“Hello?” Kat called out. Her voice echoed throughout the barren rooms and off of the wooden floors. Dropping her overnight bag in the middle of the entryway, the door bounced back open as she dashed off to explore.
Walking around, there seemed to be a room for everybody and everything. Electric light reflected off the many windows that decorated room after room. Upstairs, an open loft divided a master bedroom and two more bedrooms, each side having its own bathroom. In the center of the loft, a music stand stood at attention, and I realized this area was for me. My dad was right, it was the perfect house. Only, it was in the wrong location. It was in the middle of farm country, for heaven’s sake! Despite the translucent excellence, I could not appreciate the tranquil beauty of country life. I did not ask for it and I did not want it.
Over the course of a week, we managed to unpack most of the boxes with little family bickering. Arranging the furniture was another story. With each failed attempt, our grumbling grew louder and louder. Especially while moving the five-hundred pound couch Dad made us lug from the living room, to the family room, then to the sun room, and finally up to the loft. The stupid thing still didn’t look quite right. On our way back down, Kitty lost her grip and dropped her corner.
“Grab Kathryn!” Mom yelled as the couch tumbled down the stairs.
It actually flipped over. Its hide-a-bed mattress ejected like a jack-in-the-box and acted as a launching device. The couch took air, then burst into pieces at the bottom of the stairs.
Dad blew his top.
Then he apologized. “Yes, I do love you more than the furniture.”
“You didn’t act like it,” Kat sputtered, wiping tears and snot on her shirt.
Dad grinned. “Would ice cream help?”
“Maybe,” she said, looking up at him with curious eyes.
“Great! Let’s go find an ice cream parlor.”
“Yippee!” Kat squealed.
“Then a furniture store!” Dad cheered.
“Awh…” Her smile vanished. “I should have known I’d get suckered into more work.”
Mom and I exchanged looks. He was so predictable. She was so gullible.
It turned out that Silver Lake didn’t have an ice cream parlor, so we ended up with a container of Cookies and Cream and box of plastic spoons from Wehners grocery store.
“Do you really think it’s pronounced ‘wieners’?” Kat pounded her fist on the seat, emphasizing her uncontrolled laughter. “I think they should have name tags in the shape of a wiener.”
“Oh man,” Dad laughed under his breath.
“Don’t say another word,” Mom scolded.
I wasn’t sure, but I think Dad visualized the wrong kind of wiener.
Aside from shopping at a store named Wehners, moving over summer vacation sucked. Instead of keeping busy with homework, I found myself restless. The new property wasn’t all that far from Topeka, less than twenty miles in fact, but the distance had already proved to be far enough to discourage spur of the moment outings. Rayyan even thought she was being kind by not making me waste the gas driving into town to join them for a movie. Whatever.
And I had no desire to call Alex, even after considering his apology, or whatever that was, the night I left. I didn’t miss Alex, and I was finished with childish fairytales. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was simply protecting my heart.
So with little to look forward to, I took refuge in my favorite part of the house. Actually, it was outside, on the large deck that surrounded the back. I liked to sit out there and strum my guitar. I played the melody I heard in my head; it was my own work in progress. My sorrow fighting to find my inner happiness, or better yet, peace.
At times I’d look out upon the forest for inspiration, but my view somehow became restricted by the giant brown tree trunk cell bars that surrounded this place of exile. Other times, I heard a toad or frog calling out its mid-day doldrums from a nearby creek, and it gave me a strange comfort knowing I was not the only lonely creature here in this anti-paradise.
The one redeeming quality of the property was that the house lay just off the Pacific Union Railroad. We literally had to cross the tracks to get to our house. The first time the train passed, Kat started screaming about an earthquake. She was such a dork. Personally, I fell in love with the powerful rumble that shook the house and the floor beneath my feet the very first time I experienced it. At night, I lay awake and waited for the silent rumble that always preludes the clickity-clack of the massive steel wheels charging forward.
I wasn’t surprised the first time I dreamed about jumping aboard a passing boxcar, but I didn’t expect the dream to occur so often. Freud would probably tell me that I was desperate for some sort of adventure.
Chapter Nine
HOMECOMING
IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME since Sam had been back to the farm after the accident. He scanned the house with the sagging roof and noted the paint had long-since been worn off by wind and weather. He turned toward the open grassy field where the crops once grew. There was an unnatural rise in the earth’s landscape that stood out from the predominately flat land. Although it too was covered with prairie grass, a barn had once stood there. It had been reduced to a pile of ash years back. He could still envision the flames and the screaming. He wondered why he’d returned.
A shift in the air current brought in the faint sound of a guitar song riding on the wings of the wind. He did not recognize the tune, but found it strangely compelling. Curiosity persuaded him to follow the melody.
He crossed the field and headed west into the woods. A nearby creek flowed northerly. It was here he used to capture crayfish when he was little. The music led him down stream. When he finally reached his unknown destination, he found himself close to a house he didn’t recognize. It was a large home with a wraparound deck. He searched for the source of the music and found it. She was sitting on the deck, picking a guitar that rested comfortably in her lap. The sun reflected off her long blonde hair that moved gently with the breeze. She had long legs that were propped up against the banister of the deck. She wore a pair of blue denim shorts and a billowy white top. She was not the glamorous type, yet so beautiful it made him smile.
He was resting against a tree when someone called out her name, “Emily.” It also brought attention to himself. Suddenly, he felt like a stalker, intruding on her privacy. He felt inclined to leave. The girl continued to play.
As he turned around to make his way back to the farm, he began to hum along with the melody. When he reached the open prairie, he settled upon a very large rock. Propping himself up with his long arms stretched out behind him, he closed his eyes and soaked up the sun’s rays. Like a moth drawn to the candle, he was uncomfortable with the way the music called to him.
Chapter Ten
VARMINTS, STRANGERS AND OTHER DANGERS
BY OUR SECOND SATURDAY, Mom felt it time to get acquainted with a local church. Dad flipped open his laptop to do some on-line church shopping. We had either Baptist or Methodist to choose from. Because Dad said that he liked to enjoy his beer without guilt, he drove us to the Methodist church that following Sunday morning. Once there, the minister seemed friendly enough, and I saw a few kids my own age, but laryngitis must have been going around.
Soon after getting home, Mom busied herself with staking off an area that would eventually become a colorful garden of flowers. Dad and Kat headed out for fishing in the near-by creek, hoping to catch anything.
I retreated back into my bedroom, which by now, was turning claustrophobic…and life threatening. I felt as if the stark white walls were literally sucking the life right out of me, absorbing my energy with each passing second. I was sure if I stayed much longer, my family would enter my room to find a dehydrated corpse of skin and bones.
Hearing the sound of Kat’s voice coming in through the deck door, talking to Dad about their fishing excursion, interrupted my wallowing in self-pity and visions of being dead. She sounded so happy and excited. It ma
de me even more depressed. And angry. I reminded myself that I had originally decided to be optimistic and embrace the move.
“Just snap out of it,” I scolded myself, sitting upright on my bed. I grabbed bunny and shook her. “You’re not being very helpful, either.” I tried to imagine something I could do. “Ahh….Hmmm…”
Sigh. I should have caught a ride into town with Mom and helped her pick out flowers. Looking about my room, wishing I was back in Topeka, I noticed a green book jacket on the shelf. The Giving Tree. I tossed bunny aside and took the book down.
Like always, by the end of the book, I was crying for the tree.
And maybe for me. I could be that boy. Maybe I was. A self-absorbed teenager. Everyone else was managing to enjoy all this land, why couldn’t I? Hanging up my church clothes, I eyed the white, billowy babydoll top and snatched it off the hanger. Wearing it made me feel sweet, and kind. Then I grabbed a pair of plaid shorts out the dresser drawer and slipped them on next.
As I made my way downstairs, I could hear excitement coming from the kitchen. “What’s going on?” I asked, seeing fish in a frying pan.
Kat turned around, holding up another fish. “Hi, Emmy. We’re making lunch!”
“It’s still alive!” I gasped in mild horror.
“It won’t be, after we’re finished with it,” Dad snarled in his best “Igor” voice, waving the knife in his hand.
“Would you like to join us?” Kat asked.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” I grabbed a piece of fruit out of the bowl, took a bite, and headed to the couch to finish eating. Glancing around the area, the stark, white walls seemed to reach out with a suffocating effect.
Run, Forrest, run, before the life is sucked out of you, I thought to myself.
With half a pear in hand, I grabbed my tennis shoes on the way out the door, and headed towards some kind of adventure. Hopefully.
“Now what?” I wondered aloud, standing in front of Mom’s plot of ground for her floral garden. That’s when I heard my friend, the amphibian, croaking. Maybe it lived near the stream. A stir in my stomach told me that it might be fun to investigate; maybe I’d be lucky enough to find the little thing.
I wasn’t sure how far the creek was from the house, but common sense led me to believe it wouldn’t be too far off. I looked to see if Dad and Kat had already forged a path, but couldn’t find their trail. Not that it mattered; I really wasn’t worried about getting lost.
And then reality set in. The trees quickly progressed into a forest; the spring canopy was already thick, making the sun useless as a compass. It took me a while to realize I had no idea where I was. It took less time to notice one thing about trees: they all looked alike.
Even fallen trees began to look like one another. Everywhere I looked, green leaves and brown bark followed more green leaves and brown bark. An uneasy feeling settled in, but I was too afraid to stop walking, even though I was unsure what direction I was headed.
The sound of my racing heartbeat pounded so loudly in my ears that I could no longer hear the moving water. Hot, sticky air made it all the more hard to breathe. I felt disabled, and vulnerable. Visions of my family organizing a search party clouded my head. My chest tightened. Just as panic was telling me to scream as loud as I could, I caught a glimpse of something…shimmering…the sun reflecting off the water! Like someone excited to greet an old friend, I ran to the water’s edge. Tearing off my shoes, I put my feet into the stream. I had made it.
Now with panic behind me, I laughed at my own wild imagination.
Feeling safe, I poked around the rocks at the shoreline, hoping to find the frog. Since he wasn’t croaking, I had no idea where to look, but much to my surprise, I found a tiny crayfish instead. They were such interesting creatures.
Scanning the water to my right, then left, I decided to follow the creek upstream to the north. But first, I collected a bunch of small rocks and piled them together to make a marker for when I returned. I had enough of being lost.
Nature was easy to fall in love with. Wild bluebells, yellow violets, and white Dutchman’s Britches dotted color along the bank’s edges while dragonflies skimmed the water. Splashing through the liquid sidewalk, I marveled at the stark contrast to Fairlawn. It became easy not to miss the litter that decorated the city’s walkways. Too engrossed in the beauty, I wasn’t looking where I was going and—
The rocks felt very slippery. Up went my feet, out from under me.
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but bright blue. The trees were nowhere in sight. Rushing water sounded loudly in my ears.
“Oh crap!” I winced, as I felt the back of my head pound to the rhythm of my heartbeat. Tilting my head to the side, I came face to face with rocks. I was lying in the dirt.
“Smooth move, Grace,” I said only to myself. As I sat up, I reached for the source of pain and rubbed the lump under my hair. Short of a miracle, I had landed mostly on the edge of the bank, rather than the water.
Rising to my feet, I brushed the dirt off my clothes and visually inspected myself for injuries. In the absence of gushing blood, I retrieved my shoes I’d tossed while falling, and decided to keep to the grass for the duration of my adventure. Although I had a headache, it was slight enough to ignore.
Once again, I was easily drawn into this new enchanting world: the crystal clear water, the birds singing high above my head, and so many kinds of trees I’d never seen before. Everywhere I looked, the bright foliage waved its green leaves in the gentle breeze, as if to say, “Hi, welcome to the neighborhood.”
With each step, feelings of inner peace replaced my residual pain of loneliness. I couldn’t remember ever feeling such contentment in my life before; the urge to go home and paint my room green welled up inside me. As I continued with this thought, I came upon a small crossing made from various rocks stretching to the other side.
Accepting the invitation, I hopped across the rocks and discovered a natural archway in the trees that also looked very inviting. A sense of mystery filled my imagination and I began to tiptoe. I found myself holding my breath as I crept further into the archway. Hiding behind the last tree, I peered into an open field. My heart raced.
I gazed upon a scene that held all the charm from another era. The picturesque white two-story farmhouse standing proudly in the middle of an open field reminded me of old photographs I’d seen in school textbooks. A worn dirt path lead to a nearby red barn, complete with a wooden wagon parked in front.
The simple beauty drew me in for a closer look. Forgetting the probability that someone lived there, I made a bee-line toward the structures, and then noticed an old-time truck next to the house. I was almost there when I noticed someone standing behind the truck with his back towards me.
“Oh!” I exclaimed in embarrassment, stopping abruptly.
The figure turned around to face me, casually, unstartled.
“Hello,” came a friendly greeting.
I stood frozen in my embarrassment, unable to speak.
“The name’s Sam,” he offered, in a deep but gentle voice. His face was round. His chin, cheeks, and brow were all in perfect proportion, but paid homage to his deep brown eyes.
I guessed he was a few years older than me. And tall, very tall. Thick biceps emerged from the plain white shirt that stretched tightly across his wide chest. He had manly hands that looked too clean for a farm boy. A well-fitting pair of jeans loudly hinted that muscular legs matched his upper strength. An old pair of brown leather work boots scuffed across the grass in my direction.
I wondered how long I had been staring when it dawned on me to speak. As much as I tried, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face and I became hopelessly tongue-tied over the most handsome boy I’d ever seen in my life.
“Hello,” I finally stammered, still smiling too wide. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here, um, I’m sorry.”
“Think nothing of it.” He stopped walking a comfortable distance from me.
“My name is
Emily,” I spoke a little too slowly, finally introducing myself. “I live over that way.” I turned around and pointed behind me. “So, you live here?”
‘”Yes, ma’am, I do.” His head nodded, seeming quite proud.
I looked beyond him towards the truck. “Does it run?” My inhibitions began disappearing faster than an Olympic sprint.
“You like it?”
“I love it! That’s the coolest truck I’ve ever seen.”
“Why, thank you,” he said. “Unfortunately no, I can’t get it to run.”
Sam started back toward the vehicle, then stopped, apparently waiting for me to join him.
Naturally, I did.
“It’s a 1933 Ford half ton.” Pointing to the wooden bed rails, he added, “Short bed.” His eyes twinkled and his grin looked genuine. I found myself smiling just because he was smiling.
“If you ever get it running, can I have a ride?” I couldn’t believe it when the question came out of my mouth, or how comfortable I felt talking to a complete stranger. An incredibly handsome stranger. In the back of my head, I could hear my mother’s voice warning me not to talk to strangers, but here I was, doing it anyway. And, what was Mother’s second safety rule? Dismissing her words of warning as irrelevant, fear was the last thing on my mind as I immediately became enamored with this country boy.
“It’d be my pleasure to give you a ride,” Sam replied. “Only it hasn’t run for a long time.” He stretched out the vowel in long.
“I suppose vintage engine parts are hard to come by, huh?”
“Vintage? Well, yes ma’am. That they are.”
I shot him a puzzled glare over the word ma’am.
“‘Ma’am’ is just being polite, but if you don’t like ma’am, how about Miss?”
“How about just Emily.”
“Just Emily it is,” he said. “So tell me, Just Emily, are you new to these parts?” He laughed at his own humor.
It made me wince. “Yes, we just moved in about a week ago.”
A Kiss for Emily (Emily Stokes Series) Page 5
