Author's note: So happy to FINALLY be publishing Chapter 2 of this Christmas-themed Sam and Lillian story, and so sorry to keep you all waiting for so long! Thank you SO very much for your support of this new story. Please be assured that I appreciate each and every review, favorite, and follow.
Another shoutout to my dear friend Paths Through Lavender Fields for inspiring certain lines in this chapter—including, but not limited to, the analogy of Lillian's blushes to pink/mauve roses and any and all lines that reference Lillian's love of lists, which Paths establishes in her own Sam & Lillian story, "Neither Diamond Sunbursts Nor Marble Halls." (Insert an absent-from-the-site smiley emoji here!) If you haven't already, check out Paths' own When Calls the Heart-themed Christmas story (which also includes Lillian and Sam!), "Expecting Christmas." She just published Chapter 4 a few days ago, and it is delightful!
Have a wonderful rest of your week (and February), all! Time is flying (as usual). More writing to come from me as soon as I can...
Making Her Spirits Brighter
Chapter 2: Soulful Conversing, Sprinkled with Teasing
Sam's right hand still fastened securely to Lillian's right, and his left arm still protectively—and obstinately—wrapped around her back, the complementary pair held on to the silence, and each other, with constancy. They treasured the soothing, revivifying gift of their togetherness and were both quite grateful for each other's contribution in keeping themselves warm in the bone-chilling mid-December night.
Though donning mittens would have been wise in this weather, holding hands with him is a most pleasant and rather sweet way to stay warm, Lillian discerned, soft pink roses climbing up the arches of her cheeks at the thought.
Unbeknownst to her and Sam, their hearts beat with one accord, their rhythms unusually uneven but oddly still tranquil, like the way rocks asymmetrically skip, with peaceful vivacity, across a pond.
Sam's worries for Lillian's health soon compelled him to splinter the silence, as if it were a fragile snowflake finally broken by the authoritative gust of his voice.
"Speaking of concern, Lillian," Sam began, drawing on Lillian's earlier statement of gratitude regarding his concern for her, "I'm also worried about you not having completely recovered from the effects of the influenza, since you haven't had enough time to rest." Lillian, too, had contracted the influenza this past fall, along with most of the other children.
Sam took in her countenance, which was paler than normal underneath the comely, graceful clusters of mauve roses that had repeatedly sprung up on her cheeks that evening. Those picturesque blossoms had brought their own springtime of warmth and color to her and Sam's chilly charcoal surroundings. Their recurring appearance only served to further his affection for her, and he derived a tenderhearted sort of fulfillment from fostering their frequent flourishing. Still, hidden below their lovely presence were washed-out cheeks and weary eyes.
Lillian nodded in agreement, unable to deny his statement. "I still feel lingering effects from the sickness, and I do need more rest."
"But what bothers me most, Sam..." She started, trying to carry on their conversation and displace her mind's focus—or perhaps more accurately, her distraction—from their joined hands. However, her mind drew a deep blank, her thoughts still stubbornly centered on their connection.
Those darn distracted thoughts! She didn't used to be so flighty and unfocused, didn't used to have assertions fall out from under her brain like the underlying sediment on the edge of a cliff...until Sam Tremblay appeared at the orphanage out of the blue, with his balmy blue eyes, handsome honey-colored head of hair, clement mannerisms, and thoughtful disposition. He had deftly exerted gravitational force on her thoughts and masterfully disrupted her mental coordination for what seemed to Lillian to be the foreseeable future.
The way my thoughts tend to so easily depart from me in his presence sure is frustrating, thought the auburn-haired beauty who held a great deal of pride in being able to clearly and rationally articulate herself...at least, when it came to matters that didn't involve her heart, or Sam Tremblay, who possessed a prominent influence over it.
What were you trying to say again, Lillian? Her conscience struggled to remember her intended statement, and she couldn't honestly blame her forgetfulness on any lingering effects of the influenza, tempting as that excuse might be. She knew her forgetfulness could only be attributed to the admirable man by her side, whose intellectual acuity and indelible grasp made him strong in every sense of the word. Time and time again, his multifaceted strength concurrently caught her heart off-guard and stilled its restless drifting, causing it to both lose its bearings and find its anchor in him.
Maybe you should rethink your claim. Does anything really bother you that much, after all, with Sam's hand in yours?
Her cheeks peppered pink again at the cheeky forwardness of her inner voice—though it was speaking the truth—and at her struggle to sensibly arrange her thoughts and follow them through to completion by way of words.
She could certainly get used to Sam's hand in hers, and though she could only hope the action would grow to be much more commonplace between them, she vowed to strive to never take it for granted. Holding hands with him didn't magically solve her problems and anxieties, but it immediately diminished how intimidating they seemed. The tangible presence of his hand in hers sliced her fears in half. His hand was a powerful yet gentle sword severing her fears, and his appealing quiet confidence and deeply rooted assuredness lent her valor and fortitude of her own.
"Yes? What bothers you most, Lillian?" Responded Sam, attentively. In answer to her pink rose-infused cheeks, whose precise reason for blossoming at that particular moment mystified him, his irises jiggled ever-so-slightly in a blend of befuddled intrigue, resembling two round molds of blueberry gelatin.
His animated facial expression certainly wasn't helping her regain possession of her thoughts. She had to uproot her eyes from his whimsical swaying ones to properly replant the reasoning that had escaped her.
After a few moments of looking out into the night, its sheer darkness ironically shed light on what she had been trying to express.
Finally resuming what she was trying to say, but still looking out into the night's obscure obsidian because she didn't trust herself yet to re-link her eyes to Sam's, Lillian continued, "I...I am frustrated with myself for feeling down at Christmas, that's all. I normally love Christmas, Sam. But the joys and wonder and decor of the season all have me feeling a bit irritated this year...because I can't match them with my own genuine cheer."
To curb some of her frustration, she had been keeping a sigh firmly in custody in her throat as she relayed her statements to Sam. Yet, once her admission was complete, her sigh broke loose from her throat and struck the frosty air.
Even amidst Lillian's dispiritedness, an agreeable pause pranced around them, like the fulfilling, consoling interlude of horses strutting measuredly in an eiderdown quilt of snow, caught between departure and destination.
After some time, Sam spoke up thoughtfully, starting to hitch up those invisible horses. "Try not to be hard on yourself for feeling sad, Lillian. These past few months have been nothing short of strenuous. Your feelings are more than warranted.
"Life here on earth is messy. It's not a gift perfectly wrapped up in a Christmas box, nor are Christmases perfectly happy.
"Give yourself permission to feel sad and frustrated, Lillian, at Christmas or otherwise.
"I don't like seeing you so sad, and don't want you to stay this way. But the first step toward healing is acknowledging the pain and feeling it fully. You've bravely done that tonight."
Lillian's eyes found their way back to Sam's easily, reuniting with them on the front porch steps as he gently embraced her heart with his words and endowed her soul with the renewed life that comes from shared understanding.
It turns out her eyes couldn't keep their distance from his for very long. It was as if her eyes were a pair of iridescent blue-green butterflies drawn to the insightful light and unwavering warmth that shone through his eyes and originated from his soul.
"Think about the first Christmas, Lillian. It was messy, too. The Virgin Mary had to travel on camel when she was about to give birth...poor woman! Then she had to give birth in a stable among animals that surely didn't smell divine. And poor Jesus had to sleep in an uncomfortable manger...certainly not the coziest first cradle."
Lillian giggled. Sam's lighthearted, but deeply truthful, points and clever word choice did her heart good, further unyoking it from its chains.
"Things go awry here on this imperfect earth. Even for the Christ Child and His family.
"But see, Lillian, that's where our joy lies.
"Amidst all this messiness, Jesus came to save us, to give us the hope of that perfect happiness with Him one day."
Sam's eyes took on a softer, soothing gray-blue shade as they shone with an incandescent sort of hope. They looked like shimmering chambray blue candles. Lillian thought that even if an unexpected earthquake came upon her and Sam at that very moment, she would have serious trouble tearing her eyes away from Sam's beautifully burning ones, so substantial was their impact on her heart, so life-giving was their glow.
"And meanwhile, we have an imperfect but enduring joy here on Earth," Sam continued.
"Joy doesn't always look like through-the-roof happiness, Lillian. Sometimes, joy is just a small, but steady whisper of hope amidst an ocean of sadness."
Not unlike those whispers of hope in my head about courting you, Lillian thought to herself. Meanwhile, tears abruptly pierced the corners of her eyes at the deep meaning embedded in Sam's statements, tears laden with a blend of hefty gratitude and blessed relief at the way his statements had bestowed fresh perspective on her while validating her emotions. He had the special gift of making her feel seen and heard while also expanding the horizons of her perceptions.
It would behoove you to not let this man go, Lillian Walsh, her conscience apprised. She knew she had to literally let go of his hand soon, to her acute disappointment, but her heart solidified right then and there that it wanted him as a perpetual presence in her life.
"Your words are beautiful, Sam, and they make perfect sense. You're helping refresh my way of thinking and helping me accept my sadness. You're helping me remember that there's beauty in the imperfection and that God is most needed and most present within it.
"God's graced you with wisdom. Perhaps I should call you the 4th Wise Man," Lillian joked, her liquid-laden eyes transforming into a winter wonderland of waltzing snowflakes, but the way those snowflakes landed on Sam with soft precision told him she was downright sincere.
"I'm very glad to help. I like pondering life's challenges, and spiritual truths," he stated simply. At her compliment, Sam's cheeks took on the appearance of the ruddy cheeks of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas. In response to his out-of-the-ordinary, adorable blush, brought on by his sweet humility she had come to expect, Lillian felt the left and ride sides of her heart squeeze together in a hug.
You need to give the man more compliments, Lillian. He deserves them.
"Ponder anytime. I love listening to your insights," Lillian disclosed, speaking genuinely from the depths of her heart before she could second guess herself, giving his hand an affectionate little squeeze before she could overthink it.
And I love holding your hand...perhaps we can make this a regular occurrence? A bolder part of her wanted to say—and ask—that, too, but courage quickly escaped her grasp as a sharp blizzard of shyness took hold of her, swirling its legion of snowflakes all around her, freezing her tongue. She hoped her action of continuing to hold tight to his hand spoke for itself for the time being.
After another recess of silence, where words remained dormant inside both her and Sam, Lillian's mind hooked on to a certain group of words Sam had used a few minutes prior, stirring her previously stuck voice to assert itself.
"I do have to ask you...was that through-the-roof happiness phrase of yours an intentional pun, given your occupation as handyman?" Lillian teased, staring into his eyes audaciously so she could fully glean his reaction.
"Perhaps." With an inkling of a smile and extraordinarily effervescent eyes, Sam looked caught, like a young lad who was discovered trying to sneak downstairs during the wee hours of Christmas morning.
"That's a secret I'm going to have to keep securely locked behind closed doors," he quipped, delivering another handyman pun of sorts and winking at her as he did.
That wink weakened the knees of her heart, and she felt them buckle under its sudden appearance. Heart, you'd better stay standing, or else! Lillian's inner voice threatened, daring it to stay steady and upright. She knew if she let her heart fully fall to the floor of her chest in that moment, her brain would draw another blank, and her pride wanted her to successfully formulate a clever retort.
"Ahhh, but did you check those door hinges to make sure they were properly installed, Mr. Handyman? Because they seem a little loose to me...I can see right through them to your punny intentions." Lillian noted, eyes overcome with a tornado of teasing as she hurled some good-natured banter right back at Sam, her quick wit a stellar complement to his own.
Impressive recovery, Lillian. She had managed to keep her heart standing, a major win, but she certainly couldn't refer to it as steady at that exact moment—it was thudding against her chest sporadically, much like how the orphanage children's boots slammed down erratically on the front porch steps each year as they raced outside to acquaint themselves with the first snowfall.
By now, no traces of tears remained in her eyes, as the speedy back-and-forth winds of her and Sam's shared witticism had easily evaporated them.
"It seems like I can't get anything past you, Ms. Lillian Walsh, so I'll continue to present you with puns, free of charge, handyman-related or otherwise. They're on the house," Sam responded with chuckles that escaped nearly instantaneously, but prolongedly, from his diaphragm. They rose higher and higher into the air like the robust dough of Eleanor's cinnamon rolls that ascended in the oven on Christmas morning, adding an appealing and comforting concoction of sugar and spice to his and Lillian's surroundings. How wonderfully sweet was his laughter!
"I'm delighted to hear that. You are just as handy with these puns as you are with fixing things. You're truly a Sam of all trades. I'll have you know I'm quite impressed."
Why Lillian Walsh, you appear to be flirting. Whatever happened to you and your proper ways? And how did you go from heavy sobbing to lighthearted wisecracking within the past twenty minutes, along with a range of emotions in between?
The answer was simple, a short but profound two-word phrase: Sam Tremblay. He let her feel her sadness in its fullness and touched her heart with his compassionate listening and perceptive remarks, but he also teased out her joy and her humorous side. He had even spurred her to flirt, in a way that felt temerarious to her but was still very much within the boundaries of proper decorum.
If Grace could put on some binoculars and spy on you all the way from England, she'd be astounded, but in a delightfully pleased sort of way. She always wanted you to worry a little less and laugh a little more...She'd definitely approve of you and Sam together...
Speaking of Sam, while Lillian was lost in her winding spool of thoughts, he had playfully launched one of his eyebrows upward like a rocket ship in reaction to her admitting she was impressed by him.
"Are you...impressed by my puns, work as a handyman, or both?" Sam probed Lillian. Beneath his uneven eyebrows, Lillian caught sight of the curiosity that was combusting in his eyes, the genuine longing to know her convictions about him that was kindling underneath his ludic exterior.
"Both," she responded firmly, hesitation as absent from her voice as foliage currently was from the orphanage's trees, now that near-winter had breathed its frosty puffs of air upon them.
If she was completely candid, she wasn't just impressed by his puns and his work. In truth, she had an entire running list of Sam Tremblay's noteworthy attributes stored in her brain.
If only he knew I have a whole list dedicated to him, and all his impressive characteristics, in my head!
Her cheeks exchanged their pink roses for deep crimson ribbons at what she was leaving unsaid. Sam deciphered she was holding something back, just as the ribbons on Christmas packages help safeguard their gifts' contents from keenly curious recipients, and he gave her a crooked smile, his interest piqued.
He didn't want to press her, though, as he perceived that doing so would only fluster her further, so he settled for a rhetorical question and an accompanying appreciative statement, even as his smile still sparkled with marked fascination.
"A Sam of all trades, huh?" He declared, quite satisfied by her own pun and title for him. "I'll certainly have to keep that moniker handy and remember to pull it out of my toolbox from time to time."
"It fits," Lillian asserted adamantly, with a playful shrug and budding grin that slowly worked its way up her bedecked-in-burgundy cheekbones and brightened her whole face. Her ascending grin resembled the festive Christmas garland that splendidly adorned the railing affixed to the exterior of Brookfield's General Store.
Just like you and I fit together, quite seamlessly...the thought scurried into her mind before she could stop it, like a mouse on a mission to squeak out its message.
Her heart piped up in response, solidifying her other introspections from earlier still further: You really are ready to court this man. At her full realization of this truth, her heart then launched into another drum solo, its scattered rhythms driven by the fusion of exhilaration and nervousness she felt. She was not nervous, in the slightest, at how Sam would treat her—she knew he would treat her with the utmost care and consideration—but rather, at how she would need to further chip away at tearing down the barricades that hid her vulnerabilities from him.
She could only hope Sam couldn't detect her chaotic heartbeat through her hand...
Ahhhh, but that was her pride and vulnerability talking. So what if he did, if he fully detected how he affected her heart so? She knew he already sensed it. It really was no surprise.
Still, maybe she should just say, out loud for once, what her mind was broadcasting across her conscience, and leave the man at her side with no doubts about her feelings. There's nothing wrong with giving him a little hint that I do indeed want to court him. She had a short, but pointed phrase in mind that would suffice.
Be strong, Lillian. Her inner voice repeated its emboldening statement from earlier. But instead of striving to prevent her from releasing her suppressed tears, this time, it was prompting her to give voice to her thoughts held in captivity within her brain, which were further obstructed by the walls erected by her heart.
She briefly squeezed her eyes closed to summon her courage, her eyelashes intricate copper feathers touching down on her upper cheeks, taking part in a purposeful pause before they propelled her pupils and voice in Sam's general direction.
"Not only does your new nickname fit...we fit," she pronounced plainly, her eyes coming to rest on her and Sam's joined hands. Her eyes did not quite make it to his eyes, her courage precarious.
But she did it! She broke through those barricades of her heart. She wished she possessed the bravery to gaze, straight-on, into his eyes at that exact moment, but one step at a time in this quest of displaying vulnerability, she told herself. Besides, staring at their affixed hands did further underscore her point.
"We do," he echoed back, a steady certainty imprinted in his tone, engraving itself on Lillian's heart, equipping her with the nerve to look into his eyes. As she did, she saw seriousness take deliberate forward strokes in their depths.
Not prepared for the intensity in his eyes that was swimming toward her, she rapidly rerouted her eyes downwards to the porch steps. Her heart immediately apprehended that the future for her and Sam would look markedly different than their past, further substantiating her hopes about courting him.
Sam felt his own heart skip with greater gusto and even a bit of bravado. Lillian had actually declared, in fewer words, that she and him were well-suited to each other, a great match! Usually, her facial expressions acted as their own language, often standing in place of verbal admissions. He didn't mind this at all—her cheeks overlayed with pink pearl; her shy, but burgeoning smile; and the many tales told by her teal eyes were wonderfully enlivening to his soul, and a fascinating code to crack for his brain. But to have her actually express their compatibility verbally...well, this was still further confirmation that he needed to ask her as soon as possible if she'd do the honor of courting him.
He had an idea of how he could go about both assisting Lillian in better mitigating her stresses and asking for her courtship in a few days' time. He hoped Lillian would be open to what he was about to propose.
"It's supposed to snow tomorrow," Sam began. "How about you and I go for a sleigh ride the following day, just the two of us, in the afternoon, once the day's most pressing tasks are over? We can get some fresh air, have some fun, and maybe even go into town and do a little Christmas shopping.
"Then, after, we can talk things over and work out some solutions for your challenges, or at least some active steps we can take to make things less stressful for you." And I will officially ask you if you would allow me to be your beau, and if you would do me the honor of being my lady. He kept the latter statement safely stored away in the loft of his brain for now...but not for long.
"You can even come prepared with one of those lists of yours you like writing so much. If it helps you, make a list of your struggles, and bring it with you, Lillian of all lists." Sam crowned his own nickname upon her in turn with gleeful satisfaction and anxiously awaited her response, holding his breath even as that inner pebble pranced across the pond of his chest with more pronounced abandon.