Author's note: Hello to all! I had meant to publish the first chapter of this story earlier on in the month, or by yesterday (Valentine's Day), but life happened. Though WCTH is long gone from my television screen, it seems its characters continue to live, "rent-free" as the saying goes these days, in my head. Another shoutout to my friend Paths of Lavender Fields for her perpetual encouragement and support and for inspiring me with her beautiful writing! And thank you all again so much for your support on my "An Apple for a Teacher" story—I sincerely and greatly appreciate it!
I also have another N & E story I've been working on in addition to this one—I plan to post the first chapter of that one as well, shortly, and post chapter updates for this story and that one periodically, when able.
Continually driven and inspired by the depth of connection and chemistry between Nathan and Elizabeth, and by Elizabeth struggling to overcome intense fears in order to be with Nathan, who truly was, and is, in my view, the only one meant and made for her after Jack's death, I've been working on this (loosely-themed) Valentine's story. It is my hope that this story will bring you hope and comfort and might inspire all of us just a bit to work to conquer our own fears.
I hope you all had a blessed Saint Valentine's Day!
The Man Standing Across the Room
Chapter 1: An Awkward Predicament and an Enlightening Vision
Transformed into a breathtaking burgundy and white wonderland, Hope Valley's saloon looked like the quintessential picture of Saint Valentine's Day two days in advance of the holiday. Its bouquets of rich red orchids and dazzling white calla lilies stood proudly in pots and vigilantly in vases, lining the building's interior nooks and crannies and accenting perfectly round dining tables. As it seemed the flowers were standing guard amidst the unremitting maelstrom of movement in the saloon, the orchids' shade was fittingly not far off from the dashing red a protective and attentive Mountie would wear. Strung along the saloon's stairwell were graceful strands of waltzing garland comprised of soft, blush pink roses, which called to mind a young lady skillfully and elegantly weaving across a ballroom floor with her dance moves and which stunningly complemented the vivid burgundy orchids interspersed throughout the saloon.
Amidst this lovely backdrop, Elizabeth Thornton stood, reluctantly, at the helm of a swarm of fellow townswomen, like a hesitant passenger petrified of fully embarking on a boat that was to take her out to sea but who was nevertheless being pulled in by the tide of peer pressure.
"Come on, Elizabeth," Molly implored, tugging on her arm forcefully and transporting her further into the waves of women. "You are an eligible single lady, and you know all single ladies must take part in this activity at weddings. It's tradition."
I'm technically a widow, Elizabeth said to herself, correcting Molly in her head, not at all pleased that the spirited redhead had simply referred to her as an "eligible single lady" and had—whether intentionally or not—blocked out Elizabeth's past like it had never left any kind of mark on the sands of time. Elizabeth's two-year-old son—who had attended the wedding earlier but was now at home with Laura, Elizabeth's student and dedicated babysitter—was living and breathing evidence that she had deep ties to a man in her not-so-distant yesterdays; regardless of how ephemeral their marriage had been, like the short-lived blossom of a morning glory, vibrant and full in the early hours of the day but having faded and waned by mid-afternoon.
As if Elizabeth's best friend Rosemary could read her mind, Rosemary quickly dove into Hope Valley's sea of single ladies—though she herself was very much taken, wed to her beloved Leland Coulter—in order to relay a secret message to Elizabeth. Barely audibly, so that Elizabeth was the only one who could hear her, yet also adamantly, with raised eyebrows that resembled ancient Greek and Roman arches and that spoke of a cognizance and intelligence keener than any of the great philosophers, she murmured: "You may be a widow, but Jack did give you his blessing to move forward and find a new love, should one happen to come your way...or should he just so happen to be in this very same building as you at this very instant," she stated knowingly, inclining her head ever-so-slightly in the general direction where he happened to be standing. Since Rosemary was married, she quickly exited the waters inhabited by Elizabeth, Molly, and Hope Valley's other single ladies.
Elizabeth immediately blushed at Rosemary's implication, fearing her face unfortunately looked much more like the dramatic, deep red orchids in the saloon rather than the sophisticated and soft pink roses that danced across its stairway railing, even if the roses were commonly—and ironically, Elizabeth thought to herself—referred to as "blush pink." She prayed he hadn't seen Rosemary's subtle gesture and that he wasn't taking notice of the flustered countenance it had produced in herself in turn.
"But Rosemary..." Elizabeth began to call after her best friend in protest, in a desperate last-ditch effort to counteract Rosemary's statement—though Elizabeth's blushing face had already affirmed it. Yet, just as soon as Elizabeth had emancipated those few words of protest from the bonds of her tongue, she became paralyzed with dread at the sight of Fiona—who was on the bow of the imaginary ship full of women—turning her face away from the crowd of ladies and readying herself for the grand toss of her bridal bouquet. A swell of incoming nausea, brought on by nerves, swept over Elizabeth unkindly, and in trying to ward it off, she gave up on her original plan of presenting any kind of argument to Rosemary, which would have no doubt been futile anyways. After all, Rosemary was not incorrect about her feelings for the man standing across the room.
It had been an eventful, and meaningful, day. Fiona Miller, a spunky and sprightly brunette from San Francisco, formerly Hope Valley's telephone operator and now the proud owner of its barbershop, had wed Lucas Bouchard, the intriguing and at times, mystifying owner of the Queen of Hearts saloon, just a couple of hours prior in Hope Valley's one and only church, making her officially Fiona Bouchard now. Elizabeth thought the name Fiona Bouchard had a stately and fitting ring to it indeed, and she was overjoyed for her two friends that they had found each other and had fallen in love.
Everyone in Hope Valley who had seen Fiona and Lucas interact in their early days of just getting to know each other—from the most romantically inclined, head-in-the-clouds young ladies dreaming of potential beaus to the most stubborn, set-in-their-ways older gentlemen who had nearly all but forgotten the meaning of the word romance—couldn't help but notice the pair's fiery banter and the flickers of attraction that lay under the surface of their interactions. Those flickers had built upon each other and had evolved into a blaze of deep love and support between the two and a profound regard for the other's well-being. Fiona had the unique gift of being able to successfully unfasten the lock of Lucas' heart, which was not an easy feat as he was an enigmatic man, and she also possessed an aptitude for helping set him more at ease in social situations and helping him be more vulnerable, both with others and herself. While Fiona was a businesswoman through and through, resourceful and resolute, she had a soft grace and earnest and expressive empathy about her that had seeped through Lucas' often steely facade and helped dilute his stubborn edges, like water that gracefully toned down potent paint. Lucas, in turn, shrewd and industrious, and Fiona's biggest cheerleader, revitalized her with his dynamic energy, countless entrepreneurial ideas, and eternal encouragement, and stirred her heart with his tender side which emerged continuously in her presence.
Fiona had always been a classic beauty with her stylish, short hickory brown hair that bounced exuberantly with curls; honest, warm, and soulful eyes that resembled rich cocoa; and freckled face which evoked a crisp wintry landscape gracefully encroached upon by an assembly of besprinkled snow flurries. Today, on her wedding day, February 12, 1918, a portion of her hair had been elegantly placed into two braids at the top of her head, each wrapping around either side of it. The two braids were joined together sophisticatedly with a fashionable rose gold floral barrette, while the rest of her bob of brown hair was left free to cascade down along her neck like a cluster of spiraling kite tails.
Elizabeth sighed nostalgically and bittersweetly as scenes from her own wedding day flashed briefly, like zigzagging lightning bolts, across her mind, the memories striking her in the heart and causing her to keenly feel their reverberations. Whenever she ushered her dear late husband Jack into her memory, she felt the routine ache of grief, which would never completely dissipate, seize and wrestle her soul. She would always mourn the full life together they were not granted.
Not long after the past materialized in her mind's eye, however, fresh images, full of brilliant color and new life, presented themselves, like those seen in a kaleidoscope. Elizabeth tried to dismiss them, tried to disregard them with all her might, but stubbornly, they still came into clear view. She could see herself as part of the images that flashed before her, as if she was on the outside looking in at someone who was simultaneously herself, but also a separate person. In her vision, she was standing outside of Hope Valley's church, wearing a refined and tasteful, yet exquisitely beautiful, long-sleeve white lace dress, similar to the one she wore for her first wedding. Yet this time, instead of being in the style of a V-neck, it was in the style of a mock neck, so that the lace pirouetted halfway up her neck in an elegant collar before coming to a graceful halt.
It appeared to be springtime in her vision as dandelions decorated the grassy field in front of the church, some of them in bloom, showing off their sunny yellow faces, while others looked like specters of their former selves, white and fuzzy puffs whose seeds gradually separated from their heads, going off to start their new lives as they were swept up by the wind. Additionally, instead of holding off-white roses for her bouquet with pride and delight as she had at her first wedding, Elizabeth blissfully held a pretty pastel bouquet comprised of yellow roses, white daisies, blue hydrangeas, and a smattering of green from the leaves of the daisies and stems of the flowers. Her floral ensemble called to mind Easter. She assessed that this wedding of hers that she was witnessing was near this holiday that overflowed with hope, just as her bouquet was overflowing with flowers, a day that celebrated Jesus' resurrection and the restoration of life He offers. The symbolism was not lost on her; in fact, it seized her, making her think as she continued to watch the vision unfold. Suddenly, her father appeared in her vision, ready to escort her into the church and down the aisle. He started to open up the church doors.
I'm not ready to see the groom! Elizabeth thought to herself, her anxiety compounding with every second her vision continued, like a pile of firewood getting larger and larger, gaining more and more logs and becoming substantial fuel for the flames of her fear. Her hands, normally still and steady, quivered like the strings of a harp that was being played, and her heart thundered in her chest more erratically with every passing moment that she continued to look in on what she knew, deep down, was a glimpse of her future. Please don't show him to me, God! She begged, praying to her Heavenly Father that He would spare her from revealing that one very important detail, and panicking that the groom was going to be the man standing across the room from her in real life at the moment.
Yet, she could not help but be curious, the deepest part of her soul and heart wanting nothing more than to be with him, to end up with him and forever commit herself tohim—even if her brain kept stubbornly saying they could never be, due to the endless uncertainties she would face concerning his safety, due to the unceasing risk of losing him that would exist thanks to men whose shameless and vile behavior stood in complete contrast to his gentleness and goodness. She felt two tears well up and prick the corner of each of her eyes at the thought, a manifestation of the needlelike pain—both physical and emotional—she experienced whenever she was assailed by anxieties about him dying in the line of duty as a Mountie.
Elizabeth's vision of the future continued despite her resistance to it—and despite the blurriness which now clouded her eyesight thanks to her tears, which were taken prisoner by her eyelids but threatened to tumble forward. She saw herself and her father enter the church, her arm secure in his, as he prepared to give her away. While she couldn't make out the groom's face before the doors closed behind them, she briefly caught sight of a color all too familiar to her. A gallant flash of red at the far end of the church, positioned on the right side of the altar, came across her line of vision as the doors gradually shut, preventing her from beholding anything more. Not the red serge, God! She lamented, her brain obstinately trying to put up barricades to protect her heart. Yet, her heart had a mind of its own, and, like a rock skipping unrestrainedly over a pond, or a hummingbird flapping its wings hastily while darting from flower to flower, its beat flittered against her chest in joyous anticipation at the thought of one day marrying him and with soul-stirring hope that she might actually take the risk of loving him and standing up to her fears.
But was her heart truly fierce enough to leap over those barricades of intense fear?
A gaggle of giggles from Fiona, which hit the air like the unrelenting vocalizations of a flock of geese running awry—albeit sophisticated and ladylike geese—brought Elizabeth out of her vision and rapidly ushered her meandering thoughts back to her present reality. Fiona was waiting with the patience of a saint for all of the single ladies to get in position to catch the bouquet. Elizabeth once again felt unnerved as she considered the present situation she found herself trapped in, and the doubts, worries, and trepidations that flooded every recess of her mind.
As wonderful as it was to see Fiona and Lucas tie the knot and make a lifelong pledge to each other through the sacrament of marriage, Elizabeth was starting to think that she would rather be anywhere else in Hope Valley—or really, in all of the world—than standing in the saloon at this very moment. Having just had a vision of herself marrying Nathan Grant in the future and being forced to be a prime candidate and in stellar position to catch Fiona's cascading orchid and calla lily bouquet, in plain view of the man, no less, made her seriously ponder fleeing the scene. Did she need yet another potential sign that she should court Nathan Grant, yet another potential sign that she was wrong to cowardly run away from his invitation to do so, an invitation her heart wanted nothing more than to say yes to, but her lips had left unanswered in recent months due to those tenacious barricades built up by her brain?
She would gladly trade mucking out stalls in the livery for being placed in this convoluted predicament to which she was about to surrender, especially when she could sense his eyes curiously glancing in her general direction. She hadn't dared to look directly at him all afternoon, but she could just sense there was the slightest bit of amusement emanating from him, masked by what she supposed was a solemn, smileless mouth with straight, grim lips, but betrayed by gleeful eyes which had a tendency to scintillate ever-so-slightly with innocent teasing. The man could drive her to madness at times!
Yet, she couldn't blame him for being a bit amused by her predicament. It was, undoubtedly, a supreme example of irony. She had been fighting hard against courting him and striving hard to avoid him, like a stubborn child attempting to fly the kite of her heart against the direction of the wind, not because she didn't reciprocate his feelings for her—on the contrary, her heart seemed to trip over itself time after time in his presence, and it continually inclined itself to him, and she felt powerless to stop it. It was because she cared about him with this depth, a depth that frightened her to her very core, that she was fleeing from him. Truth be told, trauma from Jack's death still lingered, like unwelcome spirits, in the hard-to-reach places of Elizabeth's heart, disrupting the sweet serenity and steadfast tenacity she had displayed prior to this devastating event, an event which had shattered her soul and left her scrambling to sweep up the pieces and glue them back together. Yet, here she was, only a couple of yards away from Nathan Grant, with a decent chance of catching Fiona's bridal bouquet and being potentially designated as "next to get married," as he got a front-row ticket to the show...
Author's note #2: Yep, I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger! Chapter 2 coming soon :)