Author's Note: Wishing you all a blessed new week. A shout-out to my friend Paths Through Lavender Fields for inspiring my use of the word "steeped" in this chapter—thank you so much, friend! Enjoy Chapter 3, all!
Autumn Leaps and Trust Falls
Chapter 3: She Should Have Yelled Timber
The next day, late in the afternoon, shortly after having brought the children home from school and upon finally finishing milking Virginia—the orphanage's cow, who was a wee bit on the stubborn side—Lillian heard a series of satisfying sounds in the distance. Whack. Whack. Whack. Crunch. There was something comforting about the steady, repetitive rhythm they created.
Wanting to check on their source, Lillian listened carefully to where the sounds were coming from and let her legs take her there. She strode around the backside of the orphanage, ascertaining that their origin was the area near the guest house and storage shed, which were on the right side of the property—if one was facing its front. The guest house was Sam's current residence. Lillian was about a quarter there when she realized that the sounds meeting her ear were likely the sounds of Sam chopping wood for the tree swing.
Sudden shyness fell upon her, but curiosity helped spur her long, nimble legs to keep transporting herself toward Sam's guest house. She had to see if her prediction was correct...
Turning the far-right corner around the backside of the orphanage and advancing a few steps more toward Sam's place of residence, Lillian saw that her prediction had been right on target. Adjacent to the guest house, Sam stood facing its side window with his back turned away from Lillian, axe in hand. His sandy blonde hair looked like a splendid hybrid between gold and bronze as the autumn sunshine worked its magic on it. Today, he was wearing a darker blue shirt than yesterday—a dashing slate blue long-sleeve shirt, rolled up at the sleeves for ease of wood chopping—and umber-colored trousers. Matching umber suspenders flanked his sides. Lillian had to admit to herself that he looked quite spruce and sharp.
She figured he was probably chopping extra wood for her, Eleanor, and the children, as the weather was starting to get cold enough at night to call for fires in the orphanage's fireplace, and as he had several already-chopped logs surrounding him—more wood than a tree swing required. And he looked to be preparing to chop still more, as he strode closer to one of the logs, determination evident in his solid stance. His foresight and consideration for her, Eleanor's, and the children's well-being stirred into motion a sense of deep gratitude in her heart.
Soon, in one fell swoop, he raised the axe above his head before bringing it down swiftly on his chosen wood log to slice it into two. The tendons and well-toned muscles of his arms all did their part to help him lift and lower the axe with such dexterity and effortlessness that it seemed like he was simply lifting and lowering a mere dandelion or feather. Lillian couldn't help but marvel at, and appreciate, his strength on clear display.
Her conscience—heedful of propriety—told her that she should announce her presence. Yet, feeling self-conscious for having secretly observed and admired Sam's wood-chopping prowess and strong physique, she started to back away quietly on an awkward diagonal, a blush encroaching on her cheeks. She prayed she could successfully and gracefully depart without being seen...
Yet, after backing up only a handful of steps while still looking in Sam's direction, she felt her right heel touch down on something in the grass that was both hard and wobbly. Before she could even look underneath her to see what it was, it rolled under her heel, rolling her whole body backwards right along with it.
Shortly thereafter, she fell backwards onto the grass with a thump and a clearly audible, but somehow still soft, "OOF."
Right before she fell, Sam had targeted another log for splitting. He had been about to raise his axe to break that log into two, but at the sound of someone falling behind him and gently vocalizing their surprise, he spun around abruptly.
"Lillian!" he yelled in alarm, seeing her strewn out on the grass like a snow angel, sans the snow. "Are you okay? What happened?"
He sprinted over toward her at cheetah-like speed. By the time he had made it over to her, her face was a rather inconceivable shade of beet red. She figured one had to see it to believe it...and poor Sam was its prime observer.
"I...I don't quite know what happened," Lillian lamented. "What did I trip on?"
The world, a blended watercolor of lime green grass, wispy white clouds, and deep blue sky, as well as Sam's nearby eyes—which perfectly complemented that cloud-infused blue sky, as they were steeped in distressed concern—looked like they were rotating around her, creating a confusing kaleidoscope of color. She closed her eyes to try to ward off her dizziness and reclaim her equilibrium.
"Are you hurt? How is your head?" Sam checked in with her, kneeling down by her side protectively. His eyes had expanded to what seemed like two times their normal size while his shoulders had constricted with worry.
The rare unease and uncharacteristic quavering in his voice prompted Lillian to open her eyes after just a few seconds. Even as dizziness still embroiled her in its muddled web, she was able to employ Sam's uptight eyes as two anchor points to help gradually restabilize herself.
"Well, I fell backwards rather quickly, and I didn't have much time to think, but I managed to break my fall decently with my elbows. Still, I am dizzy. But I think I'll be okay. I just need a few moments to...lay here and recover." And contemplate my life choices, she wryly noted to herself.
"Looks like you tripped on Little Fred's toy car," Sam informed her, answering her initial question. He held up the wooden figurine, complete with its fully rotating wheels that had unexpectedly flipped her on her backside.
"Arggghhh," Lillian moaned, looking in dismay at the culprit that had caused her backwards collapse. "How many times have I told him not to leave it outside in the grass?!"
"Hopefully he'll have learned his lesson this time..." Sam stated grimly. "He will feel badly upon learning his disobedience led to you getting hurt."
"Can you breathe alright, Ms. Lillian?" Sam added. His eyes were restless, a rare fear underlying and unsettling them that made Lillian take pause.
He really is deeply concerned for you...Lillian noted, and she felt his watchful care encompass her like a cozy jacket, warming her heart.
"The wind was a bit...well...knocked out of me, but I think I'll be okay after a few minutes. Maybe we can just...talk for a bit until I gather my bearings, and then I can try to stand up?" she proposed. She hated that she had unexpectedly been made one with the grass, but she found the thought of passing her recovery time in conversation with Sam most pleasant.
"Mighty fine with me, Ms. Lillian. That reminds me. I was going to ask you another question. Was there a reason you were coming out to see me? Did you need something?"
Lillian felt the beet red flush on her face—which had been starting to dissipate—come back in full force. She really hadn't needed anything; rather, she had just been curious if he was working on the tree swing...and then seeing that he was, couldn't help but be impressed by his wood chopping skills.
Unlike the day before, when she hadn't seen him show any reaction to her blushing after he'd complimented her about her care for the children—granted, she had been looking down at the crimson leaf below her for a considerable amount of time, rather than his face—today, she saw his eyes do a little minuet of amusement in response to it.
Can he sense I just came by to see him? Has he guessed that I was...watching him chop wood for a bit?
You'd better say something to alleviate this awkwardness, Lillian Walsh. Be honest, but don't say anything more than is absolutely necessary.
"I was milking Virginia and then overheard what I eventually assumed were wood-chopping sounds...I was curious if you were working on the swing...so I came over..."
"I didn't expect to go tumbling down on the grass. But to be fair to Little Fred, I really should have watched where I was stepping...I'm usually m-m-much more careful about these things and much more focused."
Lillian! her conscience sounded an alarm. You should have just stopped after "tumbling down on the grass." Now he may very well deduce you were distracted...by him.
Maybe conversing with Sam in these moments right after her fall hadn't been her brightest idea after all. Perhaps she could find a gopher hole nearby in the grass and promptly burrow her way into it...and only come out of it once her countenance had cooled and Sam had retired to his guest house for the evening. Yes, that was looking like the best course of action right now.
"Please don't fret, Ms. Lillian. Tripping and falling happens to the best of us. Fred really should not have left his toy car out. And I very well could have been the car's victim after I finished chopping wood, had it not unfortunately gotten you first." Sam's eyes were kind, yet staunchly certain, as they encircled hers with their blue, and they had ceased their minuet from earlier.
However, Lillian couldn't help but notice that after a few moments, the left side of his lips was slinking ever-so-slightly upward.
Perhaps he had indeed deduced he'd been her distraction, and perhaps he was even...happy about it?
She closed her eyes again, unsure if her sudden wave of dizziness was from her fall or from his half-smile, which appeared to betray a small sense of knowing.
After a few moments of silence passed and the temperature of Lillian's cheeks had gone down by a degree, Sam suddenly started talking, prompting Lillian's eyes to reopen.
"One time, while prospecting...while panning for gold in a stream with many rocks, to be exact...I tripped over a small rock in that stream, somehow twisted my ankle even while wearing rubber boots, and fell facedown into the water, like a big sea star. My malfunctioning ankle made that a very challenging prospecting trip," he admitted, hoping to make Lillian feel better about her current flat-on-the-ground state.
Ah, so there was another example of when gravity had taken Sam down. Picturing him lying facedown in a stream in sea star form, having been taken out by a mere rock so tiny in stature compared to him, Lillian laughed gaily, giggles easily tumbling from her lips.
"I'm sorry to laugh at your predicament—especially because you got hurt and had such a miserable prospecting trip as a result—but I'm envisioning you laid out in the water like a sea star, and..." Her renewed gust of giggles made her unable to finish her sentence.
"And what?" Sam asked, trying to draw out the rest of her unfinished statement.
"And...it's just a humorous image, that's all."
"Humorous, you say? Even when the end of one of my limbs was in complete agony?" Mischief and mock offense glinted in his eyes, just like the sun's rays must have glimmered on the surface of that stream the day Sam stumbled right into it.
"I am sorry—very sorry—about your ankle being in agony, but I have to say, the visual is still humorous," she admitted.
"It's alright. I agree! I laugh whenever I think of that memory," he conceded.
After a few moments of lighthearted silence, Lillian piped up.
"Sam, I'm starting to feel better."
His amusing short story had gone a long way in helping to steady and relax her.
"My dizziness has disappeared," she informed him. "I think I'm ready to try to stand up."
She was going to need his help for this, which caused her many mixed feelings. Asking for—and accepting—help wasn't her strong suit, and being helped up by his strength both sounded quite pleasant on the one hand and more than a tad disconcerting for her heart on the other.
"Let me help you," he quickly asserted, leaving Lillian no time to overthink the matter and with no need to even ask for his help.
He lowered himself closer to her side and placed his arms underneath her back to help her up to a seated position, arms so solid underneath her that their muscles were like the strong silk webs autumn spiders weave. It turns out those arms were not only good for wood chopping, but also for helping an orphanage proprietor—who had fallen on her back due to a resident's poor placement of his small toy car—arise smoothly.
Once Lillian was sitting upright, Sam kept one arm around her back and with his other, reached out for her hand, ready to help her stand. She graciously took hold of his hand, finding it not too terribly hard to accept his help in this instance, after all, but she paused for a little bit before making the motion to stand.
That wonderfully warm, sweetly strong hand of his...it was back in hers again, for a brief stay.
Getting to hold hands with him again makes the embarrassment of my fall worth it, Lillian concluded.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let myself trip over the children's toys more often? spurted out a cheeky voice in her head.
Lillian Walsh! her conscience admonished, shocked by that cheeky voice's brazenness. You will do no such thing.
She shook her head—internally—at herself, unable to shake it for real, for one, for fear of resuming her vertigo, and not wanting to shake it for real, for two, for fear of Sam asking her why she was shaking her head.
"Thanks for your help," she said shyly, her eyes glued on their joined hands and her heart distinctly offbeat.
"Just a few more seconds, and then I'll be ready to stand," she informed him. She figured he probably thought physical dizziness had swept over her again as an after-effect of her fall. Yet, the truth was, the security with which he provided her ironically had thrown her heart off balance—just as she had predicted—and she needed a moment to gather her bearings.
Shortly after she spoke, she took a breath, and Sam took it as his cue to help her up. His powerful support aided her in popping up to her feet with ease—even if she was more than a smidgen sore.
Right after she made it back onto her two feet, she knew she needed to look Sam in the eyes and further express her gratitude. Though she'd thanked him profusely for all his work he'd done for the orphanage throughout his time there so far, she'd never outright told him she appreciated him.
His words from the day before echoed in her conscience's ear.
If every single breath we take in life is one of complete calm, at the end of our lives, will we really be able to say we lived to the fullest?
Breath shaky, eyes slowly gravitating to his before resting—albeit a bit nervously—in their blue, Lillian confided, "I appreciate your help, Sam. But even more, I appreciate you. Thank you."
Her proclamation was simple, but deeply meaningful, and Sam felt its weight to his core.
"Always happy to be here for you, Ms. Lillian," he said, his ludic, lopsided smile from earlier replaced by a purely sincere, symmetrical one whose sunny rays spoke volumes about how much he treasured her words.
Though it was a joyful moment as evidenced by Sam's smile, it was also an earnest, serious moment. Yet, without warning, Lillian found her composure suddenly splintered by laughter.
Unlike earlier, her laughter was not provoked by any statement of Sam's. This time, it was spurred by a rapid realization of her mind.
Sam just raised his eyebrows at her, mystified at her unforeseen chuckling attack. But he was also looking, more and more, like he was starting to expect the unexpected when it came to Lillian Walsh, and he did not seem all that fazed.
"Yes, Ms. Walsh?" he prodded, playfulness sneaking its way into his tone.
He'd forgotten to call her Ms. Lillian. Or maybe his use of Ms. Walsh was deliberate.
"I just thought of something," Lillian responded. "You were the one chopping wood, but I'm the one who should have yelled 'timber'."
At that, Sam was ambushed by an army of laughter. Both he and Lillian struggled to ward off their laughter and inhale sufficient oxygen.
"That's an accurate assessment," he managed to concur in the midst of his own chuckles.
Preoccupied with her and Sam's laughter, it took Lillian a few moments to realize she was still holding hands with him. Seafoam eyes flickering with the light of that realization, and cheeks pinkening, she quickly lowered her hand to her side. Though her mind told her it was the right course of action for propriety's sake, her heart made a slight protest against the action, twinging in disappointment.
"I should probably go find Fred inside and explain how leaving out his toys can be dangerous..." Lillian declared hastily, feeling self-conscious about both her prolonged handhold with Sam and her sudden drop of his hand, for the latter felt a little harsh after his gentle kindness.
And a very real part of her deeply hoped and prayed that her sudden drop of his hand hadn't come across as her not wanting to hold his hand...
"Alright, go find that little fella," Sam affirmed, but a trench of apprehension suddenly appeared on his brow.
"Perhaps we should ask Maggie to come by and take a look at you this afternoon? To be safe? Always good to get checked out after a fall to be sure you have no head injuries. Well, a fall that doesn't involve purposefully jumping off a tree swing, while taking all the necessary precautions, that is," Sam clarified with a sliver of a wink, hoping her fall wouldn't scare her from eventually trying his soon-to-be swing.
"I think I'm okay, Sam. I'm sore, but my head feels uninjured, and I'm not dizzy anymore. Plus, I'm able to crack jokes," she pointed out. "But...if you think so?" she assented in a half-question, feeling herself surrendering to his discernment on the matter.
"I think it would be wise. I'll take the wagon into town, go get Maggie, and bring her back to the orphanage," Sam asserted.
Yet, he was held back from springing into action to go get the wagon by another thought that came to his mind. He suddenly squinted his eyes in deep contemplation.
"Actually, Ms. Lillian. Would...would you allow me to accompany you inside first and speak briefly with Little Fred about properly cleaning up his toys? You can speak with him, too, of course. We can speak to him together...but I'm just figuring maybe you're not feeling your best after your fall, and maybe...it'd be good for Little Fred to hear about the importance of picking up his toys from another person, too, since the principle has so far fallen on deaf ears?"
As his words and questions struck the air, resistance and defensiveness hit Lillian quickly, brewing within her like hot coffee about to spill forth in the form of defiant words. Her ego told her she should be able to get the children to listen to her and obey the stipulations she set forth, which were for everyone's own good.
But Lillian, the reasonable part of her brain spouted, Sam just wants to help and offer moral support. You know deep down that his intentions are nothing but good.
And it really could be beneficial for Little Fred to hear from Sam about the importance of putting away his toys. You know how much he admires him and clings to every word he says...
Still, the claws of her pride pertinaciously clung to her.
"I-I don't think so, Sam," she contended. "I feel like I, as founder of the orphanage, should enforce the rules and be able to get Little Fred and all the other children to follow them..."
"Do you not think I have the ability to get him to properly pick up his toys?" she asked him, and she winced at the cold accusation encased within the piping hot question, as well as the slight woundedness that surfaced in Sam's eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, promptly apologizing, cheeks flushing fiercely, ashamed by how she had let her pride take over and wreak havoc. "That came out rather unkind and insensitive."
"Ms. Lillian, you enforce the rules very well," Sam responded, eyes recovering quickly, refilling with fresh blue. "This orphanage is run with precision and grace. I see how much the children trust and respect you and internalize the rules and values you teach them."
"I do think Fred will listen to you, and seeing how his actions lead to you getting hurt will bolster his obedience, no doubt.
"I just meant that sometimes, though, it's helpful for young ones to hear from more than one voice about the importance of not doing—or doing—something. There's power in numbers, that's all.
"I'm sorry for making you feel like I doubted you; that wasn't my intention. And I'm sorry if I pushed too far past boundaries. I truly just wanted to help you, to provide reinforcement with Little Fred. I don't want to see you hurt again."
See, Lillian? You should have listened to your conscience, NOT your pride. Sam just wants to help and not see you get hurt. The man has a heart of gold...a heart you just hurt a little.
She felt her own heart sting with regret.
"I'm the one who should be apologizing here, Sam...it's going to be a lifelong effort to rein in my pride, I fear. Forgive me for being so defensive and quick to judge? And prideful?"
The soft, clement smile he answered with soothed and restored her heart.
"Yes, Ms. Lillian. I forgive you. If you still would rather talk to Fred on your own, I respect that, too."
"No," she contended swiftly, yet decisively, shaking her head for emphasis.
"Come with me...please, Sam?" she then asked shyly, a soft vulnerability waltzing unsteadily in her tone.
"You're very good with the children, Sam, and I...I could really...use your help," she admitted.
It was in those split seconds of soft vulnerability that Lillian displayed her truest courage.
So far in his time at the orphanage, Sam had organically guided the children in passing in everyday life; he had helped them with bits of homework at times and reminded them to do their share of the chores at other times. Additionally, he always explained his handyman projects to them when they'd asked, and he had shared other tidbits of knowledge and little life lessons with them.
Though Lillian appreciated all the morsels of wisdom he had shared with them, she had not yet enlisted Sam to help her have a serious talk with any of the children about falling short in adhering to a rule; for reinforcing the children's obedience and proper behavior was her wheelhouse as orphanage proprietor, while reinforcing the roof and windows and railing of the orphanage was his.
For her to extend such an invitation to Sam to help with redirecting Little Fred's behavior, and to express her need for Sam, as well as her desire to have his help and her faith in his abilities to communicate with the children, was grittily brave. She was allowing that tightly knitted yarn of her nearly perfectly structured life to unravel further, letting the boxes she placed herself and Sam in blur and meld. It wasn't easy for her, a woman so proper and proud, so fiercely independent and sharply methodical about how she wished to have things done.
"Let's go then," Sam replied, a giant smile stretching across his cheeks, that warmhearted smile of his that ironically froze her brain more effectively than any upcoming late autumn snowfall would.
Yes, it wasn't easy, this yielding her independence and self-reliance. But she had to admit that letting Sam in more—both in the children's affairs and in her heart, which held those children so dear and which was starting to hold him quite dear, too—was relieving.
As she sauntered toward the orphanage's back door with him, it almost felt like her heart breathed a little sigh of relief she hadn't realized it had been tensely holding for years.
Perhaps you don't have to do so much on your own after all, Lillian, she concluded, the thought a balm to her soul—a soul which was, in actuality, feeling quite fatigued from her ongoing stubbornness.
As she continued her trek toward the inside of the orphanage with Sam, her mind mulled over another thought: since Sam was about to try his hand at having a serious talk with one of the children, maybe Lillian would even try her hand at a little handyman...er...handywoman, work soon...if he would be so inclined to let her.
After all, it seemed only fair that she should get to experience carrying out one of his duties, as he was getting to experience carrying out one of hers.
Not only that, but she also rather liked being open to all the new possibilities that seemed to present themselves with Sam Tremblay at her side.