Chapter 6 - Echoes in the Night
Healing, however, was not a simple, linear path. While the afternoons in Maine brought steady progress, the nights often summoned the terrifying echoes of the past.
In mid-December, a heavy winter storm swept down from Canada, blanketing the coastline in thick snow and bringing gale-force winds that howled through the pine trees. The power lines along the coastal road snapped at midnight, plunging the cottage into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
I woke instantly in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs. Before I could even reach for the emergency flashlight on my nightstand, a shrill, sharp scream pierced through the lavender curtain of Brinley's bedroom.
"No! Please! I'll be quiet! Don't turn off the light! Don't lock it!"
I scrambled out of bed, grabbing the heavy battery-powered lantern, and ran into her room.
Brinley was shoved into the far corner between her bed and the wall, her knees pulled tight against her chest, her hands wrapped over her ears. Her eyes were wide, dilated with sheer terror, reflecting the yellow beam of my lantern. She was hyperventilating, her small chest heaving violently, completely trapped in the terrifying hallucination of the dark basement.
"Brinley!" I dropped to my knees on the wooden floor, setting the lantern down so its light filled the room. "Brinley, it's Mama! Look at me!"
"The light went out!" she shrieked, her voice frantic and thin. "She turned the switch off! She's locking the door!"
She was back down on the concrete floor. In her mind, the darkness of the power outage meant she was locked away again, cut off from the world, chained to the cold iron pipe.
"Look at me, Brinley," I said firmly, keeping my voice grounded, deep, and steady. I didn't touch her immediately, knowing that sudden physical contact during a night terror could make her feel trapped. Instead, I picked up the small wooden music box I had brought from Germany—the one that had sat on her bedside table since the hospital.
I wound the silver key on the bottom three times. Click. Click. Click.
The soft, delicate gears inside began to turn, playing a slow, sweet lullaby—a classic German melody that carried a clear, bell-like tone through the dark room.
The sweet, metallic notes cut through the sound of the howling wind outside. Brinley’s wild eyes shifted slightly, moving away from the dark corner of the ceiling down toward the glowing lantern and the small wooden box in my hands.
"Listen to the music, Brinley," I whispered gently. "Can you hear it? You are in Maine. You are in your mint-green room. The door is wide open. There is no lock."
I took a deep breath and began to hum along with the music box, steady and quiet, matching the beat of the song.
Slowly, the violent trembling in her shoulders began to ease. Her fingers unclenched from her ears, dropping down to her lap. She looked around the room, seeing the soft wooden walls, the green window frame covered in frosted snow, and the lavender curtain swaying gently in the hallway draft.
"The... the power went out?" she asked, her voice raspy and small.
"Just the storm outside, sweetheart," I said gently, offering her a warm woolen blanket from the edge of the bed. "The wind blew a tree branch into a wire down the road. It happens all the time here in the winter."
She slowly crawled out from the corner and slid into the circle of my arms. I wrapped the woolen blanket around both of us, sitting on the floor with my back against her bed, holding her tight while the music box played its final notes.
"I thought I was back there," she whispered into my neck, her breath hot against my skin. "I thought you went away again."
"I am never going away," I said, kissing the top of her head. "Not for work, not for money, not for anything in this world. If the lights go out, I will turn on ten flashlights. If the flashlights fail, I will light candles. If the candles go out, I will stay right here in the dark beside you until the sun comes up."
She rested her weight against my chest, her hands clutching the front of my sweater.
"Can we build a fire?" she asked softly after a long moment.
"We can build a huge fire," I replied.
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We spent the rest of the night sitting in the living room in front of the stone fireplace. I built a bright, crackling fire out of dry birch logs that filled the cozy room with warm orange light and the sweet smell of woodsmoke. We roasted marshmallows on long wooden sticks, drank hot cocoa made on the small gas stove, and watched the snow fall softly against the windowpanes.
When the morning sun finally broke over the horizon at seven o'clock, casting brilliant pink and gold light across the snow-covered pine trees, Brinley was fast asleep on the couch, her hand resting peacefully on top of the music box. The darkness had come back, but this time, it hadn't won.
