Excerpt from "Laura's Journey" by Joan Adams Burchell

The House on the Hill

The scorching July heat rose in waves reflected from the hood of the light-blue ‘50 Chevy, causing the young driver to squint. Inside, the car was like a furnace. Laura Hill adjusted the no-draft window as she drove, hoping to catch a little breeze - even a hot one.

“Why didn’t I wear a loose, cotton skirt? These pedal-pushers are clinging so I can’t even stretch my legs.” Laura felt that her sticky-wet bare feet might just as well have been glued to her sandals. “My head is splitting, Kiwi. I’m glad that I’m able to tie my hair back. Poor Kiwi! I’m complaining and you must be hot, too, with your black hair,” sympathized Laura, reaching her tanned, slender hand over to the passenger seat and stroking the long, silky hair. “You are such a good dog.”

Laura realized that her headache was probably less from the heat than from the thoughts that raced through her head, so she continued talking. “Will I never stop missing Mom and Dad, Kiwi? I get so angry that they both died so young and that I have nobody now.” Kiwi’s tongue felt wet and comforting on her hot hand. “I was so lonely in Manitoba, Kiwi, I couldn’t bear it. I liked my work at the newspaper, but I need to get away - far away. You understand, don’t you boy? Maybe I’ll find a new place that we can call home - a place to write the novel that keeps calling to me to be written. Kiwi, I have things inside me which are bursting beyond the confines of journalistic structures. I am going to write - really write. It’s not wrong to follow my dream, boy. Dad taught me that.”

Laura had been driving through Ontario for three days, but wasn’t sure where she was right now. She had stopped for gas at the last town and had enjoyed a cold cola while Kiwi drank from his water bowl and stretched his legs. That seemed like hours ago. The Chevy slowed, going through a village. Still deep in thought, Laura knew that she had been right in deciding to take her holidays and just travel anywhere the road might take her.

Around the bend, up a gradual slope in the road ahead, and to her left, Laura’s keen eyes spotted breathtaking beauty. Nestled in a background of majestic maples and giant spruce, on top of the most picturesque hill one never could imagine, was a white frame house trimmed in cornflower blue. Wildflowers, dotting splashes of colour everywhere on the hill, seemed to beckon the young writer to journey the path that wound up to the house.

She felt compelled to make a left turn, and found that she was driving the car up a short driveway. She parked there and started walking, drinking in the light floral scent that greeted her.

Climbing roses of delicate pink and soft yellow adorned an arbor, and, the path narrowed up to the front yard. On either side of the delicate-blue flax and rose bushes - a profusion of colour.

The flowers seemed to nod in the light breeze that felt cool on her neck and bare arms. Kiwi bounced along beside her, wagging his fanned tail, obviously happy to be out of the car.

Laura saw the curtain in the window move, as she approached. She couldn’t believe herself - trespassing on a stranger’s property. And why? Before she knew it, she was timidly knocking at the door. Timid or not - this was truly not Laura’s usual behaviour. She had just wanted to get a little closer to view what she had seen from the road, and, now she was knocking on the door!