Find all the parts of this story here.
Cooking
Thursday was better. Cecilia had four clients, and one of them bought a whole bag of products, giving Cecilia a nice little boost in her commission. She changed her clothes promptly at 3, then left the spa and headed straight for the grocery store.
(more…)Find all the parts of this story here.
Gary
Later that week, Cecilia stared at the picture of the flier. It had been slow at work. She made a low wage only when she had clients. The receptionist took pity on her and generally tried to schedule her clients close together, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Today, she’d had a 9:00 facial and a 2:30 consultation. That’s it. Her bank account was screaming for help.
She re-read the details of the ad.
Wanted: cook to make three dinners per week for old farmer and his hand. You choose the nights. Will pay for groceries plus $50/dinner. Contact Gary Brunn.
The ad ended with a phone number. She wondered if Gary was the old farmer. And had he really described himself as old? What a funny man.
Cecilia pondered if she could really do this. She absolutely loved cooking. Making dinner for Caleb had been one of the best parts of their short years. In the last 6 months, however, she had become an expert pot pie-microwaver. She hadn’t pulled out her pots and pans in so long, and yet, she had oh-so-carefully packed her favorite cast iron skillet and brought it with her. It was, after her ring, the best gift Caleb had given her.
Yes, she could cook for an old farmer and his hand. Farm hand, she assumed. Would he be old, too? Or just a kid, with a huge appetite? Either way, working on a farm was a lot of physical labor. She might love making appealing vegetables the most, but she would almost bet her skillet these farmers would be meat-and-potatoes men. Well, potatoes were basically a vegetable, so it would be fine.
After dithering for way too long, at 7:30 she dialed the number on the ad.
“‘Lo?” a gruff voice responded.
“I’m calling about the ad for a cook,” Cecilia spoke, definitely too quickly. When the man didn’t say anything right away, she tacked on, “At Bethel.”
“Who’s this?” the man asked.
“My name is Cecilia Chatsworth,” she introduced herself.
“Hmmf,” the man grunted. “Never heard o’ ya.”
“I just moved to New Albany two weeks ago,” she explained.
“And ya go to Bethel?”
How to thread that needle? She still wasn’t sure. “I did last week,” was the most honest thing she could say.
Honestly, though? She could really use an extra $150 a week.
“Hmmf,” was all he said. This time, she let him think. She had no clue what to make of him, and began idly wondering what he looked like. She pictured a short man wearing denim overalls and a faded plaid shirt, squinting over reading glasses while complaining about the font size of his book.
“And yer can cook?” he prompted after a minute.
“Yes, sir,” she replied simply. Then a thought occurred to her. “I could show you, if you like. A trial run.”
“Huh. An audition, ya think?”
“Yes, like an audition.”
“What night?” he barked.
“I’m free tomorrow evening.”
“Kin yer have dinner ready at 6?”
“I can.”
“Hmmf. Save yer receipt from anythin’ ya buy.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man gave his address and was about to hang up.
“Sir?”
“Hmmf?”
“Are you the Gary Brunn from the ad? The farmer?”
“Who else would I be, girlie?” the old voice rasped, then promptly hung up.
Cecilia chuckled as she set down her phone. Gary Brunn was a force to be reckoned with, and she looked forward to getting to know the man who went with that distinct voice. Had she seen him on Sunday? Perhaps, but then again, she barely remembered anyone besides Sam, Sophie, and Sam’s pushy mother.
Now she could turn her thoughts to the infinitely more pleasant topic of what to cook tomorrow night for dinner. She wanted him to be pleasantly surprised without setting the bar so high she wouldn’t be able to sustain it if he were to offer her the job. Even though he told her to bring a receipt, she also didn’t want to break his bank.
Come to think of it, $50 to cook dinner seemed like an awful lot. She could cook many dishes in under two hours, which would mean being paid $25/hour. That was a lot of money for something that seemed pretty simple to her. But maybe it was worth it to Gary Brunn.
She grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote out a short menu of pork with herbed butter (she’d get whatever cut looked best or was on sale, depending on what the store had), garlic mashed potatoes, some roasted vegetable (again, dependent on the store’s offerings – it just needed to be fresh), a salad, and dinner rolls. She could do all that in a few hours.
Did Gary have a sweet tooth? She wasn’t that much of a dessert baker. She’d tried a few things, but they never looked or tasted like she wanted them to. Should she pick up something store bought? No, Gary could buy his own desserts if he wanted store bought. She’d either bake or do nothing.
In sticking with her thought of not setting the bar too high, she figured the potentially fancy-ish dinner was enough. No dessert. She wouldn’t put herself through that much stress when this was just a trial run.
And with any luck, come next week she’d have a second job, filling out that sad-looking bank balance into something perfectly respectable and non-anxiety-inducing.
Find all the parts of this story here.
Friends
When the service concluded, Cecilia glanced around, expecting to see people get up and start talking. The talking part they did, but not the getting up. Instead, the man who had given her the bulletin walked to the front of the church and began gesturing to people, who got up one bench at a time. Since she was more than halfway towards the back, she had a while to wait.
While she waited, to her surprise and maybe a little horror, the young couple in front of her turned around to say good morning. The older couple sitting next to them also turned around, and Cecilia felt the weight of eight eyes boring into hers. A blush crept up her cheeks.
“Good morning. My name is Sam,” the young man introduced himself, twisting to extend his hand over the back of the bench.
“Um, hi. I’m Cecilia,” she replied, shaking his hand a little awkwardly. Then the young woman extended her hand, and Cecilia felt obligated to shake hers, too.
“I’m Sophie. Are you new here?” the woman asked.
Here as in this church? New Albany? Ugh, Cecilia hated even these basic social interactions. She never knew what to say.
“Uh, yeah,” she muttered. Brilliant, Cici, she chided herself.
“Well, welcome,” Sophie replied, seemingly unbothered by Cecilia’s lack of social grace. “I just moved to Williamson – that’s the next town over – a year ago. I still feel pretty new to the area. And I attended a different church at the beginning, too. I just transferred my membership to Bethel a few months ago. So I totally get being new! It’s a lot.”
What was she supposed to say back? The older woman sitting with Sam and Sophie spared Cecilia from having to figure it out.
“Hi, Cecilia. I’m Laurie Harrison, and this is my husband, Dan. We’re Sam’s parents. Welcome to New Albany! Do you live nearby?”
More awkward handshakes.
“I have an apartment a few miles away,” she finally answered Laurie. It was Laurie, right?
“Oh, one of those lovely new ones on the south end of town?” Laurie practically bounced in her seat.
“Time to go, Laurie,” Dan spoke quietly at his wife’s side, rising and following the directions of the man showing people down the aisle.
“Come to lunch?” Laurie asked as she scooted out of the seat, Sam and Sophie following.
“I can’t today, but thank you,” Cecilia replied automatically.
“Oh, dear. Well, I hope we see you next week!” Laurie called over her shoulder. Cecilia just nodded and watched the four of them walk away.
She could have gone to lunch, and a niggle in her brain made her wonder why she said no. It was habit at this point. She had so often said no when she was single. Really, Caleb was her courage. And since he was gone, she was back to her own devices. In the last 6 months, she had said no to everyone and everything. It was just easier.
As she followed Sophie and Sam out of the church, Sophie turned around to talk to her again.
“I hope you’ll come back next week so we can see you again,” the slender young woman said. She had blond hair and sweet, gentle eyes. Out of habit, Cecilia also noticed that her skin was a little dry, like she was recovering from a sunburn.
“I don’t know,” she answered as honestly as she could. She didn’t really want to come back; it was incredibly overwhelming.
Sophie’s brow furrowed, as if she saw more than Cecilia wanted to share.
“Is the traditional church setting unfamiliar to you?” she asked gracefully.
Grateful for the out, Cecilia nodded. “My previous church was very different.”
“I get that. I grew up in a church much like this one, and when I moved to Williamson, I attended a contemporary-styled church there. It was a foreign world to me. Instruments, pastor in jeans, music on a screen – I didn’t grow up with any of that. I’m guessing you’re the opposite?”
“Something like that…” Cecilia hedged. She didn’t know these people well enough to share details.
“If it would help you feel more comfortable, I’d be happy go over the service with you sometime. Or you could sit with us,” Sophie offered. “No pressure, though.”
“Oh. Uh, thanks. I’ll… I’ll let you know,” Cecilia stuttered.
“No problem,” Sophie reassured. “I just don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a place here just because it’s unfamiliar.”
Though she didn’t understand why, that made tears burn the corners of Cecilia’s eyes. She swallowed and pasted on a smile she didn’t feel.
“Thanks.”
“I hope we’ll see you around, Cecilia,” Sophie finished with another handshake. Sam shook her hand and smiled, too, and then they moved along.
She managed to get to the entryway without being bothered by anyone else. Once there, a bulletin board caught her attention, and she stepped over to read the various announcements. VBS was next week – and what was VBS? Someone was offering lawn-mowing services. And in the corner, a simple white paper with Times New Roman black text requested someone to cook dinner three nights a week for Gary Brunn and his farmhand.
Intrigued, Cecilia took a picture of the ad with her phone, then slipped out the doors before anyone else could accost her. The second she pulled her car out of the parking lot, she let loose the tears that had been begging for release for the past hour.
Bethel was so overwhelming. Did she really belong with such nice people in their sweet little church? She didn’t know how to be like them.
Find all the parts of this story here.
Church
The big white church on First Street was just as easy to find as Pauline Johnson had suggested. It looked so quaint and old-fashioned – so very unlike the funky brick building that housed the church she had attended in Madison. The steeple rose above the rooftops of pretty houses on two sides, with a small parking lot beside it, as well. Cecilia parked her car towards the back at 8:47 Sunday morning, then followed the small stream of people making their way toward the front doors. Wide steps welcomed her up, only to be met by a dim entryway where she couldn’t make out the details of people or space.
“Good morning!” a friendly male voice greeted. A piece of paper appeared in a set of hands right in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, she accepted the paper and returned the greeting.
“First time here?” the man asked. Now she could make out that he was about 40, dressed in slacks, a button-down, and a tie, and ornamented by a shy toddler clinging to one leg.
“Yes,” she replied, trying to step away from the flow of people who seemed to know where they were going.
“Well, welcome to Bethel. Sanctuary’s straight through. Restrooms are to the right-” he pointed first to her right, then to her left, “and Bible class is in the fellowship hall after church. Coffee’s decent, too.” His smile was warm, open, and friendly. Her mind was reeling from all the words he had used. Sanctuary? Was there a lack of safety somewhere that people needed a safe haven? And what was a fellowship hall? Was this some kind of cult?
“Um, thanks,” she stammered, looking for a good escape route. Was there another means of exiting this building besides the front doors? She couldn’t very well leave the way all these people were entering. But this was nothing like her old church.
She suddenly noticed that everyone around her was dressed like the man who greeted her. Women wore skirts, dresses, or dress slacks. Some of the men even wore suits. She glanced down at her jeans – the nicest she owned, but still, jeans – and plain white t-shirt. She had made sure she was clean and presentable. She didn’t even own dress pants, and her black scrubs would hardly qualify.
Were people staring at her? She looked around and noticed a few curious looks, but no one approached. Maybe that was just as well. What would she say? ‘Y’all are freaking me out’ wouldn’t go over well.
When in Rome? Probably a better solution. Okay. Since everyone was walking into the church, she would too. She followed a young couple through the doors on the left, then slid into a seat just behind them. The seats were long wooden benches, not the cushioned chairs she was used to in church. She set her handbag on the seat next to her, then looked at the paper the man in the entryway had given her.
The front had a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. It was such a sweet and wholesome picture that it tugged at her heartstrings. She had once owned a small stuffed lamb, one of few little toys that warmed her childhood years. She had uncreatively named the creature “Lamby” and lugged it everywhere her mother allowed.
Inside was a very basic outline, listing songs with numbers after them, Bible passages, and some other church things she recognized like prayers and a creed.
Looking around the church, Cecilia realized there were no big display screens. How would people know what to sing? She watched the young couple in front of her for clues. The man pulled a book from in front of him. Watching over his shoulder, Cecilia saw him turn pages until the big number in the top corner matched the number after the first song name on the paper.
The shelf built into the back of the bench held Bibles and another book that was red with a funny-looking symbol like the letter “P” on the front. The red one is what the man in front of her had found the song in, so Cecilia followed his lead. She had another problem, though: she couldn’t read music. Maybe just reading the words would be enough.
All around her, people greeted each other and spoke quietly. No one addressed Cecilia, and she was just fine with that. She watched a man in a long white robe walk up the aisle as the church bell rang. She was pretty sure it was a real bell, even.
“Good morning!” the man in the robe greeted everyone. He was a little rotund, with distinguished gray hair and little wrinkles by his eyes that said he smiled a lot. He was the kind of man you immediately liked and weren’t even sure why.
The people around her said good morning back, as though in kindergarten again. Maybe this was where Pauline Johnson got her stern voice and old-fashioned expectations. Speaking of…
There she sat, on the opposite side of the church and a few rows up. Cecilia rather expected the woman to talk to her, so she assumed Pauline hadn’t seen her yet. Hopefully she was happy with the results of her facial.
“Today we’re celebrating Good Shepherd Sunday, an opportunity to remember Jesus as our shepherd and our sacrificial lamb. We’ll begin our worship with that beloved hymn, ‘I am Jesus’ Little Lamb’,” the man continued, then moved to sit in a big throne-like chair at the front of church.
Cecilia listened to the music – was that an organ? – and the people start singing, but she was sure she had never heard this song before. It sounded quaint and sweet, much like the building and the people in it. She felt like she should be wearing a hat and lace gloves, not jeans and a t-shirt.
It was so hard to concentrate on the service when virtually everything was brand new. The language of the Bible readings sounded different, the sermon was given from behind a built-in podium, and the pastor was much more subdued, not moving around the front of church emphatically. He talked about Jesus being the shepherd of Christians, in a lot of words that were honestly kind of confusing.
Cecilia’s mind wandered a lot, wondering what people around her were thinking. How long had they been coming here? Had everything once seemed as strange and new to them as it did to her? Or had some of them been coming here since they were babies? How would she ever learn?
And what did they think of a stranger in jeans?
Find all the parts of this story here.
Work
“Happy Birthday, Ms. Johnson!” the bubbly receptionist greeted a client. Cecilia Chatsworth was impressed; not only was Lena eternally cheerful, she recognized returning clients after just one visit and somehow managed to know useful things like birthdays. Cecilia would be lucky to learn the woman’s name by the end of her visit, and that was only if Cecilia was the one helping the client today.
“Why, thank you, Lena,” Ms. Johnson replied, her disembodied voice reminding Cecilia of an old schoolmarm. Firm, clear, used to having people follow her directions, Cecilia pictured a tall, thin woman with skin stretched taut across her sharp cheekbones from a too-tight bun in her gray hair. She quickly finished resetting the trays of products and supplies on her side table and waited to see if this was her next client.
“Cecilia is ready to see you, Ms. Johnson. Follow me.” Lena glided down the hallway and extended a bronzed arm through the doorway to the room that had been assigned to Cecilia. Lena performed quick introductions, then disappeared with a quiet click of the door.
“Lovely to meet you, Pauline,” Cecilia put on her best manners. “There is a spot for bags and shoes in the corner.” She gestured to the decorative coat rack, where Pauline sat to remove her shoes.
Cecilia’s guess had been about half accurate. Pauline Johnson was older, but not gray haired. She was tall, although it was easy for anyone to be taller than 5’2″ Cecilia. She was not rail-thin, but had even proportions and a very healthy-looking figure. She was wearing a skirt suit like it was 1940, but lacked the tight bun. Pretty brown hair fell in waves just past her shoulders. Cecilia did note some broken ends, and wondered if Pauline was receiving multiple services today as a birthday treat. Emory was a pro with wavy hair. She’d try to find out if Pauline had a haircut planned and make the recommendation.
“What are you hoping we can focus on today?” Cecilia began the interview as Pauline sat on the massage table that served Cecilia’s uses perfectly.
“Well, my skin has felt quite dry this summer. Usually that only happens to me in the winter,” Pauline spoke in that strict voice. She brushed her fingertips over her cheeks as she spoke.
“Hmm,” Cecilia murmured, noting a red tone on her face that didn’t appear on her hands. “Have you spent time outside this summer?”
“My garden has not been doing well in the heat, so it requires extra tending. I wear sunscreen every day, though,” Pauline replied with a sniff. Cecilia had to fight the urge to bow her head. You know what you’re doing, she reminded herself.
“I’m very glad to hear that. Sun damage can be quite serious. What SPF do you choose?”
“Always 50. It’s what my mother told me.” Oh, that imperious tone was going to be the death of Cecilia before the end of this visit.
“That should be sufficient for this climate. I’m noting a redness in your cheeks and forehead. Dry skin can also be caused by the wind, which sunscreen wouldn’t combat. What moisturizer do you use?”
She walked through every step of Pauline’s skincare routine, which didn’t even include moisturizer. She expected the sunscreen to do the trick, but the brand she used wasn’t designed to provide moisture. Those sport sunscreens dried out some people’s skin terribly.
In short order, they had agreed upon a gentle but effective moisturizing mask, and Cecilia was massaging Pauline’s poor dry skin. Both women were quiet, enjoying soothing low-toned flute music with some occasional bird calls and wind chimes. Cecilia liked to imagine a garden somewhere, full of well-tended green plants and colorful flowers, and maybe a little babbling brook. She’d love to learn to garden – someday. Along with all of her other somedays.
When she had finished with the mask, she made several product recommendations. She felt squeamish suggesting things people didn’t need, so she only talked about her two favorite summer moisturizers that would work well with Pauline’s dry, aging skin. Pauline agreed to try one of them, then suddenly got a gleam in her eye that made Cecilia a little nervous.
“You’re new to the area, yes?”
“I am,” Cecilia replied warily.
“Where do you go to church? I haven’t seen you at Bethel yet.” Pauline’s stare was clear, direct, and quite matter-of-fact. Cecilia couldn’t help but feel like a little schoolgirl in trouble with the teacher.
“I, uh, haven’t committed to one yet,” she flubbed. “I just moved here a week ago.”
That part was honest, at least. Well, it wasn’t really a lie that she hadn’t committed. She hadn’t attended any churches the one Sunday she’d been in New Albany, so there was nothing to commit to.
“Bethel is the large white church on First Street, across the river thataway,” Pauline gestured northwest of the spa. That made sense, from the little Cecilia had seen. The spa was in the growing southern part of town. The spaces nearest the river were the oldest.
“I see,” she murmured, since Pauline appeared to be waiting for a response. Appeased, the older woman continued.
“Sunday service is at 9:00. I hope to see you there.” But Pauline’s firm expression communicated something more along the lines of expectation than hope.
“Me, too,” was all that would come out of Cecilia’s mouth. The whole exchange flabbergasted her.
“Now, if you’ll point me towards Emory, I’ll get these split ends you’ve been eyeing taken care of,” Pauline said with a lift of her chin and a little sniff.
Oh, good grief! The woman was impossible.
“Yes, ma’am, she’s right this way.”
Here are all the parts to this story. Note that you will get a “Page Not Found” error for posts that have not been released yet.
Tomorrow we’ll start a new story titled “Come Home”. No mystery or intrigue this time; just normal humans doing normal human things. 🙂 We’re staying in beautiful New Albany, joining a crusty old farmer and learning his calm and steady way of life. Sam and Sophie will make a little appearance, too. I hope you enjoy meeting some new friends with me!
Find all the parts of this story here.
Chapter 10: The Dawn
Part 4: Sophie
“I need water. I’ll be back,” Sophie whispered in Sam’s ear. He nodded, squeezing her hand, before returning to his conversation with his coworkers and their families. Sophie hid a smile as she walked across the grass toward the pavilion with food and drinks. She couldn’t hear or see, but she knew that less than 60 seconds after she left, Amy and Lee were stepping away from their significant others under the guise of getting food or drinks. Gray had Sophie’s small speaker plugged into the pavilion’s sound system, so the bluetooth connection would spread the music across the whole park. She took a few sips of water and scanned the crowd, seeing her friends – her fellow dancers – quietly and discreetly head her way.
Once the dozen starters were under the pavilion, Sophie began a little deep breathing sequence to will the nerves away. Then she stepped behind a large pillar and removed her dress. She stuck it in the bag on the ground and replaced it with a navy t-shirt. She had worn black leggings and a tank beneath her dress, even though it was outrageously hot. She wasn’t that good at dressing in public to risk not wearing the leggings.
Then she grabbed the little pot of black face paint, using a cotton ball to smear a streak beneath each eye. Lee followed suit, and Justina had already done hers. Sophie again scanned the crowd, shocked yet again to realize no one noticed them. People were hilariously oblivious to what they did not expect, and Sophie’s crew had managed to become masters of the unexpected.
Her crew. A little shiver ran down her spine at the thought. She loved these people, a motley group of men and women who all loved to dance, and loved even more to surprise people with their dance.
Stop thinking, Sophie Lane. It’s time.
She pulled her phone out and chose the correct track – “Warriors” by Imagine Dragons, now one of Sam’s favorite bands, too. She made sure it was set to play just that track, not on repeat, then waited for Gray and Ryan to stand in front of her. No one could see the start – that was one of her secrets to success. She pressed play, then dropped the phone back in her bag, heart pounding through her ribs.
As soon as the funky piano came through the speakers, the rest of the dancers in the pavilion removed coverings to show their black pants and navy t-shirts, then moved as one to the grassy space in between the pavilion and the bulk of the officers. The crowd’s response was instant and perfect: heads turned, smiles grew, feet moved backwards to create space.
And when the music swelled through the first verse and into the chorus, Sophie had to work to keep her game face in place, swallowing back her grin at the joyful, surprised faces of her friends. Another two dozen dancers slipped through the crowd, so that 36 people in their navy t-shirts now moved to the rhythm.
The dance was perfect. Sophie had chosen movements that were crisp and masculine, emphasizing the strong beat and powerful instrumentation of the song. They all danced to convey the connection between the lyrics and the officers – men who were warriors, who had given so much to build and strengthen their community.
Sophie had to work so hard not to look at Sam. She wanted to know if he liked her gift. This was the most exposed her crew’s faces had ever been. She wasn’t ashamed of what they did; they just all loved the mystery of the mask. However, today wasn’t about them, but about celebrating the officers who were being honored. She and the group had debated back and forth for days, ultimately deciding not to risk overshadowing the officers by hiding her crew.
As they neared the final refrain, though, Sophie slipped to the back and grabbed the cropped hoodie hidden in a cooler. She threw it on and tugged the strings a little to place her face in shadow, then moved in a half crouch towards the side of the group. As the chorus swelled, a churning circle of humans created a spiral pathway climbing up their backs, onto shoulders, then onto a second layer of backs and shoulders. Sophie waited for the exact right beat, then took off at a run up, up, up until the last chord of the song. Then she stood on the shoulders of two of the smaller guys, who stood on the shoulders of Gray and Ryan – the biggest guys. She struck a pose with one arm pointing to the sky and one hand held open toward Sam and his colleagues.
Finally, breathing harshly and letting the applause and cheers run past her, Sophie allowed her eyes to search for Sam. He stood strong, clapping so hard his shoulders shook, staring right at her. His grin threatened to break his face, and the churning knot of anxiety that had been her companion for the last hour burst like a water balloon and receded. She allowed herself a tiny smile at him before accepting the hands helping her down. She grabbed on, then quickly flung her feet forward to land cheerleader-style on Gray and Ryan’s crossed arms. By the time her feet hit the ground, another pair of much bigger feet in black boots stood toe-to-toe.
“Miss Lane,” came Sam’s deep voice, lightened with mirth. She swallowed hard and looked up.
“Officer Harrison,” she replied, failing to keep her voice even and calm. Then Sam reached back and tugged her hood down. She ran a nervous hand over her now-disheveled hair. When she danced, she put her all into it, and it became quite the workout. Her hair never escaped unscathed.
“Question for you,” Sam stated. She nodded, pleased that he was acting normally. “Am I talking to the Dragoness?”
Sophie studied his face for a long moment before answering. He knew. He obviously knew enough to ask. How long had he suspected? But more importantly…
“What does it mean to you if you are?” she asked.
“What does it mean?” Sam’s eyebrows rose slightly. “It means my girlfriend is the Dragoness. I get to be awesome by association.” He grinned briefly, then sobered as he reached up a tender hand to cup her cheek. “I know you don’t tell people about the dancing so that it remains a surprise. But I think you also don’t tell people because you’re afraid of what they will think of you. Yes?”
She blinked at him and nodded.
“But, honey, I’m proud of you. I’ll keep all your surprises secret, I promise. But you didn’t hide today, and I am far more proud of you and that performance than anything my boss waxed on about this morning,” he said with a soft smile, finishing with a gentle hug. “You were amazing. You are amazing. Thank you.”
Sophie wrapped her arms around him and reveled in his love. He was proud of her! That acceptance was a beautiful gift. She turned her face up to his and accepted another beautiful gift, one that left both of their friends clapping and cheering for a second time.
“Sam,” she whispered after a minute. “Stop.” She knew her face was bright red.
“What?” he feigned innocence while putting an arm around her shoulders and steering her away from the crowd. He grabbed her a bottle of water and accepted her sweatshirt in exchange.
“I’m framing this,” he said with a smile. Sophie snorted.
“Please don’t. At least not until I wash it,” she replied with one raised eyebrow.
“Eh, I’m not afraid of a little sweat,” Sam grinned and claimed another kiss.
“Oh, stop,” she muttered, drinking the water to keep him at bay.
“Stop telling my girlfriend how much I love her? Or how awesome she is? Or how much-”
This time it was Sophie cutting him off with a kiss of her own.
The End
Find all the parts of this story here.
Chapter 10: The Dawn
Part 3: Sam
July 1st dawned bright and hot, as every good July Saturday should. Sam wasn’t sure this day would be so good, though. He dreaded official public events. Today, the Chief would be handing out commendations in a ceremony at the town square pavilion, and Sam wasn’t sure why he was getting one. He had barely played a role in either the breaking up of the drug dealers’ battle or the rescue of Sophie. And yet, Lt. Lehrer told him he had to be there.
At least Sophie would be a bright spot in this day. He had invited her over for pancakes before heading to the park. She had promised to join him, which was about the only thing positive to be said for the ceremony.
Sam shook his head and wandered into the kitchen, forcing his thoughts away from the dreaded pomp to come. Pancakes. He could do pancakes.
Sophie arrived, right on time, looking so pretty in a floral dress. He greeted her with a hug, then hurried back to the kitchen so the pancakes didn’t burn.
“Oh, it smells so good!” Sophie exclaimed. “Can I help?”
“You can find the syrup in the fridge. There’s regular and blackberry.”
He heard the fridge door open and the moving of bottles in the door for way too long.
“Soph?”
“Yeah, I just…” She straightened and chewed her lip. “I think your ‘regular’ is different from my ‘regular’,” she explained with little air quotes. “Mom always buys the bottle shaped like a lady.”
Sam smiled. “I hate to break it to you, but that isn’t real maple syrup. Look at the ingredients next time. You won’t see ‘maple syrup’.”
Sophie wrinkled her forehead. “Well, that’s silly.”
“Indeed. Mine’s in a clear glass bottle, shaped like a maple leaf. You know those now, yes?” He teased.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, sticking her tongue out for a half second. Eventually, she found the two syrups and put them on the table.
“So, you know the ceremony is outside, yes?” Sam prompted when they had dished up.
“Yes, that’s what you said,” Sophie replied warily.
“Sorry if this is weird, but won’t you be too hot in leggings?”
With a blush, Sophie tugged on the hem of her sundress that rose above her knees when sitting. “The dress is too short otherwise,” she explained. “I just feel better covered.”
“Makes sense,” Sam nodded, even though he wasn’t sure it did. His mother never wore leggings underneath anything that he knew of. Then another question occurred to him and snuck out before he could police the thought.
“Why are your work clothes all baggy?”
God bless her, Sophie just laughed out loud. “I was wondering when you’d ask!” She choked out, eyes shimmering with her joyful laughter. “They’re all hand-me-downs. Remember Mrs. Striker?”
“The matchmaker?”
“That one. She’s got a daughter a little older than me who left the workforce to raise her daughter. She was looking to get rid of her professional clothes just when I needed some. I’m slowly replacing pieces as I have the means. It’s just a lot of money to go from wearing only jeans to suddenly needing nice things five days a week.”
“Huh. Never thought about that. I just wear the same thing every day,” Sam winked at her.
With more laughter, they eventually made their way downtown. The beautiful Williamson Main Street wasn’t exactly historical, but had at least been planned with a sense of community. Besides the dual police/fire station, town hall, and the big park with its pavilion, there were a variety of shops and businesses in buildings with different architectural styles. It wasn’t planned or perfect, which made it a beautifully whimsical place to visit.
Already at 9:30, the park was full of visitors. The usual collection of families with young children played on the playground. Dog walkers used the riverfront walkway. A small crowd of officers’ families and friends gathered in the shade of the pavilion. They’d serve snacks after the ceremony, and the tables were already laden with coolers and bags.
Sophie had wanted to contribute, like all the other guests, so she had finally tried out the no-bake cookie recipe she had been making the night Oliver took her. Sam’s mom had been a huge help in understanding the recipe terms, and had advised Sophie to transport the cookies in a cooler with ice. Sophie’s mom had talked to her over the phone while she prepared the cookies and cried, pouring out her pain and building new memories with love.
Sam had been the happy benefactor of her first three attempts, one of which tasted terrible but looked right, one which tasted heavenly but looked unappealing, and the last of which was a perfect blend of flavor and appetizing appearance. He was looking forward to snitching more of them today.
Sam was bummed when he had to leave Sophie sitting with his parents in the sea of folding chairs, but he squared his shoulders and stood next to his colleagues – his friends, too – in front of the crowd. The police chief talked for a very unreasonable number of minutes, as evidenced by a handful of people in the crowd sneaking a look at their phones multiple times. It was worse than the longest, most boring sermon Sam had ever heard. Still, he stayed tuned in. It wouldn’t do to be the one person who missed a cue.
When the chief was done, all four captains spoke, and finally a handful of lieutenants, including Sam’s own boss. It felt like the speeches went on for hours. Then there were pins placed on pockets and handshakes extended.
After surviving that whole mess, Sam was faced with hugs from his parents, brother, and a million church friends. He was sweating buckets in his long-sleeved uniform, unshaded from the 95-degree day. And the one person he really wanted to be next to stood sweetly and patiently behind everyone else, waiting as if she had a right to him.
She did. He wanted to make sure she knew that, too. He had a little plan – and a little diamond – burning a hole in his mind and sock drawer. Three more days…
Find all the parts of this story here.
Chapter 10: The Dawn
Part 2: Sam
Nearly a week later, Sam dropped off Sophie at his parents’ house long past dinner. She had found three apartments with openings, one in Williamson and two in New Albany, and they had toured all three tonight.
“What did you think of them?” Sophie asked as they sat at the kitchen table with warm cookies from his mom. His parents had made the hilarious choice of making themselves scarce, as though Sam and Sophie were in high school again.
“I think the one in Williamson and the first one in New Albany are both in safe neighborhoods, and the buildings are reasonably secure. I don’t like the last one we saw, though,” he gave his honest assessment.
“Me neither,” she agreed with a shudder before he could explain why. Yeah, the lack of a locking main entrance and nearly the same shade of nasty carpeting probably reminded her a little too much of her current residence. Or previous residence, depending. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go back to the apartment.
“Are either of those in your budget?” Sam asked.
“Yup. I didn’t look at ones that weren’t,” she replied.
Smart girl.
“Sam?”
“Yup?”
“Where do you live?”
Sam had to laugh. How had this never come up? “Less than a mile from that apartment in Williamson.”
Sophie blushed, flicking a glance up at him. “Would you mind if…” She paused and chewed on her lip. “Well, if I lived near you?”
Sam resisted the urge to grin like a cheshire cat. It was too soon to say anything, but if he were to be honest with both of them, he’d like her to live very near him at some point in the very near future. He just had to figure out how to get to that point.
“I’d like that,” he settled on the simple reassurance. “It would make it easy to bring you takeout when you work late.”
Now she smiled shyly at him. “I’d like that, too.”
“Hey, before I go, one more thing,” he turned serious. “Oliver Isolah has asked, via his lawyer, to have the opportunity to speak to you. It would be a supervised conversation in an interview room at the county jail. You would be perfectly safe.”
He watched Sophie curl in on herself and wished he could take away the painful memories he knew were flooding her mind. He reached out to take her icy-cold hands in his, rubbing gently to try to warm them.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, please,” he requested when she had chewed on her lip in silence for a minute.
“I… I don’t know,” she looked at him helplessly. “I feel so conflicted. I want to understand why. I want to forgive him. But I also don’t want to go anywhere near him. Do I have a choice?”
“Of course. You can decline Oliver’s request with no repercussions,” he assured.
“Except for my own not knowing,” she corrected.
“Well, it’s possible answers would come out at trial.”
“Trial?” Sophie’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t think…”
“That there would be a trial? Kidnapping isn’t something private parties sue over. It’s a crime, and the state can prosecute Oliver without your involvement if need be. They’ll probably ask you to testify down the road, but you’ll have a choice then, too.”
Sophie appeared to digest that all in silence, again leaving a long break before speaking. Sam had learned to give her time to think.
“I’ll talk to Oliver now. It will be easier to face him privately for the first time than in a court room,” she finally spoke with a nod.
“We can go tomorrow after work if you want. I’m off.”
“Will you come with me?” she asked.
“If you want me, I’m there.”
And he was. Friday night, they slid into uncomfortable chairs across a plain laminate table from more empty, uncomfortable chairs. A short time later, Oliver Isolah entered wearing tan pants and a tan shirt stamped with the initials of the prison. His hands were cuffed together in front.
He looked broken-spirited, Sam thought. Keeping an eye on Sophie, he watched her hands clasp tighter in her lap. He had offered to hold her hand when they sat, but she had declined. Sam wondered if she felt she had to hold herself together for this. He understood, in his own way. He hadn’t been hurt by Oliver in the same way as Sophie, but he had to ask God to take on the burning rage he felt to inflict pain on the man in return.
A harried man in a wrinkled suit accompanied Oliver and the guard escorting him. Oliver and the lawyer sat; the guard remained alert but stood back. There was no chance Oliver would get near Sophie tonight.
The lawyer cleared his throat and looked at Oliver expectantly. Oliver studied Sophie with a sorrowful expression, completely ignoring Sam.
“Thank you… for talking to me, Sophie,” Oliver began, pausing to cough a little. He waited like he expected a response, but Sophie gave him none.
“I wanted to have a chance to explain myself, since you didn’t let me last week.” Now Oliver sounded a little peeved, which raised Sam’s hackles. What was she supposed to do, sit politely with that hood over her head until Oliver decided to talk? Good grief!
Sophie looked at Sam then, and he read a question in her gaze – but he had no idea what she needed. He leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“What is it?”
She turned her lips to his ear. “Can I speak freely? Is this recorded?”
“It is recorded but can’t be used in the trial, because you don’t have a lawyer present. This is not an official visit. So you can speak freely.”
Sophie nodded and turned back to face Oliver. She took a deep breath, surreptitiously slipping her hand over to grip Sam’s. He squeezed her fingers gently in return.
“Oliver, you kidnapped me. You frightened me. That was wrong.” Her tone was gentle, her voice soft, but it was obvious how hurt she was. Even Oliver apparently noticed, because he winced.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he came close to apologizing. “I didn’t see another way.”
“To do what?” Sophie asked.
“Convince you to-” Oliver cut himself off, breathing hard, clearly agitated. Then he cast his first look at Sam, and it was in no way kind and loving. “Does he have to be here?”
Sophie gripped his hand harder, then shocked Sam – and apparently angered Oliver more – by pulling their twined fingers up to rest on the table.
“Yes. He’s my boyfriend. Now please, Oliver, explain what is going on,” Sophie demanded.
Oliver’s face turned beet red, and his lawyer whispered frantically in his ear for a moment before Oliver spoke.
“You deserve better. I know I’m too old for you, but I wanted you to be with someone better. I thought if we spent some time together, maybe I could change your mind.” Oliver spoke haltingly, as if the words were physically painful to remove from his mind. Sam would have liked to give him something physically painful to think about. Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, he reminded himself silently.
“I’m sorry, what?” Sophie spluttered. “This was about me dating Sam?”
Oliver actually huffed like middle schooler. “Yes. He’s a…” Oliver looked at his lawyer and then Sam. He then leaned forward toward Sophie, who leaned back. Sam and the guard both tensed, ready to rise.
“Stay put, Isolah,” the guard growled.
Oliver sat a little farther back in his chair. “Fine. Make me say out loud,” he whined. “Sophie, he’s a …”
Sam’s ears barely registered the common insult for a police officer that Oliver chose, but apparently Sophie was prepared to be enraged on his behalf. She gasped and jumped to her feet, pulling on Sam’s hand. He rose and stood half in front of her.
“Why would you say that? That’s horrid.”
“Don’t be so dense, Sophie. All the police are corrupt. Don’t you read the news?”
“Not all of them, Oliver. And why would kidnapping me help with that? It’s not going to make me like you more.”
Oliver didn’t look at her, rolling his eyes and muttering like a kid. “It didn’t have to be me. Just not him.”
“Did you send me flowers and destroy my apartment?”
Oliver huffed. “He never sent you flowers, did he?”
That solved one mystery, but man, Oliver was nuts.
“Why did you damage my home?”
“He had been there.” Oliver shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“God, have mercy on us all,” Sophie muttered, standing next to Sam now and clasping his hand tightly. He squeezed her fingers in solidarity.
“I don’t know what happened to you to make you think any of this was okay.” She took a deep breath. “Oliver Isolah, shame on you. Sam is a good man. God gave us law enforcement officers to protect us, and yes, to bear the sword. Sam protected me when you endangered my safety.” When Oliver looked to start speaking, Sophie raised her palm to stop him. “I will forgive you eventually, because I don’t want to live with a grudge. I suggest you ask God for his forgiveness, too, and for help trusting his word. Sam is a child of God, Oliver, same as you and I.” Tears flowed freely down Sophie’s cheeks. “We could have been friends, Oliver, but you threw that away. Get some help. Something is wrong in your mind.”
With a last pitying look at Oliver, Sophie nodded at Sam, and he escorted her from the room. When they reached the parking lot, Sophie turned her face up to the setting sun, eyes closed, and let the gentle breeze dry the tears from her face.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“For what?” Sam asked.
“For holding my hand.”
He smiled, wrapping her in a hug. He’d gladly hold her hand forever.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.
She melted into him, tightening the hug. “I love you back.”
