Author's Note: Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! I truly cannot believe we're halfway through October already. A late-night posting of this chapter, but I was determined to get it up before the weekend technically comes to an end! I really hope you all enjoy it.
A continual THANK YOU for your kind reviews and support of this story! I've said it before, but knowing you're enjoying it keeps me going!
Have a blessed week!
Autumn Leaps and Trust Falls
Chapter 6: A General Store Visit and the Murmurings of Lillian's Conscience
The flour was to the left as Lillian and Sam entered the General Store, along the wall on a shelf that was a little lower than eye level. Numerous white bags of it—all the exact same, substantial in size—stood in proud assembly along said shelf, making it clear to Sam that the store carried only one type of flour, as Lillian had tried to tell Eleanor earlier. This confirmed his hunch that Eleanor's notion that "the flour assortment can be overwhelming" was just an excuse to prompt him and Lillian to go to the store together.
"This right here is the flour we need," Lillian stated, pretending for a moment that there might actually be another type of flour somewhere on the premises, in order to save face, which Sam found endearingly comical.
What other options are there? he was tempted to ask, but he restrained himself. Barely.
Lillian took hold of a bag.
"Ms. Lillian, I can carry it for you," he quickly offered, holding his hands out.
Lillian felt her stubborn independence spark again, as it had earlier that day with her insistence that she could finish hanging the laundry on her own.
"It's okay; I'm used to carrying it on shopping trips," she stated, chin lifted and cheeks suddenly rosy with resolve and from the attention he was giving her. She was determined to demonstrate her capability of carrying the flour, while a part of her secretly liked his consideration all the same.
She hugged the bag of flour closer, and the action caused a slight cloud of the substance to puff out of its place of residence, blanketing the tip of her nose in snowy white.
Am I really being prideful here? she asked her conscience before it could flag her actions. I can carry the flour; I'm able to do so.
Meanwhile, Sam was thinking to himself the following: Headstrong I'll-hang-all-the-laundry-on-my-own Lillian is back. But this time, it's I'll-carry-the-flour-myself Lillian.
That smile of Sam's was back. Except instead of being sneakily slight like it was right before he'd helped her descend from the wagon earlier, it was now climbing up his cheeks quite noticeably, like ivy gone haywire. While Lillian's strong will lent him a touch of frustration, it—along with her spunk—also garnered a great deal of admiration and a fair bit of amusement from him. Not to mention, her little floury nose looked adorable...
"What?" Lillian asked, exasperation—albeit playful—sneaking into her tone. Since she couldn't cross her arms due to hugging the flour, she lowered her eyebrows and chin at him in mock confrontation.
"What do you mean by what, Ms. Lillian?" Sam asked, pretending to be befuddled by her one-word question.
"Just what is that mischievous smile of yours for, Mr. Sam Tremblay?"
She'd taken a page from his book and called him by both of his names—in frolicsome retribution for the way he'd addressed her by both of her names when they were outside with Eleanor earlier, behind the orphanage.
"Well, I can't help but find your determination to do things yourself both admirable and amusing," he admitted.
"Well, thanks for the admirable compliment," she acknowledged. "But how is it amusing, Mr. Tremblay? I think it's important for a woman to be self-sufficient, don't you?"
"Yes, don't get me wrong. A strong, independent woman who can hold her own is certainly first-rate, in my eyes."
Lillian blushed more deeply and momentarily shifted her focus to the boots Sam was wearing that day, wondering if she happened to be first-rate in his eyes, by virtue of his statement.
"Well, then...?" she challenged him, tacking her eyes to his again. One of her eyebrows shot up toward her forehead as her cheeks donned a richer shade of rose.
"I just think it's also okay for such a woman to accept help from time to time, even often, and not at all feel bad about it. That's all. And it's not because I don't think she can do everything she sets her mind to on her own. She most certainly can. Life just might be a little lighter and less burdensome for her if she didn't try to do everything herself."
"That's fair," Lillian admitted, squirming a bit in place due to feeling called out—yet Sam's argument was so sensible and fair-minded that she couldn't argue against it.
Besides, she had, in fact, experienced how heartening it was to have Sam's help and support over the last few months of him being at the orphanage, and over the last few days in particular.
Still, the satisfaction she found in self-sufficiency was so strong—after all, self-reliance was, really, all she had ever known—that she kept hold of the flour tightly, and didn't yield it to Sam. But after several minutes of hugging the flour to her bosom and lugging it around, while Sam worked with the store's owner, Joe Moody, to get the proper amount of rope cut for the swing, she was starting to admit to herself that her arms were getting weary. The soreness present throughout her body was certainly not helping their fatigue.
Lillian, stop being so headstrong—or perhaps "armstrong" would be a more apt description, in this case, her conscience pleaded. Let Sam take the flour and lighten your load—he clearly wants to help you.
You are being prideful here, the little voice in her head then went on to note. You could use the help, and it's okay to let a man carry something for you or otherwise assist you.
Your pride has struck for the third time in the last two days, and instead of humbling yourself, you have still been fighting to maintain it...her conscience then reprimanded her.
"Um...Sam..." she piped up, once he had secured the rope.
"Yes?" he questioned, his crystal blue eyes wide, receptive.
"That woman we were referring to a few minutes ago...if she...um..." she paused. Sam waited.
I really am terrible at asking for help, she mused. A little part of her was tempted to start laughing at herself.
God, she prayed, please help me be vulnerable and ask for help...
Lillian managed to continue, her pride put in its place only by God's power and grace.
"If she...found holding flour was making her arms tired and worsening her soreness, and if she wanted to hand off the flour to...well...let's say...you..." she asserted, her sentence choppy from shyness and nerves.
"It wouldn't be too late for that...right?" she managed to ask.
Delighted that she was taking his advice to accept help to heart, Sam's eyes twinkled ever-so-slightly with a blend of contentment and still more amusement.
"Never too late to ask for help, Ms. Lillian, especially when it comes to asking for my help," he answered simply and firmly, opening his left arm to intercept the flour, while he kept hold of the rope in his right.
She transferred the flour to him smoothly, and once she did, her arms seemed to sigh with relief.
"Now, was that really so hard? Asking for help?" Sam's eyes now jiggled and jived in full force.
"Yes. Yes, it was," Lillian proclaimed honestly, eyes totally still and serious at first. Soon, however, she found herself engulfed by giggles, which stirred her eyes into playful motion, their seafoam swirling in good-humored fashion.
Sam chuckled boisterously alongside her. Once their laughter had ebbed, Lillian spoke again.
"Asking for help really doesn't come easily for me," she admitted. "Being an orphan, and then having my adopted parents pass away in addition to my birth parents, as you know...well, I've learned to rely on God and myself mainly..."
"I can imagine that, Ms. Lillian," Sam responded gently, yet with a robust empathy. "That's understandable."
"Just know you can always practice asking for help by asking me for help," he entreated her. The teasing in his eyes had totally disappeared.
Lillian felt her heart compress in a most curious manner in response to his kind offer, show of compassion, and now completely motionless eyes of piercing blue.
Look away from his mesmerizing eyes now, or you'll continue to be swept up by their invisible undercurrent...her inner voice warned her.
But first, you need to thank him, a competing voice contended.
"Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate your help with the flour now and with the laundry earlier. And I really appreciate your help with getting me to ask for help. I'll continue to work on it."
She kept looking into his eyes, finding it rather difficult to draw her focus away from their seas of sincerity.
This is not the plan, staring into his eyes for so long, Lillian Walsh! Avert your focus! Look away now!
Look down at the flour he's holding; look over at the spices, which you still need to get; look over at Joe Moody and make pleasant small talk with him, for crying out loud.
For another few seconds, Lillian struggled to pull her eyes away from Sam's. But she eventually followed her brain's promptings and ended up carrying out all three of its ideas in an awkward rush of movement.
First, she quickly looked down at the bag of flour, nestled securely under Sam's left arm.
How can he hold a big bag of flour with just one arm, and a weighty rope with the other, and look so unburdened and at ease? the little voice in her head truth, she felt more than a modicum of envy at his strength.
Then, she swiftly looked over at the spices behind the counter, before directing her focus to Joe and babbling to him, "All we have left on our list is spices, Mr. Moody, and then we'll be on our merry way...Eleanor is making some pumpkin bread tonight."
She marched on over to the counter, intent on securing the last category of items on their list. Meanwhile, Sam followed her, finding it a bit mystifying how she had gone from baring her heart and soul to him and looking at him so intently to abruptly going back to the business of the day.
But that was Lillian Walsh. He was learning that she was quite adept at keeping him on his toes.
"What spices do you need today for that pumpkin bread?" Joe asked.
"Allspice, cinnamon, and nutmeg," Sam informed him, sneaking in a response before Lillian could. She spun around and stared at him once again, a bit surprised he had remembered all three of the spices.
"I have a good memory, Ms. Lillian," Sam responded, shrugging his shoulders. "And I often helped my mom with her baking during my childhood."
He really could have gone on this errand by himself just fine, Lillian assessed. She transferred her focus back to Joe. "What Sam said," she confirmed.
Joe found small bottles of each of the spices Sam had specified and brought them to the counter. Sam then set down the rope and flour so that Joe could see all of their items together and bill them properly.
Lillian opened her handbag in preparation to pay for all of their items, when Sam interrupted her.
"Ms. Lillian, please. Let me pay for the rope. The tree swing was my idea, after all." His eyes clasped themselves to hers in earnestness.
"But you'll already be expending a lot of time and effort constructing it and putting it up," she countered. Rebellious resistance arose in her eyes.
"It won't take me that long. And again, it was my idea...you shouldn't have to pay for it."
"But the children will be using it..." The seafoam in Lillian's eyes spouted in protest.
Joe Moody glanced back and forth between Sam Tremblay and Lillian Walsh. Who would come out victorious in their argument?
And were these two...headed toward courtship? Sam's protectiveness toward Lillian, her tenacious independence that was slightly bending in his presence, the way they were mutually looking out for the other's interests, and their good-natured verbal sparring throughout his store that day had reminded Joe of himself and his late wife...
"Exactly. I want it to be my gift to them...and to you. And I'll be using it, as well, after all. To relive my childhood. As we've discussed."
Sam crossed his broad arms, pinched his upper and lower eyelids close together, popped the heel of one of his boots, and tapped his toes in that boot, absolute obstinacy impressed upon his stance and facial expression.
He had all the brawn, resolve, and assuredness of a cowboy. He just needed a Stetson placed atop his sandy blonde head of hair to complete the appealing look.
Never mind that, Lillian...focus on the payment situation...don't let his strikingly good looks and attractive confidence distract you...
Oh, but he does have some good points...the tree swing was his idea, he wants it to be his gift to the orphanage, and he'll be using it too...and you did just have a conversation with him about the importance of accepting help...perhaps you should let him pay for the rope...
A slow-moving sideways smile, fused with gentle, good-natured amusement, affection, and playfulness, was now scooting up Sam's left cheek. It lassoed Lillian's heart and destroyed any remaining resistance she had about letting him be responsible for the cost of the rope.
"Fine," she conceded, her eyebrows lifting and lowering in a little shrug. She was trying to act nonchalant about the situation and about how his smile had so easily seized her heart.
But after they had each paid for their respective items, a soft and deeply sincere, "Thank you, Sam," spilled from her lips.
At that moment, he took the flour in one arm and rope in the other again, and she gathered up the spices.
"You're welcome, Ms. Lillian. Think nothing of it," Sam said in return.
They headed out to the wagon, and once there, they loaded their items in the back. Sam then hopped into the seating compartment. This time, Lillian patiently waited for his assistance. He then reached his hand out to help her into the wagon, and, pulling her up with his strong arm—rather effortlessly, Lillian observed—she was soon back in the wagon's confines, with Sam once again by her side.
For a good portion of their journey home, she and New Hope Orphanage's handyman were quiet, letting their own inner thoughts and the sound of Camelot's swift-moving hooves take center stage. The silence—punctured only by the horse's hoofbeats—felt far from awkward, though; instead, it felt snug, restful, and soulful.
About halfway to home, Sam piped up with a question.
"When the tree swing is finished, which of the children do you think will be the first to try it out? After I give it a test run for safety purposes, that is?"
He winked at her, noting that he was continually cognizant of the great importance of making sure the swing was secure for its riders.
"Probably Vincent," Lillian replied. "He'll want to set an example for the younger boys by trying it out first."
"I think you're right. But don't discount the possibility of Mary Louise trying it out first. That young lady has spunk."
Sam detached his eyes from Lillian's for a moment.
"She reminds me of another young lady I know," he remarked casually, as he pretended to look all around, before letting his jiving eyes land on Lillian's once more.
"Oh, what do you know it, there she is," he pronounced pointedly, his eyes inviting her into their merry dance.
Unbeknownst to him, Lillian thought privately, there is one big difference between Mary Louise and me. She has no fear of heights, while I do.
She looked away quickly. She figured that he probably thought that her rapid glance away was due to her being flustered by his teasing. Yet, in this case, it was more from her being ashamed by the belief her mind was formulating, that she wasn't nearly as spunky and fearless as Sam thought—since her fear of heights had the power of reducing her to a pile of nerves.
Tell him about your fear of heights, her inner voice prodded. Be honest with him. Be vulnerable.
She knew he'd respond with nothing other than kindness, for though he had plenty of teasing in him, he was incredibly gentle-spirited and sensitive to others' struggles, and the furthest from cruel one could possibly be. He would definitely not tease her about one of her deepest fears.
"Actually, Sam, I..." she began, forcing herself to look his way again. His eyes' dancing came to an abrupt stop, and they grew wider with concern, fully disposed to what she was about to say.
"Yes, Ms. Lillian?" he encouraged her.
She could feel her ever-so-persistent pride getting in the way, making her lose her courage when it came to being vulnerable. She found her fear of heights somewhat humiliating, and she preferred to retain her image as "spunky" and bold in Sam's mind.
"Never mind," she muttered awkwardly.
"You sure, Ms. Lillian?"
She nodded. But inside, she was thinking to herself, No! I actually really want to tell you about my fear of heights, but somehow, I can't get the words out.
Her conscience then spoke to her: You know he's going to find out about your fear of heights sooner or later, once the tree swing is finished and he invites you to take flight on it.
By now, the orphanage had come into view. Its glorious maple tree, which resembled a giant flame ascending to the sky—with its currently fiery foliage and its vein-like branches that the aforementioned swing would be attached to—served as a physical reminder of the truth her inner voice was speaking.
Sam sensed Lillian would be more comfortable if he pressed on ahead with a new topic.
"How are the children doing with their studies? And how is Fred faring with his multiplication?" he inquired. "It seemed like he was doing well with his spelling yesterday," he pointed out, grinning at remembering his dedication to getting his schoolwork done.
"They are doing well and working hard," Lillian responded. Sam noticed her take a little breath of relief at the change in subject and wondered what was on her mind that she had been unable to share with him.
"I'm proud of all of the children, Sam. Fred continues to find multiplication a rather tricky endeavor, but he's trying hard to understand it, and to memorize his times tables. I appreciate the assistance you gave him with his math homework last week."
"Would you...be able to continue to help him with math, from time to time? He adores you, Sam, and trusts you. Just being in your presence calms him down, so he's able to focus more and not get mental blocks when it comes to math, when you're assisting him..."
"I'd be happy to continue to tutor him. I love spending time with him and helping him, and the same goes for all the other children as well."
Lillian smiled gratefully at the man beside her. For a moment, she got lost in looking at the sweet grin on his face and the plentiful peace in his eyes that spoke of his gentleness toward the youngsters at the orphanage and his love for them, as well as the fulfillment he found in showing them the way. She also perceived how his strong and sturdy frame could so fiercely shield them from physical danger and his powerful arms could speedily scoop them up in seconds flat if needed.
It was all too easy to picture him loving and guiding children of his own, in his special strong-but-soft way; for the children at the orphanage had already become like his own, in certain respects...
Lillian, are those hypothetical children you're thinking about...your and Sam's children? Don't get ahead of yourself, young lady! Her conscience was back in action, making its presence known.
Heat hurrying to her cheeks, she then diverted her focus abruptly to Camelot, who was continuing to dutifully transport them the remaining distance to the orphanage.
"Everything...alright, Lillian?" Sam asked worriedly, her second abrupt look away within the span of a few minutes not escaping his notice. She could feel his eyes on her, perceive the way his tone was free from all teasing and sense the way his grin had completely dissolved out of concern.
"Y-y-yes," she affirmed haphazardly, still looking at the horse. Just overwhelmed by these feelings I've never felt for any other man before, her voice answered quietly. She didn't dare speak her full answer out loud.
After a few moments, hoping to erase his worries more convincingly and feeling a bit more steady, she looked back at Sam and asserted, "Everything's right as rain...as Maggie says."
"I do love her sayings," Sam responded. The tight threads that had overtaken his face unraveled into a relaxed smile.
If only my heartstrings didn't so easily unravel every time he smiled, Lillian mused to herself.
After a short sequence of remaining clop clops, courtesy of Camelot's cooperative hooves, Sam and Lillian made it to the front of the orphanage. Sam expertly brought Camelot to a halt just several feet away from the front porch. He then descended from the wagon and swiftly strode around to the other side to help Lillian down.
But before Lillian entrusted her hand briefly to him for safekeeping so she could make it to the ground with ease, she found herself suddenly blurting out what she wished she had the nerve to tell him during their ride to the General Store.
"Sam, what you said about me running the orphanage earlier? About my strength in helping these kids?" Lillian dared to look directly into his silvery blue eyes, striving to balance upon their pieces of sea glass, but finding herself more than a whit wobbly. Keep looking at him; don't lose your footing and look at the ground, her inner voice instructed. Courage, Lillian Walsh. Courage.
"Thank you. That meant a lot. More than I can express," she noted, surprisingly managing to keep her eyes on his. Perhaps Saint Joan of Arc had pleaded for Lillian's valiant cause in heaven.
"You're welcome. It's just the truth, Ms. Lillian," he stated straightforwardly and honestly, the silver of his eyes becoming more pronounced as they shone with seriousness.
He then held out his hand to her to help her down. She reached for it and found herself holding it for a few extra seconds beyond what was needed to get her to the ground, and she then gave it a squeeze to further reiterate her gratitude. He squeezed it in return.
"Ms. Lillian, I'll leave the rope in the wagon, so I can bring it to where I'm working on the tree swing, but before I do that, I'll help bring in the bag of flour..." Sam started.
"Just one thing, though," he noted. His eyes gamboled with gleeful mischief, as well as a touch of something tender and soft, as she declared, "You still have a little...flour on your nose." With one at-first cautious, but then swift and steady swipe of his broad index finger, he successfully brushed it off the tip of her nose.
Remain calm and collected, Lillian, her conscience instructed.
Easier said than done. She'd never had anyone brush flour off her nose before, much less a man as handsome and heart-affecting as Sam Tremblay.
Though her heartbeat had suddenly turned quite topsy-turvy in its rhythm, her unrelenting pride had her respond with an exasperated, "Why in the world didn't you tell me earlier?"
Indignation restruck her eyes, just as it had when Sam had helped her with the laundry earlier that day.
That pride of yours is relentless, Lillian Walsh. Deep down, you're actually quite glad he didn't tell you earlier, because if he did, well, you would have quickly taken care of the cleanup efforts on your own, and you truly didn't mind his assistance there, did you? It seemed her conscience was turning a wee bit cheeky as late afternoon morphed into evening.
It seems like you're opening your heart to Sam's help in many different ways, it acknowledged before quieting down.
Meanwhile, Sam just stood there grinning at her for a moment, before walking around the back of the wagon to grab the flour. Something told her Teasing Sam was back.
"I didn't tell you earlier because...it's...a good look on you," Sam shrugged impishly.
"Sam Tremblay!" she admonished him.
"Besides, it was too hard to tell you about it earlier, since we were so overwhelmed from having to choose from so many different types of flour."
He grinned at her cunningly as he slung the bag of flour over his shoulder, but he also gave her a gentle little wink to let her know that Eleanor's matchmaking had been fine by him. Even as he scampered quickly into the house after his bold statement, he looked back at her from over the bag of flour, quite curious about her reaction and hoping to gauge it.
Lillian simply gasped, helpless to do anything else, her upper and bottom lips quickly uncoupling themselves and forming a small, shocked "O." His knowing statement and sly grin set her cheeks aflame, while his tiny wink warmed her heart. She attempted to formulate some kind, any kind, of response as he disappeared into the orphanage, but soon resigned herself to the fact that all she could do was blush...and unfortunately look like she was about to swallow a handful of autumn flies.
Her conscience, refusing to leave her alone for too long, commanded her: Spices, Lillian. Grab those spices in the back of the wagon. And go direct Sam as to where to put the flour.
Though knowing him, acutely observant man that he was, Lillian surmised that he would have probably already figured it out by the time she caught up to him in the kitchen.
At supper a short time later, an older voice cut through the delightful chit chatter of the children that never failed to fill the long dining table with love and life.
"Sam, Lillian...did everything go smoothly at the General Store for you earlier? Thank you for getting the spices and flour. Looks like you got the correct type of everything," Eleanor noted.
"Yes, we found everything without a hitch," Sam responded, looking up at Eleanor from a plate of her famous meatloaf.
Lillian was thankful he didn't mention anything out loud to everyone about there being only one type of flour at the store. But his eyes soon rerouted themselves from Eleanor's to hers and twinkled with that same message about the flour, now unspoken but earlier voiced when they were about to head into the house after their grocery and rope-buying excursion. She felt her cheeks become suffused with pink yet again and rapidly redirected her focus to her food.
Hmmm, thought Eleanor, noticing their rather curious silent exchange and wondering what it was all about. Her matchmaking had proved to be a worthwhile and successful endeavor, if Lillian's awash-with-pink cheeks were any indication. Satisfied, she smiled to herself.
A few moments later, Lillian bravely raised her eyes to Sam's again—which, she noticed, were still curiously looking in her general direction. Having recovered from her initial self-consciousness spurred by Sam covertly calling out Eleanor's matchmaking at the supper table with his sparkling eyes, she was now finding the great humor in it. A smile burst forth from her lips and she looked like she was struggling to contain a stream of giggles welling up inside her. Sam silently laughed himself between bites of hearty meatloaf.
These secret jokes and this silent communication with Sam Tremblay? I could quite easily get used to this, Lillian concluded.