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The Glass Cottage

By Alyssa Schwarz

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PROLOGUE
COLORADO MOUNTAINS, 1883

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CHAPTER
One


PRESENT DAY


TRYING TO KEEP up, Abigail Prescott sank down and pumped her feet, willing the pedals to move faster. Piñon trees and sagebrush whooshed past as she finally gained enough momentum to get within earshot of her cousin.
“Slow down, will ya!” she shouted between gulps of air. “My legs are burning trying to keep up with you.”
Tess whipped her head around and flashed a wide, dimpled grin, reducing her speed by a fraction. “Just shift up a gear, and you won’t have to pedal so fast!” she yelled over the sound of wind and crunching gravel.
“Easy for you to say. You’re used to this form of torture!”
Tess was the ultra-athlete of the family. Abigail had been trying to keep up with her cousin since they could walk. It had surprised no one when she’d signed up for the Iron Man Triathlon in Hawaii fresh out of high school, not even when she placed in the top ten. Tess had her pick of sponsors to choose from after that.
And then there was Abigail. No one was pounding down the door to endorse her for anything sports-related. Just as well, she’d been known to trip over her own two feet now and then, and that was definitely not a good qualification for an athlete.
Not that she was lazy—she just preferred hiking in nature to running on a treadmill or kayaking on a glassy, smooth lake instead of swimming laps in a pool.
Who was really the crazy one here? Not Abigail.
After a few more excruciating turns of the bike pedals, she clicked the dial on her handlebars up two notches, and the chain rattled until it settled into its new position. Now she was getting somewhere. Her platinum braid whipped against her low back as she flew down the trail. She pulled forward and gave Tess a thumbs up. The two of them reached the next turn and skidded to a stop, gravel and dust flying in their wake before they hung a right back toward the trailhead.
“I definitely underestimated the workout I was going to get doing a bike ride with you,” Abigail teased between gulps of air as they rode side-by-side for a change.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tess shot back with a laugh.
“You know very well. Every time you suggest an activity, it always turns into a race!”
Of course, her cousin had probably been riding slower so she could keep up, but the mountainous terrain was still kicking her butt.
By the time they reached the dirt parking lot, Abigail’s sweaty palms were sliding across the handlebars, begging for relief. Tess hopped off her bike in one fluid movement, looking as cool as a mountain stream in April. Not even the slightest hint of red marred her face, unlike the splotchy crimson mask Abigail most likely sported.
They took turns mounting their bikes on the back hitch of Tess’s car and together soaked in the cool morning breeze.
“You know…” Tess stretched out the words while adjusting the straps and buckles on the bike rack. “Aunt Josie has been talking about doing some renovations to the antique shop.”
“It’s about time. That place could use more than a fresh coat of paint.”
“No kidding. The last time I was there, a bird flew right out the front door when we walked in.” She readjusted the first strap. “Don’t ask me how it got there in the first place, but I haven’t been back since.”
Tess pretended to shudder at the memory and continued. “Anyway, she’s been asking around if anyone in the family might like to help with her little project, and I mentioned you might be interested. You could put all those restoration skills to good use.”
Smiling, Tess pushed her thick chestnut ponytail over one shoulder and walked around the car with long, easy strides.
“You know I don’t have that kind of free time.” Abigail unclipped her bike helmet. After untangling her hair from the binding, she tossed the helmet in the back seat with a sigh. She loved Aunt Josie dearly, but her projects were never little.
“I’m sure you could take time off. Isn’t there some sort of leave for family care?”
She sent her cousin a look over the car. “Yes, but I don’t think renovating a relative’s run-down shop would qualify.”
“Well, Tye and Beth recently got married, Caden is still somewhere out in California, and Micah is so busy with his own ranch, he doesn’t know the meaning of a day’s rest.”
“Why don’t you help, then?” Abigail set her jaw. This guilt trip was unwarranted. She secured the final strap over her bike frame and rounded the car to collapse into the passenger seat.
“You know I would, but my coach already has me signed up for a tight racing schedule for the season. This is my last week of freedom before I’m off again.”
Of course, everyone else was busy. They had their own lives, too.
Tess threw the car into reverse and pulled out of the crowded parking lot before another weekend warrior zipped in to claim their spot. They rode through the canyon, snaking back toward Denver as Tess scanned the radio for a clear station. Country music blared over the speakers as they rounded the next curve, filling the silence with a false energy that mocked Abigail’s exhaustion.
Tess’s words played through her mind while they drove. Years had gone by since she’d spent any real time with her dad’s Aunt Josie, and she missed the pace of the small mountain town. But to go, she would have to plan for time off work, and that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Abigail gazed out her window, watching the hills flatten out to fields and neighborhoods as they left the rolling foothills behind.
They merged onto the interstate, and Abigail broke the silence. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Hmm? About what?” Tess kept her focus on the road.
“About helping Aunt Josie with her shop.”
Tess spun her head, jerking the car toward the white line. “I knew I could count on you!” She punched a fist in the air for effect before she corrected her steering.
“Hey! I just said I’ll think about it. I’m not making any promises.”
It wasn’t as if Abigail was committing herself to anything. Work was busier than ever, and she had other stuff to catch up on, which left little time to even consider taking time off.
She’d have to think of a way to let Aunt Josie down gently without hurting her feelings. She could promise to visit over Thanksgiving, or invite her down for a weekend next month. Abigail smiled at the idea. They could go kayaking together and bake enough blueberry muffins to feed her entire apartment complex.
The prospect of restoring the family antiques shop made her heart race with excitement, but no matter how much she wanted to help, a month in the mountains wasn’t an option.



On Monday morning, Abigail sat at her desk and massaged her sore leg muscles from yesterday’s adventure. Piles of research notes lay stacked near her computer, waiting to be catalogued into their respective reports for the day.
Beyond the gray cubicle walls, Denver’s skyline rose in the distance. Car horns blared, and the heavy morning rush hour traffic inched past the three-story office. A faint haze hovered in the air, exacerbated by the late summer heatwave.
There were times, like today, when Abigail missed her quiet hometown, tucked away from all the people and congestion. But, if the endless memoranda and quality checking got her closer to that next promotion and, ultimately, her dream job, it would all be worth it.
Four years had passed since she’d signed on with Smith and Kelly Archaeology Group. As a staff historian, she assisted her supervisor on every project that came through their doors. The work itself was interesting, but the stories she uncovered in her research were the real treasures.
One day, she hoped to lead her own investigations, unearthing the past and bringing it to light, and—according to their company’s career trajectory—she was nearly there.
The blinking cursor on the computer screen snapped her attention back to her work and the notes waiting to be typed up. She lifted the first page and scanned the document for important details. TWO-HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD HOMESTEAD UNEARTHED IN INITIAL STAGES OF LOCAL DEVELOPMENT…
She leaned in and could nearly smell the wild grasses that no doubt surrounded the property. The rest of the folder contained a collection of recent site photos, land use surveys, and a few Rocky Mountain News clippings dating back to the mid-1800s.
The windows of the frontier homestead stared back at her with doleful eyes, pleading to be rescued from big developers. Abigail wanted to whisper through the photo not to worry. She would do whatever she could to ensure its story lived on.
Hopefully, their investigation would be enough to get it declared a national heritage site before another company tried to tear it down. For all the memories and history lost each passing year, it was all the more important to preserve the pieces of the past.
That’s what drove her day-in and day-out while typing up reports—the knowledge that she was keeping someone’s memory alive.
Wishes aside, Abigail returned the photo to its sleeve and churned out the rest of the technical memo.
An hour later, a light knock on her cubicle wall drew her attention. She swiveled her chair to see her supervisor, Mr. Newman, standing in the doorway.
“Abigail, when you have a moment, could you come to my office?”
“Sure, let me just finish up this report, and I’ll be right in.”
With a slight nod, he turned and left.
She dashed the finished report off to the client before closing out of her computer. Hurrying down the long, windowless hallway, her mind turned over the details of her other current projects. Her catalogued binder of notes tucked under one arm, she would be ready to dive into whichever project he wished to discuss.
Abigail pushed open the heavy glass door at the end of the hallway and stepped into the spacious office. A wall of windows faced west over the Rocky Mountains. Bright light spilled into the space, its warmth fighting against the frigid air conditioning that poured through the ceiling vents.
“Can you close the door behind you, please?” Mr. Newman asked from behind his oak desk.
“Sure thing.”
Aside from the company’s high profile presence in the West, Smith and Kelly provided a level of professionalism that many other firms did not. Due to the nature of their work, most projects were confidential, with details privileged only to the client and the team.
Two such proposals came to mind as Abigail pulled the door shut and sank into one of the open chairs.
Movement to her right caught her eye. One of the senior HR reps sat in the corner, clad in her signature bedazzled jacket from the 90s.
“Oh, hi Candace. I didn’t see you there.”
Bright pink acrylic nails fidgeted with a loose jewel peeling from the denim. “No worries, dear. I’m sort of hidden behind this ficus here.” She waved her free hand at a nearby leaf that fluttered with the AC against her teased hair. The southern drawl, combined with her retro vibe, brought a little charm to the otherwise plain office.
Abigail turned back to face her supervisor. “I just sent off the Louisville report to the client, so we should hear back from them about changes to the proposal by the end of the week.”
“Good. I’ll be glad to move forward on that project.” His tone went flat, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
Abigail twirled a long strand of golden hair between her fingers. Time to speak up.
“Sir”—it was now or never—“you mentioned a few months ago when we first started this project, if the client was happy with my initial report, you might let me take the lead.” They’d already discussed her future with the company when this project had presented itself. A perfect opportunity to ease her into a project management role, he’d said.
“Abigail, about that…” Mr. Newman stared at the papers on his desk. When he looked back up, he was quiet, and the air in the room seemed to disappear at his apologetic expression.
Something wasn’t right. Her gut twisted before he spoke a word, on high alert for what he was about to say.
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.”
What? She was struck speechless. Had she slacked on a project or missed a deadline? A few months ago, they had sat in this same office planning her tentative promotion, not this.
She looked back toward Candace, who had her nose buried behind a metal clipboard that bounced with a nervous jitter.
“I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?” Nothing immediately came to mind, but maybe there was some other mistake she’d forgotten.
Compassion and apology settled in the deep grooves around her supervisor’s tired face. “No, nothing like that.” He chose his words carefully as an archeologist would choose his tools. “The company is going through some tough financial decisions, and we’re having to lay off over a third of our staff.”
Abigail leaned back in her seat, the weight of reality settling in. “I see.”
She didn’t really, but what else was she supposed to say in response to an announcement that turned her entire world upside down?
“You will be given a couple months’ severance, including the vacation time you’ve accrued the past few years, and I’ll personally write you a strong letter of recommendation. But you’ll have to clean out your desk by noon today. Abigail, I’m so sorry to be having this conversation with you. We’ve all enjoyed having you here these past few years.”
Her coworkers had become a sort of family. They planned picnics together, hosted parties at each other’s houses. They’d even all gone to one of their bosses’’ weddings. But a company was not a family. It was not run on goodwill, laughter, or friendship. It all came down to the bottom line, and the bottom line was that she was no longer needed.
By God’s grace, Abigail managed to get through the rest of the meeting without falling apart. Her own words sounded distant and hollow in her ears, as if she were watching the entire conversation from the other side of the glass wall.
The door swung heavy behind her, marking the end of her time there. Brandie, one of the other junior historians, waved at her from one of the chairs outside the office, face bright and without care, as if she didn’t know her world might come crashing down in a matter of minutes as well.
On autopilot, Abigail returned to her desk for the last time, hiding her emotions behind her long curtain of hair. Thankfully, she had never gotten around to personalizing her office space. Only a couple of picture frames and dirty mugs sat among the stacks of folders and project binders.
It took ten minutes to pack up the past four years of her life into a single cardboard box, a dismal representation of all the time and energy she’d spent there.
Even the magnets hanging on the filing cabinet were empty. She’d planned to display her photos or mementos on the gray metal doors, but work left her with little time to have any real adventures of her own. Now, she had all the time in the world. A dry laugh escaped under her breath.
At the car, Abigail stowed the half-empty box in the back and collapsed into the driver’s seat, weary and spent from the rollercoaster that was the past hour.
How was she supposed to feel after pouring so many years of her life into a job to have the rug pulled out from under her? She’d never been let go before, had never even failed a class. She’d been working there for years, on track for that dream job she’d worked so hard for, and now it was all gone.
Mr. Newman’s words plagued her spiraling thoughts. Not personal? No doubt all the other employees who were about to be let go would think otherwise. Abigail hadn’t had the heart to tell her coworker what was happening when she passed her outside the office door. Brandie would land on her feet—she always did—but what about everyone else?
What was she going to do now?
She thought back to the photo of the old homestead, and a strange kinship stirred inside her. It too had been left behind, betrayed by those who once called it home. Even so, it remained, waiting for someone to breathe new life into its corners and say not all was lost. The windows may have cracked over the years, and the walls faded with each passing winter, but as long as it kept standing, there was hope.
Hope for something new. But what, exactly?
She waited for the heartache to come, to wash over her in one sudden tidal wave and drag her under. But the longer she sat in the car, the lighter her burden felt. It could have been the shock tricking her into a false sense of calm, but an unexplainable peace settled around her like a gentle embrace.
Her breathing resumed its normal rhythm, and in the silence, a memory emerged from long ago. In his heart, a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. Aunt Josie used to quote that passage from the Psalms when things didn’t go as planned, a reminder that, no matter what, God was in control.
Abigail had never thought about what her life would look like apart from Smith and Kelly. Had today never happened, she had planned to spend her career climbing the ranks of the company. With that now no longer an option…
A quiet voice spoke into her thoughts with words of comfort. “For I know the plans I have for you…”
She had planned everything out—college, internship, stellar job. But was that the only plan?
She remembered all the late hours, the time she had given up with friends and family just so she could work a little closer to that next promotion or that new project. Family reunions had come and gone, and Abigail couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been to her Bible study group.
What else had she sacrificed to live the life she’d built?
“Okay, God. Since You so clearly didn’t want me to stay there, what do You want me to do now?”
She listened to the sound of cars driving by, unsure of what she was waiting for.
Her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Abigail rummaged around in her purse, digging through layers of tissues, hand lotion, and business cards before she found it on the bottom. The screen lit up with two notifications, both of which were from Tess:
I hope you're really considering it. Aunt Josie would be over the moon to see you.
Below the text was an old picture of a quaint little cottage in the mountains. Flower beds and trees surrounded the front porch like a scene from a fairytale. On the front step was their great aunt, waving at the camera with a wide grin on her face. Even the photo conveyed her infectious joy and brought a smile to Abigail’s lips.
Was this God’s response to her question?
Abigail’s fingers flew across the touchscreen before she could change her mind.
I’m in. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow.

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