Author's Note: Happy first weekend of October to all!
Thank you to my friend Paths for inspiring my use of "ruggedly handsome" to describe Sam in his jacket in this chapter. In her own story "Expecting Christmas," she has Elizabeth tell Nathan he looks particularly "rugged" in in his old jacket! I tried to think of an alternate phrase to put in the place of "ruggedly handsome," but none fit quite as well.
Have a lovely October with cozy autumn days and nights, and a great weekend, all!
Autumn Leaps and Trust Falls
Chapter 5: A Chore and an Errand...Together
The following afternoon, Lillian was directly behind the orphanage, hanging laundry to dry outside. Though the action of reaching up to the line to fasten pieces of laundry to it made her more acutely feel the aches from the fall she'd experienced the day before, she wasn't as horribly sore as she'd expected. Perhaps the dose of turmeric she had taken that morning was working some magic on the inflammation in her system, after all.
So focused was she on her laundry-hanging duties that she was not aware that Sam had come by, from around the corner where his guest house stood, even though she was facing his general direction.
He had intended to approach her to ask her a question, and yet, he found himself unable to do anything at that moment except simply take in the loveliness of the scene before him.
That day, Lillian was sporting a mint, long sleeve lace blouse that Sam had never seen before, for she had pulled it out of the depths of her closet. It drew out the soothing seafoam green of her eyes most beautifully and complemented her rusty copper hair quite compellingly. She looked like what he'd imagined an on-land mermaid would look like, her otherworldly beauty transplanted from the sea, the autumn wind taking the place of ocean currents in sweeping up her fiery hair all around her so it looked like coral flames.
She was the picture of selfless focus and determination, her eyebrows affixed to her eyes. Occasional winces pulled the skin on her face and arms taut when she felt the after-effects of yesterday's fall as she pinned the clothes to the line. Still, her movements were agile and graceful, and she resembled a nimble orchestra conductor, even as she coordinated articles of clothing instead of musicians.
Time and time again, Sam saw her sacrifice her comfort for the good of the children, and this was one of those times. He deeply admired that spirit of unwavering generosity that was so intensely ingrained in her.
But he was also feeling a powerful protectiveness toward her come to life, more and more, in his heart and soul. He wanted to alleviate some of her load in whatever ways he could...while also respecting boundaries, her authority as proprietor of the orphanage, and her fiercely independent nature.
At the same time, he knew it was those fiercely independent people who often were most in need of help—even if they couldn't always admit it.
Lillian stopped hanging laundry for a moment and looked down toward the grass, appearing to be lost in thought. Then, she gradually looked up and across the yard, only for her eyes to collide with Sam's.
Both she and Sam blushed a little—she at being watched by him, and he at being caught watching her.
A thought dashed across Lillian's mind.
At least we are now "even," and I can feel a little less guilty about observing him chop wood yesterday...
"Ms. Lillian, I'm sorry for interrupting," Sam stated, a bit sheepishly, thinking to himself that he should perhaps be apologizing for staring instead, "But I...have a question for you. I need to go to the General Store to get rope for the swing. I wanted to ask if you need anything else while I'm out?"
"Well, ahhh," Lillian answered, still flustered, wondering how long exactly Sam had been watching her, "Thanks for asking. Eleanor wants to make pumpkin bread this evening. I can go ask her what ingredients we need once I finish hanging this laundry in just a few minutes..."
Sam slowly approached Lillian with long, sure strides.
"Can I lend a hand with hanging that laundry?"
Her determination—or is it my pride? Lillian asked herself—was strong as she answered, "I'm okay, Sam; I don't have that much more left to put up."
He respectfully stayed silent and motionless, watching her hang one of the boy's shirts on the line, and then one of the girl's dresses. Meanwhile, she felt her heart play a wavering tune in her chest as she felt the weight of his gaze and perceived his investment in her next steps. It felt unusual for someone—outside of Eleanor and the children—to care so much about her well-being and her little everyday activities.
As she lifted another one of the boy's shirts up to fasten it to the line, twisting her torso in an attempt to reach the vacant spot where she desired to hang it, she grimaced, suddenly struck by her soreness. She then found herself struggling to raise the shirt the extra inch needed to hang it successfully.
Before she knew it, a large hand had reached over her right hand, gently extracting the article of clothing she was holding. Another large hand soon came into view, taking the clothespins carefully nestled in her left hand. She turned back ever so slightly, only to see Sam's unmistakable aquamarine eyes right behind her.
A flare of intense indignation alit like a flash of lightning in both of her eyes—as if to ask him why he dared to go against her wishes to finish hanging the laundry herself—but that flare quickly fizzled out. It was extinguished by the cool and calming seas in his eyes that washed over her, pleading with her, let me help you.
The guilt that suddenly swarmed into Lillian's conscience—How could you so easily forget your lesson from yesterday about the importance of squashing your pride and letting others help you, taught to you by Little Fred and Sam? her conscience asked her disapprovingly—also promptly put out that flare in her eyes.
And the semicircle of Sam's sheltering protection and concern that Lillian found herself encompassed by did much to stamp out her stubbornness...
After all, it was hard for a lady to be so adamant about getting her way when the man who made her heart beat in a strange rhythm was so near, tenderly seeking to alleviate her discomfort, his own strength and resolve radiating toward her, causing the walls around her heart to fall...
Lillian's seafoam eyes then flowed with serene acceptance and gratitude. She gave Sam a small, simple nod, answering the silent question he was asking her only with his eyes, their blue so vivid, yet so gentle.
Okay. Yes. You can help me, her nod conveyed.
And just like that, she deftly stepped aside, letting him hang up the shirt. She watched him hang it up securely and easily—with no sign of strain on his body—and she felt a touch envious of his complete lack of soreness.
Granted, you wouldn't be sore in the first place if you hadn't been looking over at him and his wood chopping yesterday while awkwardly walking backwards, and instead had actually paid heed to your immediate surroundings and any potential toys nestled in the grass, her conscience reminded her, seemingly on a roll today. She felt the heat of chagrin flock to her face as she picked up another one of the girls' dresses to hang up herself, this time on a spot on the line that wasn't so strenuous to reach.
Behind her, she heard the soft shuffle of Sam's boots on the grass as he picked up another piece of laundry to hang. She and Sam continued on like this for a couple of minutes, their moment of nearnessfrom a short time ago having woven a thoughtful spell of quiet over them both.
All of a sudden, there was only one piece of laundry left—one of Eleanor's aprons. They both reached for it at the same time, and Lillian's fingers accidentally landed on top of Sam's, like a butterfly touching down on a branch.
"S-s-sorry," she said quickly, voice aquiver, her hand quickly flying away. Though she wasn't completely sure why she felt she needed to be so hasty in moving it away; after all, she and Sam's hands had met several times before in the last few days.
"Not a problem, Ms. Lillian. Let me hang Eleanor's apron for you," he stated, quickly transporting the apron up to the clothesline and making it the line's final laundry adornment for the day.
"I appreciate it," she said, her voice soft.
Yes, that's how you accept help and surrender that pride of yours, Lillian, the Holy Spirit acknowledged approvingly, speaking to and through her conscience.
After a few seconds of silence, Lillian asserted, "Now that we're done, I'll go ask Eleanor what pumpkin bread ingredients she needs from the store..."
But she had barely moved two feet before her orphanage's housekeeper came into clear view, bounding out the door to the backyard and puttering over to her and Sam and their blowing-in-the-mild-breeze laundry.
"I hear that you're building a tree swing for the children, Sam," Eleanor declared approvingly. "Christmas has come early. They'll be delighted!"
"It's my pleasure, ma'am. Some of my best childhood memories involve a tree swing. I want to pass on that joy to them," Sam remarked.
"Eleanor," Lillian disclosed, "Sam is headed to the General Store to get rope for the swing. He's offered to pick up some groceries for us. What ingredients do you need for your pumpkin bread?"
"Kind of you, Sam. We need allspice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and flour. Lillian, you'd better go with him. Sometimes the spices are tricky to find. And the flour assortment can be overwhelming."
"But Eleanor, the spices are found right behind the front counter, clearly labeled...and as for the flour, there's only one type that I've ever seen there..." Lillian pointed out, her eyebrows trenched in initial, naive confusion.
But Eleanor's prancing eyes—which bore the question, why are you arguing with me? and their unspoken follow-up statement, I know you like him, go with him—promptly brought Lillian's voice to a hush.
Aha. Eleanor was matchmaking.
And why was she—Lillian Walsh—protesting against any notion of spending time with Sam Tremblay?
A deep dusty rose shawl covered her cheeks in response to the jumble of mortification she suddenly felt—both from Eleanor's conspicuous matchmaking and from her own initial seeming opposition toward going into town with Sam. She didn't want him to think she didn't want to go with him—when, actually, nothing could be further from the truth—but she also felt her growing feelings for him a tad too exposed by her housekeeper's clear promptings to go with him.
Sam's slightly lifted-in-amusement right eyebrow wasn't helping matters.
"Actually, good idea. It can get confusing. I'd better go with you, Sam," Lillian then said abruptly in surrender, but her eyes dodged his. Direct encounter with them at the moment would prove too risky for her and would be an exercise too deep in vulnerability...
"Are you sure you're up for it, Ms. Lillian? Perhaps you should rest this afternoon after your fall yesterday," Sam cautioned.
"I may have had a bit of trouble with the laundry here and there, but I'm not letting a little soreness stop me, Mr. Tremblay," she proclaimed, now looking him straight in the eyes, slinging some sass his way and purposefully calling him by his last name.
"I should have guessed that," he chuckled, surrendering to her stubbornness.
Eleanor just looked on, quite entertained by this charismatic pair who weren't yet officially a couple, but whose banter could easily pass as that of an old married one...
"Well, I'm really quite happy to have your company, Ms. Lillian Walsh," he added easily, making sure to call her by both her names. He wished to signify that he liked the growing familiarity between himself and her that was tied to using her first name, but he also couldn't resist matching her sassy use of his last name by replicating the favor.
At that, Lillian gave him a shy, pretty, and flustered smile that told him she was also quite happy to accompany him. Then, she dropped her eyes to the grass self-consciously as her conscience wryly noted, you're about 24 hours too late in doing so—looking at the grass sure could have come in handy yesterday afternoon in preventing your blunder!
Never mind the fact that her limbs were staying upright today. Her heart's cadence was all off-kilter again...
"It's settled then," Eleanor stated, her words intruding on the magic of the moment–albeit unintentionally–and propelling Lillian and Sam into action. "Don't you worry about me and the children. I'll enlist their help in getting dinner prepared while you two are gone. Enjoy your shopping."
"I'll go get the wagon hitched," Sam pledged.
"And I'll go get my handbag from inside, and a coat, since it's getting chilly," Lillian noted.
"Hmmm...that reminds me to grab one of my coats as well before I get the wagon. Thanks for the reminder," Sam asserted as he sauntered away.
Before long, Sam had brought the wagon around to the front of the property, and Lillian was swiftly walking out the front door of the orphanage, handbag in hand and grey coat donned, doing her very best to look totally poised and completely calm.
But her heart still hadn't arighted itself. Much like the leaves swirling from the maple tree's branches to the ground below, it was a whirlwind of motion in her chest, nervous anticipation stirring it to flutter...
After all, this was about to be the first time she had officially run an errand exclusively with Sam and ridden in the wagon alongside him with no other company.
He was also looking especially dashing in his camel-colored wool coat that he had opted to put on; its hue drew out the gold tones of his hair, and its rectangular shape underscored his stately but ruggedly handsome figure. His striking appearance was making it yet more challenging for her heart to reclaim its typical rhythm.
Once she made it to the edge of the wagon, Sam reached for her hand to aid her in getting up into the wagon. It was common courtesy, she told herself, but none of the several times their hands had met in the last few days had ever felt common or ordinary—and this time was no exception. There was something remarkable about the way his hand felt in hers—yet also oh-so-right.
Still, she let go of his hand as she sat down on the wagon seat, knowing that was the proper thing to do, seeing as they were not courting...
Yet...the word she and Maggie had both pronounced yesterday surfaced in her mind, bringing her hope.
And just like that, they were off, side by side, Sam confidently spurring forward Camelot, the orphanage's horse, who was carrying the wagon. Sam's assured manner put Lillian at ease, even if her heart was still awhirl in her chest.
Yet, the wayward rocking of the wagon suddenly served as a sharp reminder to Lillian that her body was still, indeed, substantially sore. Her dose of turmeric from earlier in the day was wearing off noticeably now.
"Ouch," she vocalized, subconsciously, grimacing at the aches in her abdomen and back.
Sam turned toward her worriedly. "Are you sure this wagon ride was a good idea?"
"I'll survive, Sam," she stated, back on a first-name basis with him, knowing his concern for her was nothing but genuine, even if she teased him for his overprotectiveness when they were with Eleanor earlier. "As I said before, I'm not going to let a little soreness stand in the way of what must be done. Besides, Eleanor's pumpkin bread is worth it. You'll see!"
"Okay, and I believe you," Sam conceded. "Do you think Eleanor will let me have a piece of it?" he added, his eyes sparkling excitedly. Classic man, through and through, Lillian thought. Supremely enthused about food...
"I'm sure of it. Especially since you are helping me shop for the ingredients," Lillian assured him.
"Sam, did your parents make any autumn treats you especially loved as a child?" she asked him thoughtfully, truly and genuinely wanting to know more about the man beside her. A sudden need to know more about him had gripped her, and she hoped he'd give her more of a glimpse of his childhood and history.
"My mom's pumpkin pie, as well as her pumpkin cinnamon rolls, were my absolute favorites. She always made both on Thanksgiving Day."
"Both sound delicious, but pumpkin cinnamon rolls? Those sound incredible and unique. If you happen to know the recipe by heart, could you perhaps share it sometime with Eleanor...? The children would love to try those cinnamon rolls. And I have to be honest, I would absolutely love to try them myself. My mouth is watering just thinking of them..."
I suppose women can be just as excited about food as men are, Lillian made note of bashfully.
"I'm not only happy to share the recipe with Eleanor, but I'd love to make them with her, if she'll permit me in the kitchen," Sam said. "After we run out of her pumpkin bread, you and I can head to the General Store for another shopping visit, in order to get all the necessary ingredients for pumpkin cinnamon rolls...if you're okay with that?"
"I'd love to," Lillian responded in earnest.
Not only because I want to try those cinnamon rolls, but because...well...I really do want to spend more time with you, she thought, blush slowly materializing on her face despite her best attempts to keep it from doing so. She could never actually stop a blush related to Sam Tremblay in its tracks, but that didn't mean she still didn't try...
Sam grinned back at her, charmed by her pink cheeks. "It's a plan then."
After a few moments, Lillian turned serious. Turbulent waters overtook her eyes.
"Are your mother and father still...alive, Sam?"
"Yes, they are. They live a couple hundred miles away, in Ottawa..."
At his answer, Lillian's eyes relaxed, their turbulent waters reverting to their original enchanting, serene seafoam streams. She didn't want Sam to have had to feel that agonizing loss of loved ones she had felt ceaselessly throughout her life—it was an ache that never ended.
"I miss my parents," he acknowledged. "I need to go visit them soon. I haven't seen them since last Christmas."
"Ms. Lillian," Sam added thoughtfully, "I'm so sorry about your birth parents and adopted parents. I can only imagine how much you miss them."
In a conversation with Sam that she had a few weeks ago that was related to what had inspired her to start New Hope Orphanage, she had shared with him that she was an orphan herself and that her adopted parents had also passed away several years back.
"It's alright. I do miss all of them, terribly, but I've learned to manage," she stated bravely at first.
"But oh, how I wish I had at least one parent—birth or adopted—who was still alive, Sam." A sudden surge of unexpected emotion rocked her voice, and all at once, she found herself trying to withstand a swell of tears that had seemingly come out of nowhere.
You feel safe with Sam...Lillian realized. Shy toward him at times, yes, but also safe to express those painful and difficult thoughts and feelings that you frequently suppress for the sake of being strong.
After just a few seconds, to her surprise, she felt her hand being encompassed by Sam's and then squeezed by his in compassion. Sam had sensed she needed palpable support, and he hadn't hesitated to give it to her.
To not always have to be strong...to lean into his strength...this is refreshing, Lillian thought, even as she obstinately fought, internally, to get her emotions back to a more stable level.
She hoped he'd keep hold of her hand for just a little while longer, as holding hands with him was helping counterbalance her wayward emotions and steady the shaky sorrow that had come over her soul without warning.
Much to her relief and gratitude, he did continue to hold her hand, through a short pocket of additional silence and then, as he affirmed her own statement from moments before.
"I wish they were still alive, too. If they were, they could see what you've created—this incredible orphanage.
"It's far from easy work, but you're making a huge difference in the lives of these kids. You're taking your own pain from being an orphan and turning it into something beautiful by using it to help and provide for others in similar challenging circumstances. That's strength, Ms. Lillian."
In response to Sam's words, which served as a buoy for Lillian's weary spirit and reinforcement for her currently floundering soul, she felt her heart leap in consolation in her chest, and tears—this time of acute gratitude—pool anew in her eyes.
How much she appreciated all Sam Tremblay did in his handyman work to fortify and restore the orphanage and its grounds.
But none of it compared to how he'd built her up right now, amidst the grief that had unexpectedly struck her. She didn't know how much she needed to hear Sam's words of affirmation and encouragement until he'd told her them—and she hadn't fully realized the extent of her own strength until he had reflected it to her via his words.
She wanted to say thank you to Sam, but she was far from convinced that she could speak those two short words in a way that was intelligible at that moment. So she settled on looking at him with grateful eyes laden with glistening tears and simply squeezing his hand. He understood her wordless communication perfectly and squeezed her hand right back before letting it go.
Only the wonderfully rhythmic clop clop of Camelot's hooves graced Lillian and Sam's ears as they continued their journey into the heart of Brookfield, a pensive silence sowing its seeds on them both. Before too long, the buildings of downtown Brookfield were all around them. Additionally, fellow citizens in wagons, on horseback, on foot, and even in automobiles joined forces to create a flurry of movement all around Lillian and Sam.
Soon, their wagon's wheels rolled their way in front of the General Store and came to a satisfying, gradual stop.
Once the wagon had ceased moving, Lillian stood up. She started to move toward its edge in an attempt to descend from it. Ready to embark on their mission of acquiring ingredients for pumpkin bread and a rope for the tree swing, she forgot she really should wait for Sam to help her down.
"Wait, Ms. Lillian," Sam chuckled, his hand moving quickly to her upper arm to stop her from disembarking prematurely. Raring to go, she was like a wild chestnut horse that couldn't be bridled, this Lillian Walsh; her movements were quick, sprightly, and hard to keep up with.
"Wait for me to hop out of the wagon and come around to your side, and I'll help you down," Sam declared, all too aware of Lillian's independent streak and wanting her to take precautions, especially considering her fall yesterday and current significantly sore status.
"We should take extra care after your fall, after all," he said, serious concern reflecting in the tidepools of his eyes, his hand still on her upper arm.
"I s-s-suppose we should..." she agreed, finding herself—independent lady though she was— rather liking his use of the term we, as well as his protective reach for her arm.
After she agreed with him, he returned his hand to his side.
"Turns out toys, as innocent as they appear to be, can be particularly wicked when they are wedged in the grass, and not spotted..." Lillian shrugged.
She immediately regretted her statement, as a barely visible smile begun lapping at the lower edges of Sam's cheeks.
That ever-so-slight, but teasingly knowing, smile. He knows I was looking his way yesterday, instead of where I was walking...
Lillian felt yet another miniature heat wave come over her cheeks and resorted to quickly averting her eyes from Sam's face.
Even though her potentially falling again by attempting to descend from the wagon herself would certainly be a quandary, Lillian was also encountering a predicament with Sam's continual helping her in and out of the wagon. His hand in hers may have prevented her from physically falling, but it certainly compounded the loss of footing her heart was experiencing in his presence.
After Sam helped her down and let go of her hand, she told herself, try to focus on shopping now—something she had been so intently focused on just moments before. Yet, still feeling the warm imprint of his hand, she had to fight to redirect her attention to acquiring the supplies they'd come for.
Pull yourself together, Lillian Walsh, and go find the flour, her conscience instructed.
Whatever is happening to you? it then asked her. Your sensibility seems to be escaping straight out the window of your brain...
"Let's go get the flour first," she directed Sam and her own disoriented self, leading the way into the General Store.