THE MAKEOVER – A free story

 “Lennie, tell me again how this happened,” Donovan Alistair said. “How did you end up with more paid vendors than spaces?”  He glanced down at the venue layout on his desk and frowned.

“I’m not really sure,” Lennie replied, shifting guiltily in his chair across from Donovan’s desk. “I mean I thought I was keeping track of all the vendors who’d signed up and paid, but I guess a few slipped past me. Then when Cecil started laying everything out, he came and told me the numbers were off.”

Donovan’s eyes shifted to Lennie Blantz, a nice-looking, slightly stocky but personable young young man. He could tell by the way Lennie wouldn’t look at him directly that he was lying. Frankly, Lennie liked to goof off and this wasn’t the first time a problem like this had happened with him.

Donovan picked up his phone and gave Cecil a ring. “How many extra vendor spaces are we dealing with that paid but don’t have a space?”

He listened and turned back to Lennie. “Cecil says we have four 10-10 spaces that we don’t have a designated space for. How do you think we should handle this? Cecil is going to come join us in a minute, too.”

Lennie rubbed his arm, looking around. “Well, maybe you could call them and explain. We could give them their money back, too.”

“That might create a lot of ill will, Lennie. Some of these vendors come to the Appalachian Craft Show at the Overton Event Center every year. They’re valued customers.”

Lennie rubbed his neck now, sweating a little. “Well, maybe you can figure something out.” He grinned. “You’re good at figuring out problems.”

Donovan studied the diagrams of their major vendor space and the routes into the main auditorium, thinking how to resolve this dilemma.

Cecil came in and joined them while he was trying to come up with an answer.  Donovan turned to him after a moment. “Cecil, have you and Lennie put anyone in the lobby in front of the doors into the auditorium yet?”

Cecil, a tall, lanky man, shook his head. “No, not yet. We’ve had some requests for free space from area civic groups and a museum but we always wait until the show is set up before we get back to them. Right now, only the paid vendors are on our list to place.”

Donovan glanced again at the diagram and paperwork on his desk.  “Could you check in your records, Cecil, and see who our most long-term vendors are? I’m thinking we could call some of them and say we’re offering a slightly larger entry space to some of our most loyal, long-term vendors this year and that we would be happy for them to claim one of these prime spots in the lobby area if they’d like.”

Lennie grinned. “Hey, that’s a good idea. Folks coming in to the show would see their booths before they even walk in the big auditorium. Some of our vendors ought to jump on the idea of getting a lobby spot.”

“I agree,” Cecil said. “A few might want to stay in their regular booths, if possible, but I can think of several right off who will probably love this idea.”

Donovan nodded. “Can you and Lennie work on that together? Cecil, you know our vendors better than Lennie does and you have the records. Bring me a calling list to approve after you put one together and then we’ll get to work on this. We only need to add four booths in the lobby, if you guys got all the other figures right.” He gathered up the papers on his desk to tuck back into their folder.

“I’ll get right on it,” Cecil said getting up and picking up the folder.

“Thanks for working this out,” Lennie added, making his escape, too.

Actually, Donovan was glad he’d worked it out this easily. It seemed to be a regular part of his work life that he handled not only his job but that of others under him. He was the Operations and Events Manager at Overton Venue, with Cecil his Management Consultant, good with numbers, and Lennie his Event Coordinator. Although a good-looking young man, Lennie was somewhat lazy. Their boss, Larnelle Overton, had hired Lennie because of his looks and charisma and also because he was Larnelle’s nephew. So, that meant there was fat chance Donovan could fire him and hire someone who’d do a better job.

The boss’s equally cute secretary leaned her head in the door now. “Mr. Overton wants to talk with you for a minute if you’re free,” she said, flashing him one of her I’m cute smiles.

“I’ll be right there,” Donovan said.

Larnelle Overton, the event center owner, wasn’t often in office during the week, working more in what he termed a ‘remote position,’ which frequently meant he was on the golf course or out on the lake. Still, he owned the center and had developed it. He also kept a handle on the business, hiring strong people for his top positions he knew would carry the daily load of running things and fielding ongoing problems well. Donovan assumed the request to talk to him related to this little venue problem that had trickled down to him in some way.

Larnelle Overton, who insisted on being called Mr. Overton, was dressed, as usual in a sharp designer suit, neat and pressed, his shoes shining and his hair impeccable. Donovan was well aware he made a strong contrast in slightly rumpled olive-green slacks and a white shirt with a coffee stain from the morning. He’d never been much for formal dress. Why should it matter? His hair was scruffy and overly long and the short beard he’d let grow needed trimming but he’d made an effort to look better today. He’d even slipped on the matching olive-green coat jacket to his slacks, knowing this was one of the days when the boss usually stopped by the event center.

Mr. Overton gestured to the seat across from his desk as Donovan came in. “I ran into Lennie in the hall. He said you’d figured out a way to handle that overbooking problem.”

“We did,” he said, not wanting to take all the credit.

“You handle everything in relation to our operations very efficiently here, Donovan. I’m never concerned about the event center when you’re here.”

Surprised at this praise, Donovan said, “Thank you, sir.”

Larnelle gave him a somewhat oily smile. Donovan recognized it as one usually followed by a big job or responsibility his boss wanted to dump on him.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but my daughter Tiffany graduates from college next month. She’s been getting her degree in business management, and she wants to come and work at the Event Center. Do you remember Tiffany? You’ve met her at many of our company anniversaries and holiday parties.”

“Yes, very pretty girl,” Donovan said, recalling the rude and snobby woman who usually gave him the once over and walked away as soon as possible.

The boss smiled again. “Tiffany certainly has beauty and poise, nice traits for work with the public at an event center, but she will obviously need schooling and help with any position she takes here.”

Uh, oh. Donovan thought. Surely he doesn’t mean for me to take on that task.

Mr. Overton let his eyes move over him. “Underneath your very casual dress, you are a very handsome man, Donovan. It’s just not easily seen. I think Tiffany might be drawn to take another look at you if you worked to have a bit of a makeover. Cleaned up your appearance. Worked on getting a little polish. Sharpened up your act. Do You know what I mean?”

Not sure he did, Donovan waited.

“It would please me if Tiffany took a liking to you and if a relationship developed. I need to look to the future and to think about who to carry on the business here. If you and Tiffany married, that would be the perfect answer. She could handle all the social aspects of the event center and you could run the business.”

Shocked at his words, Donovan gulped. “That’s a flattering idea, sir, but in honesty I don’t think Tiffany is interested in or attracted to me.”

His boss frowned. “She could be if you worked at it and polished yourself up. The wife and I both think she needs to settle down with someone sensible, capable, and strong, but frankly I don’t think she will see those attributes in you as you are now. I don’t mean to be offensive, but work needs to be done, Donovan. I mainly hired Lennie to work at the events here because he shows so much better than you. Frankly, the look you bring to the office is far below what an event center’s Operations and Events Manager should look like.”

Donovan tried to absorb his words. This was the first time his appearance had ever been mentioned to him. Why hadn’t Mr. Overton spoken to him before? As far as he knew they had a loose dress code here. “I’m not quite sure what to say, sir.”

“I hope you’ll say that you’ll work toward this goal as you would any other good business opportunity. Not every boss would make an offer like this.” He paused, tapping his fingers on his desk thoughtfully. “I know a few other young men, coming along in the business world, sons of friends in the country club with me who would be pleased to pursue Tiffany.”

Donovan felt relieved at that idea and felt sure he sighed.

Mr. Overton frowned. “Naturally one of these young business managers might expect to come into the business here, too. We have a small staff. I would so prefer to keep the reins in your hands, Donovan.”

Concerned, Donovan leaned forward. “Sir, Tiffany doesn’t favor me.”

“I have reason to believe she would if you presented yourself differently, and I would certainly encourage a match then.” He hesitated and then said, “I hope you will realize this is a very good offer for you.” He handed Donovan a photo of his daughter. “Perhaps this will offer you some positive inspiration, Donovan.”

He looked at the photo of the stunningly beautiful blond woman in a low-cut dress and could not think of a thing to say.

Mr. Overton stood, signaling their meeting was at an end. “This opportunity between us is confidential, Donovan. It would distress me if any word of this got out to other employees. I’m sure you can see why, so I will expect your word that this will not filter out to others.”

“Yes sir. You can be sure I won’t speak about it to others.” That was a fact.

He made his way back to his office and then sat there stunned for an hour thinking over this odd conversation. In a sense, he realized he’d been given an ultimatum.

The next day, Sophia Winton, an area photographer with a freelance business who did most all the photography work needed for the event center stopped by to take some pre-pictures for an upcoming wedding. He let her into one of their big meeting rooms, and while she asked some questions, he watched her shift things around and decorate tables to create a photo shoot setting. Interested, as the couple showed up for some engagement photos he watched her stage them and take pictures and then followed her outside where she took more photos in the gazebo by the Little River that ran behind the event center property.

She moved to the young groom, a somewhat red-headed young man with freckles, straightening his tie and pulling his shirt sleeves down below the cuffs of his jacket.

Smiling at him, she said, “Let me put some makeup on you and style your hair a little for the photos, Freddie. We want these pictures of you and Becky to be really cute.”

As she continued to work with both of them, Donovan was impressed at how much better they both looked.

When she finished, Donovan offered to carry some of her equipment to her car. “You do really nice work, Sophia. That was a good makeover you did on those kids.”

She laughed. “Just a little touching up. It saves work with editing the photos after, and there are some things you can’t edit easily, like Freddie’s cowlick sticking up.”

An idea came to Donovan. “Uh, I have some business I’d like to talk with you about.”

“Sure. I could run back into your office now if you have time.”

Uncomfortable at that idea, he glanced at his watch. “it’s almost lunch time. Maybe we could run down the road to grab a bite of lunch at that little diner by the Melrose bridge.”

Donovan saw her hesitate. “I could come back to your office another time,” she said.”

“Look, I’m not trying to hit on you. It’s just that this business is unrelated to the event center so it didn’t seem right to use office space to discuss it.”

She grinned. “Sure, then, that’s okay. I don’t have another appointment to shoot photos  until two near the country club. So lunch would be good.”

“You can ride to the diner with me and then I’ll bring you back here to your car since your next stop is closer to Maryville.”

She considered it. “No, there’s no need. It isn’t far. I’ll just meet you there.”

Donovan went back to his office to pass the word he was heading out to lunch and a meeting, and then left for the diner. He thought about Sophia Winton on the way. She was a brownish-haired girl, eyes blue, figure nice, pleasant manner. He thought he remembered she worked with her dad in the photography business, that they had a well-respected little company. It was probably crazy to reach out to her but maybe she could help him or might know someone who could. The word “makeover” she’d used was the same word Larnelle Overton had used.

With the day pleasant and for added privacy, Donovan suggested they eat outside on the covered deck in back and she was okay with that idea. He ordered a barbeque sandwich and slaw and she got some sort of cheese omelet with fruit on the side.

“Dad and I don’t live far from here. We like to come here to eat,” she said conversationally.

He tried to think how to begin.

As the quiet continued, she finally said, “Donovan, I won’t say anything to your employer about you having an outside meeting with a photographer. Just tell me what your business idea is. I’ve had some strange assignments in past. Very little surprises me.”

He took a deep breath. “You know how you did a little makeover on that kid Freddie for their engagement photos. Well, I need a big makeover. My boss has all but told me I might be replaced if I don’t.”

She looked stunned. “What? You do an incredible job as the Operations and Event Manager at the Overton center.  Everyone who does work for the center knows that you do more work there than Larnelle. Whyever would he suddenly push for you to do a makeover?  And if he means just updating your work wardrobe, that shouldn’t be hard.”

“He has in mind for me to interest his daughter, Tiffany, when she comes home after graduating from college next month. He thinks we would be a good match.” He blushed even saying the words.

“He actually said that to you?” She looked surprised at his words. “I think I remember Tiffany as a glamorous woman, sort of a fashion queen, full of herself.” She looked him over. “That hardly seems like a match for you if you don’t mind my candor.”

“No, but he wants me to spiff up, try to go after her, sharpen up my act, put on a little polish. I know he’s planning some big after graduation party at the center for her for when she comes home, and he wants me to wow her there, look different so she’ll be attracted to me.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how to dance good at stuff like that, how to act, what to wear or talk about. But if I don’t try, I might lose my job. He sort of put out an ultimatum to me. Tiffany has never even liked me, so I don’t think anything I do will work, but I need to try. He calls it an opportunity, and I think he wants me to change in what I wear and how I look.”

She sat quietly for a minute. “Why would you ask me to help with this, Donovan. We’re only casually acquainted through work. I’m a photographer not a makeover artist. Why wouldn’t you go to some of your men friends for help who dress and look sharp?”

He decided to be honest. “I was too embarrassed to tell any of them about this. It’s really sort of humiliating. Also, I was sworn not to mention it to anyone, so that limits me. But I need help, Sophia. Watching you with Freddie and Becky, I realized you work with making people look better all the time and that maybe you could help me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, honestly, I’ve never cared much about clothes and fashion but I thought I dressed all right. What do you think?”

She hesitated. “Some changes might be good in relation to your position at the center, Donovan. While we’re eating, tell me about yourself and let me think about this. It’s not the sort of normal business offer I usually get.”

“First, I want to say that I know what you get hourly as a photographer working at events. I’ll pay you that and more if you can help me, Sophia. I just don’t know what to do or where to begin. You always look so nicely put together whenever I’ve seen you, and I suppose I I look and dress kind of dorky compared to how a lot of people dress.”

Donovan looked at himself, trying to straighten his jacket. “The way I dress is pretty much how I’ve always dressed since school. My folks didn’t have a lot. We had a real simple house, just a plain life. I worked at my dad’s grocery after school, while taking college classes at Pellissippi on one of those Tennessee Scholarships. My brother Ben helps runs the grocery now. Neither of us ever had much time or money for organized sports or fancy clothes or proms or stuff.  We just worked in the store or in the garden at home. For fun, we fished, hunted, and hiked. But we had good family, a good upbringing. We learned good manners and morals. and we had to learn to be organized and efficient to take care of all kinds of problems at the store.”

He paused before continuing.  “I got a job over at Overton’s Event Center when it opened, right after I got my business management degree. I worked smart and hard and I moved up from one position to another, learning the business like I’d learned the store. I’ve always been grateful to Mr. Overton for taking me on right after college, recognizing and rewarding me for good work.”

“So you want to please him, even though the request he’s made doesn’t seem right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess I do, and I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Do you want to marry his daughter Tiffany?”

He shrugged. “I don’t even know her. At any office gathering, she always pretty much stuck up her nose at me like I was dirt or something, not on her level. She never talked to me or anything. She always had some slick guy on her arm and a lot of guys hanging around her. I can’t imagine we’d have much in common, and I can’t figure out why her daddy would want her to hook up with me. I know where the Overtons live. It’s a different world from mine.”

Sophia pushed her hair back behind her ear, thinking. “My dad told me Larnelle Overton started out poor and worked his way through college and up in the business world. Daddy said he took a risk, buying that old event center that was going under, but he thought things were growing from Maryville toward the Smokies. He felt like there weren’t many event facilities out in the Melrose and Walland areas except for Blackberry Farm, only for the elite.” She smiled. “I think maybe he relates to you and I know he depends on you.” She frowned. “From what I hear his daughter Tiffany has been a trial. Maybe he really believes you’ll be a good husband for her, help her settle down. She’s very beautiful, but the stories I hear about her character and life style aren’t pretty.”

She paused. “Are you a Christian?”

He looked up from eating, surprised at her question. “Yeah. I was raised strong in that way. In my college years about the time my cousin got blown up by a field bomb in the military, I got myself straightened out and sold out to the Lord. That hard time reminded me you never know about life.” He hesitated. “What about you?”

“We’re strong people of faith, my dad and me.” She shook her head. “I admit I got mad at God when my mother died too young, but I got that straightened out, too, after a while.” She crossed her arms. “I ask that in particular, Donovan, because if I’m going to spend some time with you to help you with this thing, then I expect you to understand this is business. I expect you to act honorably with me. I don’t really know you yet, but I’m beginning to get a feeling I could trust you to help you with this.”

“Do you think I’m dumb and stupid to be trying to change myself for a work matter like this?” he asked. “Does it make me seem weak?”

“Sometimes change can be good. If you change yourself outwardly and don’t like the changes you make, you can change back. Did you ever dress up like a super hero or movie star or something for Halloween growing up?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “I dressed up like Elvis one year, got the look and the voice down. It was fun.”

“Well, a makeover would be like that on a larger scale.” She looked him over. “To come across like Mr. Overton suggested will mean changes in your looks, your clothes, some of your conversation and how you act in different situations. You’ll need to think of it like preparing for or getting into character for a movie role, but I think I can help you do that. I photograph a lot of monied events. I know how monied young men look and act, smell and talk. We can make a different version of Donovan Alistair if you like.”

Donovan thought about her words. “I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge,” he said, finishing off the last of his tea. “And Mr. Overton sort of challenged me. He made me feel for the first time like I didn’t measure up to all I could be. Honestly, Sophia, if he’d told me before I needed to work on my looks for the business, I would have tried to please him.”

“What about the Tiffany thing? Is that a challenge you want to win, too?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I admit I’d like to see her take a second look at me and not snub me. Also, I think if Mr. Overton knew I’d tried to be nice to her and appeal to her, and if she still didn’t like me, that he might keep me on.” He laughed. “This is  the only job I’ve ever had. I admit it scares me a little to think of having to start all over, interview and stuff.”

Sophia crossed her arms. “Quite candidly, Donovan, if you came interviewing at any event center, business, or country club where I do my photography in that awful pea green suit, those high-top athletic shoes with the white laces and bright red socks, and with that mop of a haircut, you would not get the job.”

He scowled at her. “This is a good olive-green suit. I found it at the thrift store in Maryville. They have a lot of great clothes there.”

“I like shopping at thrift stores, too, but I can teach you how to find better clothes there.” She pulled out her calendar book from her purse. “When is that big graduation party for Tifffany to be held at the Overton center?”

He stopped to think. “The first weekend in June.”

“Will you give up the next weekends before then to work on this?”

Donovan frowned. “Will it take that much time?”

“Yes. I’ll start to plan out an agenda. If we have some work events on the weekends we can’t get around or can’t pass on to someone else, we’ll make up the time on evenings in between.” She hesitated. “Honestly, the idea is crazy, Donovan, but I’ll try to help you with this. No guarantees, but you have to agree to cooperate and to be willing to make the changes needed to try out this part you want to play it out.”

“Maybe it won’t work anyway,” he said, looking down at his lap. “Mama always said you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

“That old proverb means you can’t create a fine product from inferior materials,” she said. “But beneath some dorky clothes, a bad haircut, and some slouchy ways, to my mind, lies a prince, Mr. Alistair.”

He laughed. “Well, that sounds like a compliment I can hold on to.”

She pulled out her phone and handed it to him. “Put your phone numbers in here and your address.” She looked up at him. “Where do you live? Is it close around here?”

“I bought a house off West Miller’s Cove Road a couple of years ago, a little away from Maryville but only about ten minutes or so from the event center.”

Sophia smiled after he mentioned the address. “I know where that is. I’ll just come to your place on Saturday at about ten and we’ll get started.” She paused. “Seeing where you live will tell me a lot about you, too. We want you to achieve a more polished, professional look but we also want to project an authentic look for you, too. Will that time work for you?”

“Sure,” he said, beginning to feel a little panicked now over this whole thing.

Donovan spent the rest of the week after work cleaning his house, knowing Sophia planned to show up at his place at ten. Nervous over this whole makeover idea now, he watched for her car and came out to greet her as she pulled up. She looked cute, and thankfully casual, in khaki slacks, a long-sleeved sandy-colored shirt, and tan shoes, her hair tied back in a low ponytail. He heaved a sigh, glad he hadn’t been expected to dress up. He just had on tan slacks and a white T-shirt today.

Getting her purse and a big laptop out of the car, she smiled at him. “Nice house, Donovan.” She paused to look up at the mountains behind his house. “Your house alone, rural like this, sort of rugged and rudimentary, tells me a lot about what your style should be.” She followed him up on the deck and into the house. “I’ve been doing my homework.” She patted her laptop. “And I’ve brought some great YouTubes for us to look at about makeovers. They taught me a lot and I think they will you, too.”

Inside, she turned and said, “Show me around so I can get a sense of your style here. Then we’ll sit down and have some coffee, if you still have some, talk and look at a bunch of these YouTubes and work on our battle plan.”

They spent the morning looking at YouTubes of various makeup specialists doing makeovers on an assortment of young men. They also moved from the couch to sit on the floor after a time, the laptop between them.

“What did you get out of watching all these YouTubes?” she asked after a time.

He turned and grinned at her. “That I don’t know much about men’s fashion. To me those sharp guys were all dressed a little plain and too much the same after the makeover, but dang, they looked good and certainly better than before.”

She’d been taking notes and looked down at them. “A big point, which is good advice for women as well as men, is that your outfit should never talk louder than who you are and what you represent. One man said when your colors are quiet people pay more attention to you than to your outfit. I liked the concept, too, that when you’re dressed well and dressed right you feel more confident, you carry yourself more easily, even move and speak differently, your clothes supporting you, not shouting some other impression.”

“They were all big on impressions you make with your hair, your overall grooming, your clothes, how they fit and look, if they’re tasteful and not too colorful, if things clash.” He made a face. “I admit I’d never thought much about what colors look good together, what colors clash, or what a mess mixing plaids, stripes, and too many colors and patterns can do to any look. I think I have a lot to learn.”

The next weeks were one learning experience after another to Donovan. Working with Sophia was fun, too. She was easy to be with and to talk to. She went through his closet and helped him organize his clothes and dump half of them. She laughed with him and not at him as they went shopping together to look for new clothes, and she taught him how to shop at the thrift stores and get good clothes and good bargains, too.

After work one day, she took him to a hair stylist friend of hers, a man she did a lot of free-lance photography for, for a haircut.

Ricky Dane walked all around him, analyzing his appearance, asking questions of Sophia about Donovan’s job, his life, his interests, almost like he wasn’t there.

“The guy’s got a good body, great build, well-muscled, good skin, clothes are okay, but his hair’s a big mop of curls. The color and texture is nice though.” He felt of Donovan’s hair, moving it around and then studied his beard. “He needs a haircut for sure, something that will show off a little of this natural curl maybe, but I don’t like the beard for him. Do you, Sophia?”

“No. I think he’d be more handsome without it,” she answered. “Donovan, is it okay if Ricky gives you a clean shave with your haircut and style?”

He looked in the mirror. “Yeah, but don’t give me some kind of fancy haircut I’ll need to style or fuss with, anything that needs gels or extra time to fiddle with. I like to get up, shower, shave, and go. If it requires a lot of maintenance, I’ll soon forget to do it.”

Sophia laughed. “That’s honest. Being clean shaven will be easier for you, too, then.”

Ricky cut and styled his hair then, shaved off his beard and treated his face with some lotions and then spun him around to take a look in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Wow,” he said. “I look good. Just about any haircut I ever got from a barber in past left me sheared and ugly and needing about a month to look decent again.”

Ricky ruffled up his hair and then gave him a comb. “You comb it back in place. I want you to see you can make it look good really easily.” He went to a shelf nearby and got a jar of shaping cream. “Use this when you need a little hold for an event, a little shaping help. Just put a dab on your fingers. It can help keep your hair in control. Try it out.”

Donovan left with the cream and a new haircut. Glancing at his reflection in the glass window as they left the shop, he said, “Dang, I do look good.”

“Yes, you do. And you’re wearing those new khaki slacks, that navy pull over henley. and the new leather casual shoes we bought.” She smiled at him. “Those girls across the street are staring at you, too, and in a good way.”

He glanced their way but then back at Sophia, oddly feeling more pleased at her smile and admiration. “Do I look better to you?” he asked.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments from me. I liked you before, too, remember, but I’ll bet Miss Tiffany Overton will take another look now.”

Over the next weekends, they practiced dancing together, laughing over their fumbles in his living room, working to get the moves right. She taught him more how to talk to girls, what to say in introduction, what not to say or do.

“Don’t talk yourself out of talking to girls or initiating conversations with them,” she told him. “Male-female culture is still ingrained in us. Women really want men to take the initiative, to come to speak to them, to ask them to dance, to ask them out, to be the one to initiate the first intimacy. They don’t really want to take the initiative but they  do many times when men won’t take the action needed.” She smiled. “It’s really easier than you think.”

“What should I say? Should I say, ‘Hey, I’m Donovan. You look really pretty tonight.’”

“No, that’s moving in too fast. Say something general. ‘This is a great party, isn’t it?’ or at an art gallery or something, walk over and say, ‘I really like this artist, don’t you?’ This gives her an opportunity for feedback. And be ready with some easy follow up discussion after, more details about the party, more details about the artist. See?”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s practice. What would you say to me?” she asked.

He grinned and moved closer. “Hey, good looking. Wanna give me a makeover?”

She laughed and swatted at him. “Be serious, Donovan.”

He shrugged. “That is how we met, Sophia.”

“I know, but that’s business and we knew each other before. We’re talking about making conversation with girls you don’t know and want to know better.”

A few odd thoughts crossed his mind then but he didn’t voice them. Falling for his teacher wasn’t going to help him with the graduation party to come. Still, he was glad when she decided they should practice dancing more.

She got up from the sofa. “You said you weren’t too comfortable dancing, haven’t not done much of it since school years. We should work on that some more.” She walked over to where he had a CD player on one of his shelves. “See if you can find us a fun CD to dance to and another slow one to waltz to. I imagine that is the only dancing there will be at a graduation party.”

They soon scampered around to a fun rock song, laughing now and soon singing along, with the music. She giggled. “I don’t think you’ve lost your touch with these moves, Donovan.”

“My sisters taught my brother and me. They liked to dance. It was a good way of having free fun, and there were some fun free dances down at the lake pavilion near our house in the summertime.”

“What were your sisters names?”

“Susie and Pamela, younger than Ben and me, but they dragged us down to the pavilion so they’d have someone to dance with.”

“You know I was an only child,” she said. “You’re lucky to have sisters and a brother.”

“Who taught you to dance?”

“I took ballet as a girl, dance lessons later, too.”

“Uh, oh,” he said. “The waltzing I do is more back and forth and traveling around the room. Nobody got into the box step or formal stuff down at the pavilion. Do you think I’ll need to know that?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Let’s see what you can do.”

They waltzed around the room then, not always smoothly, but close. It felt nice being this close to Sophia Wilton and he could feel her against him, soft and warm, and after a time they both grew quiet, their heartbeats kicking up.

As the music stopped, he looked down at her and saw her wet her lips. And there was a moment, a fine moment, before she pulled back and said, “I think you’ve got this, Donovan.”

She moved to find her purse. “I probably need to head for the house now. And we both have work tomorrow.”

After carrying some glasses to the kitchen, she came back and smiled at him. “You’re going to be a big hit at the graduation party next Saturday night. I hope you wow both your boss and his daughter and that everything turns out as you hoped.”

He stood looking at her. “Well, if everything goes well it will be because of you, Sophia. Thank you. I’ll always be grateful for the time you’ve spent with me.” He smiled. “We’ve had fun, too, haven’t we?”

“Absolutely.” She grinned. “And I’ll expect you to meet me at the diner for lunch one day next week to tell me how everything went.”

“I’ll do that,” he said as she headed toward the door.

The next Saturday, leaving the big party at the Overton Center, Donovan checked his GPS directions to remind himself of the way to Sophia’s house. He didn’t want to wait until next week to tell her how things had gone.

Finding her house, he parked and walked to the door to knock. Sophia peeked out the glass panel by the door and then grinned at him as she opened the door to him. “What are you doing here, Donovan? Is the party already over?”

She stood back to look at him. “Oh, look how handsome you look in that navy suit. So sharp, so polished and suave. And I can see from your smug look that things went well.”

He looked at her, dressed in old shorts and a T-shirt, barefooted with her hair loose around her shoulders. “I didn’t want to wait until next week to see you again,” he told her.

She smiled. “Well, I am tickled you couldn’t wait to tell me about everything. Come in and sit down. Dad’s at an evening wedding shoot tonight or I’d call him to come say hello and see how fine you look.”

Donovan took a breath. “Mr. and Mrs. Overton were stunned at the change in me, even though Mr. Overton had noticed a few times that I was working on making myself over.”

“And Tiffany?” she asked.

“She didn’t snub me tonight.” He laughed. “She didn’t recognize me. I danced well enough to suit her. She suggested we might want to see more of each other. We spent time together and talked, but here’s the thing, Sophia. I couldn’t work up any feelings for her. I didn’t even like spending time with her. All I could think about was how much I wished you were there with me, talking and laughing with me, dancing with me.” He took a breath. “I’m in love with you, Sophia Winton. This may not be the correct way to do things, but it’s the way I’m doing things tonight.”

When he saw her lip tremble and the tears start in her eyes, he swooped her up to kiss her as he realized he’d wanted to do for a long time.

“Oh, Donovan, are you sure?” she asked.

“As sure as I am there’s a moon out tonight, and I sure am hoping I’m not the only one realizing the teacher and the student have a thing going here.”

She laughed. “Honestly, Donovan, you were so cute from the first, I think that’s why I said yes to your crazy idea for a makeover.”

He kissed her again. “So you liked me even back then with my mop hair and pea green suit?”

Sophia giggled. “Well, maybe not the suit or the bright red socks, but I liked the man even then.”

He put a hand to her face. “I am stronger, better, and more confident from learning all the things I have with you. I needed a little makeover, but I’ve learned I need you, too, Sophie Winton, and I want to marry you. You can count this as an official proposal.”

She put a hand to her heart. “But what about your boss, Donovan?”

He pulled her over to sit on the couch beside him. “A few weeks back, I decided I didn’t like much a boss who would give me an ultimatum like he did. So I decided to find myself another job. I heard you mention the country club was expanding to add an event center for larger events and I suggested to the club’s owner that it might be advantageous to hire a good Operations and Events Manager for the club. He agreed. So I’ll be turning in notice and Larnelle will just have to find another potential suitor for his daughter.”

“Oh, this is wonderful. I know Mr. Simmons, who owns the club. He’s a fine man, Donovan. I think you’ll love working with him. He is hands-on at that club all the time, so well loved by all his employees.” She leaned in to hug him. “I want you to tell me everything as you start to work.”

“I will maybe later.” He put a hand on her face. “Right now, I’m hoping to hear a ‘yes, I’ll marry you Donovan Alistair’ from you and then maybe we won’t need any words for a time.”

“Yes, yes, Donovan Alistair. I love you and will marry you and …”

She didn’t get to add more because it was a time now for more actions than words.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

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.

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 say that, 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 Leonard. 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, Leonard 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, Leonard 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, Leonard 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.

 

 

 

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.

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.”

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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.

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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.