The branches seemed to have made a pact to stretch toward each other above the road and marry in the middle. They gave the lane a shadowed and romantic look, causing Chelsea to smile a bit more as she traveled on.

Soon the lane split in two; one branch went east, and the other headed west. This was where it divided so as to encircle the lake, Chelsea realized. She consulted Allistaire’s directions again and saw that she needed to go west.

As she traveled farther, she occasionally caught shiny glimpses of a lake on her right and of a few cottages that also flashed, phantom-like, through irregular gaps among the trees. At last she came upon an old sign that had been nailed to a tree, its hand-painted letters worn and faded from the passing years. It still said ASHBURN, the last name of Chelsea’s great-grandfather.

Chelsea took a deep breath and turned right onto a private drive of sorts that headed northward toward the lake. Here the maples gave way to stands of fresh-smelling pines, and the ground’s dense, green covering was gradually surrendering to one more sparse and sandy in nature. Just then she saw the old cottage, and she drew a quick breath.

It was larger than she had envisioned. Its back side faced the road, and it had been sturdily built of shaven logs that were stained dark red. The peaked roof was made of dark shingles; a squat stone chimney rose from its center. There was a main structure with a smaller wing attached to its right-hand side. A few windows graced this side of the building, all of them covered over with boards that had been painted to match. Against the back wall there lay a great pile of stacked firewood, its bounty partly covered with an old tarp. Evergreen trees dotted the ground around the cottage, their tall branches swaying lightly in the wind, their clean, fresh scent riding on the summer air. From what Chelsea could see, Jacques and Margot had yet to arrive.

Down the slope leading away from the cottage lay Lake Evergreen, the midafternoon sun bouncing off its surface, its waves dancing lightly with the rising and falling breeze. When Chelsea gazed across the lake, she realized that it was larger than she had imagined, its opposite side lost in a summery haze.

Chelsea got out of the Explorer and opened a rear passenger door for Dolly, who eagerly sprang from the SUV as if she had been imprisoned inside it for days rather than hours. Chelsea instinctively knew why Dolly had suddenly become so happy and boisterous. At home, she had only a small yard in which to run. But here, Dolly had a huge range of new adventures lying before her, each one awaiting her eager exploration. To be on the safe side, Chelsea attached a leash to Dolly’s collar so that she couldn’t go bounding off and become lost.

With Dolly desperately straining at her leash, Chelsea walked toward the cottage. The west side held a door, two boarded-up windows, and little else. Farther along, there was a short flight of steps leading up to a long porch that lined most of the front side. Here too, every window was covered.

On the east side of the property there stood another building. Nearly the size of the cottage, it too was built of logs that had been stained red, and its windows were also covered. Part of it extended out over the water and rested on concrete pylons. This was the boathouse, Chelsea realized. Down at the shoreline, a long wooden dock extended into the water. Curiously, an old mailbox was attached to the far end of the dock by means of an upright two-by-four.

Chelsea had to admit that she was pleasantly surprised. As Allistaire had said, the place was old but in very good condition. Whoever Jacques and Margot were, they had done a wonderful job during their many decades of service.

Chelsea then walked Dolly down toward the lakeshore some fifty feet away, whereupon Dolly started thirstily lapping up lake water.