Page 31 of A Wolfe in the Woods

We didn’t talk at first. The hush of the woods filled the silence between us. Birds chirped in the canopy above as our footsteps crunched in rhythm.

I stole a few glances at him as we walked. There was something about the way he moved. Unhurried but deliberate. Like he knew every tree, every bend in the path.

Part of me still couldn’t quite reconcile this version of him—the one who offered home-grown food and peaceful silences—with the brooding, untouchable grump I’d first met. But maybe both were real.

We reached the north end of the lake, where the land rose into a soft slope flanked by thicker trees. A tall iron fence emerged from the green, blending with the underbrush. I’d seen it before during one of my walks around the grounds. The gate stood about eight feet high and stretched wide to either side, enclosing something large beyond.

Jonathan reached over to a weathered padlock and spun the dial with nimble fingers.

I looked past the bars. Farther in, I could barely make out the rounded shape of arched, half-sunken structures, some partially shrouded in vines and draped in heavy tarp-like material. I hadn’t been able to make out much from a distance before. I’d assumed it was some kind of old storage area.

The gate creaked as Jonathan pushed it open, the metal groaning from age. He held it for me to pass through, and Istepped into a clearing: a flat stretch of open ground. We walked a short distance across the field, our footsteps muffled by soft earth, until one of the structures came into view more clearly.

There were several…greenhouses, I realized. Each arched frame was like a ghostly outline, wrapped in what looked like a pale, semi-opaque skin stretched over black iron skeletal frames that hinted at a grander past. Somewhat Victorian gothic in appearance, they were shaped with long, ribbed spines and pointed frames. The structures reminded me more of a mausoleum than a garden.

From the outside, the structures seemed agricultural, but something about the condensation on the tarp and the warm breath of scented herbs and fresh soil in the air told me there was life inside. Jonathan held open a creaking door for me, and I stepped into the greenhouse, my heart quickening with curiosity.

Passing the threshold, I found myself inside a hidden paradise.

Sunlight filtered through, diffused and dreamlike, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Rows of violet and magenta blooms stretched in perfect symmetry along a narrow reflecting pool, the dark water rippling gently with floating lily pads and glassy orbs that winked like stars. Low stone beds flanked each side, overflowing with rich soil, with curling silk petal blossoms that shimmered faintly with dew and vegetable vines that ran wild. In the air the scent of jasmine and citrus hung, along with a mix of various aromas I couldn’t name.

Arched above it all was the skeletal frame of the structure with its black iron ribs stretched high overhead. The original glass panes were long gone, leaving open gaps that allowed the tarp beyond to breathe like a membrane. A network of white irrigation pipes snaked in every direction, feeding into controlvalve boxes that passed around fans positioned at each end. The whole thing hummed faintly, as if it were alive.

It felt impossible that a place like this existed behind such a ghostly shell. And yet here it was. Alive and hidden in plain sight.

The path beneath our feet was soft mulch with slabs of stone positioned intermittently. Bees and other insects hummed behind vines. Climbing greenery curled around trellises and a weathered bench rested near a cluster of wild specklepuff and graythorn basil.

I turned in place slowly, taking it all in. “This is…beautiful.”

“It’s older than it looks,” Jonathan said beside me. “My father started it. He used to say this soil was special…said things grew better here than anywhere else. I’ve only been able to restore some of its original design.”

I stepped closer to one of the arched frames, examining a half-rusted emblem depicting a wolf and a moon. The emblem was old, dull, but the shape was still distinct, etched in the iron just above one of the support beams.

I brushed my fingers lightly along the edge of it, careful not to disturb the rust. “I didn’t realize your family has been here for a long time.” I looked back at him. “You said you’ve only restored a few of them?”

He nodded, gaze drifting to the massive overhead structure. “Some of the frames are bent badly. I can replace compromised sections by welding in new metal, but my concern was salvaging the existing structure while housing plants in a place they could grow. Someday I’d like to get the greenhouses back to their original state and remove these UVC tarps.”

Listening to him speak about things like welding and UVC tarps, whatever that meant, I realized he was passionate about this.Thiswas what he enjoyed. It was…attractive. Oddly so.

Just standing here felt like stepping into a forgotten sanctuary, something sacred. “Why do it?”

He glanced at me, “Because it matters.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten, and I nodded softly.

“There are over three hundred varieties of flora here. Most native, many endangered. That doesn’t include the species I’m still hunting for that I haven’t been able to find…yet. If someone doesn’t do something, a big part of my childhood will disappear.”

My gaze dropped back to the wolf-and-moon emblem beneath my fingertips, tracing its weathered outline with newfound reverence. There was a steady conviction in his voice.

“Then I’m glad it’s you,” I found myself saying. I cleared my throat, smiling sheepishly when he cut a curious look my way. “The, uh, flora are lucky to have you as their caretaker.”

I swore his lips twitched, but I was already wandering farther down the stone path toward one of the wider planting beds. The deeper we went, the more surreal it became…colors so vivid they looked painted, blooms shaped like things out of a dream. Some I didn’t recognize at all.

“Are these…lilies?” I asked, pausing before a cluster of pale blue petals that shimmered faintly in the light like frost.

“Dream lilies,” Jonathan said from behind me. “They only bloom under moonlight. You’re seeing them at rest.”

I reached out and brushed a fingertip along the edge of one soft petal, careful not to damage it. “They look like they belong underwater.”