That afternoon, while Mrs. Lanigan worked with Miranda, I went out to the patio with the stacks of letters to search for ones that would tell us more of the story of Nicholas and Augie. I’d read through a few that were sweet but not informative. I kept on, hoping to find one that would reward Mrs. Lanigan for her cooperation with Miranda. A few minutes later, I hit the jackpot.
I heard footsteps and looked up to see Ardan, dressed in cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and hiking boots. He carried a fishing pole and had a backpack slung over his shoulder.
My stomach did the flipflop dance. I greeted him with a wave.
“Have I interrupted you from sleuthing?”
“Yes. But look what I found.” I handed him the letters.
Like me, he was a fast reader. In a few minutes, he was done. “Mother’s going to freak out.”
“I’m freaking out.”
“Do you have time to take a break and come with me down to the creek?”
“Are you fishing for our dinner?”
He laughed. “Unlikely.”
“Do I have to put a worm on a hook?” I asked.
“I fly fish. No worms.”
“Like Norman Maclean?”
“Kind of,” he said.
“I loved that book. Not that I’m keen to touch a slimy fish.”
“I promise not to make you kiss it,” he said.
“I won’t even pretend to know what that means.”
“Kiss them and throw them back in. That’s how we fly fish in Idaho.”
“As much as I love your kisses, I would not enjoy one after you’ve kissed a fish.”
“You better hope I don’t catch anything then,” he said. “Because I would really like to kiss you by the creek. It’s one of my favorite places on the property.”
I glanced down at my feet. Would tennis shoes work or did I need boots?
“Tennis shoes are fine,” he said.
“Did I just ask that out loud?”
“No. But I could tell from the way you glanced at your feet.”
“You’re way too observant.”
“You’re my favorite subject,” he said.
I put the letters back inside the house and followed him across the yard to a trail that led into the woods. Too narrow to walk side by side, I let him take the lead, enjoying the view of the man in front of me. Damp and cool in the woods, it smelled of fir trees and dirt. Roots and rocks made the path uneven. I concentrated on staying on my feet. Falling would be the opposite of sexy. Several times we had to jump over puddles that looked like they were filled with chocolate milk. New growth on the firs and pines were a shade lighter than their friends from previous years.
We passed through the wooded area to a meadow. Purple, yellow, and red wildflowers were scattered amongst tall grasses. He stopped abruptly in front of me. I put my hands out to stop myself and smacked into his cute backside. The momentum knocked him a few paces into the tall grass. A flock of birds rose from the grasses and fluttered into the sky. A green snake slivered out from under a rock.
I screamed. “Snake. Ardan, there’s a snake.”
Ardan turned around to look at me and laughed.
“You really are a city girl.”
“That’s a…a snake. Right there by your foot.” I pointed to where the snake had frozen, like he thought he was invisible if he didn’t move.
The horrible reptile started toward me. I shrieked and leapt onto Ardan’s back. I tangled my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. I hid my face in his shoulder. “Don’t let it get me.”
He was laughing so hard his whole body shook.
“It’s not funny.” I lifted my face to see where the snake was now. Nowhere to be seen. Did it go back into the woods or the grasses? There was no way I was heading into that grass now. Not after what had just crawled out of them.
The muscles of his back rippled under my hands as I slid down him and onto the ground. I kept hold of his arm as I looked around.
He finally stopped laughing and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not funny. At all.”
“You’re cute when you’re scared.”
“I am not cute,” I said. “I’m terrified.”
That gave him another fit of laughter.
“Are you done?” I asked.
He pressed his fingers against his mouth, obviously trying to get control of himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you.”
“At me. Exactly. Not nice.”
“You’re not really mad, are you?” he asked.
“I might be.” I heard a rustle behind me and whipped around to see a squirrel running up a tree.
“You’re not afraid of squirrels, are you?”
“Very funny.”
He gestured across the meadow. “Come on, I want to show you my special place.”
“I’m not going through that grass. No way.”
“I’ll go first. Once I trample it down, you’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“If we see another snake, you’re toast. I mean it,” I said.
“It’s either this or climb back up onto me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
I followed him. My eyes darted back and forth as we crossed the meadow. He was right. The grasses bowed under his feet, creating a nice path for me. Finally, we arrived on the other side of the meadow where the terrain took a steep dive. Below, a creek wound through the cavern. We eased our way down, using rocks and roots for footholds until we arrived at a large pool of green water.
“This is Lanigan creek. We named it ourselves,” he said.
“It looks more like a river.” I walked closer. “How deep is it?”
“About eight feet.” He gestured toward a wall of rocks that helped dam the pool. “See those? We put them there years ago to create a deep area for us to swim in. Kevan thought of it. He was always the brains of our endeavors.”
Further up, the creek narrowed. Water burbled over rocks. “Do you ever catch anything?”
“Not often in this creek. April’s a little early. June is when it gets good.”
“Then why today?”
“Practice.”
I wiped my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand. Between the hike and snake scare, I was hot. “I want to dive in there.”
“During the summer, it’s a fantastic swimming hole.” He pointed to an oak with a rope tied to a thick branch. “We used to come here as kids.”
“Does it stay this deep all summer?”
“Yes, it’s fed by melting snow at the peak of Blue Mountain.”
I perched on an exposed root and took off my shoes. “I’m putting my feet in.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a half smile, like he was trying not to laugh again. “You are?”
I walked to the edge of the water, yelping as sharp pebbles pierced my tender feet.
“City feet,” he said.
“Well, obviously. I don’t run around the streets of Portland in bare feet except on special occasions.” I plunged my manicured toes into the water and yelped. I jumped out as fast as I’d jumped in. “It’s so cold. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He doubled over, laughing his silly head off at my obvious naïveté about all things Idaho. “I said it was melted snow. What did you think?” he asked between bursts of laughter.
“I’m delighted to provide entertainment, Idaho.”
“Thank you, City Feet.” He perched on a large rock and tossed a pebble into the water. “I come here all the time, to read or think or fish. It’s my special place.”
I sat back on my log bench and rubbed my feet. “I might have frostbite.”
He laughed some more.
“You done?” I asked.
“Until you do something else funny.”
I tossed a small stick at him.
He caught it and tossed it back. I tried to catch the d
amn thing, but it landed in my bushy hair instead. I yanked it from my head and threw it on the ground. “Do you think that had any bugs on it?”
“You’re hilarious.” He tilted his head to the side. “And adorable.”
“Don’t try and butter me up with that kind of talk,” I said.
He jumped up and pulled a small plastic square from a pocket on the backpack. “This is a portable tarp. I wouldn’t want you to get your gorgeous booty dirty.” He gave it a strong shake and placed it over a grassy area. “You can sit and read while I fish.”
“I didn’t bring a book.”
“He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “My manuscript is on here. I would like you to read it.”
“You’ll let me read your baby?”
“You’re the first person who will ever have read it. Be kind, please. I’m not as good as you are.”
“Are you kidding? I know how hard it is to give someone your work.”
“You’ll see how similar it is to our Augie and Nicholas. The more I read of the letters, the stranger it becomes.”
A few minutes later, he’d pulled on plastic pants called waders and trudged upstream, casting the line in a circular motion so the fly skimmed the surface of the water. I settled in a spot in the sun and opened the document on his phone.
Nicholas Garfield fell in love with Augusta Devin the instant he saw her huddled in the corner of a bench at the train station in Benton, Indiana. She was no bigger than a half-grown boy and wore a coat thin from wear and shoes with a hole by the left toe. Her dark eyes took up most of her heart-shaped face. Unlike most of the young women he knew, she had long hair coiled at the nape of her neck.
The station was mostly empty. They were the only two people in the station, other than the man in the booth, who was now asleep sitting up, his snores the only evidence he was still amongst the living.
“May I sit with you?” he asked.
She raised giant, round eyes up to look at him. “If it pleases you.” She gestured with a narrow, chapped hand toward the platform. “From what they said, we’re most likely here until the storm’s over.” She tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her jacket.
Nicholas looked outside where the blizzard raged and made the terrain nothing but a sheet of white. No train would come tonight.
“We’re lucky to be inside and not stuck out there,” she said. “My parents will have barely made it home.”
“The snow came suddenly,” he said.
He detected the slight hint of an Irish brogue. “Are you Irish?”
“My parents came here when I was five years old.”
“Are you hungry?” He patted the bag in his arms. “I have some cheese, bread, and a jug of wine. I’d be happy to share.”
“You speak like an American but have the supper of a French peasant.” She narrowed her eyes and looked at the gold watch on his wrist. “What’s a boy like you doing here?”
“I’ve come from a visit with my university friend, Billy Walcott. Do you know him?”
“He was above me in school, but I know who he is. He had a scholarship to Northwestern. Talk of the town a few years ago. Is he back here now?”
“He came back to use what he learned at university on his family’s farm. I spent the week after Christmas with them. Mrs. Wilcox insisted I take food with me because of the weather. She was afraid I’d be stuck.”
“I wouldn’t mind some bread and cheese,” she said. “My mother wanted me to take some bread with me, but they have so little, I left it on the table.”
I continued to read, astounded by the similarities to Augie and Nicholas. The chapter went on to describe their night together and subsequent journey home to Chicago when the storm cleared the next day.
By the time Ardan returned to me, I’d finished the first chapter.
“I don’t understand how this is possible,” I said.
Ardan stepped out of his waders and put aside his fishing gear. “Me either.” He plopped next to me. “Do you think it matters that we understand?”
I looked out on the water where the sun made diamonds of the ripples. “I don’t suppose it does. Sometimes we have to accept that there are occurrences of the divine all around us. We don’t see them or understand them, and maybe we’re not meant to. It is possible God whispered this story in your ear while you were sleeping.”
“But for what purpose?”
“Because the world needs more love stories. Especially now when hatred wants to kill love in all its forms. Stories like Augie and Nicholas are important in the continued quest to heal the world of sin and hatred.”
He stared at me. “Where did you come from? And why did it take you so long to get here?”
I looked back at him, lost in his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you. In all the wrong places. But I’m here now.”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Did you kiss any fish? I was too distracted by your great writing to notice.”
“No fish. Only a beautiful angel named Charlotte.”
Later, I knocked on Mrs. Lanigan’s door and waited for her growl of permission to enter. “Come in. I’m awake.”
She was sitting up in bed. The tray with her lunch was on the bed next to her, most of which had been eaten.
“You ate?” I asked.
“You made such a fuss about it yesterday.”
“Yes, I did, but I didn’t think you would actually listen to me.”
The corners of her mouth twitched.
“No wonder you’re tired,” I said. “It takes a lot more energy to frown than smile.”
“For God’s sake, I’m not a kindergartener.” She let out a harrumph without nearly the venom I had already come to expect from her. “Did you have an opportunity to sort through the box of letters? Because I ate my lunch, so you owe me.”
“I did. I have two that are dated right after the first ones we read. Would you like me to read them to you now?”
“What do you think?”
I read out loud.
* * *
January 7, 1938
Dear Augie,
I’ve just returned home from our dinner. As I walked into the house, I wanted to dance down the street like that showy Fred Astaire.
The dress Lucinda made you brought out your eyes. Please tell her for me that it was as fine as any dress my mother or her friends would wear. I would never have known it was made from scraps.
When I came into the house, Mother was in the parlor with my brother, Boyce. The two of them enjoy playing cards together in front of the fire. I believe I told you he just turned sixteen, but he doesn’t act like most boys his age. Meaning, he isn’t loud and obnoxious like many of the boys I’ve known over the years. Boyce is quiet and painfully shy. He only has one friend, Martin, who he spends time with after school. Other than that, he prefers the company of Mother or me. He tries to avoid Father, which isn’t difficult, given how little time he spends here at the house. Father spends most evenings at his club and doesn’t return until we’re all in bed. I think Mother’s lonely, but she never says so. She often says how lucky she is to have two such devoted boys.
They asked where I had been, and I told them I finally convinced my New Year’s Eve girl to go out with me. Once Mother heard that, she wanted to know all about you and our evening. I told her I took you to the Wescott and how pretty you looked. I described how hard you work and that you send most of your wages home to your parents. Mother thinks this shows remarkable character. She asked if you might come for a visit one of these days soon. I told her I’d like to keep you to myself for a while longer. The truth is, I’m afraid of what you might think of our family. Mother rarely leaves the house. Father rarely sets foot in the house. Boyce cannot wait to leave the house.
My family is like a cracked mirror, together but broken.
I asked her what it was like when Father was courting her. She seemed to struggle to find the right words. Finally, she said he was charming, with i
mpeccable manners.
Out of nowhere, Boyce asked why Father wasn’t home more. “Martin’s father spends most evenings at home,” he said. “Is it because he dislikes me so?”
“No, dearest. Not you. He finds me tedious.”
Tedious. Have you ever heard such an awful word?
“He thinks I’m soft,” Boyce said.
“Don’t worry about what he thinks,” I said. “He doesn’t understand anyone who isn’t just like him.”
Boyce is sensitive and artistic. It’s like he has fewer layers of skin than the rest of us, so he feels everything more deeply, both good and bad. I worry sometimes he’s too good for this hard world.
I must close. The hour is late, and my eyes are tired.
Until next week.
With affection,
Nicholas
* * *
I barely looked up before opening the next envelope. Mrs. Lanigan didn’t move a muscle other than to make an impatient cluck with her tongue. “This one isn’t dated, but I feel certain it’s in reply to the one I just read.”
* * *
Dear Nicholas,
I, too, enjoyed our dinner, other than the time went too quickly. Although my room was its usual frigid temperature upon my return, my stomach was full, a rarity these days. Mrs. Purdy and the girls all wanted to know about dinner. What dresses were the ladies wearing? What did we eat? Was I nervous about which fork to use? Mrs. Purdy was pleased when I told her I didn’t make any mistakes with the silverware or glasses. She’s proud to have taught me so much in such a short time.
The restaurant was too nice. All those black suits and crisp aprons and me with my ratty shoes and inability to open the clams with that tiny fork. Why would they serve something in a shell and expect a person to open it right there in front of everyone?
Do you think the waiter noticed my shoes?
I’m sorry if I appeared terse when you asked about my parents. I find it difficult to talk about them without crying like a little girl. I didn’t want to cry at the restaurant and embarrass you. I miss them so. I’ve been in Chicago nine months and my homesickness has only faded a little. I wake up some mornings and think I’m back in my little room at home, but then I hear Mrs. Purdy lighting the stove downstairs and I remember where I am. I love the girls and strict Mrs. Purdy, but living here isn’t the same as being with Mam and Pa.
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