The sun beat mercilessly down on the lone traveler as he meandered along the hot, dusty road. He swiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his long shirt sleeve. In the distance, beyond the waves of heat radiating from the ground, sat a diner, or possibly a mirage. The traveler couldn't be sure of his senses. As he moved closer, relief washed over him as he found it was the former.
He picked up his pace, knowing respite from the heat was near. In a matter of minutes, road turned into parking lot. As he approached the entrance, he stopped. In the glass door loomed his reflection. His disheveled hair couldn't decide which direction it wanted to lay. The dust of a dozen backroads stuck to his face. His white dress shirt was now tan colored and stained. The bottoms of his black dress pants and his shoes were painted brown with Georgian dirt.
He shook his head, suddenly realizing how far he'd fallen and how fast. As he opened the door, a blast of air conditioning blew through him, quickly cooling the sweat on his body and causing him to shiver. Still, it invigorated his tired body. A couple of patrons sat in the corner giving their orders to the waitress.
"Be with ya in a minute, sugar!" she announced to the traveler.
He sat down at the empty counter, grateful to take the load off his feet.
A minute later, she hustled behind the counter, stuck the order ticket to the wheel, gave it a spin, and whistled to get the cook's attention. She then slid a menu off a stack near the cash register and placed it in front of her newest customer. Pulling her order book from her apron and a pencil from her beehive hairdo, she asked, "Alright, honey, what'll you have?"
"Water, please," he asked.
"You don't want nothin' to eat?" she asked.
Hesitantly, he put his hands in his pockets and, finding nothing, turned them out.
"I'm afraid all I own is on my back, ma'am," he admitted.
The waitress frowned, a puzzled look flashing across her face. She could tell that admission was humbling to the young man, but out of curiosity asked "You mean, you don't have a car? Well, how the heck did you get 'ere then?"
"I walked."
"Walked? Oh, lawd have mercy. You serious? You ain't pullin' my leg now, are ya? The nearest town from 'ere gotta be fifteen miles!"
"No, ma'am."
"No wonder ya look worn slap out." This mysterious dark-haired young stranger at her lunch counter had a story and she aimed to get it. He was a hard luck case if she'd ever seen one. She could tell from his clothes that he was used to having money, at least enough to keep him fed and sheltered. He probably had some schooling, she guessed. She detected a hint of an accent or maybe a muddle of several. Must travel a bit, she decided, and was probably the type to pick up the local accent to fit in if he stayed in one place long enough. His fortunes had turned suddenly, that was sure.
"You look like you could use a good meal. Tell ya what, if ya bus tables, wash dishes, an' maybe push a mop for two hours, I'll feed ya. Is 'at a deal? Shouldn't be too hard, seein' as it's been kinda slow today," she offered.
His eyebrows raised in surprise and he nodded, "Yes, ma'am. Much obliged."
"Alright then," she offered her hand, "Name's Ruth Ann. Ruth Ann Baker."
"Zachary. Zachary Smith," he replied, giving her hand a brief shake.
She gestured at the menu with her pencil, "Pick anythin' ya like."
He studied the menu for a moment then replied, "I'll have the fried chicken with mashed potatoes and collard greens. Oh, and a cup of coffee."
"Good choice. Ol' Jack's fried chicken is the best in the county," she replied as she wrote down his order. Placing the ticket on the wheel, she gave it a spin, and whistled again for Jack. She pulled a glass from a stack under the counter and filled it with cold water from a pitcher. "Here ya go. I'll get yer coffee right away."
Smith licked his parched lips before he eagerly drained the glass. It was cold, too cold to drink that fast, but he didn't care. He asked for another.
"Sure, darlin'," she said, refilling it. "By the way, restroom's 'round the corner to the right. Feel free to freshen up while waitin' for yer meal."
Smith emptied the second glass as quickly as he had the first. Then, he took the advice of the waitress and visited the men's room. He turned the faucet on, bent over and splashed water on his face. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he realized he looked even worse there than he did in the diner's glass door. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, he wet them and scrubbed his face clean. Wetting his hands, he ran his fingers through his unruly locks and tamed them, somewhat. After attending to the call of nature, he washed his hands and took his place back at the counter.
"Feel better?" Ruth Ann asked as she slid a cup of coffee in front of him.
"Yes, thank you," he said. He grabbed two packets of sugar, shook them twice, then ripped open the ends and poured them into his coffee.
"You ain't very talkative, are ya?" she observed.
Smiling sheepishly, he replied, "Sorry. That's not normally my nature."
She laid a hand atop his. "Got a big helpin' of humble pie, recently, aintcha?"
Staring into his coffee as he stirred it, he chuckled and admitted, "Nearly choked on it."
"Well, honey, in these parts it's always on the menu. Totally normal. If ya got a pot to piss in, yer doin' well."
Smith held his empty pockets out for her to see again, wry grin on his face.
"Yeah, well, I can tell you're the type that'll weather it better'n most," she patted his hand.
"I'm glad you think so," he replied sarcastically.
"Aw, darlin', I know so," she smiled. "In case you couldn't tell, this ol' body's been around a while. I've seen plenty. An' you, yer still just a pup. Ya can't be more'n twenty-four."
"Twenty-six," he corrected.
"See, just a pup," she laughed. "I'm old enough ta be yer nana. Things ain't never so bad they can't be fixed if'n ya have a mind to. An' seein' as ya walked yerself all the way here, ya certainly have yer mind set on somethin'."
Smith looked quietly into his coffee as he contemplated his situation. "I've made some poor decisions lately."
"Ya on yer way back to yer kinfolk?" she asked.
His gaze drifted from his coffee to her eyes, "Not exactly."
"Aww, I see," she said solemnly. "This is 'bout a girl."
Smith's spine visibly stiffened. "Not that it's any of your business, but… yes."
"Where's she live?" Ruth Ann asked, her chin now propped on her hand and her elbow atop the counter.
"Macon," Smith answered.
"Macon? Oh, bless yer heart, ya must be high as a Georgia pine to think ya could walk all that way in this heat without fryin' yer brains," she laughed.
"I don't have much choice," Smith bristled. "I have no car, no money..."
"An' what little pride ya got left won't let ya ask for no help," she surmised.
Smith pursed his lips, amazed, and a bit dismayed, by her intuition.
Jack's shout from the kitchen shattered the awkward silence. "Order's up!"
Ruth Ann took the plate from Jack and placed it in front of Smith. "Dig in."
After tucking a napkin into the collar of his shirt, Smith picked up the fried chicken breast and bit into it. He was famished, but he took time to savor the juicy meat.
Ruth Ann pointed at the napkin and observed, "With the state of yer shirt, ya really think anybody'd notice if ya dropped that whole meal on it?"
Smith spared a glance down and chuckled, "No, probably not. Force of habit." After taking another bite, he closed his eyes as he chewed, relishing the first meal he'd had in two days. He grabbed his cup of coffee and before taking a swig, he offered, "My compliments to the cook. Almost as good as my aunt Maude makes…"
"Oh, honey, yer lucky ol' Jack is deaf as a post," Ruth Ann chided. "If he'd a heard ya, he'd take ya out back and whup ya."
Coffee sprayed from Smith's lips, despite his best efforts to quash his laughter. "Please excuse me," he said as he pulled the napkin from his collar and mopped up the mess. "I've been away from home far too long and forgot my manners. I meant no offense to old Jack's honor."
They shared a laugh. "And just where is home?" she asked.
"My aunt Maude has a place in Savannah," he offered.
His ma and pa must be outta the picture, she thought. "She raise you?"
Smith nodded. "My parents died when I was very young and she was the only one of my relatives that offered to take me in." He shoveled a fork full of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
"That musta been hard," Ruth Ann said.
"You don't know the half of it," Smith replied, "a kid with a Bronx accent sticks out like a sore thumb down here. 'Yanks' win very few popularity contests."
"Yer from New York?" Ruth shook her head. "I'da never have guessed it. I heard a touch of Savannah in yer voice, but no Bronx at all."
"I've worked hard to eradicate every trace of it, ma'am. I studied the speech patterns of my peers and adopted a Savannah accent. When they thought I was one of them, it was easier to make friends," Smith explained.
"An' ya proceeded to do the same everywhere ya traveled, haven't ya?" she surmised.
Smith smiled. "You're very perceptive."
The couple in the corner stood up and, before leaving, waved. "See ya next Thursday, Ruth Ann!"
"Lord willin' an' the creek don't rise!" Ruth Ann replied as she hustled over to clear the money off the table, leaving the dishes for her new bus boy.
A few minutes later, Smith shoveled the last of the greens into his mouth and washed them down with some water. Grabbing a clean napkin, he wiped his mouth, then his hands.
"I believe now is when I start paying for my meal," he announced as he gathered his dirty dishes, napkins, and utensils and shuttled them behind the counter onto a bus boy tray. He carried the tray over to the table in the corner and cleared it. Ruth Ann directed him into the kitchen where she gave him quick directions on how to wash and dry the pile of dishes and where to put them away.
She kept him company as he worked his way through the tasks she'd laid out for him and their conversation continued.
"I can't imagine this is the sorta thing ya do for a living," she stated. "So, what do ya do?"
Smith chuckled. "I just graduated medical school."
"I knew it! I knew ya had schoolin'," she said. "But a doctor! That's somethin'. With schoolin' like that, ya should be in high cotton! What happened?"
Smith leaned slightly on the mop he was holding and thought for a moment, "I'm not sure I've quite figured that out m'self. Wishful thinking? Family curse? Self-destructive streak? All of the above?"
"I'm not following," Ruth Ann admitted.
"I got bitten by card sharks. I rattled the bones and crapped out," Smith confessed.
Understanding dawned on Ruth Ann's face. "Well, you're not the first to fall victim to that vice and ya won't be the last. But, ya lost it all, didn't ya?"
The young man nodded.
"An' how does the young lady fit in to all this?" she asked.
There was several seconds of silence as Smith decided if he wanted to share this part of his story. It was very unlikely he'd ever see this waitress again. She already seemed to know more about him than he'd already shared. He decided it wouldn't hurt matters any to trust her with more. He'd hit rock bottom and needed someone to share his pain with and she made him feel comfortable doing so.
"She was my high school sweetheart, the first, and only, girl who said she loved me," Smith said softly. "I am, by all accounts, an 'odd duck'. I can fit in anywhere, but there's nowhere I can truly be myself, except… with her. I can feel alone in a room full of people, but I'm never lonely with her. She knows my hopes and dreams and she wanted to share them with me."
"But?"
"But aunt Maude had high aspirations for me. Oxford, a private practice…" he explained.
"An' ya didn't want that?" Ruth Ann asked.
"Not exactly. I would've been perfectly happy attending Emory or Augusta, where I would've been able to stay close to Katherine," Smith replied. "Aunt Maude told me a degree from Oxford would be more prestigious, get me farther faster."
"She didn't like Katherine, did she?" Ruth Ann surmised.
He shook his head. "She wasn't 'sophisticated' enough for her tastes. Lord, if my mates at Oxford had ever met aunt Maude. Pot, kettle, and all that," he waved his hand dismissively and rolled his eyes. "I spent a good deal of my eight years there trying to rid myself of my Savannah accent. It wasn't sophisticated enough, you see," he chuckled. "Seems all I do lately is work on my accent," he mused.
Ruth Ann chuckled. "I imagine yer aunt's the type o' woman who tends to get what she wants. An' prob'ly thinks more highly of herself than warranted. She sent ya off across the pond hopin' ya'd forget about yer lady love," she stated.
"Yes," Smith admitted. "I came to that conclusion recently and confronted her. To her credit, she admitted it, but when I stated my intentions to pursue Katherine again, she cut me off. She's generous enough when it suits her, but unless it gets her something she wants, she squeezes her quarters so tight the eagles scream. And she didn't want her money spent wooing Katherine."
Ruth Ann chuckled silently at Smith's use of a well-worn colloquialism. He certainly could fit in wherever and whenever he wanted.
"What little money I had was not sufficient to get me to Macon. So, in desperation, I tried to increase my funds by gambling. I am a dolt, I know," he confessed.
"Yer a young'un in love, sweetie," she chuckled. "Smarts don't enter into it."
Smith snorted. "No, I guess they really don't."
"Look, it's not busy here tonight. You've worked off yer meal. How 'bout we get ya a shower and clean clothes at my place and I'll drive ya over to Macon to meet yer lady friend," Ruth Ann offered.
The young man's face brightened and he placed a hand on his chest. "You would do that for me? A total stranger?"
"Ya just spilled yer guts to me. We're hardly strangers anymore. Besides, I was a young'un once and in love. I wish somebody done for me what I'm in the position to do for you. I'm happy to do it," she offered.
Smith set the mop against the wall and untied his apron as Ruth Ann told Jack he could head home. He sat at the counter as Ruth Ann prepared the place for closing.
As they headed outside to the parking lot, it was obvious the dusty, rusty '57 Chevy belonged to Ruth Ann, as it was the only car in sight. Smith walked ahead and tried the door. It opened, not unexpectedly, as locking car doors wasn't really necessary in these parts.
"I'll say one thing for yer aunt Maude, she did raise ya with manners. Yer a right gentleman," Ruth Ann quipped.
Once she was seated, he closed the door and jogged over to the passenger side. As they started down the road, Ruth Ann glanced over and, seeing how tired the young man looked, decided to forego her usual small talk during the ride and let him rest. She had one question though and she asked it, "Where'd ya start walkin' from?"
He took a deep breath and as he exhaled, said, "Cedar Grove. And before you ask how I got there from Savannah, I pawned the gold watch my aunt gave me for graduation and used the funds to pay for fares. I stopped in Cedar Grove for lunch and, afterward, found myself confronted by a group of young men who decided they needed my meager funds more than I did. Outnumbered, I did what any prudent person would do. I ran. Unfortunately, not fast enough. They took everything but my clothes and they even debated that for a moment."
Ruth Ann's eyebrows rose and she shook her head. "Lawd amighty, you've had quite an eventful few days. It's over twenty-five miles from Cedar Grove to here and another fifty from here to Macon. Ya must really love 'er."
"I do," he confirmed solemnly.
Smith stared out the window, enjoying the warm rush of air against his face. Closing his eyes, he got lost in his memories of Katherine.
When they'd first met, as freshmen in high school, he didn't pay much attention to her. He was the academic type and spent most of his time with his nose in a book. A "girlfriend" didn't fit into his current plans. Which, if he was honest, were mostly his aunt Maude's plans.
Aunt Maude was insistent he keep his grades up so he could get into some prestigious university. She beat into him the importance of education, honor, prestige, and a number of things he certainly didn't recognize in the rest of the Smith clan. Try as his aunt might, he was still a Smith and he pushed the boundaries of what she would allow him to get away with. It was his passive aggressive approach to dealing with the immense pressure his well-meaning aunt placed on his young shoulders.
Katherine was into theater, though she spent plenty of time in the school library. His first impression of her, that she was a ditzy blonde, turned out to be completely wrong. He could talk to her about any topic, from algebra to zoology, and she could more than hold her own in the conversation. Later, he'd come to wonder if that's why she'd befriended him, wanting more stimulating conversation than the normal high school chatter of who's dating whom. Wherever he went, she just seemed to show up. She'd strike up friendly conversations and he'd oblige. It wasn't long before he was seeking her out.
She provided something he didn't realize he needed, true companionship. Oh, he had friends, but none of them made him feel like she did. They were fine for occupying his time, hanging out. But with her, he never felt alone. She had dreams and aspirations, as did he, and they weren't as different as he'd have suspected.
He could share anything with her, even the deep hurt from his childhood he hadn't shared with another living soul. Even when her family moved to Macon in their senior year, he'd visit her every chance he could, which was usually every weekend and most of the summer. She gave him everything he wanted in life. Except for one thing, but he was a gentleman and he'd let her decide when it was time for that.
One hot summer evening around dusk, they headed home from the library down the dirt road to her home on the outskirts of town. Smith plucked some honeysuckle flowers from some shrubs along the road and playfully arranged them quite artfully in Katherine's hair as she laughed and rolled a cherry lollipop along her tongue.
As they continued along, Katherine began discussing their plans for the future. Before they'd met, they dreamt alone about their futures, but now, their dreams and future plans had become entwined. There was something he needed to tell her, but he simply couldn't get the words out. He stopped abruptly and brought a hand to his face.
"Zach'ry?"
He turned away from her. He'd always been told it wasn't manly to cry and he certainly didn't want her to see him do it. He felt a hand on his shoulder. She came around to face him and lowered his hand from his face.
"Zach'ry? What's the matter?" she asked.
He couldn't hide from her. He knew he couldn't. His reddened eyes opened and a single tear trickled down his cheek.
"You can tell me. Whatever it is," she said. Her right hand brushed a lock of dark hair from his face.
Right there, on the side of that hot, dusty Macon road, he crumpled, both physically and mentally. Katherine sat down in the dirt next to him, put an arm around him, and hugged him to her. She sat silently, waiting until he was ready to say what he needed to say.
It took a few moments for him to gather himself. "I… I received some news today," he started. "I'm afraid it's not great news."
She rubbed his back and urged him to continue.
"I've been accepted to Oxford," he revealed.
"Not great news?! That's wonderful news, Zach'ry!" she hugged him.
Smith shook his head. "No, it's not. I don't want to leave you."
Katherine lifted his chin with a single finger, "Y'know, there's this great man named Alexander Graham Bell that invented this thing called a telephone," she chuckled. "And as far as I know, the post office is still in operation."
He slumped over, his head resting on his balled-up fists and elbows propped on his bent knees.
"Zach'ry, honey, we can make this work. You'll see. A medical degree from Oxford can open a lotta doors." When he remained silent, she tried a different tack. "I'll send you care packages," she promised. "With your favorite… peanut butter chocolate chip cookies."
He placed his hand on his knees and turned to look at her. "And some pralines?"
"It's a deal," she smiled. "And maybe if I can save up enough from my job at the drugstore, I can come visit. You can show me 'round the university and maybe we can even take a trip into London to see the sights."
Smith smiled, "Maybe this can work, darlin'."
"It will," she vowed. She took his face in both her hands and drew him toward her. She whispered, "I love you, Zach'ry Smith."
His heart leapt in his chest. He knew she loved him, she showed it in so many ways, but this was the first time she'd said it. They both had reasons for not saying those three little words and they both understood those reasons. It was sort of an unwritten rule that they didn't need to be said. He thought it didn't matter, but he was wrong. Those three little words meant everything.
Her eager lips brushed his and he inhaled the sweet scent of honeysuckle. He pulled away briefly, forehead rested against hers, to whisper back, "I love you too, Katherine." Her lips parted for him and he tasted a hint of sweet cherry. The worry that had plagued him earlier melted away as he lost awareness of anything but her.
Abruptly, she broke the kiss and he felt her move away. Opening his eyes, he saw her hovering in front of him, his face still firmly cupped in her hands. She settled into his lap, straddling him. She smiled down on him and he drank in the loving look from her kind eyes. She was finally offering him the one last thing in their relationship that he wanted from her. His hands settled on her waist as she captured his lips again. She felt his warm hands roam backward until they slid neatly into the back pockets of her jeans. She moaned softly as his hands began to massage and pull her against him.
Her nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open. Splaying her fingers, she ran them through the soft, curly hair she found there. Smith's right hand snaked up the back of her blouse and deftly unhooked the clasps of her bra. Laying back, he pulled her down on top of him. She giggled, nose to nose with him, before kissing him again, this time more urgently. One exploring hand forced its way between them. When it found its target, Smith broke the kiss, tilted his head back, and moaned, "Ohhh, Katie…"
All of a sudden, a honking horn, whoops, and wolf whistles shattered the mood. A truck full of teenagers sped by, sharing their approval of the spectacle.
Katherine started giggling and Smith soon followed. Damn kids, he thought, despite the fact he was just eighteen himself. She collapsed against him on the ground and he hugged her tightly. "Perhaps we should find someplace a little more private," he said as he stroked her silky hair.
"And less dusty," she added, giving him a quick peck on the lips before pushing herself up and offering him a hand up.
"We're here," Ruth Ann announced, breaking Smith from his reverie.
As they entered her home, she pointed, "Bathroom's on the right. Clean towels in the cupboard. I'll grab ya somethin' to wear."
Smith stood there for a moment, puzzled. "I thought maybe I might just wash my own clothes."
"I'll do that too, but in the meantime I'm not gonna have ya walkin' 'round here buck nekkid no matter how well we've been gettin' along. I'll get ya somethin' of my husband's from the closet," she explained.
"He won't mind?"
"If'n he does, he can't do nothin' 'bout it. He's been dead ten years."
"Sorry," Smith offered.
"Don't worry 'bout it none, darlin'. Now, git in that shower. Yer carryin' two days of stink on ya and I'm done bein' polite about it. Scoot," she shooed him towards the bathroom.
A half hour later, Smith emerged from the bathroom, clean and wearing black slacks and a cobalt-colored long-sleeved shirt. He adjusted the collar, then ran his hands along the velour sleeves. "Fits pretty well," he remarked.
Ruth Ann eyed him up and down, "You clean up nice, sugar." She handed him a pair of socks and his shoes, which she'd shined for him. She also handed him a paper bag with his freshly cleaned clothes.
"Mrs. Baker," he began.
"Call me Ruth Ann," she requested.
"Ruth Ann," he corrected, "I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me. Three hours ago, I thought my life was over. I thought some poor, unfortunate soul would find my lifeless body by the side of the road. But then, some higher power must've taken pity on me and put your diner in my path. You've been so kind to me when you could've just as easily turned me away. You gave me hope and a future. I'm not sure I can ever repay you for that. Thank you."
"Aww, darlin', yer mighty welcome. I'm happy I could help." She reached out and squeezed his hand.
He squeezed her hand back and, bending slightly, brought it to his lips and kissed it.
Ruth Ann smiled and brought a hand to her chest. "This Katherine is a lucky lady. If I wasn't old enough to be yer nana…" she laughed.
"If Katherine didn't already have my heart…" Smith countered.
Ruth Ann's jaw dropped, then she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he suppressed a grin. She playfully pushed him, "Oh, you… you…" She suddenly turned very serious and stated, "You know, if it doesn't work out with Katherine, you're welcome to stay here." She paused for a moment, studying his face. "I have a king-sized bed," she finished with a smirk.
Smith's eyebrows rose incredulously.
She laughed and playfully smacked him in the chest with the back of a hand as she headed to the front door. "C'mon, lover boy. We'd best get ya on the road and to yer lady 'fore it gets dark."
Grinning, Smith shook his head as he followed her out. You certainly set yourself up for that one, Zachary.
It was a good hour to Macon, so the two filled the time talking.
"What're yer plans once we get to Macon?" Ruth Ann asked.
"Well, if she's still around, I'd like to settle down. I hope she will take me back," he answered.
"Take you back?"
Smith sighed. "We had a fight. She accused aunt Maude of trying to break us up. I knew she was right. I guess… I guess my aunt's hold over me is stronger than I thought."
"Ya picked the wrong side," Ruth Ann stated.
Smith nodded. "But then I confronted Maude and all doubt was erased. I called Katherine to apologize, but she wouldn't answer my calls. Her mother would answer and Katherine was always 'out'."
"And if she takes ya back, what're yer plans then?"
"Well, I need to continue my education. The next step is residency. I was hoping I could complete it in one of the hospitals there in Macon. Robins Air Force Base is nearby. That's always a possibility," he answered.
"The Air Force? Yer a doctor, not a pilot," she replied.
"Both, actually. I got my pilot's license, before I even had a driver's license, to help aunt Maude with crop dusting on the farm. But, I meant I would see if they have a residency program there," Smith explained.
"My, yer full of surprises," she laughed. She cocked her head to the side in thought. "It's not a bad plan."
A few minutes passed in silence until Ruth Ann suddenly pointed to a building along the road. It had seen better days. "Fat Fred's," she said. "Used to be a great barbecue place my pa would take us to. Been closed forever. If the termites stop holdin' hands, that buildin'll fall apart. He'd always call it different names each time we came to eat here. It was a game he started. Surplus Sam's. Corpulent Clem's. Husky Hank's…" she chuckled at the memories.
"Rotund Ralph's," Smith provided.
Ruth Ann nodded approvingly, so Smith continued, rattling off some more. "Large Larry's. Plump Patrick's. Chunky Charlie's." He started laughing.
"Ya really have a knack for that," she snickered. Little did the old waitress know she'd just inspired a lifelong love of alliteration in the young man.
"Turn left here," Smith said suddenly, pointing down a small dirt road.
"Good thing you were paying attention," she replied. "I would've missed it."
In a few more minutes, Smith pointed to one of the modest little houses on the right side of the road. She pulled over and stopped the car. Smith got out, closed the door, and bent over to peer through the window. Hand on his chest, he stated, "Mrs. Ruth Ann Baker, I will never forget you. You have my eternal gratitude. If there ever comes a time I feel I can properly repay you, you'll hear from me again. You have my word."
"You just settle down with that woman and make some beautiful memories. That'll be thanks enough. Now git. Be with your woman," she shooed him away.
He chuckled and waved before he turned and walked up the long dirt drive to the house. He walked up the steps and hesitated in front of the door. He turned to look back at Ruth Ann. She gave him a smile and a nod, then shooed him again.
He raised a hand and knocked gently. All along his journey he had rehearsed a thousand times what he would say to Katherine once he saw her again. He had crafted a long, eloquent speech, but as soon as the door opened and he saw her radiant face, he forgot it all. "I am an idiot," was the only thing that came out.
Katherine smiled. "Yes. Yes, you are," she agreed.
"Katherine, I confronted aunt Maude. I told her what she could do with…"
She pressed an index finger to his lips to quiet him. "Are you here to talk about us or to talk about her?"
He stared deeply into her eyes. They were still the kind eyes he remembered from that hot, dusty long ago.
"Us."
She gently cupped his face in both of her hands and with a single, sweet kiss, he knew he was forgiven. She backed up, lips still planted firmly on his, pulling him with her into the house. She paused briefly to wave to the kind stranger who'd brought her lover back, then kicked the door shut behind them.
Tears wet the cheeks of Mrs. Ruth Ann Baker as the memories of that day faded and her mind returned to the present. She looked down at the three letters sitting before her on her small dining table. One was a letter from the county, a last warning regarding her overdue property taxes, threatening foreclosure if she failed to pay. One was a letter confirming her overdue property taxes had been paid. Obviously, there'd been some mistake. She hadn't had the means to pay her taxes. She'd sent a letter to the county telling them of the mistake and begging for more time. The third letter was the county's response informing her the property taxes had, indeed, been paid by one Capt. Zachary Smith, M.D., including the tax bill due in two months.
She gathered the papers, clutched them to her chest, and whispered, "I hope, Captain Zachary Smith, M.D., you are very happy, wherever you are."