by Eden Butler
“Oh, how awful.”
“Tis, maybe,” he said, his eyes returning to his face, and his featured softening. “But then had I not come back to the states and gotten drafted, then I’d not have landed in this wee town, in this station where a trolley was upturned, and I could be of some help to a lovely lass before I’m off to wherever Uncle Sam says I’m to be.” He tipped his cap toward the busted trolley tire before the soldier ran his long fingers through his dark hair. “I’d…erm…be happy to walk with you to this Joe’s and see if I can help a bit more, if you don’t mind the company.”
My instinct had me wanting to heartily agree. Here was a fine, fit man with a lovely accent and a beautiful smile wanting, on the surface, only my company and to be of some service. But I had been raised by a cynical mother, long left widowed when my father took up too many shifts at the textile factory because our family apple orchard wasn’t producing enough to keep us afloat. She always warned me of strangers too eager to help. But then, she was a child of the Depression, and had learned not to trust anyone, charming or not. Still, her warnings stayed with me.
“Well, that’s awfully generous of you, but you barely know me, and you don’t owe me a thing.”
“No, I don’t. That’s true enough.” He released a breath, his fingers absent-mindedly playing against the brim of his cap as though staving off boredom. “But I’ve five hours to find some sort of occupation for myself before the train pulls away from this station. I could spend it in the train car, reading the same newspaper I’ve had since New Orleans, or maybe I could try to read that buggering boring detective novel my sister swore would keep me from sleeping the whole of the trip.” A smooth shrug and the soldier fit his cap back over his head, hiding those dark waves from sight. “But I've read that newspaper clear through enough times to memorize the stodgy thing, and I don’t care the least bit about a bloke solving mysteries.” He paused, as if considering his next move. “But I’m meant to be on a ship in two days’ time, from some port in New York then on to England or France or the saints know where else, and it will be quite some time, I’m guessing, before I see another smile just as pretty as yours. So forgive me, miss, for being forward for saying so, but I’m not altogether fussed about coming off as rude wanker when all I’m of a mind to do is see how often I can make those dimples show themselves when you smile.”
“Well,” I stammered, my face hot and embarrassed by being so utterly unhinged by his charm. “Well…”
“What’s your name, love?” He smiled that beautiful smile when I remained silent. “I’m called Garreth McGinnis and I think you might be the prettiest woman I’ve seen in the whole of my life.”
Suddenly, I regained my composure. I was Ada Mae Mills, after all, an independent woman, and not some mopey eyed teenager sighing over some Hollywood crush. “That’s an awful lot of baloney you’re serving me, Mr. McGinnis,” I said with an upturned chin, but I couldn't keep a laugh from spilling out to soften the blow.
“I reckon you might think so, but I do mean it and I am quite keen to listen to you talk, and maybe see what this little town is all about before I have to leave it all behind.”
“This town?” A quick wave around the station and I dismissed his suggestion. There wasn’t much to our small town. It was pretty enough, the folk friendly enough, but there was nothing here, save maybe my mother’s peach cobbler worth writing home about. The train station was nice, likely the nicest building in town with the wrought iron rafters above the station crisscrossing sunlight along the brick paved walkway. Beautiful to be sure, finely made in fact, but that didn’t make our small hometown anything really remarkable.
“I’m afraid this town has nothing whatsoever to offer anyone with even the smallest sense of adventure, Mr. McGinnis.”
“I wish you’d call me Garreth.” He stepped closer, dissolving my flippant laughter. “And I wish you’d tell me your name.”
Those eyes, that mouth—not many women could resist either, certainly someone like me who hadn’t seen much beyond the two counties to the north. Men like Garreth McGinnis didn’t often circle for long in Legacy Falls and if they did, they didn’t do much lingering. Still, I didn’t think it was my biscuits that had him looking at me the way he was just then.
We were locked in that small moment—him waiting for me to take him on his offer, me wondering over the good sense in doing so, when it occurred to me that I’d agreed to manning the trolley because I loved watching people setting out on adventures I dreamed of having myself. I might not be able to go with him, but maybe, just maybe, Garreth McGinnis might end up being an adventure all on his own.
“It’s Ada Mae…Garreth. Ada Mae Mills.” I finally told him, staring back into those blue eyes and pushing back the niggling voice of warning I heard in the back of my mind. I waved hand around the station, toward the open doors that lead out into town. “Welcome to Legacy Falls.”
CHAPTER TWO
I was never more acutely aware of my own body than while walking down Pleasant Street with a soldier at my side. Garreth was nearly a foot taller than me, but each stride he made kept even with my own. He was aware too, it seemed, of everything—how closely he walked at my side, how often we exchanged glances, and just how many looks he garnered walking next to me.
Around us my neighbors and fellow townsfolk cast less than fleeting glances in our direction. They seemed to give no mind to the warmth of the day, how the smells of truffles and fresh bread from bakery on Third Street two blocks ahead filled the air with mouth-watering scents that could tempt a saint. Even most who had let the day and sights of summer in Legacy Falls, the aroma of wild flowers and fat, pulsing strawberries vining along the park fence line distract them from the odd sight of me and a perfect stranger, seemed to still glance in our direction. Of course, any woman with even the faintest pulse did more than glance as I led Garreth the four blocks away from the train station and toward Joe’s general store.
“Morning, Ada.” That was Ellie Johnson, a stout, tall spinster woman my mama swore was too scary for even a blind man to look over.
“Morning, Ellie.” Absently, I tugged on the waist of my dress as Ellie passed by. She was a nosy old biddy who got her jollies from criticizing others. But even the bitter old woman took notice of Garreth as we walked by, and when he nodded to her and called with a smooth, “Morning to you, pet,” I swore I saw the old spinster blush from the top of her forehead down to her long neck hidden by the high-button collar she always wore.
“You’re a tease,” I accused, shaking my head at Garreth when he laughed.
“Not in the least, love.” He glanced behind us, laughing as Ellie nearly ran off the sidewalk, not giving a bit of attention where she walked. “Though I will say my sister swears I’ll flatter the mortician on the day of my funeral.” His smile was easy as he shrugged off his confession. “It’s in my nature, I suppose, to flatter a wee bit.”
“Ah. I see.” It was the tone in my voice, perhaps, that had Garreth pivoting in front of me and walking backward as I continued forward. “What are you doing?” yet another smile ghosted at my lips. But the man ignored me, playfully cocking one eyebrow as I kept on walking straight ahead, pretending like he wasn’t there. “Flattery does little good these days,” I said in a halfway teasing manner.
“God’s truth in it, to be sure.” He slowed as we neared the general store entrance and stopped completely as I reached for the door handle, his demeanor suddenly serious. “I meant what I said, Miss Ada.” One beat of my heart, and then he said, “It wasn’t just flattery when I said you were the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in the whole of my life.”
“Oh.” I recovered from the quick blush that bloomed on my cheeks by glancing at my feet, tugging more loose curls back into my snood. He had caught me off guard, but I had learned how to handle flirting. “So…I’m a creature now?” I glanced up at him through my lashes with my best coquettish grin. He seemed to relax at my teasing and moved us both away from the
door as two young boys I didn’t know went inside.
“Aye. That you are. The loveliest.”
Men, I’d discovered, when they wanted to flirt, had a keen look to them that had little to do with sincerity. They were eager to flatter, to flirt with the purpose of stealing your time, your... attentions. Mama called it a slow crawl to debauchery, the way some men carried on, making themselves appear wildly interested when in the end they’d take what they wanted and never look back. But then, as I said, Mama was cynical to her marrow.
Garreth though, the way he smiled, didn’t strike me as one of those debauched men, even though the bright sparkle of him suggested something hidden, something held back. He seemed, well, genuine. Maybe it was the flash of something helpless in his eyes, or how he held tight to my arm not as a possession but almost like a lifeline, that gave me the impression he wasn’t being forward, but was actually just the smallest bit desperate.
“The loveliest, Miss Ada. The loveliest I’ve ever seen.”
I was going to protest, but when I opened my mouth to speak, I turned and looked him full in the face, and was jolted by a sudden sense of recognition, of seeing something familiar, something I'd seen so often when I searched my own face in the mirror. It was a look of loneliness, with an undercurrent of fear. It came from distance and melancholy and all the hopes and dreams we hoard from the world—all the ones we are too frightened to let anyone see. It came from being too afraid of the future to dream beyond the limitations of today. And at that moment, I found I didn’t much care what he wanted from me. It only mattered that here might be an unlooked for adventure, not just for me, but for both of us. If even for only a few fleeting hours.
“Come on then,” he said when I smiled at him. “Let’s mend your tire and then we’ll have some shaved ice from that bloke right there.” He nodded to the frozen goods cart Edwin Lewis had parked in the town center, right next to the Main Street gazebo fashioned with red, white and blue ribbons and billowing banners prompting townsfolk to collect scrap metal for the war effort.
“It’s only nine in the morning,” I reminded him, laughing when he shrugged. “You want shaved ice for breakfast?”
“I’ve had your lovely scones, Miss Ada. Now I’ve got the taste for something sweet.” I didn’t miss the slow glance he made at my mouth, but kept silent. “That is, if you’ll oblige me.” Another shrug and Garreth winked at me. “I am, after all, off to war soon.”
“Are you scared?” Even as I spoke, I regretted asking the question. I meant to apologize, cursing myself for being so rude and forward, but his flippant phrase had triggered thoughts of my cousin Mattie, and the brutally honest letters he wrote to us from the front. The war office advised we be cheerful, write to soldiers only about the good that we hear, the positive things we endure while they are off fighting. But Mattie did not write about happy things in his letters and did not expect us to do the same. Mostly he wrote of his fear, his worry and how desperate he was to come home. Too late I realized that was an indelicately forward question to ask of a soldier I hardly knew.
“Garreth…I’m so sorry.”
“No, love.” Stepping back, he rested his palm on the door handle. “It’s a fair question.” But instead of answering, he gave me a wistful smile and ended the conversation by swinging the door open and gallantly gesturing me inside.
***
In all my life, there had never been a day like that one. Garreth refused to let my rude question or the fact that there was so little time impact the mood or how often we laughed with each other. And I did laugh, more than I ever had in my life. He was a natural story teller, relating the things he and his sister had done as children—one particularly gut-splitting tale involved a dark night walking away from the small church where their grandfather’s wake had been held, alone in the dark and believing their dearly departed “Grandda” was following them as they passed a small pasture, only to realize it was only a nosy milk cow trailing them.
“I pissed myself thinking the old bugger, who was already too mean and surly to die a’tall, had somehow managed to trick the devil and escape his fiery embrace. And there I went wetting myself from the shock of it all like a wee lad,” he admitted, blushing only slightly when I went on laughing and laughing, unable to stop. “My sister, Emma, loves telling that story.”
Between laughs I asked, “She wasn’t scared?”
Garreth’s smile widened and he adjusted the recently acquired replacement tire under his arm as we walked through the park. “No, love. Fiercer than the devil, is Emma. There’s nothing that scares her a’tall.”
He asked many questions about Legacy Falls, wanting to see where I’d gone to school, and the pastures and roads that lead from the town proper and our small orchard just blocks from Main Street.
“Do you make cider?” he asked, lifting his hands up in supplication when I rolled my eyes at him. “Fair enough, that was a daft question.” And then, I regaled all the many ways one can tend an apple in pies and drink and butters of all sorts.
There were also brief, silent moments, small blinks of time that we did not speak at all. These I began to crave with a fierceness I did not understand. Garreth’s knuckles brushed against mine and at first, the contact shocked me. But then he kept at it, making a point to touch me in some small way that was not forward or incessant and, before long, our leisurely walk through town was winding down too quickly, especially when that handsome stranger looped his pinky finger with mine.
It was only an hour before his train was due to leave before we finally left the town center and went back into the station. Garreth was handy and made fixing the trolley wheel look like a cinch, a fact I complimented him on when the job was done.
“Not a’tall, love. It wasn’t a bother.” He nodded a thanks when I handed him a handkerchief to wipe his fingers clean and we sat with our feet and legs dangling between the railings that looked out from Platform Four to the tracks below, our ankles knocking together occasionally as we swung our legs. “That should do you for some time now.” He glanced behind us, squinting at the trolley pushed back against a corner in an uncluttered corner. “Will you have any difficulties getting it back home?”
“No,” I said, offering him a neat white bag of snacks. While he’d doctored my wheel, I’d collected what was left of my apple tarts and cookies and several packs of Chesterfields. This I handed to him with a smile and he watched my mouth, then the sides of my face for a few lingering seconds before he accepted the bag. “There’s a utility closet next to the ticket booth that I store my trolley in every afternoon. It’ll be fine there.”
Garreth bit into a chocolate chip cookie, closing his eyes as though it was the most delicious thing he’d ever let touch his tongue. “Hang on,” he said, blinking his eyes open. “You mean to say you lug all those sweets and goodies and coffee and such into the station every day?” I nodded and for the first time, I witnessed Garreth’s frown. “And I reckon you get up in the wee hours to bake all these bits of goodies and brew coffee and bring them up from your home to the station before it’s light out? Is that right?”
“Well, yes. Of course I do.”
He took another bite of the cookie, but didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as the first. “That seems a trifle dangerous, doesn’t it then?”
“Um. No,” I said, suppressing a smile. “Not here in Legacy Falls.” He kept on staring at me and I turned away, feeling unaccustomedly flattered that someone was worried over me. It wasn’t something I was familiar with.
He sat next to me, watching my profile, and I wondered what he thought. His open gaze on my face, the way his eyes too in my features, made my chest feel tight, a sensation that I had never experienced before, but was certain I liked.
“If I was your fella,” Garreth started slowly, “then I’d make damn sure you didn’t have to carry all that rubbish up to the station on your own every day. Especially not before the sun rises.”
He offered me a cookie and I broke off a p
iece, his eyes following my motions as I moved it to my mouth and ate, as I licked the crumbs from my lips. I was reluctant to break the silence that his focus wove between us, but I felt compelled to share with him what was in my heart.
“I like manning the trolley and cooking the bake goods. And I like walking into town before the sun rises because I get to see sunset as it moves over the lake at the edge of town. Just then, all alone, it’s me and my lovely-smelling biscuits and cookies and God in the quiet as He paints brilliant swirls of color across the sky. It’s as if all that’s beautiful and peaceful and good is filling up my world, and all the ugliness is set aside for a while.” When I stopped speaking, my limbs trembled. I realized I’d likely said too much, made myself look a bit of a romantic as I spoke. Garreth likely believed I was a silly woman, going on about the sunset and why I loved watching it, but if he thought I was being stupid, he was too polite to mention it. In fact, he only went on watching me, moving his mouth into a smile when I glanced at him.
“Well,” I started, swallowing back my embarrassment.
“No need to get fussed, love. I understand.” Then, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to do, that strange soldier took my hand and we did nothing at all but sit on that platform and watch the crowd move around us. His hand was large, the fingers worn with callouses. I found them lovely, strong with fine, thin veins that ran over the top of his hand. They reminded me of Uncle Bleu’s and Mattie’s hands—men who knew what a long work day meant; men that used their hands for that work. Garreth’s fingers curled around mine and I had the most pleasant sensation of being looked over and cared for. Odd that the first time I’d felt this was with a man I’d likely never see again. A sudden, unexpected cry rose in my chest and I didn't have time to stuff it back down.
“What is it?” He spoke softly, the tone like a gentle push, urging me to honesty.
