Author's Note: Hi, all. It has been a good while since I updated this story—over three months!—and I'm really excited to finally bring you the next chapter. Oh, how I wish I'd post my chapters more regularly, but life gets in the way, and it always takes me a while to write and polish at the snail-like pace I go!
Brief reminder of what came before this chapter: After Lillian and Sam worked together on the tree swing in Chapter 7, Lillian went into the orphanage to retrieve lunch for her and Sam. She's about to bring it outside for the both of them to enjoy before they resume working on the tree swing for the afternoon.
This chapter chronicles their lunch together. It is quite long, but I figure since it's been a while since I've posted...might as well post a long chapter! It definitely took an unexpected turn in its latter portion, but I'm glad it did—this unexpected turn (see if you can figure out what it is?) deepened the story and made it more meaningful.
I often give shoutouts to my friend Paths of Lavender Fields, and I'm going to continue this tradition by thanking her for inspiring my use of "roguishly" in this chapter (as well as for inspiring other bits and pieces of language in this chapter). Thank you, dear friend!
If you enjoy the chapter, please let me know with a review—it does not have to be long! I spent a lot of time crafting and editing this chapter (and all chapters), and I could frankly use any and all encouragement in life right now (as could we all, I know)!
Hope you all have a beautiful and blessed rest of your week! And hope you enjoy the chapter! :D
Autumn Leaps and Trust Falls
Chapter 8: Food for the Soul
Just several minutes after she had disappeared into the inner confines of the orphanage, Lillian swung the front door of the orphanage back open. The loud creak it let out sounded like an enthusiastic squeal, which Lillian found fitting, as she was feeling rather excited for her and Sam's impending lunch. With a plate filled with their decided-upon food items in tow, she headed out the door and to the left, traipsing around the side of the orphanage's wraparound porch that overlooked the guest house. While she had been inside assembling their meal, she thought to herself that it would be quite lovely for her and Sam to eat it while sitting on the front porch steps. She wished to call out to him to see if he was amenable to the idea.
"Sam, our lunch is now ready," Lillian called out exuberantly to the man she was about to share the savory and sweet sustenance with, who had gone back to his work table to seal the swing and was now several yards away from the porch.
"Would you be okay with eating it on the steps of the porch together?" she added in inquiry. Her cheeks were elegantly raised in a warm smile, and they sported a charming cherry hue quite captivating to Sam's eyes, a cherry hue that he noticed—even from a fair distance away—appeared to grow deeper as she spoke the word together.
"I think that is a great idea," he shouted back to her in earnest.
"Perfect! Come on over!" she invited him. As she waved him back over to the porch, she felt her heart deviate from its usual melody—much to her lack of surprise at this point, for she was beginning to accept his sway over it—as she started to realize the significance of sharing a meal with him, one-on-one, as informal of a meal as it was.
Sure, she and Sam had sat at the same dining table inside the orphanage for some time now, reveling in Eleanor's flavorful homemade meals. But never had they eaten a meal just the two of them, without any youngins or Eleanor around. And never had she sat right next to Sam for a meal...even if such sitting alongside him was going to be done on the steps of the porch, rather than at the chairs of the formal dining table, for the time being.
Sam's sturdy arms swung at his sides seamlessly as he treaded on over to the porch in an easygoing, yet expeditious fashion—for the food called him, but it was Lillian's heart that ultimately beckoned him. He wanted nothing more than to be next to the auburn-haired and seafoam-eyed beauty, enjoying further conversation with her and just being and resting in her presence, which brought him a steadfast sort of solace and an unparalleled kind of joy. His boots made imprints on the grass and underlying earth as his long, solid, and assured strides efficiently delivered him from his work table to the front porch. And the grin he sustained as he made his way over to Lillian made its own special imprint on the deepest part of her heart.
Just the way he walks—with such serene, simple confidence and unshakeable composure—is very attractive, Lillian's inner voice set forth privately, its observation spilling out into the hallways of her mind before she could stop it. And that smile of his...it's impossible to forget, that's for sure, and it's quite proficient at sidetracking my brain!
Lillian beseeched her brain to refocus, and she momentarily shifted her eyes from Sam to the plate of food and the painted-white wooden panels of the porch. That way, she could travel back around the side of the porch and meet him at the front of it without spilling any bits of their nourishment for the afternoon.
As she neared the front steps of the porch, Lillian looked back up, only to see that Sam was also arriving, and he was observing her with thoughtful regard. His ebullient grin had taken leave from his lips and cheeks, and his countenance had turned stoic. But after seeing her glance up at him, he sent a small, pensive smile her way, and Lillian found that his contemplativeness only made him more handsome. Several of the spiraling autumn leaves that had become a staple in her heart thanks to Sam Tremblay's presence spun downward to her stomach and became swept up in a lively dance with a few butterflies that had surfaced there.
Is he thinking good things about me? she wondered. He's certainly been the subject of my thoughts for the past few minutes...all of them good.
With Sam having now drawn near to her and the front porch and examining her thoughtfully out of the corners of his eyes, she felt like he was concurrently closing in on her private thoughts about him—even as logic tried to persuade her he couldn't possibly be privy to those thoughts, at least not in their entirety, unless she vocalized them. Still, self-consciously, she swiftly transferred her eyes from Sam's face down to the plate of ham, cheese, and pumpkin bread again, just as he finished his last few strides over to her and sat down next to her on the steps.
Hopefully he thinks I'm just admiring the food, Lillian prayed internally. Yet, he probably saw how quickly I lost my nerve and looked down at our lunch. He is probably wondering what's up, she acknowledged to herself, bemoaning her awkwardness.
"Looks great," Sam stated. Lillian's eyes stayed shyly fixed on the food.
"You look like you're seriously debating which type of food you're going to take a bite of first," he teased lightheartedly.
She lionheartedly glanced back up at him. The way the blue in his eyes seemed to bounce told Lillian he knew more than he was verbally letting on—that he'd had some sort of effect on her, and it wasn't just the food she was thinking about—but he graciously did not broadcast that truth with words, much to her relief.
"S s-something like that...it's always hard to decide what to eat first when you have several options," Lillian responded, not wanting to totally fib. Besides, she knew he'd sensed the truth of the situation anyways.
"I vote for the pumpkin bread first," Sam declared breezily. "At the very least, a bite or two of it before the ham and cheese. I'm too curious about what it tastes like, since you said it was better than Eleanor's pies...high praise, indeed."
"Sam Tremblay! Dessert before our regular meal? How could you ever propose such a thing?" Lillian chided, two-thirds serious and one-third joking. Her eyes sparkled magically, like late autumn frost on blue-green leaves. At that moment, Sam figured even if someone had offered him riches upon riches, he wouldn't have been able to look away from Lillian's blithesome eyes, which gorgeously portrayed the way nature wove together ice crystals and frolicsomely deposited them on foliage.
"You may remember this, Ms. Lillian, but even worse, I originally proposed we eat our pumpkin bread dessert in place of regular food, right before you went into the orphanage to get our lunch," Sam reminded her impishly, a bundle of chuckles boisterously bursting out of his mouth.
"That you did! Not your finest moment," she joked. "We have to be good examples for the children, you know, Mr. Tremblay...and eat the more nutritious food, too, and eat it first," she asserted intently. Her eyes froze on his in firm persuasion, but a sprightly smile landed on her lips and started to sprout. It began to roguishly wrap around her cheeks like a vine.
"We do have to be good examples for them; no doubt about it. And eating healthier food before sweets is a must, most of the time," Sam acknowledged in initial surrender.
"But the children are away at school right now," he went on, "and I certainly won't tell them about breaking the rules if you won't. And to my knowledge, Ms. Lillian, no one has ever died or gone to jail from eating their food out of order," he pointed out. His right eye handed over a little wink to her that was almost too adorable for her heart to handle.
Laughter swiftly broke loose from Lillian's lips, and she felt her rule-adhering foundations suddenly give way. Sam made a rather valid point. Breaking the rules from time to time when it came to things that were really not that big of a deal would neither result in death nor incarceration.
"I suppose you're right," Lillian yielded to his logic. "I do appreciate that perspective. I can be a little rigid at times when it comes to rules," she shrugged as she simultaneously studied his eyes curiously for his reaction.
"Just a little?" Sam ricocheted back at her rhetorically. The teasing in his very blue eyes took off at a trot that was moderately fast but also featured a touch of dawdling leisure. He was certainly enjoying this, this fusion of challenging her and driving her crazy. And though his doing so lent her more than a few touches of flustration—as evidenced bythe richer shade of cherry once again cropping up on her cheeks—deep down she found she rather liked it.
Their back-and-forth banter kept her on her toes. And he kept her honest.
But her pride wasn't about to have her admit that in this moment, nor was it ready to cave in and let her amend her statement from seconds ago to say that she could, in fact, be very rigid when it came to rules.
"Sam Tremblay!" Lillian instead exclaimed in opposition. "I have the power to withhold your lunch from you, you know. This plate—or should I say your fate—is in my hands!"
She playfully pulled the plate of their lunch items, which had been at her front, away from Sam. As she did, she twisted her torso so that the plate was now almost behind her right side. She knew it was all for show though, for long-limbed Sam could easily reach out with one of his arms to snatch the plate if he dared—though she figured he was too much of a gentleman to do so.
She was right—he didn't reach for it, nor did he snatch it. Instead, he used his words to try to get her past promise of food back.
"Ahhh, but you do want me to keep working on the swing and to get it hung up for the children this afternoon, don't you? Then I need some food as fuel to make that happen," he asserted matter-of-factly, a sly, one-sided smile materializing on his face and making Lillian's heart experience an odd sort of vertigo.
She very slowly started moving the plate of food back to its original location, for Sam's logic— which had been her very same logic she'd initially used in offering to make them lunch—was hard to refute.
"Besides, in all honesty, I think your rule-loving ways are a beautiful quality, Ms. Lillian," Sam suddenly conceded, his expression reverting back to its earlier state of reflection and seriousness. "They show how much you care about doing what's most honorable, about doing those things that are ultimately best for a person and those around them, and about passing on that moral compass to the children."
His eyes no longer scampered with teasing; instead, they rested on hers with sweet sincerity, their blue awash with affection.
Oh my, her inner voice exclaimed in surprise at Sam's swift turn from gently baiting her about her by-the-book manner to genuinely commending her for it and lauding its merits. The rapid, rather compelling transformation his eyes had undergone also prompted her to pause in pure wonder.
His compliment and the way he was looking at her made a verbal response completely evade Lillian. Yet, she figured the fresh clusters of cherries that had all of a sudden sprung up anew again on her cheeks—somewhat to her dismay, for why did they have to continually pop up in Sam's presence without her consent?! They had some nerve!—spoke for themselves. He then smiled at her and her blushing self with such genuine kindness and admiration that she surrendered to her self-consciousness and simply smiled right back.
A quick thought about wishing to give Sam a little kiss at that moment darted across her mind. She was so caught off-guard by that sudden inclination, her hands shook a little, causing a mini earthquake to come upon the plate of food. Lillian Walsh, her conscience told her, guard those thoughts! You aren't even courting the man! At least, not yet, she noted to herself as she looked down at the quaking plate in her hands.
Sam noticed her sudden unsteadiness and the way the plate had started to wobble. "Can I hold the plate for you?" he offered as she continued to look down at it sheepishly.
"Yes, thank you," Lillian responded. Embarrassed by her trembling, she felt still more heat rush to her cheeks. All the same, she also felt relieved by Sam's offer and handed the plate over to him willingly, though still shakily. She bravely made eye contact with him again as she did so.
"You probably have low blood sugar and need to eat," Sam noted compassionately, but looking past the first layer of blue in his eyes, Lillian could clearly see that he could sense it was much more a matter of the heart than anything else.
As much as she wanted to verbally agree with Sam and put on a front because it was easier, she didn't want to be dishonest. While she was hungry, low blood sugar was definitely not the cause of her shaking. She knew it, and she knew Sam knew it too. So she simply stayed silent for several seconds before circling back to the original subject at hand.
"I CAN be too stringent with rules sometimes, though, Sam. They aren't the end all, be all. Even Jesus points that out in the Bible and reminds us that it's much more about the intentions of the heart than always strictly adhering to rules and regulations," Lillian admitted, humbling herself. "I appreciate you helping me put that into perspective."
"You're welcome, Ms. Lillian. Though from what I've observed, your heart has nothing but good intentions," he noted candidly, his eyes—a striking Neptune blue in the autumn sunshine, full of light and integrity—studying her from beneath their light honey-colored lashes.
Sam's warmhearted words and distinctly beautiful eyes worked in tandem to lance Lillian's heart, making it a struggle—once again—for her to keep her eyes fixed on his. Yet, at the same time, she didn't want to miss any soulful messages Sam might relay to her with those two sea-sourced storytellers of his, so she commanded her eyes to boldly stand their ground.
"But yes, Ms. Lillian, from time to time it's okay, and I'd even go so far as to say it's even a good and healthy thing, to break the rules when it comes to certain situations, to do things a little differently. And something tells me you can be more daring than you might think. Perhaps you just need a little practice. So cheers to dessert before lunch today. We've worked hard this morning and earned it." His eyes did a jovial little jitterbug of sorts and summoned hers into their high-spirited dance.
"Cheers! And yes, we have," she acknowledged. Her eyes danced right back at his, and her countenance succumbed to a bashful smile. That smile was spurred from his ongoing benevolent words and from the sudden memory of him helping her turn the drill earlier that day, his hand latched securely onto hers—a moment her heart would not be forgetting anytime soon. And there was also the lovely memory of him helping her up the porch steps earlier, reaching out his strong hand to her in considerate support.
Sam passed Lillian a full slice of pumpkin bread with one of those distinctive hands of his, and then he grabbed a slice of his own before setting the plate down next to him. Before the happy pair took a bite of the bread, Lillian made an observation out loud.
"I can't help but notice," Lillian added after a few exhales of the autumn wind and with sprinkles of sassiness seasoning her tone, "that we are about to eat more than one or two bites of pumpkin bread before our ham and cheese." She was playfully referencing his original statement that they should have, at the very least, a bite or two of the pumpkin bread prior to consuming the other items.
"Well, since you've informed me it's so delicious, I doubt we could stop at just one or two bites before we eat our other fare," he pointed out, laughing good-naturedly. "Plus, this is a better test for you in breaking rules more completely." He winked at her again.
"Fair enough," she responded with a series of giggles of her own.
And with that, both she and Sam started eating the bread. Within mere seconds, a delightfully moist medley of pumpkin and several sweet-tasting spices was bringing great rejoicing to her and Sam's taste buds.
"This is probably what the Angels eat every day in heaven," Sam remarked, clearly giving the baked good his hearty stamp of approval.
He downed the slice in less than half a minute, much to Lillian's awe.
"Sorry, I'm going to be a double rule breaker today, and eat one more slice before our ham and cheese," he confessed. "Actually, will you permit me to be a triple rule breaker and have two more slices? This bread is addicting!"
Good thing I put a handful of slices on that plate, Lillian mused to herself. She'd had a feeling that not only was Sam's appetite hearty but also that he'd find the bread as hard to resist as she did.
Sam's sheepishness, innocence, and humorous honesty as he asked for her permission to be a triple rule breaker sent Lillian's head back with laughter. As she leaned back, her vibrant red hair tilted upwards to the sun, whose rays gave it a particularly eye-catching sheen and made it look like a multitude of magnificent red embers.
God made her a work of art, and He must have known the lovely way the sun would interact with her hair, thought Sam privately as his heart resounded against his chest in a bizarre, unidentifiable pattern—but one he was beginning to recognize as the sequence it reserved for Ms. Lillian Walsh. More and more these days, it had taken on this highly fluctuating rhythm when he was around her. It was a foreign feeling to him, for he was used to the even, predictable way his heart pulsed in his chest, driving him and giving him the lifeforce to get daily tasks done, but never being too obtrusive—until now. How the woman sitting by his side had changed things for him; how she had radically stirred up and revolutionized the typical workings of his heart!
Thank you, Lord, for creating Lillian so beautifully, Sam's inner voice prayed. She has brought something to life in my heart that no other person—no other woman—ever has, and I strongly sense her heart feels something for me, too. Guide me in the days and weeks ahead to get to know her more and to know our next steps.
Meanwhile, from inside the orphanage—from behind the window next to the orphanage's front door—Eleanor had caught a peek of Lillian and Sam's luncheon. She had glanced out the window right when Lillian had thrown her head back laughing, and, seeing Lillian's display of uninhibited joy, Eleanor's own heart had soared with joy in her chest.
Eleanor sent up a prayer of her own to God: How good it is to see Lillian laugh without restraint, Lord! You and I both know that her life has been far from easy, filled with grief and toil—meaningful toil, but toil nonetheless. Sam Tremblay is so good for her, God.
The soft look of loving admiration that Sam was bestowing on Lillian as she laughed heartily certainly did not slip by Eleanor's eagle feminine eye.
And Lillian is so good for him, Eleanor added to her prayer. It's clear his heart feels something deep for her. Keep bringing them together, God.
After just another minute and a half, Sam had polished off another two slices of pumpkin bread. Wanting to join him in solidarity with his consumption of the baked good, Lillian had opted to partake in another slice herself, though she set her limit at two total, for she had already had a little at breakfast that morning.
"I'm proud of you, you double rule breaker," Sam teased as she gracefully downed her last bite of her second slice.
"You're a bad—or maybe it's more like a good—influence on me, Mr. Tremblay," Lillian remarked in response, strategically inserting his last name rather than his first. "What can I say?" she asked him rhetorically, shrugging her shoulders and retracting her formerly smiling lips to a faux-indifferent, neutral expression, but Sam took clear notice of the way her eyes were still smiling and sparkling.
She is adorable; so animated and full of life, thought Sam. I hope her original plan still holds, that she'll continue to help me with the swing after lunch and we can keep spending time together...
"We should probably have some of the ham and cheese now," Lillian advised. "What do you say? Do you still have some room in your stomach for the second course?" she teased him.
"Most definitely. I have separate spots reserved in there for lunch and dessert, always. Well, in this afternoon's case, dessert and lunch, in that order." His eyes' seas frisked about mirthfully.
"And you? Would you still like some ham and cheese, Ms. Lillian?"
"Certainly," replied Lillian, and Sam passed her the plate so she could select her slices of the two foods.
"After all," she pointed out as she grinned from ear to ear, "I'll need the protein to help me be the best assistant as possible to you this afternoon."
Sam grinned at her in return, overjoyed at her confirmation that she was, indeed, still planning on continuing to aid him with getting the tree swing prepped and hung that afternoon.
When Lillian was done making her ham and cheese selections, Sam picked out some of his own and then put the plate down by his side.
After they munched on their lunch items for a few moments, Lillian curiously asked Sam, "Are the ham and cheese disappointing to you after that pumpkin bread?" She again grinned at him widely, knowing their main course couldn't quite compare to their dessert.
"That pumpkin bread was a culinary work of art. It's hard to top, that's for sure. But I'm glad we're having some protein and real lunch now. And to tell you the truth, food of any kind is rarely disappointing to me, Ms. Walsh." Sam's irises again gamboled about as his pupils stayed put on Lillian's.
She giggled at his forthright statement. Formulating her next words on impulse, without truly thinking about their implications, she declared, "I've heard that one saying, that the way to a man's heart is through food..."
Realizing after a moment that her declaration made it seem like she was trying to win Sam's heart by delivering lunch to him—though there's some truth to the statement you're trying to endear yourself to him, her conscience cheekily pointed out—her own heart momentarily ceased its beatings in a panic and she blushed, even more blatantly than usual, she was afraid. She diverted her eyes from Sam's eyes to her dusty rose skirt, wishing that it would somehow magically transform into a giant curtain she could conceal her flaming cheeks behind.
But then Sam's words from earlier echoed in her brain—something tells me you can be more daring than you might think—and she wanted to prove them, prove him right. In full truth, she ultimately wanted to prove to herself that she could be more audacious. Besides, she was in a little too far to backtrack...and she did have feelings for him.
She lifted her eyes back up to Sam's, her pink cheeks still persistently present. Taking a jittery breath, she then let it out along with the question, "Does...does that saying ring true for you?" She couldn't help curiosity from capering about the edges of her seafoam eyes.
"Food brings me great joy; I cannot lie," Sam stated straightforwardly, looking out across the orphanage's front yard for a moment. Empowered by Lillian's own courage, he then looked her square in the eyes and professed, "But good character is the way to my heart. Pair that with beauty, and that's a much more unbeatable combination than pumpkin bread and ham and cheese any day, in my book." His lips and cheeks lifted themselves up in a simultaneously sunnily confident and yet also much more bashful smile than normal.
A fresh wave of pink prettily flushed Lillian's cheeks once again on account of what he was hinting at with his assertion, and she sent a shy smile of her own his way. Though he hadn't directly called her beautiful at any other point before this moment, he had called her character traits beautiful and commended her for them. Furthermore, she had sensed he found her beautiful, simply from the special, soft manner in which he looked at her and innocently intrigued way in which he studied her from time to time.
Still, once he directly calls you beautiful, Lillian, the voice in her head surmised, then that'll be even stronger confirmation he likes you—since he's already complimented your character. And would a man who just saw you as a friend seek out holding your hand the way he has...?
Sam seemed to sense Lillian was too taken aback by his intrepid response—and by what he was inferring by it—to say anything in return, and so he kept the conversation going by shifting subjects.
"I'm real excited for the children to be able to use the tree swing, once it's up." He looked out toward the maple tree, as if he was envisioning the future moments of fun the children would have on its soon-to-be-installed swing, flying through the air with fearless abandon and sweet-tasting freedom.
"Sam," inquired Lillian suddenly, a question abruptly springing to her mind, "Were—are—you an only child?"
The thoughtful man she had called on redirected his eyes to Lillian's. She was caught off-guard by the pain that had all at once invaded their normally tranquil seas.
Part of her wished she could take her question back. Seeing Sam's eyes suddenly racked with pain made her heart hurt. She wanted all kinds of affliction and strife to stay far away from him, far away from the man whose soul was so giving and gentle, in order that they not callously steal any of his peace and joy.
"I...I'm s-sorry," Lillian remarked unsteadily, her deep empathy affecting the sturdiness of her voice, and her own eyes mirroring his pain. As an instinctual reaction, she reached toward his side and placed her hand on his shoulder, leaving it there for a few heartbeats as she said, "You don't have to answer that question." She then brought her hand back to her side.
Sam took a noticeable breath. "For most of my life," he began, his voice quivering uncharacteristically, "I was the only child in my household. But for five wonderful, all-too-short years, I had twin siblings, a brother and sister. Scarlet fever ended up taking their lives." Tears had crept into the corners of his beautiful eyes, which had now resigned themselves to displaying a somber shade of blue.
"It just...wasn't fair, Lillian," he remarked, his normally untroubled voice strained but now more stable than it had been previously. "Such precious souls they were, so lively and curious, at times humorously so. Here one day, making the earth a better place with their enthusiasm for life and their cheerful, wholesome presence, and gone the next." A small bolt of anger at the injustice of the abbreviated nature of their lives flashed across both of his eyes, a streak of dark silver amidst their backdrop of blue.
"I ultimately trust in God and His plan...and know life is His to give and take...not ours. But Ms. Lillian, if I'm being honest, I still struggle with why He had to take them to heaven so soon. I'll never completely understand it. The world needed their beautiful souls. But I suppose, for reasons unknown to me, God needed them with Him even more." His voice faltered a bit toward the end of his last sentence.
Lillian's compassion, overtaking her shyness at the prospect of being so forward, compelled her to reach for his hand with hers. She curled her hand around his in solidarity, to demonstrate to him she felt his pain and shared in his sorrow.
"I'm so sorry, Sam. They sounded like the most remarkable souls. I would have loved to meet them, back then or in the present."
He curled his hand around hers in response and nodded his head in agreement. "I couldn't have asked for better siblings. Though my time with them was so short, I was blessed to have the years I had with them."
"What were their names?"
"Jasper and Amelia."
"Those are dashing names," Lillian acknowledged.
"They fit their spunky personalities well," Sam noted.
Lillian kept hold of Sam's hand. She sensed he had more to say and wished to give him moral support. And the other simple truth of the matter was that holding his hand just felt so lovely and right. She and Sam felt so lovely and right.
"Jasper had a budding interest in birds and birdwatching. He could already recognize a good handful of bird species, thanks to a book my parents gave him when he turned four. He was also quite talented at putting together forts around the house to camp out in. I think he would have made a great park ranger one day. And Amelia loved to dance and sing for us. Had she lived, I have a feeling she was going to be a great performer."
"She very well may have been the next Rosemary Coulter," Lillian stated with a small, knowing smile.
"Who is Rosemary Coulter?" Sam asked Lillian.
"A friend from Hope Valley with a true flair for the dramatic and an impressive aptitude for performing," Lillian informed him.
"Ahhh, then yes. The next Rosemary Coulter she was. I'm sure Amelia and Rosemary would have gotten along very well."
Sam and Lillian stopped speaking for a few moments, letting their ponderings catch up to them, their hands still linked.
After a little while, Lillian broke the silence.
"I share similar feelings as you, when it comes to the losses of both sets of my parents. I still feel some indignation at why all of them had to pass away so soon. Why did God have to take them, and why did God have to take your siblings? Didn't he know we needed them?" She felt her voice crack, and her question hung in the air, for neither her nor Sam were able to adequately answer it with their limited human knowledge, understanding, and wisdom.
"Truthfully, Sam, I have to surrender the losses of my parents anew again to God, each and every day. Every morning, I have to resubmit myself to God's plan. Some days are easier than others," she admitted.
"I have to do the same when it comes to my siblings. Even though they passed away many years ago now, my heart still wrestles with their loss. I think of the could-have-beens over the years. And I think of how we could all be loving and supporting each other as adults now, even from afar, if we lived miles apart. I wish we simply lived miles apart, instead of on earth for me and hopefully, by the grace of God, in heaven for them."
At that, Lillian held Sam's hand a little tighter. "I understand that, with every piece of my heart. Heaven and earth do seem so far away at times."
He nodded, unable to speak, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes again. Lillian squeezed his hand, her gesture speaking loudly in the silence. It told him of her compassion toward him and comprehension of how he was feeling. For grief had continuously shown up at the doorstep of her soul over the years, as consistent as the way nighttime knocked on daylight's door when the sun grew weary of shining so brightly.
"Sam," Lillian added, both thoughtfully and a little cautiously after an extensive pause, "I hope it's okay that I'm asking this. Did Jasper and Amelia ever get the chance to use your childhood tree swing?"
"It's okay, Ms. Lillian," he answered her softly. "They did not. My dad put it up the same year they passed, but he put it up in the autumn, and they passed about six months earlier, in the late winter. I think one of the main reasons he put it up for me was to help my soul find joy again amidst my grief. Amidst our grief. My father is a good, loving, and compassionate man."
Just like you, Lillian's inner voice thought, her heart too shy to say the sentiment out loud.
"I think...a big part of me wants to put this tree swing up for the children because...Jasper and Amelia never got to take flight on a tree swing. They never got to experience the joy that I did in using one. Since they never got the chance to, I especially want to give these children at the orphanage a chance to. It's healing for me, in a way."
Sam's touching admission—deeply vulnerable and candid—drove away Lillian's shyness, not unlike how the tiniest lit candle can dispel a horde of darkness by simply scattering its golden light.
She let her heart speak. "Sam, you are a good, good man...just like your father. I hope you always know and remember that. Your siblings would be so proud if they could see you today. I'm so blessed you came to this orphanage, blessed to have you be a part of things here, and blessed by your diligent work. Thank you for putting such love into the tree swing for the children, for turning your grief and heartache into something positive for them. They are going to love it."
"You're welcome, Ms. Lillian," he responded, his eyes the softest she'd ever seen them. "Thank you for your very kind and encouraging words. They mean a great deal to me. You've really boosted my spirits. If I'm being honest, you have a way of doing that every time I talk to you," he admitted as an adorable, slightly shy smile broke on his lips and a small blush colored his cheeks.
"I'm so glad," she replied in earnest. The truth is, I want nothing more than to keep being there for you and encouraging you, she thought privately.
"Ms. Lillian," Sam continued after a short time, "It's been really helpful for me to talk with you about Jasper and Amelia and my feelings related to what happened to them—it's been a relief, actually. I do talk about them from time to time with my parents, in person when I occasionally see them and in letters or over the telephone, but not as much as I'd like. Would it...would it be okay if I continued to occasionally talk about them and about my memories of them with you?"
"I would truly love that, Sam," she affirmed. "I really want to learn more about them. And I know how it feels trying to keep grief inside. It's so hard. It's important to talk about it, to keep our loved ones' memories alive. It means a lot that you trust me to be your confidant in these matters."
He beamed at her with gratitude, and she sensed from his smile and the now brighter blue his eyes were exhibiting once again that his heart had become a little lighter. She realized she deeply wanted to keep lightening his load and heart whenever she could. And she now perceived that for all the strength and poise the man displayed in the form of the seemingly unshakeable exterior he donned—no doubt borne of his hardships—he had his own formidable grief-filled battles to contend with that regularly tested his resolve.
He needed her listening ear. Her help navigating his emotions.
And he needed her hand of support, her strength, just as much as she needed his.
"Also, Sam," she divulged after some time had passed, putting her heart on the line a bit, "I...I really enjoy talking with you and just spending time with you, in general, no matter what we talk about or do together."
Her eyes fell to their still-joined hands, and she blushed a little. They'd now been holding hands for a couple of minutes...oops, thought Lillian. She hadn't quite intended to hold hands with him for that long, for propriety's sake, as lovely as it was, for they were not officially courting...yet. But she found she didn't regret it. She sensed he had needed her tangible support during their conversation about his late siblings...and he'd not objected.
"Same here," Sam echoed back to her. "I said it before and I'll say it again: Your company is hard to beat, Ms. Walsh."
Lillian looked back up at him and noticed his grin had turned a wee bit ludic.
Playing along, she easily tossed him a question. "Are you positive it's harder to beat than the fine company of Eleanor's pumpkin bread?"
"Yes. I'm positive. As wonderful as that pumpkin bread is, there's no contest there." In fun-loving affection, he gently bumped her petite shoulder with his much broader one, and then she sportively returned the favor.
After a minute, he turned serious, though. "Lillian, I hope you know you can always talk to me about your parents, too. I'd love to learn more about them as well, and I'm here for you. Always. You don't have to hold your grief inside, either...you can share it with me."
"Thank you, Sam," she acknowledged. "I really appreciate that." She found herself letting out a sigh of relief, for over the years she had repeatedly kept much of her sorrow to herself on account of not wanting to burden others with it and due to devoting her time and energies into running the orphanage. It was so heartening to now have someone she could safely express these difficult feelings to.
"I'll definitely take you up on that offer from time to time. Talking about my parents will be healing for my soul." She sent him an appreciative, especially soft smile that struck him right in the heart.
"Good. I'm so glad to hear that. I really look forward to our conversations," Sam stated, certitude stapling itself to his tone. He let the autumn wind whisper its whimsical hymn around them for about a minute before he spoke up once again.
"Now that we've had our fuel, will you help me put the ropes through the swing and guide me in hanging it up, Ms. Lillian?" Sam asked her.
"Wouldn't want to miss it," she replied. "I can go take our lunch plate inside, rinse it off, and then be right out?" She let go of his hand in preparation for springing into action.
"Let me do it, Lillian," he insisted. "You take a moment and rest out here in the sunshine. Besides, I want to find Eleanor and tell her how much I enjoyed her pumpkin bread."
"That's kind of you, Sam. Thank you," Lillian remarked in response, conceding to his offer.
It felt strange to have Sam take the dish inside and wash it—as Lillian had, for the most part, restricted his duties to handyman-related ones so far, rather than household chores—but Sam's words ran across Lillian's brain.
Sometimes it's good to break the rules.
Maybe Lillian would even, sooner rather than later, break the rules her mind had formulated about heights—that she was not to put herself in any position above ground level, save for the upstairs of the orphanage—and perhaps she would permit herself to take to the air on the swing she and Sam were about to officially put up.
Sam had put so much love into the swing, so much of his heartache and grief, which he was trying to turn into a force for good. It was a beautiful, admirable thing that he was doing—trying to share his happiness with the children at the orphanage that he couldn't share with his twin siblings due to their shortened lives.
And trying to share that happiness with her.
She knew it would do his heart good if she took flight on that swing. It would be the perfect way for her to pay tribute to his late siblings, who never got the same chance to fly on a tree swing. It would be the perfect way for her to stand in solidarity with him, to show him, again, that she shared in his grief and deeply cared for him.
She just had to stand up to her fears by suspending herself in the air on the swing and swaying to and fro, and by eventually jumping off of the swing with daring abandon. It wouldn't be fearless abandon for her, because any moments where she was displaced from ground level lent her great unease, and freefalling would likely feel particularly daunting. It would, instead, be daring abandon—the choice to be bold in the thick of her apprehensions.
But chances are, it'd be worth it. By overcoming her fears through courageous action, she would discover newfound freedom and joy. And Sam's joy at seeing her jubilant and triumphant and enjoying his swing would more than make up for the momentary discomfort she experienced as a result of departing from the safety of the ground.
His joy at seeing her enjoying their swing.
After all, they were even working on it together, all the more reason why she should give it a whirl. Doing so would also be a great way for her to show him that she believed in them, in all they could do and build together. In those possibilities Eleanor had recently referenced...
She felt pastel pink strew itself across her cheeks, even with Sam presently away inside the orphanage. The truth was, her heart—and not to mention, her hand—had started tethering itself to Sam's. Perhaps all she could do was accept that she was falling for him, and pray their connection was leading to what she hoped: courtship.
Because she and Sam just worked and fit so well together—like pumpkin bread and ham and cheese, like vulnerable conversations and shared empathy on a crisp but forgivingly sunny autumn day.