a hard life—no electricity, harsh winters, growing your own food. And the lack of choices, too—wife or school teacher at best… no birth control. She shuddered.
As they pulled onto the path for the “driving tour” at Cades Cove, an odd feeling crept over both of them. James put his hand to his head, scratched, felt like there was something he’d forgotten that was trying to find its way back to him. Veronica was overcome with emotion; the scenery was captivating, but there was something more, something underneath the layer of reality before them. It tugged at the wisps of hair around her face, brushed against her skin like hot breath, tingled her spine in recognition of coming home. But she couldn’t capture these feelings in words so she said nothing.
They followed signs that said “10 miles per hour”, “remain in your vehicle”, and “no stopping for pictures”. The train of cars before and them and behind was long, but they didn’t notice. Perhaps everyone was just as mesmerized.
They drove along in silence, following the road that encircled the park, a peaceful feeling finally enveloping the couple. They were lulled by the butterflies dancing in sunbeams, the golden light magical. The trees there grew from underneath a lazy river, roots spreading from little islands, disappearing beneath the water to another world.
Around a bend the landscape changed. The winding river disappeared, replaced by a pasture that stretched for miles, surrounded by immense mountains on all sides. They were in the heart of a valley that felt ancient, and despite the hum of engines nearby, a hush settled in the air. Pioneer ruins rose in the distance, their rooves filling the hollow. Echoes of people who once lived there lingered in the rustling leaves of sugar maples.
Then the cars came to an abrupt stop. They could see people getting out of their vehicles, pulling out cameras, moving closer to the edge of the path and closer to the woods that sloped into mountains. James put the car in park, huffed in frustration.
“Clearly they didn’t see the signs,” he began, irritation in his voice.
But Veronica grabbed her cell phone, opened the door and followed them.
“Hey! What are you doing? Veronica!” he called, but she ignored him.
Her eyes focused on the dark shape among the trees, slowly lurching back and forth as it walked. The bear’s fur was a deep brown, and she might not have seen her if others hadn’t noticed first. Then there was a smaller shape, bounding down a tree with agile movements. A cub! Veronica’s heart swelled. She tapped her screen, opened the camera, and aimed. Click.
There was more movement—another cub, and yet another. The three little ones followed her mother, sauntering away from the crowd all in a row. Click.
“Return to your cars!” The voice boomed over a megaphone.
Veronica turned to see a park ranger approaching on horseback. “For your safety and the bears’, return to your cars now!”
Then James was beside her, clutching her wrist. “Come on,” he said, the anger in his voice clear. “Get in the car.”
She followed after him, resisting his grip that only grew tighter.
“I don’t know what you were thinking,” he muttered once they were safe inside the car.
“I just wanted to see what the deal was,” she said, hurt at his patronizing tone.
“Well it was stupid,” he said.
Veronica’s eyes remained on her phone and she scrolled through the pictures she’d taken. The three babies following their mother were wild and free. Magical.
“Look,” said James, touching her arm gingerly. “The signs are there for a reason. We need to heed them.”
Veronica nodded so that he would stop talking at her.
*
When James woke and felt the empty space next to him, he sat up in bed. Had Veronica even come to bed? He’d left her downstairs with an open bottle of wine, still stewing about the argument they had over dinner.
He didn’t see what the big deal was. She wanted a tattoo. He didn’t want her to get one. She was going to be his bride—the mother of his children. They were becoming one. He wouldn’t just mark up his body without consulting her and she owed him the same courtesy. He thought they were trashy. Why ruin something so perfect? He’d said. She hadn’t taken it as a compliment.
The light from downstairs filtered in through the cracked door, seeping into the bedroom like a beacon. He’d better go check on her. There was no telling how long this tantrum of her would last. Veronica was stubborn. He’d figured that out early in their relationship. If she was determined to do something, there was little he could do to stop her. He was hoping that would change with time, as they settled into their lives and had kids.
James pulled on a t-shirt and wiped the sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the storybook stairs. They creaked under his weight—a cozy sound that reminded him of childhood. He hoped that one day they would have their own creaky stairs and stories about the children who climbed them. Maybe they would sneak down them on Christmas morning to catch a glimpse of Santa.
“Hon?” he called out. “Veronica?”
Silence filled the two-story living room like a heavy weight. He turned the corner and fully expected to find her at the kitchen table, still nursing a glass of wine. But the glass sat there alone, the remnants of merlot a small puddle, like tears in a snow globe. The back door stood ajar, the moths that had gathered there seeped in, dancing like fairies around the kitchen light.
He walked out onto the back porch, glanced around at the length that spanned the back of the house. She wasn’t at the picnic table or in the hot tub, not sitting in the rocking chair or lingering by the railing. She was nowhere to be seen.
He hurried to the side of the porch that overlooked the driveway and let out a sigh of relief when he saw the Trailblazer still parked there. But if she hadn’t taken the car, where was she?
“Veronica?” he called, a little louder this time.
A rustle in the nearby bushes made him jump. It was just below the porch, which hung partially over a cliff. His heartbeat jumped. Did she fall?
“Hon? Are you ok? Veronica!” He scrambled over the side of the railing, desperate to come to her rescue, ears painfully tuned into the noises that indicated fast movement below the deck.
That was when he heard the growl. James froze. He was straddling the railing precariously, and almost lost his footing in panic. The growl intensified. James felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. He leaned back toward the porch, quietly pulled his leg back over the railing, landed with two feet as gently as he could.
“James?” Veronica’s voice came from inside the house.
“Where were you?” he demanded, still stuck in the grip of alarm. He pushed through the back door, sending the moths up into the night.
“I-I..” she stammered, then sighed. “I was getting something from the car.” She covertly tucked the lighter into her back pocket. It would make things so much worse if he knew she’d snuck out for a smoke.
“I think there’s a bear out there,” he said, motioning to the back porch.
“Really?” She said, moving to the windows to see. “On the porch?”
“No, beneath it. I thought it was you. I—I didn’t know what to think when I came downstairs and you weren’t here.”
Veronica stared at him, not sure what he wanted her to say. She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Look, just come to bed, will you?” He climbed up the stairs and sank back into bed.
“Yeah, fine.” Veronica’s words were lost on the first floor, so she poured herself another glass.
*
In her dreams, Veronica was back in Cades Cove. She ran through the pasture, grass tickling her naked legs. The sun played hide-and-seek with stark white clouds against a cornflower sky. Dandelion fuzz floated in the air, a thousand wishes she’d blown since childhood, leading her down the path towards home. The cabin stood in the distance in the shade of a sugar maple tree, smoke rising from its chimney. The feeling of family filled her, a deep connection that rested in her bones.
Then she heard his voice. James called to her—pulled her back toward the park gate—away from the rich valley of dreams. But she didn’t want to wake.
Saturday
Early morning light peered over the tops of the Smokies, and Veronica found herself on the back porch of the cabin. She had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, an empty wine glass still on her lap. She wondered if she could sneak upstairs without waking James but decided not to try. She would be damned if he would keep telling her what to do.
*
“I think we should leave early.” There, James had said it. It had been gurgling at the back of his throat all morning.
“That’s crazy,” said Veronica, her dark eyes traveling to the syrup and she motioned for him to pass it. “You’re overreacting.”
James handed her the bottle, watched as she drenched her pancakes even more. The amber liquid spread out across the spongy round tower, pooled around the mounds of dough. Her appetite had grown since they’d been on vacation; could she be pregnant?
“You’ve been acting different since we’ve been here,” said James.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she replied, taking a bite of pancake.
“I don’t like it.”
Her gaze snapped up to his in a warning. There was a fire there he’d never seen before—animalistic. Her jaw clenched, relaxed, and she took a breath as if she was holding her temper. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He wasn’t looking for another fight. It was the last thing they needed at this point. “Look, all I’m saying is that I think this lack of sleep is affecting you… being tired doesn’t flatter you.”
She cocked an eyebrow, grabbed her plate and fork. “Yeah, well, being a snob doesn’t flatter you either.” With that, she turned a walked out onto the porch, where she’d eat alone.
*
Later that day, after he had given Veronica some time to cool off, James approached her with a peace offering. She sat on the back porch, writing in her journal. As he approached, she closed it, held it protectively against her chest. He held out the brochure.
“Gatlinburg,” she read aloud.
“I propose this is what we do today. No more wilderness. Let’s go explore the village like tourists.” His voice grew more excited as he talked. “There’s a sky-lift that can take us up to the top of one of the mountains. And there are distilleries with moonshine. And tons of little shops and restaurants.”
Her face relaxed into the idea as she glanced at the pictures.
“What do you say?” he asked. “Friends?”
She smiled, feeling silly for holding a grudge. “Friends.” They shook on it.
*
“Don’t you think that skirt’s a bit short?”
Veronica clenched her teeth. His comments weren’t new, but she was seeing them in a whole new light. Maybe it was in the mountain air—a southern woman’s firey spirit come to rescue her from the compliant shell she’d worn through adulthood.
“You didn’t have a problem with the length of my skirt when we met.”
James’ mouth hung open in surprise. He held up his hands in surrender. “Never mind.”
They snaked down the mountains slowly, downshifting carefully. James thought about the night they had driven to find the cabin in the dark. The landscape was so different in the day. Some places were more treacherous than he’d thought, while others merely cast dramatic shadows at night. He was realizing that the mountains could play tricks on you—in lots of ways.
Veronica felt like she was sinking into layers of the underworld as they descended the mountain. When they pulled into the town of Gatlinburg, it was as if they crossed the Atlantic into a European village. Quaint shops were nestled beside one another with winding brick paths and archways in between. They were greeted by Tudor buildings with decorative glass panes and a central fountain filled with wishes to be fulfilled.
Taken by the charming place, the couple settled into smiles. They walked hand in hand among other happy tourists, checking out knick-knacks, woven blankets, homemade candles, and beautifully painted tributes to the landscape. They stopped for ice cream and shared a bench by the fountain, listening to the water fall like rain, rhythmic and lulling. James found himself fantasizing about future family vacations they’d take, while Veronica considered never leaving.
They stood together before the fountain, sharing a kiss and tasting the remnants of sugary cream that lingered. James’ lips were chocolate crunch and Veronica’s were vanilla swirl. He handed her a quarter and held one for himself.
“Make a wish,” he said.
They closed their eyes, tossing in their coins. The silver glinted in the sunlight, bright against a copper background of pennies.
“Why quarters?” asked Veronica, as she noticed the difference.
“They’re worth more,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
She couldn’t peg why, but it bothered her. Like her wish wouldn’t have been good enough as a penny. When James excused himself to the restroom, she stood before the fountain alone, taking in the brilliant copper scene beneath the watery surface. She thought of the moths that had mesmerized her on the first night, how they clung to the window, trying to get to the light inside. What was it they were seeking? It’s heat? It’s brilliance? Did they think it was the source of all things? They didn’t realize the light was a lie.
She glanced around, made sure James was still out of site, then plunged her arm into the fountain to retrieve her quarter. She wasn’t sure it was hers and she didn’t care—it was the symbolism that mattered. Her hand grasped an object—solid and silver—a wish she took back. Then she replaced it with a bright, copper penny. The one cent meant more to her than all the desires she’d ever had. It was a bid for freedom.
When James returned, they continued down the street to the distilleries, where he drank and she turned over the secret that lay in her pocket.
*
The kind of dark that filled the bedroom that night was endless. As James woke, he was filled with unease. He fought to focus on something—anything—and suppressed the primal panic that gripped his heart. The memory of where he was came rushing back—the cabin, the mountains.
“Veronica?” His voice was loud in the nothingness.
He crawled off the bed, toward the window. He brushed up against the thick curtains and pulled them back. Moonlight filtered through the forest ceiling, leaked in through the window, and bathed the room in a dim glow. The bed was a sea of blankets, the dresser a dark looming shape in the corner. Silence filled the cabin, and then was broken.
A scratching noise crept from the first floor, up the wooden stairs with the storybook railing, across the balcony that overlooked the livingroom, to James like an invitation. “Come hither” it begged. Inside he shrank—the urge to hide filled him. Danger was near.
He moved carefully to the door, reached for the light switch. He flicked it upward—nothing happened. He flicked it again—still nothing. Was the electricity out? Was it just the bulb in the bedroom? The shiver of panic crawled up his back. His breath quickened, his heartbeat pounded. He gulped.
His love was down there, though, so he must proceed. “Veronica?” he said once again.
There was a rush of movement downstairs, a crash. The adrenaline ran through his system, his arms shook with the burst. All he could think to grab was the hiking stick propped next to the door. It was smooth in his hand, but not very strong. Still, something was better than nothing.
The floorboards creaked under his feet as he emerged on the balcony, tried the light switch there. Nothing. Scenarios ran through his mind. Was this a home invasion? They cut the electricity and had Veronica down there. Maybe they had been followed, targeted. Someone thought they were stupid tourists—vulnerable. And of all things, he wanted to curse the skirt she’d worn into town that day. They wanted what was his.
His eyes were wide, taking in the darkness. The only light that crept in was funneled moonlight, playing with the shadows. He scanned the living room below—dark shapes were motionless. He stepped down one stair. Creak. Then another. Creak. He gripped the stick with both hands, readying himself for a confrontation. He could hear nothing over the sound of his breath.
James turned the corner, peered into the kitchen, saw that the back door hung open on its hinges. Moonlight danced on the edge of the porch, a cool breeze stole in through the opening, rustling trees, muttering in a secret tone only nature could decipher. It was then that the growling arose, low—guttural. Behind him.
In a burst of panic, he turned, braced himself for the shadow moving toward him. It knocked him to the floor face-down, stood over him like a hunter claiming its prey. Pain radiated from James’ head as he struggled to breath. Then the weight lifted, moved toward the open door with a creak, creak. James gasped and the creature turned sharply, its eyes reflecting the moon. Teeth were bared, as it closed the space between them again.
Breath rattled in and out of James’ panicked mouth. His body was frozen. The bear’s face stopped inches away from his, its breath hot and wet. Saliva stretched from one row of teeth to the next, and then narrowed in a growl that shook the cabin. The bass notes rose to a baritone crescendo, then descended back into a murmur. And James could have sworn he heard a woman’s gasp. A paw reached back, then swung forward, hitting its mark. And everything in James’ world went black.
Sunday When he woke to a sun-filled kitchen, James found the back door still open. He stumbled to the porch, were he found large, muddy footprints that lead over the railing and disappeared into the forest. It wasn’t until he made his way back inside that he noticed Veronica’s nightgown crumpled by the threshold to the cabin. Beside it was a bright, shiny quarter.