The Tree Spirits – a novel – The Gryphonowl Chronicles

Chapter I – The Call of the Boreal Forest

– Erik Elias Strand –

After his divorce, Erik Elias Strand found himself at a crossroads. At 35, he had envisioned his life on an entirely different trajectory – stable, fulfilling, and rooted in the family home he’d once shared with his ex-wife. He’d been a rising star in the USHL and AHL before a cheap shot to the knee ended his career. At first, his wife had been supportive, patiently enduring his sullen moods and endless nights out with the boys. He never suspected that one of his former teammates would sleep with his wife. When the marriage crumbled, Erik chose to walk away, leaving her the house and the memories tied to it. Candy finally had an NHL star. He wished her well.

A surprise offer from his grandfather, who owned a remote cabin near Thompson, Manitoba, presented the perfect getaway. The cabin, nestled on 150 acres of rugged wilderness, had been a cherished retreat for his mother’s side of the family for generations. However, no one had lived there year-round since his grandmother passed away and his grandfather moved to a senior citizen community in town. The house had been neglected just like he had neglected his wife.

Shortly after Erik accepted the offer to stay there, his grandfather passed away, leaving him not just the cabin and land but also a modest inheritance. Looking over the overgrown property, with its weather-beaten roof and water-damaged upper floor, Erik decided to take a chance—on the cabin and a new life.

Since the cabin was uninhabitable during the initial renovation, Erik moved into Manitow Christmas Tree Farm, a cozy bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of Thompson. The minute he drove into the B&B’s driveway, he noticed that it was in dire need of repairs too. The roof on the nearby barns needed replacement, so did the right side of the front porch. Manitoba winters can be brutal. It was a good thing that it was only August because winter comes early in a subarctic climate.

In exchange for room and board, Erik offered his skills, finding unexpected satisfaction in fixing leaky roofs and sanding weathered wood. At the same time, he began the slow, backbreaking work of restoring the family cabin – his cabin now.

It was a crisp October morning. Erik was chopping firewood for the B&B when he looked up and saw Grace at the window. “Hopefully, she was admiring the view. He certainly was.”

– Grace Parker Gault –

On her 43rd birthday, Grace Parker Gault, a Boston librarian, decided that she didn’t just want to read books. So, for the past few years, she’s been penny-pinching, paying down her credit cards and student loan, and planning her sabbatical. Now, two years, later, she’s going to follow the suggestion of one of her book club members and spend the next year at a little bed-and-breakfast in Northern Canada. A year of solitude, with no demands of work, no sirens, surrounded only by the beauty of nature will leave her with no excuse for not writing. Thompson, Manitoba sounded perfect.

September 17th

Grace curled up on the seat of the bay window with her coffee and began finalizing her itinerary. She would need to pack carefully for a four-day train trip and a year away.

Traveling by train from Boston, Massachusetts, to Thompson, Manitoba,

1. Amtrak from Boston’s South Station to Toronto Union Station. This route typically involves a transfer at Albany-Rensselaer Amtrak Station. Duration: Approximately 24 hours, though this can vary based on specific schedules and transfer times.

2. From Toronto to Winnipeg on Rail Canada. Duration: 34 hours and 35 minutes.

3. A few days in Winnipeg visiting with her brother who was probably the only person who didn’t think that she was crazy and needed guardianship.

4. And finally, Winnipeg to Thompson. This train only runs twice a week in optimum weather conditions but can be delayed by winter weather. Duration: Approximately 23 hours and 55 minutes.

September 21st

Grace was on the second leg of her journey: Toronto to Winnipeg. The rhythmic hum of the train was a comforting background to the world flashing past the window. Thankfully, she had brought along a few books and the train’s Wi-Fi signal was good. It would be great seeing her brother, her stepbrother. It was just the two of them now, but they hadn’t seen each other in person since her mother’s funeral. She really needed this trip.

After hours of reading and watching the snowy plains unfold, she decided to stretch her legs and explore the train. Grace found herself drawn to the observation car, its glass-domed ceiling offering a panoramic view of the vast wilderness. The car was nearly empty except for a solitary older woman seated by the window, her hair a cascade of silvery braids, her weathered face serene. Something about her presence seemed magnetic.

Grace hesitated, then approached. “May I sit here?” she asked. The older woman looked up and smiled warmly. “Of course, child.” Grace chuckled. “I’m hardly a child. I’m 45.” The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “Forgive, I see anyone who’s nearly half my age as a child. I’m Margaret, by the way.”

Grace introduced herself, and they fell into a natural rhythm of conversation. Margaret explained that she was traveling home to her community near Winnipeg. She was Indigenous, a member of the Cree Nation, and carried herself with a quiet wisdom that intrigued Grace.

After a pause, Margaret looked out at the landscape, her voice soft but rich with emotion. “You know, this land holds stories. Legends older than time. Would you like to hear one?”

Grace nodded eagerly.

Margaret began. “Up in Thompson, they tell tales of the wolves—spirits of the forest. They say the wolves are guardians, watching over the land and those who respect it. But they’re more than animals. On certain nights, under the full moon, some claim to have seen them walk as men, their eyes glowing like embers.”

Grace shivered despite the warmth of the train car. “Shapeshifters?”

Margaret nodded. “We call them the Keepers. They appear to guide the lost or warn of danger. But they demand respect. Those who harm the land… well, the wolves do not take kindly to them.”

Grace leaned closer, captivated. “Have you ever seen them?”

Margaret’s lips curved into a mysterious smile. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I only felt their presence. Some things are meant to be experienced, not explained.”

Margaret fell silent for a moment, her gaze shifting to the northern horizon. Then she continued, “And further north, in Churchill, the polar bears rule. They are sacred beings, powerful and unpredictable. My grandmother told me stories of a woman who lived among them. She was said to have the spirit of a bear, her strength unmatched, her soul tied to the Arctic. When she passed, the bears mourned her, their howls echoing across the tundra for days.”

Grace listened, spellbound. She could almost see the wolves running silently through the trees, their eyes glowing, and the great white bears standing solemnly under the northern lights.

“Do you think those stories are real?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margaret turned to Grace, her expression thoughtful. “What is ‘real,’ my child? The stories carry truth, even if they aren’t the kind you can touch. They teach us respect—for the land, for the animals, for each other.”

As the train rolled on, the two women sat quietly, watching the wilderness pass. Grace felt a strange sense of peace, as if the land itself had whispered its secrets to her through Margaret’s words.

For the remainder of the journey, Margaret slept while Grace was mesmerized by the view. It was late September, and the landscape was already covered in snow. As the conductor announced, ” Winnipeg in 30 minutes,” Margaret awoke. She looked towards Grace and said, “If you really want to learn more about our Cree legends, I suggest you consider staying at Manitow Christmas Farm, outside of Thompson. They just might have a room at the B&B waiting for you.” This was the second person mentioning this Christmas tree farm.

When the women parted ways in Winnipeg, Grace felt a pang of sadness that she didn’t have more time to talk to this amazing woman. Margaret seemed to be the keeper of ancient mysteries. She would call Manitow Farms as soon as she arrived at her brother’s.

The days flew by, and soon Grace was hugging her brother goodbye. “Are you sure you want to spend the next twelve months in Thompson?” he asked. “It’s a city, but you don’t know anyone there. And this farm sounds like it’s in the wilderness.”

Grace hugged him again and said, “I need this. It will be an adventure. Besides, what will feel more Christmassy than staying at a Christmas tree farm. Come up to see me for Christmas.”

“I will try my best. Stay safe,” he said.

September 24th

The trip from Winnipeg to Thompson was long. However, like a child, Grace gazed through the window of her sleeper and ooo’d and aah’d at every sighting of moose or elk. By the time she arrived in Thompson, Grace wondered if she had really met Margaret or if it had been a dream. It had to be real because she had a reservation for a stay at Manitow Inn.

October 1st

Grace had been at Manitow Farm for a week and was settling in. Sky, who owned the farm with her husband Stepan Rudenko, was more than eager to chat with Grace about Cree culture and legends. And she enjoyed her evening conversations with Stepan about the war in Ukraine.

Grace’s primary reason for being in Thompson was to write, not to be distracted by the handsome, broad-shouldered man she spotted working outside her window. Her book club had read and discussed at least a dozen romance novels, many of which featured “sexy” lumberjacks in the Canadian wilderness. Grace had never shared her group members’ enthusiasm over the “lumberjack” type, but the guy outside her window swinging an axe looked like a character out of a Norse fantasy. “I’ll have to resist the temptation to call him Thor,” she laughed to herself. She was lingering at her window for too long.

Just as she began to turn, he looked up directly at her. At least, it seemed that he was looking directly at her. She waved but suddenly realized she had been standing there with nothing on but a long T-shirt and panties. “Oh my God!”

Thankfully, she was fully dressed when their paths crossed later than morning in the kitchen. When Erik said, “Sky asked me to bring some firewood up to your room. Nights can get very cold here,” his words evoked thoughts that Grace did not want to entertain. She was there to write, learn more about Cree culture, observe, and photograph wildlife. Thinking about “observing wildlife,” made her smile. “No problem. I will just stay in my room most of the time and go out for morning walks,” she thought to herself as she said, “Thank you.”

However, their paths would continue to cross, and she would not be hiding in her room.