FIFTEEN BRIDESMAID DRESSES – A free story

Imogene stood in the spare bedroom of the apartment she rented in Sylva, North Carolina, looking at herself in the mirror. “This is the fifteenth bridesmaid dress,” she said to herself. “Number Fifteen now.”

Glancing around at the dresses hanging on two dress racks near her, she sighed. There was suddenly something sad about the very Number Fifteen, even if she’d never really hungered to get married, always wanting more for herself. She glanced back at herself in the mirror, a plain and ordinary dark-haired girl with hazel eyes, slimmer now after being chubby and overweight for much of her younger life but still unremarkable.

The door opened and her friend Frances stuck her head in. “Does your dress fit all right?”

“Yes,” she answered. “And at least Number Fifteen is green and a more attractive color on me than the others.”

Frances giggled. “Have you really been keeping count of your bridesmaid dresses?”

“Yes, I have, and this is definitely Number Fifteen. Look around you, Frances, and you’ll see all the other dresses hanging on the racks in here. I only use this extra room in the big apartment I rent for storage of things I don’t need.” She glanced around before looking back at herself in the mirror. “But suddenly it feels depressing to see all these bridesmaid dresses hanging here and not a white bridal dress in sight.”

“I thought you never wanted to get married. That’s what you always said.” Frances, with her plump figure and messy, curly hair, that seemed to always need a good brushing, sat down on an old chair in one corner.

“Frances, you said back in high school and college that you didn’t want to get married, either, but you got married.”

“I guess I did, mostly as a coverup I think because none of the boys in high school seemed to look at me twice or ever ask me out.”

“We were both a little frumpy and in the losers’ group in high school. Certainly not in the Elite Eight that ruled Swain High.”

Frances smiled. “But I got lucky and ran into Wesley Leland the summer after we graduated from college. His family has that landscaping business in Bryson City and somehow, through hanging around them after we got married, I got the courage to start my own catering business. So, I managed to have my own little business, like I always wanted, and to have Wesley, too. I’ve been happy.” She paused. “I thought you were, too. You went on to get your masters and doctorate and got on faculty at Southwestern teaching English and literature like you always wanted. I know you’re respected there.”

“I am and I love my job,” Imogene said. “Maybe it’s just the number. There were sixteen of us in our two big suites on the third floor of Duke Hall at the University of Georgia. You know that, and we always called ourselves The Sweet Sixteen and have continued to meet in our own reunions and gatherings through the years.  After this wedding of Suzanne’s, I’ll be the only single one of all our group, and you know they’re planning a big New Year’s Eve gathering next month during the holidays with all the husbands coming this time. I think it just hit me for the first time I’ll be the only single one there.”

“Well, you’ll also be one of the more successful ones of our group. You certainly look better than when we started college, too. You look very professional, Imogene. You’re Dr. Imogene Vogel now, too, a respected faculty member, not Imogenius Vogel like your old nickname in high school. Get over seeing yourself negatively. Mostly I was Fat Frances then. What a plastic time that was with so much silly stereotyping. We weren’t the only ones made fun of either. They called Andrea Stapleton, that was on the annual staff with you, Awful Andrea, and she runs her own design firm in Winston-Salem now. The Elite Eight used to ridicule Warner Zachery, now a well-known children’s author, calling him Weird Warner, and they laughed at Barry Jacobs, calling him Brainy Barry, and he owns a computer business in Bryson City. Leonard Goldstein, who you worked with on the annual staff and the school newspaper was nicknamed Loser Leonard, a little nerdy and rough in looks then but now he owns the Bryson City newspaper and is well-respected in the community. People move on, Imogene. You shouldn’t let those old high school monikers bother you.”

“Easy to say, but I know you still flinch around a lot of those snobby girls who called us names that still live in Bryson City. I’ve been with you a few times when we’ve run into them.”

“Especially in the drug store where they still hang out at their old booth as if reminding the world that they still are better than the rest of us.” She stood up. “But we’ve moved on from those days, and we’re going to a gorgeous wedding for Suzanne Simpson, who we both love, a sweet girl, even if rich as all get out, at the gorgeous Georgian Hall in downtown Athens. You know it’s a fabulous place and we’re staying overnight after the rehearsal dinner. Cheer up. We’re going to have a great time. Put that dress on a hanger and get your suitcase and let’s hit the road.”

Imogen turned to grin at Frances. “You’re right. We’ll have a great time.” However, in the back of Imogene’s mind she was already coming up with an excuse not to attend the big New Year’s Eve gathering where everyone would be there with their spouses, married, except for her.

The rehearsal was going well, everyone in more casual dress for that, until Imogene looked across the room at a group of groomsmen laughing and realized she knew one of them. “Oh, my gosh, it’s Leonard Goldstein,” she couldn’t help muttering to herself. “What in the world is he doing here?”

She slipped over behind a pillar to hide for a moment and try to decide what to do. She could still hear Leonard’s voice, laughing and making jokes with his friends. If he saw her would he make jokes and tell everyone about her past? The girls she’d lived with in the dorm here in Georgia didn’t know her past. She was not that awkward girl from high school anymore and hardly wanted others to know what she’d once been like.

Imogene glanced around. With the rehearsal over, maybe she could slip out one of the side doors until everyone left, then slip back in to get her coat and purse before starting back to their hotel. It was only a block away.  With such a big wedding and so many guests tomorrow, maybe Leonard wouldn’t notice her as he might tonight. And with so many people milling around at the big buffet rehearsal dinner and dance after, he would be less likely to recognize her. She’d have her hair up then and be dressed in green like all the other bridesmaids, blending into the crowd more.

Imogene slipped outside to a little balconied area for a few moments, leaving the noise of the rehearsal gathering behind.  It was chilly but not too cold under the covered balcony.

As she leaned against the railing in relief, she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Are you all right, Imogene? I thought I recognized you and then saw you slip out, looking upset.”

Turning to face the inevitable, she saw Leonard standing there watching her. “Hello, Leonard. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Imogene made an effort to smile, and then watched his face change.

Looking away for a moment, he said in a softer voice. “You were trying to avoid me, weren’t you, Imogene?”

Sorry to realize she might have hurt him, she smiled and said, “I’m sorry for that, Leonard. It’s just that seeing you brought a rush of old memories back.” She paused. “I know you love to joke and jest and I was suddenly afraid you might say something sort of derogatory.”

He shook his head. “Like call you Imogenius Vogel? I’d hardly risk that when you’d probably pop back and call me Loser Lenoard. I’d just as soon leave that old past behind, too.”

She felt embarrassed. “So would I.”

“Actually, your name wasn’t as bad as mine if you think about it. At least you were termed a genius versus a loser.” He grinned. “Those old names hurt, didn’t they? And they kept high school from being the good time it should have been for many of us, you, me, Warner, Anna, and Barry.”

“And Frances,” she added. “She was my roommate in college. We’re both here as bridesmaids for one of our suite mates, Suzanne.”

He laughed then, that warm, rich laugh she remembered. “So, you’re one of the Sweet Sixteen,” he said. “I think my friend Harold said his bride-to-be, Suzanne, is the last of them to be married.”

“No, the last in that role would be me.”

“You aren’t married yet?”

“No, are you? I heard you’d taken over the newspaper and added several small local papers to your family’s old business. I always knew you’d do well.”

“No, I’m not married yet, either.” He smiled. “You were one of the few who encouraged and believed in me back then. You also corrected a lot of my copy when we worked on the school newspaper and the annual together. I might have offered you a copyediting job with the paper if you hadn’t soared up academically and become a professor. I’ve seen some nice write-ups about you in the Southwestern newspaper, and I actually saw you march in with the other faculty at a graduation I once attended.”

“I don’t remember seeing you.”

“Like you tonight, I was probably avoiding you, hating to think of how you’d remember that awkward, somewhat geeky boy I was then.”

She studied him. “You look very nice, Leonard.”

“No longer pudgy with that mass of curly hair drooping in my eyes, a variety of pimples on my face, and baggy shirts and pants,” he interrupted to add.

“Well, I could say worse about my looks. Hardly goth like Anna’s, but with those colorful gypsy skirts, terrible color combinations in clothes, long hair down my back, big horn-rimmed glasses, and usually an armful of bracelets.”

“I never made good choices in eyeglasses either.” He stopped to adjust his and study her. “I think these do look better, don’t you, and you must be wearing contacts now.”

She smiled at him, beginning to relax. “Those glasses do look good on you. I still have a few pairs of glasses but I wear contacts more now. You really do look good, Leonard. You’ve come a long way from those old days.”

“It’s cold out here.” He glanced back inside. “Let’s go sit inside at that little table by the door.” He pointed to it. “The crowd is breaking up, but I’d like to talk for a few more minutes, so you won’t feel like running away from me tomorrow. There is a dinner and a dance after the wedding, and I remember you’re a good dancer. You were one of the few people who didn’t dread dancing with me at our school dances. I hope you’ll be kind and dance with me then.”

“Sure,” she said, remembering Leonard one of the few boys who ever asked her to dance at school dances. She owed him.

They slipped inside to sit at a small round table with two chairs, tucked beside the balcony window. After a little chit chat, he sighed. “Are you going to that big New Year’s reunion thing I’ve been hearing Harold talk about that the Sweet Sixteens are having New Years at the Brasstown Resort?”

Feeling more like being candid now, she said honestly. “If I can think of any way to get out of it, no. All the husbands are coming this year, and, frankly, I hate being the only single one there.”

“I know the feeling.”  He nodded. “My old fraternity at the University of Tennessee is having a big reunion over the Christmas holidays. Harold Geoltz, who is marrying Suzanne—which is the reason I’m a groomsman here—is really razzing me about being one of the few remaining bachelors. I think they’ve cooked up some ways to mess with me about that in some of their speeches and antics. I’m really dreading it.”

“Too bad we’re not both at least engaged to someone.” She laughed. “I’m getting a lot of comments from the Sweet Sixteen girls now, too, those kind, patronizing comments with the underlying message that there’s something wrong with you for still being single.”

“Here, here!” He laughed, but then he fell silent looking away.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said after a minute. “I imagine a few people saw us slip off together. Why don’t we pretend we used to have a wild thing for each other, rediscovered each other here, renewed that old relationship, and have decided to get engaged. This will take the heat off both of us. We can dance and make eyes at each other tomorrow in front of everyone to make it more believable. Even your friend Frances. We can tell Frances we had a secret thing going we didn’t want anyone to know about.”

“Why would we want to do that just for this wedding?”

“You’re missing the point,” he said leaning forward. “As an engaged couple, you can go to my fraternity reunion with me with all the other guys’ wives or girlfriends coming up next month and I can go with you as your fiance to the big Sweet Sixteen party with all your friends for the New Year’s Eve weekend.”

Imogene frowned. “You want to pretend to get engaged just so we’ll look good at two upcoming events?”

“What would it hurt? It would solve both our problems of going as we are and not having a good time.” He paused. “Also, I think we could have a great time together, Imogene. We know each other. We get along. We went to school together, know each other’s families.”

She crossed her arms. “Well, I personally think we’d need to get together to get our stories more straight about this. It’s been almost ten years since we’ve seen each other or spent any time together. An engaged couple would be a lot more up to date about each other than we are, Leonard, even if I would consider the idea.”

He threw up two hands. “No problem. We’ll get together sometime before then, talk and catch up on everything, and plan our strategy. I’ve been building a house on the mountain just outside Bryson City, up on Fontana Ridge Road. It’s finished and furnished, in part. You can come up one weekend and we’ll plan everything out. We’ll both have some time off for the Thanksgiving holidays.”

“Maybe.” She thought about it. “I might stay over a night so we can talk but …” She hesitated. “Just to talk, Leonard. I want to make that clear. I’m not very modern-thinking in other ways.  You should know that. We went to church together.”

“I’m not very modern-thinking that way either, Imogene.” He pulled out his phone. “Thanksgiving is next week on Thursday. I know you have family stuff like I do that day, but what about Friday after? Business is always light for Thanksgiving weekend. I like to give all my people at the paper a light load to have time to spend with families, and you should be off for the holiday at school, right? We can meet up at the house at about five to six.”

He pulled out his phone. “Give me your email and phone and I’ll send you directions and everything. We can cook at the house Friday night and rustle up breakfast the next morning. I’ll get food in. Just bring yourself and whatever things you’ll need.”

Seeing her reluctance, he grinned. “Think of it as an adventure, Imogene. It will be fun. After the holidays, we can always let people know we’ve decided to break things off. No harm done to anyone but both of our holiday problems resolved. Won’t that be great?”

She passed along her information to him, getting his phone, email, and contact information, too. “Do you think this is really a good idea, basically lying to everyone.”

He grinned. “It’s just for the holiday, a good, practical, resourceful idea for two intelligent people in an awkward spot, and who does it hurt?”

While deciding whether she should really do this or not, Frances came around the corner. “There you are, Imogene. I’ve been looking for you so we can head back to the hotel.” She paused and then grinned. “Well, hi, Leonard.”

“Hi, yourself, Frances.” He stood up, reaching over to squeeze Imogene’s hands before he did and winking at her. “Imogene and I have just been enjoying a little private time catching up, a couple of old secret sweethearts remembering some good times.”

Frances eyes widened, and Imogene felt like kicking Leonard.

“It’s probably the reason neither of us has hooked up with anyone else in all these years,” he said. “That young love stuff is strong. Stays with you, makes it hard to see anyone else as a possibility.”

Caught in the web of this plot now and with Leonard abetting it, Imogene just smiled, getting up herself to leave with Frances.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Imogene,” he said, leaning over to kiss her right on the mouth in front of Frances.

As they walked away, Frances said, “I had no idea you and Leonard ever had a relationship back in high school, but you did spend a lot of time together.”

Well, I’m in for it now with Frances, Imogene thought.

The wedding and the next week flew by. Imogene thought about calling Leonard to call the whole thing off a hundred times at least, but she could never bring herself to pick up the phone to do it. In truth, she’d loved his warm attentions at the wedding, dancing with him, pretending they were a couple. He’d caught her at a vulnerable time with the Fifteenth Bridesmaid dress still stirring up her emotions.  The beautiful wedding in Athens had further stirred her odd discontent with her life. Admittedly, she yearned for the love and joy she saw between Suzanne and Harold. Would it hurt to pretend a little longer? She had so little practice with boyfriends and dating. Maybe this time would help to teach her more what to do and how to act for the future. She had to admit she enjoyed the dizzy little feelings she’d experienced when Leonard had sneaked that kiss, held her close dancing later, the winks he’d given her, even the way he’d started looking at her as if she was beautiful and desirable.

The weather turned bitter cold on Thanksgiving with flurries around the area the next day but snow was not predicted. So, Imogene packed her car later in the day and started her trip from Sylva to Bryson City after texting Leonard to let him know she was on her way.

Leonard’s house on the mountain was beautiful, a cape cod with a broad covered front porch looking out toward the Smoky Mountains in the distance. The road to it, just outside Bryson City, wound in and out up the mountain but, once arriving, the view was spectacular. Coming out on the porch to meet her and taking her bags to carry them inside, he said, “What do you think?”

“It’s a stunning place.”

“I’d always wanted a mountain place, and a property with views, so I could sit out on my porch and enjoy looking across the mountains, a break from the stresses of the newspaper.” He let her in the house. “Some of the news I cover can be grim and depressing.”

Inside, Imogene looked around at a big, rustic living area with a rock fireplace, reaching back to a dining and kitchen area behind. Overhead and up the stairs a wide railed balcony looked down from the floor above. The quick tour Leonard gave her around the house revealed three bedrooms, one downstairs and two up, a cozy den upstairs, a small office, and a game room.

“My bedroom is downstairs,” he said, “but I thought you’d like this room upstairs.” He led her to a pretty upstairs bedroom for her overnight, decorated in blues, with a bath right next door.

“This will be perfect and the views are stunning,” she said.

If it had been anyone but Leonard she planned to spend a night with Imogene might have felt uncomfortable, but she’d known Leonard since their grammar school days. She could trust him or deal with him if he got out of hand. They needed this time to talk everything through for the two big events upcoming. In a sense, she looked forward to going to both now and she liked the idea of having a partner for them, so used to being a single.

Leonard had picked up dinner at a local restaurant they only needed to reheat. With the temperatures turning colder and the wind howling around the house as dark fell, they didn’t sit out on the porch, but Imogene could imagine it lovely in fine, warm weather.

After dinner, Leonard built a roaring fire and they sat and talked and talked, catching up on their lives. Imogene had been an only child, her parents now living over the mountain in Maryville. Her mother was a teacher there in high school, her father still in banking. Leonard had two younger sisters, both gone from home now, married and living away, but his parents still lived in Bryson City. A voracious reader like herself, they talked about books, her teaching, interesting news Leonard had covered at the paper, how he’d grown the business. In the background, they listened to old seventies and eighties favorites by the Bee Gees, Stevie Wonder, Olivia Newton John and The Pointer Sisters.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he asked after a time, when they felt comfortable that they knew each other better for their charades ahead.

“All right,” she answered. “Something on TV?”

“No, an old favorite we both love.” He held up a CD movie of Grease.

She laughed. “Do you think we can still sing along with all the songs?”

“As many times as our old group watched this film, I’m sure we can, and we can still do the moves for the Hand Jive, too.”

Imogene went to bed happy later. They’d shared a warm, congenial, and fun evening. Older now, they weren’t uncomfortable with themselves, worrying they might say or do the wrong thing, feeling they needed to hide their talents and strengths or be made fun of for holding them. It had not been easy for either of them being so academically gifted in high school.

The next morning, she woke up to the smell of coffee and breakfast in the works. She’d showered the night before, so it didn’t take her long to dress and head downstairs, but as she got to the bottom of the stairs, her mouth dropped open looking outside.

“We got a little snow outside,” Leonard commented.

She put a hand to her mouth. “Leonard, it’s a white wonderland out there. There must be four inches on the ground. Did you know it would snow like this?”

He shook his head. “No. Of course not. It was cold and there were some flurries yesterday, but the earlier weather reports said only snow possible in the higher elevations.” He came over to stand beside her where she’d walked to look out  one of the big windows down the mountain side. “We were having such a good time, I never thought to tune in to the weather again. If and when the forecast changed I didn’t know about it, Imogene.”

“But look at the roads. I can’t get down the mountain in this.”

“No. It’s too dangerous and too icy. I’ve already checked the forecast and road conditions We’re stuck for a while until the sun melts some of this off. But temps are warming. I hope later today we can get out.” He started back toward the kitchen. “The good news is we haven’t lost power, have lots of firewood and food. So, we’re good.”

Upset, Imogene trailed into the kitchen after him. “This is so upsetting. I know people will be expecting us back. I don’t want gossip starting. I had excuses for a night away but not more.”

“It will be okay, Imogene. Pour us both a cup of coffee and get some creamer out of the refrigerator while I scramble these eggs.”

“Okay,” she said. “What else can I do?”

“Pour some juice, get out some butter and jelly for the biscuits.” He pointed toward the oven. “I popped in some of those frozen ones for us; they should be done now.”

They ate, watching news and weather reports on the television. After breakfast, Barry made calls to some of his staff on the newspaper, popping requests and orders, letting them know he’d be delayed getting in.

After a time, Barry built up the fire and came to sit beside her on the sofa.

“I had a bad feeling about this whole idea,” Imogene admitted to him. “Perhaps I should have listened to that check, not been so impulsive. Maybe this is a sign that we shouldn’t lie to people and pretend a relationship just to make a couple of social situations easier for us.”

She turned to see Leonard watching her. “I’m not sorry, Imogene,” he said. “I need to admit I contrived this whole thing just to get to spend time with you.” He sighed. “You’re going to think this sounds stupid, but I really did have a huge crush on you all the way through high school. But you were so smart and pretty and I was so geeky in looks then, with no athletic prowess and laughed at by most of the jocks and leaders as being a loser in school and life, I was afraid to even ask you to go out.”

Imogene turned to him in amazement. “You liked me and wanted to ask me out?”

“I did.”

“You thought I was pretty then?” She knew she was stunned at that.

“I thought so, curvy and pretty, with all that long dark hair down your back. I was always goofing around and pulling it and finding ways to tease you just to get closer to you.” He stopped. “You always smelled like strawberries. It must have been some cologne you wore.”

“It was just an inexpensive hand crème and body mist I wore and strawberry shampoo, Leonard, nothing fancy.”

“And I loved all those bright, floral skirts you wore and all those bracelets. You looked like a gypsy.”

“You liked that?” She felt amazed at his words.

“You’re going to think it’s dopey, but I fell in love with you back then, dreamed about you, thought a lot of inappropriate thoughts about you. Then I saw you at that wedding and thought maybe this was my chance. You were even prettier than I remembered, and when I saw you in that gorgeous green bridesmaid’s dress it was no act, Imogene, to pretend I loved you.”

He laughed and turned to look outside. “At least I know you can’t run out the door right now mad at me. I’m glad it snowed. It gives me more time with you.”

Imogene couldn’t even think what to say.

“Do you care for me at all, Imogene?”

She smiled then. “We spent so much time together in those years, Leonard, with our group of friends and with the two of us working on the annual and the school newspaper together. I feel silly saying it, but I had a little crush on you, too. It’s one of the reasons I ran off the other day. You looked so suave, competent, and at ease, laughing with all your friends. I was afraid you’d say something and laugh at me and that I’d feel embarrassed and awful. I always felt so foolish liking you then.”

Her words were cut off as Leonard pulled her into his arms and kissed her silly. Honestly, there was no other way to describe it. It was so sweet and good, with him murmuring love words to her, that she just wanted to giggle with the joy of it.

“Aren’t we a couple of nuts?” he said after a time, pulling away to thread his fingers in her hair and then down her cheek. “All this time caring and both of us just holding it in and dreaming.” He leaned in to kiss her again, a bit more passionately than before, making her heart beat quicken and her whole body seem to come alive.

Leonard pulled away and dropped to one knee by the couch. “Imogene Vogel, I hope you’ll agree to make our fake engagement a real one and marry me. I promise I will always cherish you and love and respect you.”

“Yes, Leonard. I say yes.” She leaned in to kiss him back.

He grinned at her then after a few moments. “You were telling me all the colors of bridesmaid dresses you have. Maybe you can give one to every bridesmaid in our wedding and we can have a multi-color wedding. I don’t think there are any colors left to use.”

“No, I’m going to have deep red burgundy bridesmaid dresses. No one has had burgundy dresses, and you can be sure I’m inviting a lot of bridesmaids to be in my wedding, too. I’m due a lot of return from my friends for all those fifteen dresses I’ve bought.”

“Will you be okay living here with me? It’s only 24 minutes from Bryson City to Sylva.”

“I love your house, Barry, and I’ll love living her. But I think I’m going to keep my garage apartment beside Mrs. Merton’s big house, too. On days like this when we have snow in the mountains I can walk to campus and my classes, and when I have late meetings I can stay over. You won’t mind, will you? The rent isn’t much because Ruth Merton was a good friend of my mother’s.”

“Whatever you want, Imogene.” He pulled her close to kiss her again.

As they snuggled on the couch in front of the fire, Imogene smiled to herself. Finally, a bride and not just a bridesmaid. And, in truth, she needed to figure out something to do with those fifteen bridesmaid dresses.

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EXTRA NOTE: To run into Leonard and Imogene again … and many of their old high school friends you read about in this story, look for my book set in Bryson City, North Carolina, called DADDY’S GIRL, in print or eBook versions through major retailers in store and online.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Etta slipped in the back door off the old service porch of their big Antebellum home at Hilton Head, hoping to clean up from her swim at the beach before her mother spotted her. She’d just slipped out of her flip-flops, propped her surfboard against the wall, and was toweling her hair, when she heard the door to the house open.

“Hi, Mother,” she called out.

Her mother crossed her arms, obviously angry. “I hope you realize Ettarae Catherine Baynard that we’ve been looking for you for the last several hours. This was no time to head down to the beach for a swim when you know we are heading to Charleston to your Grandmother Baynard’s for the weekend. In case you have forgotten, you have a Debutante Ball to attend tonight.”

“It’s not even noon and the waves were high this morning after that big storm last night.” Etta hung her towel on a peg on the wall. “You said we weren’t leaving until after lunch.”

“But look at you, covered in salt and sand, your hair a mess.” She shook her head. “I’m still upset at you, too, for chopping off your hair, knowing this ball was scheduled. My hairdresser had to trim and shape your hair to make it look decent for the ball tonight. She said she could pull it back. style it in a small bun and tuck a pearl comb in it to make it look stylish. As you might have forgotten, you are due there shortly for her to do exactly that.”

Etta made a face. “Teresa will make my hair look pretty, Mother. Don’t worry, and you know the requisite long white dress, elbow length gloves, and shoes are all laid out and ready to go. I mean, it’s just a fancy dance party.”

“You know it’s much more than that. It is a coveted honor to attend the St. Ceceilia Society Ball at the Hibernian Hall in Charleston. It is an exclusive debutante event to introduce young women into society, and I am deeply disappointed you don’t see it as the honor it is to be invited. Your Grandmother Baynard has worked hard to see that you were invited and she is sponsoring you. It would deeply distress her and your father if you don’t conduct yourself there as you should.”

“I will mother. I’ve gone to all the preliminary classes in Charleston to prepare. I’ve been coached in how to walk in correctly on my father’s arm to be presented, how to curtsey properly, how to sit down and stand up, how to act and dance at every point as a proper St. Cecelia debutante should.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t embarrass you, but let’s not pretend we don’t all know this ball is about introducing me to wealthy, suitable young men from equally wealthy, suitable backgrounds for an appropriate marriage. I feel like a piece of prime cattle being auctioned off.”

Her mother gasped. “Ettarae, the ball is to introduce you into polite society not to auction you off for marriage.”

Etta put a hand on her hip. “You’ve certainly been passing off enough hints about the suitability of James Daniels who is my escort for the ball, quoting all sorts of facts about his family’s background, his opportunities in his family’s business.”

“He’s a very nice-looking and well-mannered young man. Your father and I have been very impressed with him the times he came by to visit. Jeoffrey Hogue, who lives here on Hilton Head will be at the ball, too, escorting your cousin Rachel Sue. We all like Jeoffrey, too, and I can tell he is interested in you as well. I wish you wouldn’t put him off so often.”

“I’m enjoying my college studies in Beaufort at the University branch there. I’ve only been out of high school a little over a year. Schooling is important, too, don’t you think?”

“It is.” She sighed. “Let’s not argue more. You need to go get a shower and eat a little lunch so we can head to your grandmother’s. Your father will be here soon. He’s taking off from work to go with us to your grandmother’s, presenting you tonight, too. Please try to be sweet and kind to everyone and to act in a way to bring honor to your grandmother and to us, Etta. And please try to think of this as a lovely occasion and a beautiful honor. I think one day you will look back and see it as that.”

Impulsively Etta hugged her mother. “I’ll behave beautifully, Mother. I love Grandmother Baynard, too. I wouldn’t want to embarrass her with all her friends. And I know this means a lot to her.”

“Thank you, Ettarae.” Her mother stood back and surveyed her. “You’re a very beautiful young woman, despite all your tomboy ways and unconventional ideas. But you are very smart, a gifted girl. I want you to know we are proud of you. You’re our only daughter and our only girl. After having your brothers, Vincent and Chandler, I was very delighted to have a little girl at last when you were born.”

“Well, let me go and get dressed.” Etta smiled at her mother.

As she headed upstairs, Etta thought of the many ways she knew her mother had been a little disappointed she wasn’t more of a girly girl over the years, but more a tomboy, chasing around after her two older brothers, surfing, kayaking, and swimming at the beach near their home at Hilton Head, South Carolina, excelling in sports and the debate team at school. Despite all their talk to the contrary, she knew, too, her family was husband-hunting for her, just as they’d wife-hunted for her brothers, and she felt those expectations heavy on her heart.

Later in the evening, in a long white dress, elbow-length white gloves, and white shoes, her dark hair, streaked with sun, neatly arranged behind her neck, she walked in to the Hiberian Hall’s assembly room on the arm of her father to be presented to Charleston society. Her father and all the men were dressed in formal tuxedos, the women dressed to the nines in rich formal evening gowns. Twelve girls were being presented at the St. Cecelia Ball tonight, presented either by their mothers or grandmothers, most being escorted in on the arm of their own father.

After being presented, Eleanor was passed off onto the arm of her escort for the evening to parade around the room in a proper way, with all the guests watching and probably inwardly judging her. Eleanor kept her social smile in place and, at the end of her parade around the room, offered another curtsy before taking her place in a designated line to see the other girls make their way around the room. The name of the promenade around the room was called “the figure” and most of the girls here tonight were about eighteen years old in age.

Her escort James Daniels was a congenial young man, if a little stuffy. He seemed to enjoy all this heraldry and, actually, she had noticed in their presentation classes that he was attracted to her cousin Rachel Sue Harrington. They both lived in Charleston, and she felt sure James would find a way to have a dance with Rachel Sue after their lavish formal dinner and probably call on her later, too. Joeffrey Hogue was here, too. He had family in Charleston, like she did, and he had been asked to escort her cousin Rachel Sue.

At dinner, she was seated with Joeffrey to one side of her, another escort on the other side. Etta had noticed him when he came in. He felt different from the other boys in many ways, looked older, confident and sure of himself in a way not the norm for the younger boys. As his arm brushed against hers, she felt a little shiver of awareness, too.

Catching her eye, he smiled at her then. “I thought I should introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Lloyd Deveaux.”

“I’m Ettarae Baynard,” she replied, not recognizing his name from the list of escorts of the evening and searching her memory for any Deveauxs she knew.

Seeming to sense her thoughts, he said, “I’m a substitute escort tonight. A Naval friend of mine scheduled to be an escort, Alden Tyree, slipped on a rainy sidewalk yesterday and broke his leg.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I liked Alden at our presentation classes. He had a sense of humor and made our classes more fun and less stuffy.”

“That sounds like Alden, and if you’re trying to place my family, you might say we’re on the outskirts of good society. The Deveauxs link back through marriage to the Townsends and other families who were early land-owners on Edisto Island.”

She smiled. “I seem to recall the Townsends owned several plantations and owned all the land where Seabrook Plantation is now and used it for hunting grounds.”

He grinned. “You know your history.”

“I love history. It’s my major at college.”

Etta answered his questions about her studies for a moment, and then asked, “You said Alden was a Naval friend. Were you in the Navy also?”

“I was. A Citadel graduate like Alden and I just came off active duty as an officer.” He smiled. “I’m probably a little older than most of the young men here tonight acting as escorts.”

Etta tallied up the years in her mind, realizing Lloyd Deveaux at least ten years her senior. No wonder he seemed so much older and more confident with himself.

As polite social behavior required, she shifted her attention to talk to rhe other escort on her right and to those across from her for a few moments, while eating her dinner in-between. She noticed Lloyd doing the same, hearing his warm laughter bubble out at one time. When she could, without drawing attention to herself, she turned to him again.

“What are you doing now that you’ve retired from the Navy, Lloyd?”

He chuckled and then leaned closer to her. “I am a Lighthouse Keeper, not the sort of answer that draws ooohs and aaahs here, but the Deveaux family have kept the light at the Deveaux Lighthouse since the 1800s and now the family also run the Deveaux Inn that welcomes visitors from all over the United States and abroad. It is a somewhat unconventional life but one I love. The sea is in my blood and working in and near it is richly satisfying. Our family is proud we’ve kept our land and continue to keep the light and to welcome tourists to our island home to visit and learn about the history of our past and of the lighthouse.”

Etta leaned toward him, putting a hand to her chest. “I kept thinking your name sounded familiar. I know that lighthouse and island. My brothers and I have boated there in past, took the tour of the lighthouse. It was fascinating. The entire light station the lighthouse is situated on is large, too, if I recall.”

“The island is 500 acres, and I’m glad you enjoyed your trip there.”

As their dinner ended and everyone began to move toward the ballroom where the dancing would be held, Lloyd Deveaux leaned toward her, a little too close actually, to say, “I hope I can have a dance or two with you Miss Ettarae Baynard. You have been by far the most captivating woman I have met this evening. I’m aware it is unsuitable of me to say that, so you must feel free to snub me if the feelings are not returned.”

Etta’s eyes flew wide and she felt her heart skip a beat as he gave a little bow over her hand, as if they were only exchanging the normal polite greetings expected.

With a little boldness, she said softly, “I shall look forward to that of all things Mr. Deveaux.”

“I will seek you out for the second dance then. Keep your dance card open,” he teased, and then he turned away to head toward the hall where the dancing would soon begin.

“Who was that man you were talking with so much?” her mother asked, moving to walk with her to the ladies room before they went on to the dance hall.

“Just one of the escorts.” She shrugged, not wanting her mother to censure any of the following moments she might have with Lloyd Deveaux.

Of course, he danced like a dream, smooth, confident, and the little feelings that had tickled her consciousness at dinner swept through her even more deeply as they danced the second dance and two others he could arrange without overly drawing notice to his attentions. Every moment with him was a thrill she found it impossible to deny. Etta, tomboyish and independent all these years, felt overwhelmed with feelings quite new to her. Was this the romance she’d read about in books but never experienced?

As everyone moved to the foyer for coffee and some final polite conversation and goodbyes before leaving, Lloyd came to bow to her. With no one nearby, he said softly, taking her gloved hand, “You have been the delight of my evening. If you would wish to further our acquaintance, I will take you to dinner this week after your classes at the college this Tuesday evening. You mentioned the class ended at about four-thirty. Come down to the waterfront on Front Street after and we will eat at Clawson’s Restaurant, a favorite of mine there. I’ll meet you at one of the benches across the street from the restaurant on the waterfront.” He paused. “Do you know that spot?”

She nodded a yes. Seeing others moving their way, Lloyd tucked a slip of paper into her glove. Later, when she could peek at it privately she found a phone number scribbled on it.

Of course, Etta didn’t have to go to meet Lloyd Deveaux but she did. Not once but many times and their relationship grew quickly into a delightful one. They talked and walked together along the waterfront, went to movies at the Breeze Theatre, ate at Clawson’s or other spots Lloyd knew about. He usually boated in and parked his boat at the marina nearby. But they had her car if they wanted to venture further away.

As they grew serious, Lloyd took her to the island to meet his family at the Lighthouse Inn where they lived. Lloyd came to meet her family at Hilton Head, too. Things did not go well at either visit.

“How long have you been seeing that man?” her mother asked immediately after he left. My friend Marguerite said she saw you with a man one evening in Beaufort at the Clawson Restaurant. I didn’t pry but was that Lloyd?”

“Yes.” Etta saw no point in denying it. “I ran into Lloyd on the waterfront after class one evening, and we went to dinner together. I’d enjoyed his company at the ball. I admit we began to see each other more after that.”

A week later, both her parents cornered her after dinner. Her father said, “Etta, your mother and I feel you should not see Lloyd Deveaux any more. Your mother says you’re attracted to him, but Etta, he is not of our world. He works with his parents running an inn and lighthouse on an island at the north end of Edisto Island. An island, Etta. When they want to go anywhere they have to get in a boat. They welcome people of all sorts to their inn. Mrs. Deveaux cooks and cleans and intermingles with all these people. Mr. Deveaux and Lloyd, too, now that he is home from the Navy, do menial work on that island. They give tours to the general public. All sorts of riff raff come there and the family interacts with them. They entertain them. Etta, this is not your world.”

Her mother jumped in then. “You’ve been raised in a different life. What part could you play with a family like that if you allowed yourself to get more serious about this man? You’ve never even held a part-time job.”

“Not for not asking to do so,” Etta countered. “I got offers but you would never let me take any of them.”

“Our point of discussion is not about that, Etta,” her father interrupted. “We don’t like to interfere in your life. But we don’t want you continuing a relationship with Lloyd Deveaux. You may find Lloyd appealing, but I don’t think you understand what would be expected of you if you considered marrying into his family.  They are not people of our social class.”

“You’re being snobby in how you talk.” Etta stomped her foot. “The Deveaux family are well-educated people of an excellent background; they are not poor. They own a 500-acre island, run a major business with a historic lighthouse, a beautiful, prestigious inn with its own marina, lodge, rental cottages, walking and biking trails, and a lovely beach front. They have staff for much of the work at their business operations. They are good, honorable people.”

Etta’s mother sat up straighter in her chair. “You’re being stubborn about this Etta, but your father and I are in agreement that this relationship not be continued.”

“You don’t even know the Deveaux family,” she began to argue again.

“Actually, we do know them,” her father said. “We went to see them when we learned you and Lloyd had started an attraction. It might not please you to hear this but Mr. and Mrs. Deveaux are not pleased with the attraction between you and Lloyd either. He is their only son, and they feel Lloyd needs to align with a strong woman who can work side by side with Lloyd to run the inn and lighthouse.”

Her mother continued. “Mrs. Deveaux admitted it is a lot of work keeping everything running smoothly, managing the inn and the staff. She and Mr. Deveaux are getting older. The lighthouse and inn have been in the family for generations. They are thrilled that Lloyd has retired and come home to take his place with their business and legacy. They do not feel you are a suitable wife for him, not used to a working lifestyle and raised to fulfill a different role.”

Etta, shocked, started to cry. “You went to see them without even asking me? That was wrong of you.”

“No,” her father stated. “The Deveauxs were equally concerned. The alliance is not one they feel is right for Lloyd. Both families agree that your friendship shouldn’t proceed any further. As Mr. Deveaux also noted, Lloyd is also over ten years older than you.”

Her mother said, “The Deveauxs are speaking to Lloyd about this, too.”

Etta, hurt, wanted to scream. How could they all try to decide what was right for Lloyd and her?

Her father cleared his throat. “I know you have plans to see Lloyd this week. So talk to him. Make it clear that you need to step away from the relationship.”

Her mother patted her arm. “I imagine his family have similarly advised him. I know you’ve grown fond of each other but some things are not meant to be.”

Etta sat crying, not even knowing what to say.

As her father left the room, her mother leaned forward. “That handsome Joeffrey Hogue came by this week to supposedly deliver some club literature from his mother but I know it was on pretext to see you. Joeffrey is in line to proceed his father in their business, and you know they own property all over Hilton Head. They’re in our social set, too. His mother Loretta hinted to me earlier this week that Joeffrey has been thinking it’s time to settle down, too.”

Etta couldn’t believe her mother thought relationships were just something you tried on and took off like shoes. Did she not see, too, that Joeffrey was narrow in his interests, boring in conversation, and borderline narcissistic? And obviously they could not see all that was good and fine in Lloyd and who knew what Lloyd or his family felt after her parents went to see them. How totally humiliating.

Tuesday, after classes, Etta wondered if Lloyd would even come to meet with her again. But she spotted him soon, sitting on a bench by the waterfront, looking out toward the boats on the Beaufort River.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she said, walking over to sit beside him. He wore cargo shorts today and an old khaki green shirt.

He smiled at her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come either.” He glanced over her jeans and at the long-sleeved gray shirt she wore.

“I was too depressed to get dressed up and I cut class this afternoon.”

He stood, reaching out to take her hand. “Let’s go for a ride in my boat, find a quiet place where we can talk. Clear our heads on the way.”

They walked down to the marina, climbed into Lloyd’s Sea Ray and soon headed down the Beaufort River, pulling his boat up to a little deserted beach near The Sands below Port Royal.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said, taking her hand to help her out of the boat.

They walked quietly along the beach by the shoreline for a time, the wind blowing in from the water, the waves washing in and out on the sand.

Finally, he turned to her and took her hands. “I know our parents have had a lot to say about our lives and have decided we wouldn’t suit.”

Etta bit her lip trying not to cry.

“However, they’ve overlooked one important fact. I love you Ettarae Catherine Baynard. I don’t care if you’re a President’s daughter or a poor carpenter’s kid. I knew somehow the moment I saw you at that Debutante Ball that you were the one for me. I haven’t loved a lot of women but I know I love you.”

“But your parents think …” she began.

“My parents don’t know you like I do,” he interrupted. “I think you could learn anything you wanted to learn, do anything you wanted to do, that you are tougher and stronger and smarter than most people know. Helping me to run a lighthouse and inn would be a piece of cake for you, regardless of what anyone says. I’m not a high society man, Etta. I don’t care much for that more flamboyant life although our family has the money to live it if we wanted. But we’re cut out of a different cloth. We like to work, to make a difference in the world. We love our home, the lighthouse, caring for it and for the people who come to see and enjoy it.”

He paused, turning to take both her hands. “If you can see your heart aligned with a life like that and a man like me, I would count it an honor and a blessing if you would marry me and live your life with me.”

“Wouldn’t your family be upset to have me come to live with you all?”

“What do they know?” He grinned at her again. “You can just prove them wrong about any preconceptions they have. They’ll soon see that you’ll make a great Lighthouse Keeper’s wife and they’ll come to love you like I do.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, wanting to believe him. “They said I was used to society, coming from so much glitter.” She sighed. “But they don’t know I’ve always hated all that pompousness, those boring society parties, the gossip, the overemphasis on clothes and material possessions and who you know. I escaped to the outdoors whenever possible, was a tomboy my parents despaired of for years. I’ve always wanted a life of meaning and purpose, something real and solid.”

“I’ve seen that side of you and I love you for that and for all that you are, Etta.” He squeezed her hands. “I think, in life—when we only get one life—we should all decide on our own way and pursue it with all our hearts.”

She studied him, thinking.

“If you need time to think about this, you can. But I want us to get married soon, whether we run off together to do it or go see the rector at our church at Edisto to marry us.”

She giggled then. “I could avoid the big society wedding I’ve been dreading that way.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, Etta.”

She took a deep breath. “Then I say yes, Lloyd. I say yes. And I’ll count on you to help me learn how to be a good Lighthouse Keeper’s wife.”

He picked her up and whirled her around. “We’re going to have a great life, Etta. And if we have girls, I hope they are all as beautiful, smart, and spunky as you.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

Follow-Up: To learn if Lloyd Deveaux and Etta did have daughters like that, you may enjoy reading the four novels in The Lighthouse Sisters Series you see pictured below….LIGHT THE WAY, LIGHTEN MY HEART, LIGHT IN THE DARK, and THE LIGHT CONTINUES.

 

 

 

 

 

Note: All photos my own, from royalty free sites, or used only as a part of my author repurposed storyboards shown only for educational and illustrative purposes, acc to the Fair Use Copyright law, Section 107 of the Copyright Act.

A CHANGE FOR PEACE – A Short Story

Ancil walked along the pathway along the back of the garden center in Cherokee. It was called the Little Willow Garden Center, the name drawn from the last names of the two families, the Littlejohns and the Wilnotys, that jointly owned the garden center’s land along the highway as well as land beyond it. Ancil stopped to pull some weeds from a plant bed and picked up a few tree limbs that had blown down on the path from the storm last night.

He glanced up then, to see Euna Littlejohn coming toward him up the path. She waved, smiling that smile of hers that always made his heart skip a few beats. Euna had strong Cherokee looks, the black hair, olive skin, high cheekbones, thick dark hair and brown eyes common to the Eastern Cherokee of North Carolina. She was a strong, gifted, creative woman, attractive but not beautiful, smart and kind. The adjectives came easily the more he came to know her.

“Good afternoon to you,” she called out, drawing closer and dropping the big bucket of bulbs she carried to the ground for a moment. “Are we still meeting for dinner Sunday evening when we’re both off work? I already told the family I had shopping to do and would be gone for a time.”

Ancil studied her for a moment. “Did your family ask if you’d be seeing me, and did you tell them you would?” He saw her eyes drop. “I guess that means you didn’t,” he added more softly,

She sighed. “It would only cause more trouble and argument, but I want time with you.”

“Should we risk that?” He lifted her chin to look at him.

“Yes, I want to see you, Ancil. I want to spend time with you.” She leaned closer to kiss him softly.

Ancil’s good sense and caution slipped away then and he kissed her back. After a minute though he stepped away. “Don’t tell anyone you are coming to Bryson City to see me, Euna. My Uncle Charlie is still recovering, and if I come to meet you for dinner and leave him alone, I don’t want any of your family showing up to cause harassment and trouble for him again.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. “I am so sorry my brother Ross and Jase Wilnoty came and caused trouble for him.”

Ancil felt his anger rise. “They more than caused trouble. They threatened him, an old man wearing an orthopedic ankle brace on a healing ankle. Uncle Charlie talked back to them and they grew aggressive. Jase Wilnoty pulled a gun on him and waved it around, talking mean and ugly. A gun, Euna. Uncle Charlie’s dog Sunner flew at Jase, barking at Ross, brave and protective, and Jase shot him. He shot Uncle Charlie’s dog.”

She looked away, having difficulty meeting his gaze.

Ancil shook his head. “Sunner is all right now, thankfully. My Uncle Charlie’s neighbors next door came running when they heard the gunshot and Jase and Ross fled. The Jolsons helped Uncle Charlie get the dog to the vet.” He paused. “I know the police in Cherokee came to talk to your brother and Jase afterward, but nothing came of it but a warning.”

“They lied about everything,” she said, her own eyes flashing.

“I heard some of the lies they told later.” He glanced at the bucket on the ground. “You had better go take these bulbs to the new garden bed your father is creating. I was sent to dig up and divide more to bring back and plant, too. Your father wants more color in the long bed near the street front.”

“You won’t let this break us up?” she pleaded.

Ancil tried to decide what to say. “I may have no choice. I have already been given veiled threats that the Wilnotys and your family don’t want me working at the garden center anymore, and I don’t want to risk harm to my uncle.” He touched her face. “They want to break us up, and they want me to leave the area. Jase and Ross told my Uncle Charlie he had better encourage me to go back home where I came from and to stop trying to push my way into their families and lives. They reminded him I wasn’t full-blooded Cherokee, that my father was a white man even though my mother was Cherokee.”

She bristled. “Most of our people are not full-blooded Cherokee. You know that.”

“Yes, but your family and the Wilnotys have long ties here in North Carolina, linked into the original Cherokee who stayed behind in these mountains long ago. They have clan belonging and lands. I am an outsider. My mother’s Cherokee people were driven west from these lands on the Trail of Tears long ago.”

He paused. “The real issue is that your family and the Wilnotys want you and Jase Wilhoty to marry. As I have been told often, it has long been planned.”

She stomped her foot. “Planned by others, not by me. There is a dark side to Jase Wilnoty. He is not a man I want to spend my life with.”

“When I first came, when I saw you and asked about you, I was told you were promised and basically engaged to Jase Wilnoty. He has certainly told me so often enough himself.”

“Should others decide my life?” she asked in anger, tears in her eyes again. “I have never promised myself to Jase Wilnoty. I admit I have long been told how good it would be if our families were linked by blood. They all know I live with my grandmother and that she wants me to have her home and property when I marry.”

“It is a fine, well-built home and a large portion of your grandmother’s property includes sections of land that are a part of the nursery and garden center.” He smoothed his hand down her hair. “The Littlejohn and Wilnoty families will not allow me to easily interfere in their well-laid plans, Euna, no matter how qualified I might be to help improve and run the family business. With each day their hatred and resentment toward me grows, and even worse, I know Jase has come after you more aggressively and been abusive.”

“Who told you that?” She wiped away more tears.

“I hear things. Other people hear and see things. It is a small world here. Is it not true?”

She put a fist to her mouth, crying again. “So should I marry such a man who would try to rape me, who gave me bruises and threatened me?”

“Before I came, did he ever hurt you?”

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her face. “No, but I heard other stories that weren’t good and I have seen his cruelty to animals. I watched him heartlessly shoot a songbird from a tree one day, laughing over it. He frightens me now.”

A voice called out, interrupting them. “Euna. Are you coming with those bulbs?”

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered. “That’s my father calling. I don’t want more trouble for you.”

“Nor do I,” he said quietly as he watched her race down the pathway.

What should I do? Ancil wondered.

He talked with his uncle about it that evening as they sat on the porch after dinner. “It’s a real problem, Uncle Charlie,” he confided. “After dad died last year and after the hard year of handling all the affairs related to the estate and selling the house, I was ready for a change and a break. You know my brother Logan is stationed at the naval base in Australia now and unlikely to come home soon with the security work he does there. You’re really my only relative in the states now, so I was glad to come stay with you for a time when you called to tell me you’d fallen and broken your ankle.”

“I fell fishing, slipped on a dang rock,” his uncle said grinning. “I’m an old bachelor, so I took a chance calling you to see if you might come help me out for a time. However, I know you’ve started to really like it here, too. This area around the Smoky Mountains is a beautiful place, isn’t it? I’d hate to see you go back to Ohio again. Do you want to?”

“Not really, but the big garden center I worked with has a horticulture management job they’d like me to take this fall. It’s with Casa Verde growers, good money, a good job.”

His uncle propped his foot on a stool, wincing a little with the movement.

“Is your foot hurting?” Ancil asked, studying him for a moment. His uncle’s hair was gray and thinning now, his black glasses slipping down on his nose like they always did. But he had a happy style and manner, and a love for life, Ancil had always liked.

“I stand on my feet all day as a barber, Ancil,” his uncle answered. “My foot aches a bit at night but it’s about healed.  This brace they gave me helps. But I’ll be fine. You don’t need to stay here longer for me, although I admit I’ll miss you.” He winked at Ancil. “My guess is that it’s a certain sweet Cherokee girl that’s kept you here this long more than me.”

Ancil shook his head. “It wasn’t something I expected to happen. I’ve fallen strong in love with her and she with me, Uncle Charlie, but how can I propose to her or think of a life with her knowing it will tear her family’s affection from her. They don’t like me, not any of them. I think her father respects my skills, my education, my knowledge of plants and work background with other garden centers. The others resent it, resent that I know more than they do.” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Would you think it none of my business to make a suggestion?”

“No, I’d value your advice.”

His uncle leaned forward. “Well, I’ve an idea for you to consider. An old school mate of mine, Wrylin Trent, became a minister, and some years back he took the pastor’s job at a church over in Cosby, Tennessee. Do you know where that is, over the mountain from us and east of busy Gatlinburg?”

“I’ve hiked over there in past and visited around the area.”

He nodded. “Well, Wrylin and I were talking after that incident here last week. He’d given me my dog Sunner as a pup when his own dog had a litter, and you well know I was worried for Sunner there for a bit.”

“Me, too,” said Ancil, looking over at the big yellow dog asleep on the porch near them, a bandage still on his side.

“I admit I was telling Wrylin about the girl, too, and about you falling for her. I told him the man her family wanted for her wasn’t much of a man, and I told him some of what Jase Wilnoty did here, with Euna’s own brother a party to it, and some of what I’d heard he did to Euna pushing on her.” He paused to rub a hand over his neck. “I like that girl. I don’t care so much for her family though. Never have much. I even saw her own sister, giggling and sauntering down the street over here in Bryson City one day, walking right by my barber shop with Jase Wilnoty, his hands in places they didn’t to belong and his actions not like a man promised to another woman.”

“You saw that?” Ancil leaned forward with his hands fisted.

His uncle glanced toward Ancil’s fists. “That girl deserves better than that man. He will only bring her sorrows. If you stay around he’s only going to bring you sorrows, too.”

Ancil sighed. “So you think I should go back to Ohio, maybe even see if Euna would go with me? As much as she probably needs to leave, or at least get away from Jase Wilnoty, I hate to ask her to leave everyone she loves and all her family and friends behind.”

“She loves you more, son. I’ve seen it in her eyes when she’s been here, and I’ve seen the love and desire to care for her and protect her in your eyes, too. Love doesn’t come often in life, that chance to find someone you can be one with.”

Ancil leaned his head back. “I do love her, but I wish there was a better answer than taking her off to northeast Ohio, so far away from all she knows.”

His uncle grinned. “Well, I might have an answer for that, too. The Merton family, that owns the Wildflower Haven garden center and nursery over in Cosby, go to Wrylin’s church. The man that did a lot of work for them and lived on their property died last year. Will and Rowan Merton, a father and son, who own and work the nursery and garden center with their family, need more help with their place. You’ve got good skills, better than the Littlejohn and Wilnoty garden center deserves. I took the liberty of telling Wrylin about you, about the problems we’ve been having, and about the girl and my worries for her and you. Wrylin went down to visit the Mertons after our phone call, and Will and Rowan Merton would like to talk with you about a job there. Wrylin says the pay sounds good and there’s a cabin on the property where Old Billy, who worked for them before, lived. You’d have a ready-made place to live, a big garden center to work for. Wrylin says the Mertons are fine Christian folks and he’s in a position to know.”

His uncle paused and looked at Ancil. “You’re off tomorrow. Drive over there and talk to them.” He held out a piece of paper. “Here’s Will Merton’s phone number and some directions to his place. You can read more about the Wildflower Haven on the internet, too. It’s a far bigger place and operation than the little place here in Cherokee where you’ve been working. It has a fine gift shop right on the main highway, too, and the entire garden center and grounds are beautifully landscaped. I’ve stopped by there when over visiting Wrylin. It could be an answer.”

Thoughts raced through Ancil’s mind.

His uncle put a hand on his knee. “You won’t know if it might be an option unless you check it out.” He laughed then. “Wrylin said he’d marry you and Euna right there at the church, too, if she decides to run off with you. She’d have a name change then, and it would be difficult after that to try to get her to come back here.”

Ancil ran a hand over his neck. “They might come after me to hurt me or to hurt her. They’re a nasty bunch.”

“Well, if you like that job opportunity and decide to take it, don’t tell them where you’re going. Tell them you’re going back to Ohio to your old house and a new job you’ve been offered. Then help Euna slip off later to come join you. She can send them one of those texts after you’re married, telling them she’s in Ohio and married. Your house up there is probably still on the internet in your daddy’s name right now if they hunted for an address. Besides even if they check on things, I can’t quite see that bunch taking off to travel all the way to Ohio to look for either of you.”

Ancil couldn’t help smiling over that idea. “Neither can I.”

His uncle laughed. “I like thinking on this idea. It would keep you and Euna around close so I could see you both every now and then. I come to Cosby to get together with Wrylin right often. From what he says you’ll be just down the road a ways from his church and where he lives. It’s pretty country over there in Cosby. You’d get to work with plants like you love. I don’t think I could make a barber out of you, nor would it be happy for you and Euna to live around here. Her family and those Wilnotys would probably shun you and make trouble for you. I doubt you’d know any real peace.”

The yellow dog got up from the porch to wander over to get his head scratched by his uncle while Ancil thought over all his words.

“So, will you check it out?” his Uncle Charlie asked after a while. “Like the old saying, ‘Nothing ventured nothing gained.’ I’ve always believed that nothing will change in your life if you’re not open for change.”

“What if my leaving causes more trouble for you?”

“I wouldn’t be lying to anyone to say you’d only come to stay a while to help me out when I got injured. Everyone has long expected you to leave and head back home after a while. You can be sure I won’t be telling that bunch over in Cherokee, or anyone else, that you decided to stay around the mountains rather than going back to Ohio. Most folks will assume you did go back to Ohio. You’d be smart to give that reason for quitting your job over at the garden center, too. I won’t have need to dispute it. With you gone they won’t have need to bother me, either. It’s what they wanted me to do, to help get rid of you. They’ll probably figure I pushed on you to leave.”

Ancil thought on his words for a little while and then picked up the piece of paper with the phone number on it, glancing at his watch. “I think I might go over to Cosby tomorrow for the day to look around, You wanna go with me?”

“Nah, I got appointments all day for haircuts at the shop. But you go. You’re off work.” He leaned over to pat Ancil’s shoulder. “You can tell me all about it when you get back.”

October that year brought quiet to the Wildflower Haven nursery. One evening as the twilight settled in shortly after dinner, Euna came out on the porch of their cabin in Cosby with a little cake twinkling with lit candles.

Ancil looked up and smiled at her. “What’s the occasion?”

She sat the cake down on the rustic table in front of him and then settled into her favorite rocking chair beside his. “It’s our six-month wedding anniversary. I decided we should celebrate it and give thanks to the good Lord for our lives.” She took his hand. “Come blow the candles out with me and we’ll wish for many more blessed years.”

They did, and then Ancil leaned over to kiss her. “Are you happy, Euna?”

“Do you need to ask?” She smiled at him. “You gave me a new life of peace and happiness and saved me from sorrows. I worried for a time if our love would be enough for you in balance against all the injustice and cruelty of my family.”

He considered her words as he watched her cut them both a piece of the cake she’d made, a rich carrot cake with cream cheese icing like she knew he loved. “Do you miss your family?”

She sighed. “I miss the idea of family, the love and caring of what family should be, but not the reality of what my family had become, caring more for traditions, for money and land, than people, for turning blind eyes to my heart, my needs, and even my gifts, wanting only to control my life and willing to hurt me and others to do it.”

Ancil ate a little of his cake before answering. “I remember being worried that day six months ago before we married and you joined me here. You had good reason to go to Sylva to spend the weekend to help your friend Indica be married, but I was anxious all day that you would return home and not come here to me, that time had changed your mind, or that someone would learn of our plans or see you packing your possessions into your car and stop you.”

“You leaving without me threw everyone’s thinking off. They even jeered at me, being dumped by you, suggesting I’d been foolish and hoping I saw more clearly now my right path.” She paused to eat a bite of her cake. “You quit your job with my family and left shortly after your interview with the Mertons. You said you liked them and loved all you saw here at first sight. I could feel that excitement and certainty in you later when you shared about it and proposed to me, and you showed me all those pictures you’d taken, one of the cabin here.”

“We’ve fixed it up nicely, I think. It is well-built and comfortable.”

“It is, and I was happy here from the first night.” She blushed at those words.

“I watched for you all day, fearful you would not come.”

She grinned. “I had been stealthy over the weeks after you left, carefully packing things I’d need here, even sneaking boxes to your uncle to ship to you. I had little to take as I left for Sylva for Indica’s wedding.”

“Did you tell her your plans, that you would drive over the mountain to me instead of returning home?”

“No, I didn’t think it wise. As we planned, I communicated later to all that I went to Ohio to marry you and live there. No one knows I am here in Cosby.” She sighed. “It might create problems if we ever returned to Cherokee, Ancil. Property passes through the matriarchal line in Cherokee. I am the oldest daughter. In a sense, I have rights there to land and even the family business on the land. Your uncle says he’s learned my sister got pregnant by Jase. She is underage, but the family is giving their permission for them to marry. They go on, and we will go on.”

He smiled at her. “Our life is good here. I am a happy man with you, with my work, and with our home. I am saving and in time we will buy our own place.”

She paused, the sound of the creek through the woods coming to them and the sounds of early night frogs beginning. “I like our plaque on the wall with its Cherokee blessing.” She began to read it. “May the warm wings of heaven blow softly upon your house, and may the Great Spirit bless all who enter here.” She paused. “There is more but I like those words and hope blessings will continue to follow us.”

“Yes, I do, too,” he agreed. “Sometimes we must walk on, away from troubles and sorrows, in order to find our peace and the life God wants for us.”

“That is true. Sometimes we need a change for peace and for new joy.”

A drift of warm wind blew through the porch as she spoke as if confirming her words.

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In my upcoming book WILDFLOWER HAVEN, you will meet Ancil and Euna Yarbrough again as side characters and can catch up on their lives after many years have passed. For my February blog, I enjoyed creating a little story about the earlier years of this Cherokee couple.

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Note: All photos my own, from royalty free sites, or used only as a part of my author repurposed storyboards shown only for educational and illustrative purposes, acc to the Fair Use Copyright law, Section 107 of the Copyright Act.

THE PARK BENCH – A Short Story for January

Isabell sat on the living room floor, taping shut another box, when the phone rang. She got up to walk to the side table by the couch where she’d left her cell phone. Glancing at the number as she picked up the phone, she smiled.

“Hi, Judy,” she said, sitting down on the sofa, glad for a work break.

“Hi, yourself.  Are you ready for the moving van to come tomorrow … and ready for your big move to Greeneville, South Carolina?”

“I am,” she replied. “The movers should get everything packed tomorrow morning, but they won’t head to Greeneville until the next day.  After I do a final cleaning and lock up the house, I’m staying with Daniel overnight, but I’ll head to Greeneville early the next morning. I should get there before the movers to meet them at the house, but if not, I gave them your number to call.” She paused for a minute. “Judy, I really appreciate all you’ve done to be a support in this move, helping me find a house near the campus and my new job. I’m also grateful you and Norman invited me to spend the night with you after I get to Greeneville. I know everything will be a mess at the new house after the movers unload.”

“Isabell Mason, you have been my best friend since we were little girls ,and as you well know I married your older brother Norman. We are always happy for you to stay with us anytime.” She laughed. “Additionally, I helped you find your house through Rollins Realty, my family’s realty company where I work, if you remember. I will get a commission for the sale. You helped me, too, calling to let me help you find a house.”

“The house is cute, a little one-level brick rancher, perfect for me, and within walking distance to the campus. I think I’m going to really like it.” Isabell looked around at all the boxes piled in the room and sighed. “I’ll be glad when this move is past.”

“Are the kids, Frances and Daniel, still giving you a hard time about moving?” Judy asked.

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “Daniel’s coming around a little, but Frances is still angry at me. She feels like I’m running out on the family, has suggested I’m being selfish moving away from them and the grandchildren. She keeps saying, ‘What would Daddy think?’ trying to guilt me with the idea that he would disapprove.”

“Do you think Jimmy would disapprove? I hope I didn’t push you to make a move you shouldn’t. I was so excited earlier when you called to tell me you got the new job offer as director of the library at Furnam University right here in Greeneville where we live. I admit Norman and I are thrilled you’re going to live close to us again.”

“I really don’t think Jimmy would mind if he could offer an opinion,” Isabell replied. “I think he’d encourage me to do what I wanted to be happy. Besides, he has been gone almost three years now, and he knew Greeneville was originally my home.” She hesitated. “The children keep saying it will be such a long trip for me to come home for visits or for them to come to see me now. They keep saying they’ll hardly ever see me anymore.”

Judy laughed. “From your confidences, it’s not like you see much of them living there in Cincinnati right now.”

“That’s true,” she admitted. “Frances’ schedule as a nurse is often grueling and her husband Bill works long hours at the RV business his family owns.”

Judy jumped in to add, “And when they have time, they go camping or traveling somewhere with the kids and they never invite you along. It’s not much better with Daniel. I know Daniel is running his dad’s business now, Jimmy D’s, and that you see very little of him, his wife Patricia, or their kids.  Patricia’s family even has a cabin in the Smoky Mountains but they never invite you to go with them when they go there.” She paused. “I suppose I shouldn’t be critical, but none of  them have been there for you since Jimmy died as they should. It irks me after all you’ve done for them and for the grandkids, who now whine over having to take time to even come and visit you and sit hunkered over their phones when they do. It may sound ugly, but I think it serves them right for you to move away.”

“I’m not moving to get away from my family or punish them, Judy. The job is a wonderful opportunity. I would have been foolish not to consider it.”

“I know, and I probably shouldn’t have said those things. I just hate when children and grandchildren are so ungrateful and start counting it a duty-visit to go to see their parents or grandparents.”

Isabel sighed. “I will miss living near them, even if I don’t see them as often as I like, but I can drive up for long weekends now and then. It’s only a six-to-seven-hour drive. You’re blessed your children and grandchildren still live so close to you and Norman. Of course, Norman is a pastor, and the kids and grandkids go to your church. I’m sure that helps to guarantee you get to see them at least once a week.”

Judy giggled. “I am glad for that. I hope you’ll come to our church after you settle in. You know Norman and I would love that.”

“I plan to.” She glanced at her watch. “Right now, though, I’d better get back to work and get the rest of my packing done. I’m sure you have work to do, too. I’ll see you soon.”

Isabell knew she had some apprehensions of her own about moving back to South Carolina, too, but those concerns were her own to think about. And private ones. It had been almost twenty years since she and Jimmy left Greeneville, the children still in their early elementary years. Jimmy Daniel Mason, always Coach Jimmy D to his staff and students. had been an Assistant Football Coach at Furman before accepting an Assistant Coaching  position with more responsibility and better pay at the University of Cincinnati. It was a good step up.

Jimmy loved coaching football, but after a few years at UC, the coach he worked with moved on, and Jimmy decided on a change for himself. He bought a small shop on Calhoun right by the campus and opened a sporting goods store he called Jimmy D’s, and with his links to the university and the athletic department, the shop thrived, and Jimmy loved running his own business. Isabell felt sure he’d still be working, laughing and talking sports with his customers, if he hadn’t had a fatal heart attack. It was a shock to everyone. Their son Daniel, who’d been working to help run the store since graduating from college, moved into running the business, stepping into his father’s footsteps.

Isabell took an old family photo off the fireplace mantle to study it. It was a happy photo of the four of them … Jimmy, a big, broad-shouldered man with a huge warm smile for everyone, personable and easy-going. but smart and always a workaholic. Isabell had always been glad she had the library, her own world of books. The two of them had been so different. They even met in the library, an unlikely place, but Jimmy always went after what he wanted and he certainly pursued her—sweetly, too. In the picture Daniel, dark-haired, smart like his dad but more serious, had his arms draped over both their shoulders, while Frances, with her long dark hair, definitely a Daddy’s girl, leaned up against Jimmy, always eager to please her father. Isabell studied her own photo from that time, probably fifteen years ago. Her hair had been short and frosted then. It was a little longer now with a little more gray in the frosting. She’d been a pretty girl then and she knew she was still an attractive woman now. Just a little older.

Isabell walked over to the mirror to gaze at herself. How much had she changed in twenty years? She felt she had aged well; she’d taken good care of her health, walked a lot, and worked in the little flower garden behind their Tudor home. The house was a nice older home in a good neighborhood, not too far north from the campus and Jimmy’s business. They’d been happy there, but the house was full of almost too many memories now.

“It’s time to see what can come of old dreams,” she told herself. “If anything.”

The next month or two passed swiftly. Isabell unpacked and settled into her house and began to learn her way around town again, finding the closest grocery, the post office, establishing an account at the bank. Moving to a smaller home, she’d let extras go in Cincinnati before moving but there were still things to buy when you moved, shower curtains, light bulbs, a new mailbox as the old one looked a little grim. Judy and Norman came to help her with a lot of tasks around the house and in the yard. She visited their church, found she had a lot of old friends there, began to settle in and feel at home.

Next she settled into her new job at the library. She’d moved up over the years at the University of Cincinnati Library, gained some titles, but the job at Furnam as Director of the Library was definitely a step up. Even though she had worked at the library in Greeneville many years ago, much had changed. The library was a big pillared two story one with a lot of space and a large book collection. A major renovation had added nearly 65,000 square feet of new space and like all libraries, the technical services and media collections areas had grown. Her office was more impressive than her office in past, and she had worked hard over the last month to come to know all her staff and to integrate with strength and art into the college community.

Feeling confident in herself now, Isabell gazed out the second story window of the library to look across the lake. In Cincinnati, there was a small lake in the park near the campus, but here at Furnam the college centered around a beautiful lake, called Swan Lake. A walking trail circled the lake. Pavilions and benches sat scattered along its route where one could sit and enjoy looking across the water to the tall bell tower the college was famous for or toward the hills nearby. Scenically, the campus was stunning.

With the Fall Semester settled in now and her calendar clearer today, Isabell decided to walk around the lake trail and eat her lunch on one of the benches on the back side of the lake, known as the quieter side. The break would be a nice one and the colors were beginning to change around the campus, fall leaves drifting down from many of the old campus trees, splashing color on the ground along the trail.

She spotted her favorite bench ahead, empty with a few fall leaves scattered across it. She slowed, trying not to be disappointed to see it empty again. After all, it had been a long time since she’d shared the space on the bench with another. It was probably foolish to even remember those times. In truth, she hadn’t sat on this bench for twenty years. She’d always read that women were more foolishly prone than men to hold on to old memories, and despite her new position of prominence at Furnam, that feminine side of her must still linger on.

Sitting down on the bench, she looked across the lake with pleasure. What was it about sitting by a lake that was so soothing? As usual, the lakeside here across from all the main buildings was quiet. A biker occasionally rode by or someone walking their dog passed. But just as she remembered from long ago, this spot, with a big oak slightly shading the two green benches to either side of the tree, still offered a tranquil and restful place in the midst of a busy day.

She’d bought a small insulated lunch bag the other day, with a strap she could drape over her shoulder, nice to take on any walk and freeing up her hands. She sat it on the bench beside her now and dug out the chicken salad sandwich she’d made for herself before coming to work.

“I’ll bet that is a chicken salad sandwich,” a warm, deep voice said, startling her and instantly shattering her composure.

To calm herself, Isabell searched for the water bottle in her bag before turning her eyes to look up at the man. “Hello, Myron,” she said, steeling herself to act casual and professional, like she would, facing any colleague at the college.

“Hello, Isabell.” He turned and glanced at the second bench not far away. “Like you I came to eat lunch by the lake. I can sit at the other bench if you prefer or perhaps share this one with you if you don’t mind.”

His smile nearly took her breath away and the words reminded her so much of words he had spoken to her long ago. She moved over and patted the bench beside her. “Please do sit down, Myron. It is a treat to see you again after so many years.”

He settled on the bench beside her, beginning to get a sandwich out of the brown sack he carried.

Isabell sat, conscious of him beside her, noting how little he’d changed, still tall and well built, his hair, short beard, and mustache much more gray now, but his eyes still that warm brown with little crinkles around them when he smiled. He was a handsome man, intelligent, kind, sure of himself, easy to be with. So well-read. He taught history here at Furnam, mostly European world history classes, since he’d lived in France and the UK as a boy, traveled a lot around Europe with his parents. There was a touch of difference to his voice, while Isabell still had a Southern touch to her own voice. Those bits of culture and background tended to stay with one.

“I read you’d come to the campus to work, but I wasn’t sure you’d remember your old friend.,” he said, after a time. “It’s been a long time.”

“Almost twenty years, and you don’t forget old friends easily.”

“I’m glad for that,” he said, settling in to eat his lunch, crossing an ankle over his knee, easy and comfortable with himself. They had never needed to talk when they shared lunch together on this bench, although some days they talked away like two magpies, excited about something they’d seen or read or heard.

“You can come to know a person rather well sitting and sharing lunch most every day  with them on an old park bench,” he added after a time.

“Yes, you can,” she agreed.

“I admit I probed a little after reading in the campus news you’d come to take the open position as Director of the Library. You brought a stellar background to the campus, accomplished a lot in Cincinnati, won some awards, got some acclaim. And, of course, I personally can only applaud the choice, knowing you rather well.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I read also that you were still teaching before I came to interview. You, too, have received awards, published some fine papers, traveled abroad many summers taking students to sample culture in other countries. I saw you’d moved from Associate Professor to Full Professor. I am sure that is a plus for the History Department and the College. I remember, too, the students love you. Your classes are always full.”

“Thank you in return. It seems we have both checked each other out, typical of old friends, I think.” He paused a moment, his eyes meeting hers. “Did you hope to find I was no longer here when you got the opportunity to interview?”

“No,” she said softly, looking away from him. “I might not have come if I’d learned you were no longer here.”

He smiled at her then, reaching a hand across to touch her cheek. “You are even more beautiful than I remember,” he whispered. “I am overwhelmed.”

Isabell searched for words and then finally put a hand to her heart, fighting tears.

“Have you known sorrow?” he asked.

“Jimmy died three years ago, suddenly of a heart attack. You know I loved him.”

“I do, and I am sorry for the loss. Where are your children?”

“Still living and working in Cincinnati, not happy to see me move. But they had their lives and I needed to look to mine. You can’t live in the past.”

“No. Life is always there to be lived. Sometimes it sneaks up on us, and sometimes its opportunities don’t always come at the right timing.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that to be true.”

They ate their lunch then, just quiet, not talking. But the feeling of sitting by Myron again reached out to her, warming and soothing her, bringing healing down to her soul.

“I imagine you know, since I go to your brother’s church, that I never married.” He hesitated. “Did you ever tell them about…”

“No.” She interrupted. “I never told anyone. There was nothing to tell but that two colleagues, two friends, often met for lunch and shared their thoughts, their hearts, and lives on a park bench by the lake.”

He smiled at her. “A little slice of loveliness all our own.”

“Yes.” She glanced away.

“And then one day that lovely friend came to say she was moving away, her husband transferred, and we knew we might never see each other again. The man finally opened his heart out then to a happily married woman he could not have, and should not yearn for, but it would have felt false to him to let her go without letting her know what she had come to mean to him.”

“Yes, and the woman cried,” she added in a soft voice. “She had learned in a soft, gentle, unexpected way that you could love two people in your heart, even when committed to one.”

His eyes met hers then, holding her gaze. “Before they parted the man told her if life ever took an unexpected turn and left her free to love another, and if she thought he might fill that spot in her heart, to come back to this bench to look for him. Do you remember that, Isabell?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I also told you not to come unless that was so for you.”

“I remember, Myron, and yet I am here.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Isabell, I am trying to tell my heart to be still but it is rejoicing within. Will you come every day so that we can come to know each other more?”

“I will come.”

He leaned in to take her face in his hands and kiss her forehead. “I will soon invade your life if you do. You have stayed rich and full in my thoughts all these years, spoiled me for any other’s company at length. I hope your heart is as sure as mine.”

“You were my hope in coming,” she answered.

He traced a finger down her cheek. “You know I lost my first love long ago in Europe. Isn’t it sweet to know these two old friends will now have a second chance to experience all the wonder and joy of love—and without restraint or secrecy.”

She put a hand on his face. “Yes, but go slow, dear one, for the sake of others who don’t know our history.”

He draped an arm around her shoulder and sighed. “Taking one’s time is a sweet pleasure of its own, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she answered, leaning her head on his shoulder and knowing the big risk and move she’d made was absolutely the right one.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

THE LITTLE CHRISTMAS TREE 

… a short story by Lin Stepp

Harmon spotted the Christmas tree sticking out of a dumpster on patrol. In past he loved his drives along the Pigeon River through the mountains, happy to get away from his desk indoors at the police department and out into the sunshine. Until Hurricane Helene hit. Now driving the ravaged road, past downed trees, flooded fields, piles of debris from mudslides, and battered and broken homes, nearly broke his heart.

He pulled up at his own house, miraculously spared when so many nearby lay in ruins. Carrying the tree inside, Harmon stood it in the spot by the window where they’d always placed their tree, plugged up the lights—the pre-strung kind—and grinned to see the tree light up.

“Well, where’d you get that tree?” his mother asked, coming into the room. “It ain’t much, but it’s cheerful to see one on Christmas eve after all we’ve passed through.”

“I found it in a dumpster, sticking out. I know we weren’t going to do much this Christmas with all our losses …” His voice choked on the words as those losses hit his heart.

“Well, perhaps this tree is God’s gift to cheer us, Harmon, and I imagine my Riley, your sweet wife Dora Lee, and your daughter Kelsey are smiling down from heaven to see us going on with life. We’re not the only ones who’ve suffered loss from the devastation of this hurricane. It roared through our Appalachian mountains like the devil himself riding the waves and floods of it. Still, here we are, spared, and we have each other. With Riley’s and my old place flooded out, everything gone but the land, I’m grateful to be here under a roof with heat, water, food, and even with a little Christmas tree now.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “I’ll see if I can’t find a few trinkets packed away we can hang on the tree to cheer it, and I might even string some berries.”

Harmon’s phone rang. He answered, soon frowning over the words he heard.

“Do you have to go out again?” his mother asked as he tucked his phone in his duty belt. “It’s dark now and the roads are hard to get around on when you can’t see. There’s so much mud and debris everywhere and any bridges left are not as stable as you’d like.”

“The call was about the church,” he told her. “The security showed shadows of someone trying to break in, they think. The department called me because they knew it was dad’s church.”

She nodded. “Well, the drive to the church ain’t far, and you know we’ve used that old church as a base of help for folks since Helene.”

“I imagine I won’t be long,” he assured her, catching the scent of dinner on the air.

“Everybody calls it a miracle Grace Church survived intact on its little hillside when everything around it was torn apart by the floods, winds, and rains,” she added. “You know we’ve used it as a distribution center, as well as a place to worship, since the hurricane. I’d hate to think folks broke in and did damage at Christmas time. I’m glad you’ll be checking on it.”

She paused as he put his jacket back on. “You take care now, son,” she said, following him to the door. “The dinner I’ve been working on will hold. I’ve baked that ham the church gave us, and I’m working on sides and baking those yeast rolls you like.”

Harmon gave her a hug. “I’m grateful for you, Ma. I shouldn’t be long.”

Driving up the winding, hillside road to the little church a short time later, Harmon could see the security lights still on and the church’s nativity scene, lit up by lights, too. Grace Church always put out the nativity scene every year with its life-size figures made from store mannequins, all arranged in a rustic stable around the old manger that some woodcrafters in the church had created. It was tradition they set it up every year, visible from the road—a reminder this year that the little church had been spared destruction and still stood.

Harmon didn’t see any vehicles at the church, no lights on inside, no broken locks on the doors as he walked around the building. Perhaps the shadows showing on the security camera were critters, looking for food. The devastation had been hard on wildlife, too.

As he headed around the church, he heard a cry, not like a critter but like a baby. Glancing toward the nativity scene, the glow from the lights shone directly on the manger, causing him to pause a minute.  Startled, Harmon saw the manger baby move and heard that soft cry again.

Stunned, he put a hand to his heart. He knew that baby in the manger only a doll wrapped in cloths. What should he do? Drop to his knees? Was this some Christmas Eve miracle? He glanced toward the manger again and saw a foot kicking now.

Calming, he walked closer and could see the baby clearly then, a real one, tucked deep in the hay and wrapped in blankets this cold night.

“Don’t you be a hurting him,” a small voice said, from behind the nativity angel at the back of the shed.

Harmon felt his heart skip another beat when the angel statue moved, until he saw a girl, bundled in winter clothes, step out of the darkness from behind it, holding a rifle pointed at him.

He studied her, seeing her bravado mixed with fear, her stance determined. She didn’t seem much older than eleven or so.  Plucky kid.

“I mean you no harm girl,” he said at last, finding his voice. “This is my church. What are you doing here?”

She hung her head, dropping the rifle a little. “We ran out of food and I heard there was some here for folks in need, so I came here for Branton.” Her eyes moved to the baby. “I’ve got no milk but the last I just gave him.”

“Where are your people? Where do you live?” he asked.

“I’ve got no people. Our place is about three miles down the river and up the mountain, off to itself where a bad mudslide came. It took out our only bridge. My mama was killed and my daddy’s been working to try to fix up our place. He used to walk out to get supplies, as he could, but then he fell through the barn roof yesterday trying to fix it.” Her voice broke, and Harmon saw tears then. “I tried to help him but I couldn’t, so now he’s gone, too. We got no close neighbors with everybody’s places all washed out below ours. So I came hoping to get some help for Branton. He can’t eat stuff on hand like I can. He needs milk. He isn’t even five months yet.”

“You walked all the way here?”

“Yes sir.” Her eyes teared. “But I got here too late to find anybody at the church so I thought we could shelter overnight until someone came to open the church in the morning.”

Harmon nodded, watching the girl’s determined face, feeling blessed again to be alive, to have a home.

“Do you have family around here, even if not close?”

She shook her head. “None I know of.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mary Carmady. My dad was Jack Carmady.”

Searching his mind, Harmon couldn’t think of any Carmadys in the area, but he knew many in Appalachia had come to these hills from far away and didn’t have people here.”

As he walked closer into the light, her eyes widened. “You’re police.” She raised the rifle again. “You’re not going to turn us in to that government foster care are you? I promised daddy I’d take care of Branton. Those government people will separate us.”

She looked around in panic. “If it isn’t okay to wait here for help tomorrow, I can go on off. You don’t have to say you saw me. If this is your church maybe you could get me some milk inside for Branton before I go.”

Harmon took a few steps closer to look down at the baby and then lifted his gaze to the girl’s face again. ”I can open the church for you so we can get some milk for Branton. I have keys, but I think you ought to come home with me to my mother’s and my house, at least for tonight. It’s cold out.”

He watched her study him and consider it. “My daddy said to be careful about men I don’t know.”

Harmon thought for a minute and then pulled out his billfold. “This here is my mother. Her name’s Olivia Reaves.” He showed her a picture. “I’m Harmon Reaves. You can call her if you like. She lives at my house. She’s home cooking supper, ham and sides and rolls, and I know she made a pecan pie. It’s Christmas Eve, you know.”

“I forgot it’s Christmas Eve.” She sighed, looking at the picture of his mother. Touching the photo next to it, she asked, “Who’s this?”

He glanced down. “That’s my wife and my girl, both gone like your father.” He knew his voice broke at the words. “I’ve known loss, too.”

She gave him a small look of sympathy. “All right,” she said after a minute, reaching into the manger to gather up the sleeping baby in her arms.

He watched her, how gentle she was with the child. “Things will be okay, Mary Carmady.”

“Maybe. I hope so.” She shook her head.

He started toward the church door leading into the fellowship hall. He glanced behind him, glad to see the girl following him, after she’d retrieved a backpack from behind the nativity angel.

“I can change the baby before we go to your place if there’s a bathroom I can use in here,” she told him.

“There is,” he said, remembering some donated children’s toys and clothes still in the storage room, too. Perhaps he’d put a few things in a sack to put out for Christmas morning while she was tending the baby.

As they stepped inside the church, she spotted the church’s big Christmas tree. “It seems sad to think Christmas is tomorrow. I didn’t even get to put up a Christmas tree for Branton this year.”

Harmon smiled, remembering the discarded tree he’d brought home from the dumpster. “We’ve got a little Christmas tree. It isn’t much but it’s a tree.”

She smiled back at him for the first time then, shifting the sleeping baby in her arms. “Well, when you’ve got nothing, even a little tree seems like a lot.”

“Yep, that it does,” he agreed.

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Note: All photos my own, from royalty free sites, or used only as a part of my author repurposed storyboards shown only for educational and illustrative purposes, acc to the Fair Use Copyright law, Section 107 of the Copyright Act.

A blog is a regularly updated, informational internet site, or platform, written in an informal or conversational style by a group of different people, a business, or a single individual, in a series of entertaining blog posts. An individual’s blog can be a website of its own or a part of a website, as mine is a part of my author’s website at www.linstepp.com Blogs can serve as a sort of digital journal conveying news or discussions.

For authors, like myself, blogs are often a way to stay in touch with their readers, offering thoughts, updates, and information about their books, writing, and their lives – like the beginning of this June 2023 blog about a visit to a botanical garden. Blogs are a nice way to build social relations and friendships with your readers. Each author blog post is optimally about 1,500 to 2,500 words in length, longer than an author newsletter, but a post can be much shorter, too. Usually, authors soon begin to develop a post length their readers come to expect. Each blogger has to discover their own ideal length, just as they learn their best book length. It is generally expected that an author create a blog post or entry consistently, weekly, monthly, or even quarterly.

For me, each of my blogs is like an article, talk, or short writing that I gift to my readers free every month. I always put up my new Monthly Blog Post at the first of every month, usually on the first day of the month. On the same day, I post my monthly Newsletter, too, which focuses on upcoming events, books, and projects I’m working on at the time. Many authors make their blog and newsletter available only to those who “subscribe” to them through an email link. Usually this is found in a pop-up link on their website, … annoyingly popping up often and intrusively.

In past I found it difficult to “unsubscribe” to blogs or newsletters I subscribed to, and I often found my email bombarded with too many blog posts, so I chose to put my monthly blog posts  readily accessible to my readers on my website. On the Home Page of my website at www.linstepp.com, you’ll find my Blog under the “Blog” heading and my Newsletter under the “Newsletter” heading on the main menu bar.  It couldn’t be easier. My readers and fans know that usually on the first day of the month they will find both a new Blog Post and a new Newsletter. Most of my readers really like being able to go and check out either one at their convenience. If they wish , there is a “Follow” link on the Blog page where they can enter their email to get a monthly reminder note when a new blog posts.

My first novel published in 2009 … and as more and more books came out, and interest in my writing grew, my publisher encouraged me to start a Blog and a Newsletter. Still teaching college at the time and writing two books a year, I wasn’t eager to take on another commitment. However, as 2016 ended, I decided I could commit to write a blog and a newsletter every month. So my Blog debuted monthly in January 2017.  I’ve been at it for eight years now. If readers get behind on my blog posts or just discover my books and start following me, all eight years of my Blog Posts are archived. For example, to see the latest ones before this one, just scroll down the page after you finish reading this post.

Just like planning and writing a book takes time, planning and writing a blog post takes time, too. I usually spend at least a full day creating a blog post and finding the photos I use in each for illustration. America reads less and less today, scrolling mindlessly through social media without stopping to read more than a paragraph, so sometimes being a blogger is disappointing. However, when I check my International Stats and see that fans and readers in over fifty countries are popping in to read my blog and avidly following it, I am encouraged.

Many of my fans in the U.S, who devotedly read my books, have never even discovered my blog and newsletter. I can only assume that’s because they seldom go to my website. It’s unbelievably easy to find at: www.linstepp.com/blog/  A woman who recently came to one of my events said, “I just want you to know you saved my life during covid.” I lifted an eyebrow. “How did I do that?” I asked.  She grinned. “I got covid and then my husband got it, quarantining us in the house for over a month, and I didn’t have anything in the house to read.” She sighed. “Then I remembered you said at an event presentation that you wrote a blog, so I went hunting for it. And, oh my goodness, there were years and years of your blogs on your website. I had the best time reading one or two every day and enjoying all your beautiful thoughts and illustrations. You need to tell everyone about your blog. It’s really wonderful.” So in humble response, I hope you might check out my blog, too, and, if you like it, start following my monthly posts.

My blogs are all archived and you’ll see an ARCHIVE search box to the right of every month. In that Archive, if you click the arrow to the right of “Select Month” you’ll see links for my eight years of blogging. You can doodle down through the past years to see what you might find. In looking back today at my first posts in 2017 … one early February 2017 post was about “Hiking in the Smokies” and our hiking guide THE AFTERNOON HIKER. Others were about visits to Bryson City, NC, where my 2017 book DADDY’S GIRL was set and about our book launch and signing events..

For June of 2017, I wrote about one of my hobbies in a post called the “Sunday Painter” and posted a few photos of my watercolor paintings. Readers seemed to like that personal touch, so in July I wrote about “The Joys of Home” and talked about our home. In August 2017, I blogged about “Growing Up with Flowers,” and in April 2018 about “Wildflowers in the Smokies.” In September of 2017, after our summer beach vacation, my blog post was called “Remembering Edisto.” Others that first year jumped around to different topics, like November about “Fall in East Tennessee” with glorious photos and in December “The Christmas Tree” remembering trees in our family over the years.

You can see from this discussion, that my blog posts are diverse, none ever the same. Sometimes I talk about books I’m writing or have just finished, giving you little inside tips and photos I collected to represent the characters and places in my stories. Many posts in 2018 and in the years since were about travels to beautiful parks and places we visited while working on our four parks guidebooks. I shared about the “Things I Collect” in September 2018, “The Art of Embroidery” the next month, “Games I’ve Loved” in June 2020. Other posts celebrate local places, like “Why I Love Knoxville” in April 2021, “The Beautiful Tennessee River” in May 2021, and “History of the Smokies” in June 2022.

Before 2018 began, my editor suggested, since the last of my twelve Smoky Mountain books would be published that year, that I dedicate one month all year to my twelve novels … so all of 2019’s blogs follow my first twelve books from THE FOSTER GIRLS to THE INTERLUDE. I think you’d enjoy these posts, telling how I got the ideas for these books, with photos and lots of inside facts. If you’re interested in the process of how I write my books, you might like my January 2018 post “Creating a Book” or February 2020 “How I Write.”

As I cruised through my old blog posts today to write this, I laughed over many of my posts and smiled over others. I loved remembering favorite books I loved in October 2020 in “The Armchair Traveler” and “Books About Remarkable Women” the next month in November, making me want to reread some of the titles I talked about again! Sometimes I got lyrical and inspirational with my posts, like in January 2022 in “New Year Inspirations” and in March 2023 titled “Life is Full of Opportunities.” Life is ever full of opportunities… and you have the opportunity any time you get bored or trapped inside during bad weather or illness to explore your way through my eight years of blogs to read whichever ones you might enjoy.   When people say to me, “I wish you wrote more books every year” my answer now is often, “Read My Blog Posts in between.” I write something fun and free for you to read every single month. Never undervalue what is freely given.

See you in December … Lin

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Note: All photos my own, from royalty free sites, or used only as a part of my author repurposed storyboards shown only for educational and illustrative purposes, acc to the Fair Use Copyright law, Section 107 of the Copyright Act.