Author's Note: Happy Wednesday, all, and now that it's officially autumn (hip, hip, hooray!), a very Happy Fall to you! Excited to bring you the fourth installment of this story today. Thank you SO much for your kind words on the story and for your support of it so far; they are a great encouragement to me!

A shoutout to my friend Paths Through Lavender Fields for inspiring several bits and pieces of this chapter. In her "A Mountie and a Banana Bread Picnic" story featuring Nathan and Elizabeth (please go check it out and give it some love, if you haven't already!), she notes that Little Jack's "chest puffed up to twice its normal size" when Nathan asked him to carry a thermos (in Ch. 2), and that inspired me to write the lines centered around Fred's "skyrocketing self-esteem" during the first part of his conversation with Sam here in this chapter.

And in Path's "Neither Diamond Sunbursts or Marble Halls" story featuring Lillian and Sam, she writes how "blushing was a frustrating new development" for Lillian with the advent of Sam in her life (in Ch. 7), and that inspired my "along similar lines" lines (LOL!) toward the end of this chapter.

I'm sure I gained additional inspiration from her not mentioned here, so let me just say, THANK YOU, my friend!

Have a blessed rest of your week, all!

Autumn Leaps and Trust Falls

Chapter 4: Sam's Wisdom, Maggie's Foresight

After Lillian and Sam headed into the orphanage to speak with Little Fred about properly cleaning up his toys, they found him stationed at the long dining table.

Sam glanced over quickly at Lillian, checking to see if she wanted to speak to Fred first. She knew exactly what his eyes were asking.

She heard the voice of the Holy Spirit suddenly speak to her. Let Sam lead the conversation, Lillian.

This is a good lesson in surrender for me God, isn't it? she asked Him rhetorically.

After her quick conversation with God, she answered Sam.

"You go ahead and take the lead, Sam," she conceded quietly.

He nodded in reply, looking pleased to have been given the gift of her trust again, just as he had been given it the day before when she agreed to his tree swing proposal.

"What are you up to, Mr. Fred?" Sam asked, kindheartedness kindling in his tone, filling it with an affection too warm to miss.

"Hi Mr. Tremblay...I mean Mr. Sam," Fred responded in greeting.

Lillian had informed the children yesterday that she'd be calling their orphanage's handyman "Sam" from now on and had let them know that they could also follow suit, though they would still need to properly address him with the title "Mister" in front of his name, of course.

"I'm working on my spelling homework. I haf-ta practice spelling all these words five times each.

"It's not that fun, Mr. Sam," Fred acknowledged honestly. "It's kinda boring. But Ms. Lillian says work before play, so I gotta do it."

"Good boy, Fred. That's right," Sam affirmed. "It's important to get all your work done, and then you can have fun."

Sam's eyes darted over to Lillian's and then tugged on them meaningfully, and she again grasped their message right away.

See, you've taught these children well, and they've taken your lessons to heart, his beautiful blue eyes expressed, their light-filled waters relaying his points in the place of actual words.

She felt pink pillage her cheeks' again, taking away their usual pale hue and making them bloom with color. Her reaction was a combination of feeling warmly touched that Fred was putting her principles into practice—even if he had fallen short when it came to putting away his toy car—and feeling renewed embarrassment for her initial prideful reaction to Sam's offer to speak to Fred. That reaction had been borne out of insecurities about herself and her leadership at the orphanage that Fred was effectively disproving in this moment.

As she blushed, Sam's eyes danced in a satisfied manner, and they seemed to give her eyes a playful little prod, which only drew out her blush further.

It certainly didn't help that those eyes of his so easily altered the long-established rhythms of her heart when they seemed to stare straight into her soul...

How can this man fluster me so much with his storyteller eyes? she asked herself, truly astonished at his talents in that area.

"'Sides, Mr. Sam, I gotta learn to spell if I want to write letters and send them in the mail to people someday soon," Fred noted, his additional comment bringing Lillian out of her special little moment with Sam and back to the conservation Sam and Fred were having.

Fred had an adorable way of saying the word "besides" that entailed completely dropping the first syllable altogether, and he'd put it on full display here.

"Exactly Mr. Fred; spelling is a must for writing top-notch letters," Sam concurred. "I'm sure you'll write the very best ones."

Little Fred's self-esteem skyrocketed in response to Sam's vote of confidence, and the young boy looked up at the handyman like he might as well have just christened him Prime Minister of Canada.

"Thanks, Mr. Sam. My goal is to write the bestest letters in all of Brookfield."

"That's a good goal, buddy. I know you can do it. I'm sure you'll bring a lot of joy to people with your letters."

After a little pause, Sam pressed on with what he and Lillian had originally set out to discuss with the precious and precocious brown-haired youngster.

"Fred, there's actually another something that me and Ms. Lillian wanted to talk with you about. Something serious. I need you to take a break from your spelling for a few minutes, okay? And look me in the eyes, man to man?"

Lillian smiled, struck by a sweet sort of serenity she hadn't fully anticipated. Though she had initially thought that surrendering control of the conversation to Sam would be too strenuous for her and her "do-it-herself" inclinations—hence her moment of tension with him outside earlier—it was, in actuality, bringing her an immeasurable peace.

Sam was navigating this conversation with Fred so well—not that Lillian had doubted his ability to do so, but she still couldn't help but be deeply impressed by his remarkable ease in speaking with the boy about both happier topics and more somber matters, his skill and wisdom in guiding Little Fred's moral compass, and his aptitude for making the young boy feel nothing short of confident and able.

He's a deeply good man. And he loves these children like his own.

Eleanor's words from the day prior resounded in Lillian's brain like a happy alarm and hovered dangerously close to her heart, affirming what was on clear display here in the present.

"You know how you sometimes leave your toys out and don't put them away?" Sam asked Fred, his words promptly taking their place at the forefront of Lillian's mind and pushing Eleanor's words to the background. Yet, Eleanor's words stayed firmly lodged in the recesses of the redhaired beauty's mind.

Meanwhile, Fred nodded in response to Sam's question, guilt glinting in his chocolate-colored eyes.

"Well today, Ms. Lillian tripped on your toy car." Having pocketed Fred's toy car for evidence, Sam pulled it out of one of the storage compartments of his trousers and showed it to Little Fred.

"She seems to be okay, but she did fall pretty hard, and she needs to be checked out by Nurse Maggie to be sure she's not injured."

Fred's eyes grew wide with disquietude. They reminded Lillian of two brown mushrooms, similar to the ones that grew in the grass around the orphanage after rainstorms, inflating to impressive proportions.

Sam continued by saying, "Fred, you really need to put away your toys immediately after you play with them. Not doing so can hurt other people. I know you didn't purposefully hurt Ms. Lillian, but you not obeying her rule to clean up your toys did lead to her getting hurt. You don't want Ms. Lillian to get hurt again because you left one of your toys out, do you? Or for me or Eleanor or any of the other children to get hurt by stumbling on one of your toys?"

"No, sir. I don't want anyone to get hurt. Ever." His eyes stayed wide, remorse richly embedding itself within them, deepening their dark cocoa.

"I'm real sorry, Ms. Lillian," he then stated sincerely. "W-will you be okay?"

"Yes, Fred. I don't think I'm badly hurt. But I do need you to be much more careful with your toys, so something like this doesn't happen again to me or anyone else. Got it?

"Got it."

"I promise to be more careful. I know I said that before. But I really promise this time."

Sam's eyes scurried to Lillian's again, and she saw the question in them.

Can I take it from here? Would that be okay? they requested gently.

Yes, her seafoam eyes answered his swiftly, a newfound peace and an even deeper trust toward Sam having seeped into them.

"Promises are something to be kept, not broken, Mr. Fred. You shouldn't make them lightly. You should always mean what you say, and say what you mean. It's important to be a man of your word, so you can be trusted and so no one gets injured. You understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Sam."

"I think I know something that might help you to keep your promises, including this one of picking up your toys. It's something that helps me."

"What is it?" Fred asked, genuinely intrigued, eyes now dripping with curiosity.

"Put your right hand on your heart, just like this," Sam remarked as he demonstrated the action with his own hand. "Then, close your eyes. State your promise out loud, sincerely, and picture yourself actually carrying out that promise."

Touched by Sam's tender and wise instruction toward the little boy, Lillian felt her breath escape her for a few moments as she awaited Fred's response.

"I promise to pick up my toys so no one gets hurt," Fred pledged as he kept his hand fastened to his heart and tightly pinched his eyes closed. He kept them closed for several seconds, seemingly envisioning consistently cleaning up his toys, before slowly opening them.

"I did it, Mr. Sam. I'll do that whenever I haf-ta make a promise. And I'll always mean what I say from now on."

"Good boy, Fred," Sam replied, tousling his hair affectionately. "Ms. Lillian and I are proud of you."

At that, Lillian's eyes quickly found Sam's. An earnest, appreciative thankfulness flowed from her eyes toward his, as well as a conspicuous look of admiration that she didn't bother trying to hide.

"Now, back to that spelling, Mr. Fred. Keep remembering your goal of writing the best letters in all of Brookfield. I'm going to go get Nurse Maggie in town. Can you keep an eye out on Ms. Lillian until I get back, and take good care of her?"

"Yes, Mr. Sam," Fred replied. Pinching his eyes closed securely again and putting his hand over his heart, he vowed, "I promise to take good care of Ms. Lillian."

Lillian again found it rather challenging to breathe right. Little Fred's innocence and earnestness was tugging at her heartstrings, and a certain judicious handyman who had provided the young boy with such a good example was quickly solidifying his place in her heart.

"As for you, Ms. Lillian," said handyman then set forth, "You should sit down and rest. But as a precaution, don't fall asleep, until Maggie clears you of a possible—but unlikely—concussion. It'd probably be best for you to just sit with Little Fred at the table until we come back?"

"Thanks, Sam," Lillian said softly, keenly thankful for his watchful care and his determination to go get Maggie so they could be certain she was okay. "I'll sit here and won't go anywhere."

"I'll hold you to that. I can't help but notice you love your freedom, Ms. Walsh, and understandably so, but I think it'd be prudent for you to stay in one place for now."

Sam's eyes glimmered mirthfully while his lips turned upwards in a miniature, witty smile. In response, Lillian suddenly pretended to find the spelling words that Fred had written out remarkably interesting—in an attempt for her heart to bypass the perils of the good-looking handyman's teasing and to make it seem like she was unaffected by his sly little grin and keen observation.

But the way her eyelashes kissed her skin multiple times in a row, beating quickly and repeatedly against her upper cheeks like the wings of a rare auburn hummingbird, suggested she was rather affected.

"I'll be back here soon with Maggie," Sam promised, amusement dancing a little mazurka in his voice.

As Lillian watched Fred continue his spelling practice and took stock of the events with Sam that had transpired that afternoon, she was met with a sudden realization.

That realization was this: Not only had she kept hold of Sam's hand after he helped her stand up from her fall and while they were laughing together earlier—when she had had a lot on her mind and had been distracted by her "yelling timber" pun—but he had kept hold of her hand, too.

He could have dropped it...but he didn't.

Not to mention, the man was now officially starting to help her enforce rules with the children at the orphanage and to have serious talks with them about proper behavior and conduct.

And he was now on his way into town to retrieve Brookfield's nurse, out of extra precaution for her well-being.

Maybe she and Sam were a very real possibility, after all.

"Jolly good!" Nurse Maggie Parsons exclaimed after giving Lillian a full head-to-toe examination and asking her various questions to test her memory and cognitive abilities.

"I hereby declare you concussion-free, and I am also quite pleased to inform you that none of your bones are broken. Though you'll probably be rather sore for a few days, you are as right as rain."

"That's a huge relief," Sam exclaimed from the corner of the living room of the orphanage, even before Lillian could speak, reassurance coursing through his ocean blue eyes.

"Indeed," noted Maggie, her eyes leapfrogging between the handsome, conscientious handyman and the lovely, spirited proprietor of New Hope Orphanage, with an awareness that there was a special something sprouting between them.

"Here's a bottle of ground turmeric to help reduce inflammation and soreness. I advise taking two teaspoons of it once a day to start, and if you tolerate that well and find you are still quite sore, you can increase your frequency of consumption to two or three times a day."

"Sam, would you be able to go fetch Lillian a glass of water from the kitchen? Hydration is always rather valuable in combatting soreness," Maggie sagely pronounced.

"Sure thing," he said, immediately getting to his feet and taking off for the kitchen.

"Lillian," Maggie murmured under her breath, "A man whose eyes have half the concern in them as Sam's eyes do for you...why, a woman would be deeply indebted to God to have him by her side. Are you two...?"

"We're not together, Maggie," Lillian pronounced, a light dusting of pink lily petals falling on her cheeks.

At least, not yet...the hopeful voice in Lillian's mind noted.

"Ahhh...not yet," Maggie quipped, echoing back the phrase the voice in Lillian's mind uttered. As Maggie spoke, she raised her right eyebrow and let her lips give way to a tiny smile, and Lillian felt still more pink lily petals descend on her cheeks.

This continual blushing of hers around Sam or at others' mere mention of Sam—or of her and Sam—felt odd and over-the-top for her, sensible woman that she saw herself as or at least tried to present herself to others as, but she found it impossible to curb.

Oh well, since I can't seem to control these pink cheeks these days, I suppose I just have to resign myself to having them more often than not, she shrugged to herself, at a loss for how to remedy the futile situation.

"Mark my words, you two will be together, Lillian," Maggie soon added in a chipper and confident manner. "God has given me a gift of foresight. My instincts about people have proved true, time and time again."

"How exactly did you trip and fall?" Maggie then inquired.

Lillian relayed the story to her, explaining how she had gone to visit a wood-chopping Sam near his guest house, curious about his progress with the tree swing, only for her to then be taken backwards and downwards by Fred's toy car shortly after arriving on the scene.

"Perhaps something—er...someone—else was on your mind in that moment, when you tripped and fell?" Maggie teased, voice subdued in volume but "full of beans," as she herself would say. She had clearly connected the dots that Sam had been her distraction and ultimately brought her to her downfall—more than the toy car itself.

"Per...Perhaps," Lillian admitted semi-reluctantly—for she was not good at fibbing, but she also found it hard, as many do, to admit awkward truths—and just as she did, Sam came into the room. The combination of Maggie's knowing comment and Sam's right-on-cue arrival caused her blush to escalate.

"Water for you, Ms. Lillian," Sam proffered, holding a cool glass of water out to her.

"Thank you," she remarked, accepting the glass quickly, never more grateful to be given water. She hoped it would, at the very least, return the now-red lily petals on her cheeks to their former light pink counterparts.

Sam reasoned, from Lillian's red cheeks, that the two ladies had discussed something of significance in his absence. Lillian noticed his eyes narrow just a bit, as if he was trying to pinpoint what exactly she and Maggie might have discussed...

After a moment, he simply said, "I know it's hard to do with running an orphanage and all, but try to get a little more rest than usual in the next few days. I can help out more with the children if you need."

"For now, since I didn't get to it earlier in all the rush, I'll go make sure my axe is put far away from any curious young boys who might be keen on grabbing it, and I'll go assemble my chopped wood into a neater pile," he averred, a shrewd grin on his face and twinkle in his eye, knowing all too well how rambunctious young fellows could be.

"Thank you, Sam," Lillian responded. Appreciation shone in her corresponding grin, but Sam couldn't help but notice that she hastily and sheepishly withdrew her eyes from his at his mention of chopped wood.