Author's note: Hello all! I'm here with a story featuring Lillian and Sam from When Hope Calls. My good friend, Paths from Lavender Fields, has shared with me that she has really wanted to read someone else's perspective on Lillian and Sam.
The thought of writing a story centered on these two characters has been intimidating to me. Paths' story centered upon them, Neither Diamond Sunbursts Nor Marble Halls, is a deeply meaningful story with striking imagery. In it, she builds the connection between Lillian and Sam so adeptly, making it keenly powerful and profound. Her story is a work of art and something very special!
I want to thank and credit Paths for making this story feel daunting yet natural to write, and for providing inspiration for it. The whole premise of this story is based on a fear of Lillian's that Paths establishes in Chapter 1 of her story—a fear of heights. Paths' depictions of Lillian and Sam in her story have made them come alive in my mind's eye over the past few years and have thus made it possible for me to write this story. Her story has definitely influenced how I've portrayed them, though I could never write Lillian and Sam like Paths (nor would I want to directly copy her!).
My ultimate goal with this story is to relay the wonderful new worlds that can materialize when you step beyond your comfort zone, and the powerful gift of togetherness. (As someone who could stand to take more risks in life, the moral of this story is a good reminder for me personally to take more chances!)
The story was also inspired by my occasional trips to my local county fair in the summertime (which begins next week!). Though not particularly big on riding crazy fair rides myself (as you may have guessed from my side note about not being a "risk taker"), I've always been fascinated by the fair, by its many moving parts and its whirlwind of sights. I've also always thought that it made a great romantic backdrop, especially with its rides that seem a bit (or should I say, rather?) perilous, that may prompt couples to link hands in hopes they may make it out on the other side of them alive!
I hope you all enjoy this story, and Paths, please enjoy this story as a gift from me to you, in honor of our friendship, which I am deeply grateful for!
Surrendering to the Skies, Leaning into Love
Chapter 1: A Daring Decision
No stranger to adversity, and having gone face-to-face with the fiend of misfortune numerous times, Lillian Walsh was not fazed by much at this point in her life.
As Cofounder of New Hope Orphanage along with her sister Grace, Lillian was a counselor, mediator, tutor, and—most importantly—nurturing mother figure to the children in their care, and a food preparation and cleaning assistant to their sweet and devoted housekeeper, Eleanor. On any given day, Lillian juggled her many roles and duties with the dexterity of a waitress delivering many dishes to numerous customers at once, a taxing position Grace herself had held at one point in the past.
And, throughout Lillian's life, the domino effect death had on her family members had struck down her heart time and time again. The premature losses of both of her birth parents, which she had experienced as a young child, and the too-soon deaths of both of her adoptive parents, which she had undergone as the years went on, continued to wear against her soul tirelessly, like ocean waves pummeling ceaselessly against a cliff.
It was challenging enough not having any of her parents present in her everyday life, but not having them there for holidays and each of her life's milestones was a particular knife to her heart. Such celebrations always passed by bittersweetly for her, akin to brilliant maple leaves tumbling to the ground all too quickly. She found she was unable to fully enjoy the beauty and wonder of these leaves of her life before they fluttered away abruptly, disappearing for good. Though the love she held in her heart for the children at the orphanage was vibrant, vast, and endless, like sparkling drops of the sea, and their presence ushered a flood of newfound joy and life into her world, special occasions never failed to cause her to fervently feel the fierce, singular sense of barrenness that came from her parents' absence.
Having also been separated from her sister Grace as a young child, and only recently reunited with her, the hoards of heartache Lillian had accumulated in her short life were more than enough for multiple people to have to contend with over the course of their lifetimes.
Still, despite Lillian Walsh's many roles and responsibilities, and her lifelong grief from her losses, she was resilient. She was like a fractured, yet elegant and sturdy glass vase. Even with her cracks and crevices, she still managed to hold in water and bestow support and life upon the flowers within her shelter, helping them become vibrant and thrive.
Yet, staring up at the formidable phenomenon that was a Ferris wheel, her normally determined brain, undaunted demeanor, and resolute nature fell out from under her like a stack of boulders precariously perched on top of each other that had given way to the unforgiving force of gravity. All four of her limbs immediately began reacting as if a tremor—produced by the resulting avalanche of boulders—had relentlessly rolled in and rocked them.
She flung a dagger of a look that was one-part infuriated, and two-parts aghast, over at her fairgoing companion, Sam Tremblay, who had proposed just seconds ago that they might like to give the monstrous, revolving beast towering above them a ride. Her eyes, as mesmerizing as the gray-blue mist of early morning, normally simulating silk with how soft and compassionate they looked, took on the prickly appearance of two Blue Torch Cacti as they pierced his in shock and indignation.
To be precise, monstrous, revolving beast was not the phrase Sam had used to describe the Ferris wheel. He had actually said to Lillian, rather nonchalantly, "Perhaps we might like to give that beauty a ride," as he had pointed to it with his forehead, sending an invisible arrow to it by way of his brow.
While the Ferris wheel was an engineering feat to be sure, and fascinating in both its function and massive size, Lillian did not agree with, nor approve of, Sam's appellation for it. She could not bear to call that sphere of steel beautiful—she refused to call it beautiful—when it instilled such a fierce, overpowering fear in her. Just looking up at it caused her to sway and stagger like a novice tightrope walker whose limbs were rather unsteady due to still learning the tricks of the trade. How could Sam brazenly refer to the Ferris wheel in such an endearing manner?
With her consternation surrounding her like seemingly impenetrable fog, Lillian continued to stay silent for another string of seconds as she and Sam watched a handful of groups of fairgoers disembark from the whoppingly tall wheel. Each party was promptly replaced by another set of eager riders, who took on the persona of the children at the orphanage on Christmas Eve—and children everywhere on Christmas Eve—as they abounded with electric excitement while boarding. Lillian wondered how the riders were so overjoyed to depart from the sacred, solid ground, only to be whisked away from it and be suspended countless feet above it, hanging in the air like hefty halibut on hooks that were heartlessly taken away from their natural environment.
Finally finding her voice amidst the fog of her fear and agitation, which was no easy feat, Lillian sputtered out, "You know I am terrified of heights, Sam," lamenting his request with a near groan. She was like a disgruntled, lethargic locomotive pulling along trains of exasperation and hesitation. Steam practically spouted out of her ears, so intensely irked was she that Sam would even bring up the possibility of them riding the rather lofty circular structure when he knew of her weakness when it came to being positioned on anything off the ground.
To Lillian and all of the fair attendees, the Ferris wheel looked like a colossal bicycle wheel, its steel spokes boasting swinging wooden seating compartments positioned at their periphery. These seating compartments swayed to and fro shamelessly, emulating earrings dangling daringly from a young lady's ear on the night of a fancy ball.
Lillian figured a bicycle wheel enlarged umpteen times its usual size was questionable at best, and unsturdy at worst. And, while a human riding a bicycle was both sensible and commonplace, a human hitching a ride on the borders of a behemoth bicycle wheel seemed like a recipe for disaster to Lillian, like a surefire way to accelerate one's untimely passing. Didn't Sam see how risky it was?
"I'll admit, I am aware that you and heights aren't on the friendliest of terms," Sam replied in earnest, compassion coloring and crowding his tone. Lillian noticed his eyes—a compelling cobalt blue—two-step, first igniting with a glint of guilt upon being caught asking her to do something he knew went against her nature and then darkening in clement determination as they latched onto hers soundly but tenderly, two ashen cobblestone steps inviting her to new destinations. As was a regular occurrence for her when he was close by, her heart attempted to sustain its footing without success; it tumbled and skipped several beats as she took in his sincere expression.
Sam's eyes catapulted kindness and goodwill toward her, making her regret reacting with indignation. Any vexation Lillian had been feeling toward him departed from her faster than a butterfly alighting from its tree branch when a bird approaches. She felt a little lightheaded from his unfaltering look, and she couldn't blame it on the ominous Ferris wheel, as she was no longer looking up at it; rather, she was looking into the eyes of the man whom she had just recently officially started courting. As it seemed he was staring right into her soul, she also felt the now-familiar rose quartz color return to her cheeks that had become a regular visitor when he was around.
"Lillian," Sam continued, the volume of his voice curbed so only she could hear it, taking his time enunciating the syllables in her name like each one was a lily pad he was attempting to gracefully and gingery leap over, "I don't want to upset you, and I certainly won't be upset if you do not want to give the Ferris wheel a whirl. You know I would never force you to do something you're uncomfortable with." Sam secured his cobalt eyes—so transparent they were a portal into his conscience—onto Lillian's even more firmly in order to impart candor.
"At the same time, I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, we could ride the Ferris wheel together today so that you could conquer your fear of heights." His tone grew even softer, a cotton blanket that wrapped itself around Lillian's ears and heart, judgment absent from its breadth and perimeters as it enveloped her in insight and wisdom. "You tell the children that it's okay to be scared, while encouraging them to face their fears. What is it exactly that you say? 'New worlds open up when you move beyond fear'?"
Though not one hint of harshness could be found in Sam's voice, Lillian felt the blush that had filled her cheeks just moments ago intensify at the soundness of his argument and at the realization that perhaps, she needed to practice what she preached to the children. He does make an excellent point, her conscience acknowledged. Humbled and unable anymore to meet Sam's eyes with her own, she quickly diverted her eyes to the ground, which was a treasure trove of artifacts from the fair. Popcorn pieces—whose dynamic, three-dimensional butterfly shape reminded Lillian of the cast iron toy jacks the children at the orphanage played with—as well as unoccupied peanut shells and abandoned admission tickets decorated the dirt below like a unique patchwork quilt of fairground fossils, dirt she very much wanted to stay standing on.
Yet, she felt an obligation tug at her conscience to put her very own wise words of advice to the children into action, and an unusual desire to confront her fear of heights head-on. The man beside her had a noteworthy knack for inspiring her to transcend her comfort zone. If the food particles and ticket stubs sitting on the ground can part ways from the boxes, bags, and hands that originally housed them, Lillian thought to herself, Perhaps I can break away from the safety of the ground for a handful of minutes and surrender to that monstrous, revolving beast above me. Still, her whole body continued to shiver and quake at the thought, her phobia of heights deeply embedded into the terrain of her mind and producing shockwaves through her slim, willowy frame.
Sensing Lillian was both abashed and terrified, Sam reached out to her in heartening consolation. He placed the sturdy and steadying knuckle of his right pointer finger under her cheek, infusing her with supportive warmth and strength as he anchored her. "I didn't meant to upset you," he said, his words hushed, falling on Lillian's heart and washing over her soul like a subtle rainfall. "Forgive me. We can move on with our evening. Please pretend I never said anything."
Revitalized by Sam's comforting touch and gentle words, and feeling convicted for reacting to his proposition with such a scornful stare earlier—in which her eyes had uncharacteristically become needles, puncturing his harshly—Lillian responded, "You spoke the truth, and, while the truth can be hard to hear, I appreciate it, Sam." As she delivered those words of acknowledgement, she slowly shifted her eyes from the ground back to Sam's. They decisively latched onto his once more, though they had now recast themselves from prickly cacti into contrite lagoons, their now-tranquil turquoise waters laden with remorse for her fast-arriving fury from moments ago.
Fear was a potent force that perturbed Lillian with its power, as it propelled her to deviate from her customary course of gentleness. Typically, Lillian was so gentle that she could make delicate snowflakes softly kissing the faces of children in January jealous. Yet, fear seemed to turn her upside down, making her ordinarily obliging heart pulse defensively and giving her normally loving and nurturing eyes and lips abnormally sharp edges. She did not like how fear galvanized her to act more bitterly to those around her, and to Sam in particular this evening, whom her heart had been continually building and reserving a soft spot for, for nearly a year now. For her to speak to him with any kind of terseness and look at him with any type of ill-temper seemed to go against the law of her heart. It felt plain wrong to her, sickening even.
A quiet that was as restorative as the first few rays of sun at daybreak descending upon night-chilled skin fell comfortably between the couple as Sam gave Lillian further space to gather her thoughts. At the same time, a cacophony of sounds rang out all around the pair, weaving themselves into a stimulating fair soundtrack that served as animated accompaniment to their silence. Gleeful squeals released by delighted merry-go-round and Ferris wheel riders; triumphant hurrahs unleashed by victorious carnival game players; emphatic oral invitations set free by ride and game operators, as well as food vendors; and dramatic declarations delivered by various performers putting on peculiar side shows all combined to create an intriguing and lively chorus.
Sam perceived that Lillian was thinking deeply to herself, her mind a maze of cost-benefit ponderings, and that her brain was absorbed in a battle against itself that was being reflected in the quakings of her body. He figured that she was like a new diver working up the courage to ascend the ladder of a diving board, knees knocking; or like a fledgling trying to find the fortitude to fly, arms flitting about like feathered wings. He waited patiently for her to speak again.
Lillian was indeed experiencing an inner tug of war between two voices in her conscience. One voice told her it was better to remain in her realm of the familiar than to have to withstand any unpleasant and terrifying feelings that would undoubtedly come about from stepping aboard one of the carrying compartments of the Ferris wheel. This voice also noted that by boarding the attraction, she was going to have to concede to showing her most vulnerable side to Sam, a prospective situation that unsettled her.
While she found herself inherently unsteady in Sam Tremblay's presence due to the way he altered the conventional cadence of her heart, at least she had always been affixed to the safety net of solid ground when near him. Climbing aboard the building-sized bicycle wheel with him at her side would call for a whole new level of vulnerability from her. As supervisor of the children and director of everyday activities at the orphanage, she was used to making things happen without many misgivings, used to taking charge and being bold and largely unintimidated while doing so. Sitting back and surrendering to the anomalous maneuvers and hair-rising heights of a Ferris wheel felt to her to be a violation of her very nature.
The other voice in her head encouraged her to apply the words she had said to the children to her own life, and take the risk. After all, there was no one she trusted more to be at her side during a petrifying Ferris wheel ride than the ever-assured Sam Tremblay, whom she knew would do everything in his power to help set her more at ease and lend her stores of his strength and calm, as he continually did. If anyone could successfully get her through the experience and out on the other side of her fear, it was him. Against her better judgment, she was also starting to get a tad bit curious, wondering if there were any tidbits of truth to the label of "beauty" that Sam had given to the Ferris wheel. Maybe there really was a new world on that other side of her fear...
Sam noticed Lillian's chin rise, so that it resembled the bow of a ship. He wondered if it was bravely readying her body—its vessel—to potentially sail through uncharted waters, even as it continued to wobble warily. He sensed an impending delivery of words from her.
Sure enough, Lillian soon dared to speak, finally putting an end to the significant respite from verbal conversation that she took so she could attend to the voices in her head. "I'm probably going to regret this with every fiber of my being when I'm on the Ferris wheel, being taken up to the skies, but...Okay. I will ride it with you," she surrendered, yielding to a divine strength not her own. While speaking, she relinquished anxiety she had been retaining in the form of a sigh that washed over her like a jarring yet oddly invigorating ocean wave.
"Really?" replied Sam, somewhat incredulously, yet euphorically. He looked and sounded like a patiently waiting young boy at his own birthday celebration who was finally told it was time to eat cake and open gifts and couldn't quite believe that the time had actually come.
"But we'd better stand in line this instant, or I'll lose my nerve," Lillian warned, her morose tone standing in crisp opposition to Sam's ecstatic one. Don't let fear make you gruff, Lillian, her conscience gently reminded her.
"Let's go then," he responded, both delivering his words and ushering her toward the queue for the ride as lightning-fast as a tidal wave sweeps over the shoreline, so Lillian would have less time to change her mind. He knew, however, that she could still decide to opt out of boarding the Ferris wheel until the last second, right up to when it was their turn to embark. Still, he directed an emphatic prayer toward the skies above the Ferris wheel that the line would move at a blessedly expeditious pace and that she would at least have less time to change her mind as a result.
Author's note part 2: Thank you so much to nebula2 (and others) for helping me determine/surmise/hypothesize that both of Lillian's adoptive parents were most likely deceased in the show When Hope Calls, through your excellent knowledge of the show and sleuthing skills! (Her adoptive father is deceased for sure in the show, as he died of a heart attack in Hamilton when Lillian was 15, and with no mention of her adoptive mother in the show, we are assuming she passed away as well. Thus, the mention in this chapter of both of her adoptive parents being deceased...)