by Janet Spaeth
Sadly, what was ahead was a stack of ungraded math worksheets.
He took a deep breath and dug in. Right now his problems were mathematical. The rest of them would have to wait.
“We need a bonfire,” Gramps announced one Saturday afternoon, when the three of them were at Sunshine. “One more bonfire before winter hits.”
They had just finished painting the interior of one of the old cabins, and they were sitting on the porch, enjoying the notion that there was just one more cabin to refinish before they would have all been renovated. It was a pleasant feeling.
Martha Washington grunted in her sleep. She was curled on Gramps’s lap in a furry ball. At the sound, one of Leonard’s ears perked up, but he didn’t open his eyes, apparently deeming a cat snort to be unimportant.
Livvy didn’t want to move. She wanted to sit in the chair with the slatted back and absorb the last rays of the weekend sun, wrapped in the soft fleece of a blanket.
Only one cabin was left. It seemed like it had been a race against the calendar, fixing one or two cabins a week so they’d be ready for visitors in the spring. If the weather held, she could probably get the last one done in the coming week, and maybe even get the old canteen painted. She’d found another box of the old signs. They’d be perfect in there.
She shut her eyes and let her imagination roam. A clear light blue, one that matched the summer sky here in North Dakota, would be perfect for the walls. She’d leave the signs as she’d found them, a few rusted, some partially broken, others in pristine shape, and scatter them across the walls.
Café curtains would let the sun in but filter the brightness. Maybe she could find some old-fashioned chintz, with the same color of blue as the walls, and perhaps a retro theme of families enjoying themselves on the water. She’d seen something like that at one time in Boston, back in a store that specialized in old-fashioned fabric themes. They probably would send her what she needed, if she could find samples on the Internet.
The Internet. She was connected again, thanks to the wonders of technology, and life was good. A satellite dish was tastefully positioned on the far side of the house, and through some marvels she didn’t understand, she had Internet, cell phone reception, and even more television channels than she could ever watch. Coverage didn’t extend beyond the house, but that was all right.
Now she wouldn’t have to drive into town to check her bank balances. She’d been spending her evenings investigating what kind of flowers she could plant around the house, and maybe she’d have a vegetable patch for fresh corn and tomatoes. She’d have to ask Hayden about that.
“We could,” Hayden said from the porch swing next to her. “What do you say, Livvy?”
She forced her eyes open. “About what?”
“About a bonfire.”
“Tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Would I have to move? Or can I stay right here and you do all the work?” She closed her eyes again. There really was nothing like the late autumn sun.
Martha Washington had it right. Sleep on the porch in the afternoon. Sit back, and relax. There would be time for work—well, for her anyway. Martha’s days of working were long over. She was now replaced by traps in the outbuildings, and it didn’t seem to bother her at all.
“Sure. All we have to do is put more wood on the pile and put a match to it. You’ve got marshmallows, right?”
She nodded, not bothering to raise her eyelids. “Amazingly, I do. I was going to make cereal bars with them but that would require me to move, and that’s not going to happen.”
“Do you have hot dogs?”
“Nope.”
“What do you think, Gramps? Should we go back into town and get some?”
The old man’s chair creaked as he rocked. Apparently the motion didn’t bother the cat; Livvy could hear her snoring continue uninterrupted.
“I put some pork chops in the Crock-Pot this morning,” Gramps said, “so we’ve got them for dinner. Let’s just go with the marshmallows. But you’ll need to go get some more logs, Grub. Down by the river, on the north edge, I think I saw some trees that didn’t make it through this last season. They’ll be fine for a bonfire.”
“Probably too smoky, I’d say,” Hayden commented.
“Smoky is okay. We’re outside. And it’ll keep the bugs away.”
“I’d rather use seasoned wood. There’s a pile over by the orange cabin.”
She could hear the teasing in his voice, and his grandfather rose to the occasion. “That’s good lumber. That’s not the stuff you burn. You might as well throw this chair onto the fire. Or that porch post. Maybe the kitchen Table …”
Livvy let the sound of their good-natured repartee wash over her like a lullaby, a backdrop to the soft chatter of the dried leaves that still clung to the trees, and the faint splash of the river, and the distant calls of birds that still lingered before migrating south. Wrapped in a blanket in the cool evening, she was so comfortable. Who knew that this would be one of life’s greatest pleasures, relaxing outside at the edge of winter? She knew she was falling asleep, but something kept nudging her arm.
“Leonard, go away,” she muttered drowsily. “I don’t want to throw the ball.”
“You don’t have to throw the ball. You just have to come in and have a pork chop.” It was Hayden’s voice. “Gramps got the table all set, and there’s a nice salad, and he’s got some goopy stuff he puts on the meat that makes it heavenly.”
“What?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes, still groggy.
“I don’t know exactly what it is, but it’s really good. You’d better come in and try it. His pork chops are almost as good as his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Was I asleep?” she asked. “I was just listening to you and Gramps talk about the wood, and—”
“And you were gone.”
She could feel the red rushing to her face. “Oh please tell me I wasn’t snoring.”
“Okay, you weren’t snoring.” He grinned.
“I was, wasn’t I?”
“Maybe a little bit.”
“You and Martha Washington had a regular concerto going,” Gramps said from behind the screen door.
“Oh my. Oh my.” She hurried to her feet. “I’m so sorry. I know I can get going sometimes, but to do it in public! I’m so embarrassed!”
Hayden smiled. “I don’t know that Gramps and I really qualify as the public, but let me reassure you that it was a very ladylike little sound, just breathing with enthusiasm, actually.”
“Baloney. She was sawing logs like a lumberjack,” Gramps said, shaking his head. “I like that in a woman.”
“You like to hear a woman snoring?” She gaped at him.
“Sure,” the older man responded, holding the screen door open for her. “It shows she’s no delicate hothouse flower.”
“Well, I’m definitely not that,” she answered, following the men into the kitchen, where the most delicious aroma in the world was wafting from. “But on the other hand, I’ve never been compared to a lumberjack before either.”
The dinner was astonishing, and when she said as much, Gramps simply shrugged. “It’s the Crock-Pot. You put a lot of interesting things in there, and the Crock-Pot takes it from there.”
After they ate, the men dismissed themselves to build the bonfire. As she cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, their voices floated through the open window over the sink.
“Big logs on the bottom now,” Gramps coached, “and remember to put the twigs under the logs, that’s right, but leave some sticking out so they can catch fire.”
“I know, Gramps.”
“I’m just reminding you, Grub. We don’t want to get your lady friend out here and then have a dud of a fire.”
“She’s not my lady friend.”
“Not yet. All you have to do though is make your move and she’s yours.”
“She’s not mine.”
The conversation had taken a fascinating
turn, and Livvy put down the dish towel and eavesdropped shamelessly.
“She likes you. I can see it in the way she looks at you, and her eyes and your eyes hold, just a bit longer than most, and her face softens, and she leans toward you until you’re almost touching but you’re not, and—”
“Oh Gramps. You’re just being silly now.”
“I’m not. Your grandmother knew.”
“She knew about Livvy?”
“Sure.”
A sudden silence fell over the evening. Only a night bird coo-hoo’ed in the distance.
Then Hayden spoke, slowly and clearly. “Gramps, Gran is in heaven.”
“I know that,” the old man said. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t miss her every single waking minute? You think that sometimes it might not make me happy to think of her? And you know what? You know what? We were together for so long that I know how she thought, and what she’d say today. After you’ve loved someone for that long, you know. You just know.”
“Gramps, I’m sorry—” Hayden began, but his grandfather interrupted him.
“You know I don’t usually talk to you like this, but I know you’re worried about me because I get mixed up. I do. I admit it. When you’ve had as many days as I’ve had, they sometimes run into each other and get blurry. I see blurry. I hear blurry. And I think blurry. But I do know that your grandmother isn’t with me. I know that.”
Something wet fell onto Livvy’s hand, and she realized she was crying.
Hayden murmured something indistinct.
Gramps continued, “She did say something about Livvy. She didn’t know her, of course, but she knew that Livvy was coming into your life. She told me the day she died, Grub, that there was a woman for you, someone who would love you and treasure you for all of your days, who would be there when you needed her—and when you didn’t. And that she would be a child of God, just as you are. She was telling the truth. She was. That woman is Livvy.”
“I know.” The two words carried across the yard, through the window, and into Livvy’s heart.
“And you should—Leonard, drop that stick! No, bad dog! No! Grub, do you see what that dim-witted beast is doing to our woodpile? Stop, you dumb dog!”
She grinned as the big dog crashed into the carefully piled stack of wood and kindling, digging into it with his big feet and flinging aside branch after branch.
Hayden struggled to nab Leonard, but the dog, seeing this as a grand adventure, eluded his grip, while Gramps stood on the sidelines, stamping his feet in the old patched boots and yelling at the dog.
She sniffed back the last vestiges of tears, and joined them. “Leonard baby, come to Mama,” she cooed, and the dog dropped the great stick he had in his mouth and trotted over to see her.
“Leonard baby, come to Mama?” Hayden repeated. “Leonard baby, come to Mama?”
She sank to the ground and hugged the mutt. “He just wanted some attention, didn’t you, sweetie?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two men exchange looks and shake their heads, and she buried her smile in the dog’s fur. “All’s well that ends well, right, Leonard?” she murmured in his ear. “You are a crazy creature though.”
Hayden and Gramps rebuilt the stack for the bonfire as the dog, happy now, went off to the porch where he chased the chicken off the padded chair and sprawled across it himself. Martha Washington ignored the entire fracas.
Sunset came earlier than it had in the summer when the days seemed to last forever. Now they arrived quickly, and the land was covered in shadows that stretched from the buttes to the mesas to the flatlands.
Hayden lit the bonfire, and soon the entire pile of wood was ablaze. Sparks crackled upward into the darkness, and the four of them—Livvy, Hayden, Gramps, and Leonard—circled around the flames. Hayden distributed sticks and they stuck marshmallows on and let them roast until they caught fire.
“This is the best way,” Livvy said, pulling her marshmallow from the fire and blowing it out. “Good and crispy and totally charred.”
She waved it around until it was cool enough and gave it to Leonard, who consumed it in a single gulp, and then she roasted another one for herself.
A stray ember popped onto Leonard’s paw, and he ran back to the safety of the porch. Soon Gramps yawned broadly. “This old body needs some sleep. I want to be rested for church tomorrow. Livvy, you don’t mind if I bunk for a while on the couch, do you? Grub, just wake me up before you leave.”
Livvy waved and watched as he headed for the house with his odd gait.
Neither she nor Hayden spoke. Only the snap of the logs in the fire and the sounds of the night birds disturbed the stillness. She put the bag of marshmallows aside. If she ate any more, she’d look like a marshmallow herself soon.
She didn’t want to think about the conversation she had overheard between Hayden and Gramps, but it insisted, making its way into her brain.
Maybe she had misunderstood what Hayden had said. Maybe he didn’t feel as strongly about her as he’d implied. After all, he hadn’t even kissed her. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t shown any sign that he even wanted to.
And didn’t that matter?
It did to her. She hadn’t let herself think about Hayden as somebody she could love, but now—now it seemed that she had skipped that part entirely and had gone straight to being in love.
The words settled into her brain.
She loved Hayden.
And now, more than anything, she wanted him to kiss her.
She looked at him. His face, lit in profile by the amber and gold flames, was that of a kind and caring man. He turned and looked at her, and they moved toward each other, knowing that they were meant to be together, meant to kiss.
So many times she’d kissed and then thought herself in love. This way though—it was perfect.
It seemed as if the world moved in slow motion, as he leaned toward her and she toward him. It was going to happen. He was going to kiss her.
Could anything be more filled with a sense of the future than the moments between the decision to kiss, and the kiss itself? The air was charged with expectation and electricity … and hope.
At last, when she didn’t think she could bear it a second longer, their lips touched. It was a sacred time. An unspoken promise passed between them, a promise of love that had always existed, and of love that would grow to the ends of the universe. It was a promise of a commitment to a love that would hold them both to the standard of a God that loved them both, and by His love, gave them a model of how they should love each other.
“Livvy,” Hayden said at last, “I love you.”
“You sound surprised,” she said, her voice shaking with new emotion.
In the flickering light of the bonfire, his face creased into an uneasy frown. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She inhaled sharply. This was not what she wanted to hear. “Why not?”
“Well,” he said, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, “I should have waited to say that. It was too soon. I know how it’s supposed to go. We’re supposed to date, and then after a couple of dates, we’d kiss, and then months later, I’d say I loved you.”
“Why?” She paused for a moment. “I think your timing was perfect. Hayden, I think, I mean, I’m pretty sure, yes, I am positive that I love you, too.”
He laughed. “We sound like we’re first-timers at this love thing.”
“Honestly, I am. I can’t say that I ever was in love before this.” She thought back to her prom dates, to crushes she’d had during college, and the few bad dates she’d had in Boston, mostly ill-conceived business meetings disguised as social encounters.
“Well,” he said, “if we need some guides, I’ve got 122 high school students who are all convinced that they know what love is all about and who would be glad to advise us.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. The faint scent of shaving cream mingled with the woodsy aroma of the bonf
ire, and she thought she had never smelled anything quite so good.
So this was love. It was the sweetest emotion she’d ever felt.
He slid his arm around her and held her closely. He felt so sturdy, so solid, so dependable.
For the past four months, she’d relied on him for his help with renovating Sunshine, and every single day, he had been there for her, helping her with the antiquated plumbing, replacing worn window fittings, painting, cleaning, and sorting through boxes.
Not once had he complained.
He’d not only fixed up Sunshine; he helped mend her soul. He guided her back to her position as a child of God, and while she was still learning, that fact alone had brought her peace and satisfaction.
She’d changed so much since she’d come to Sunshine, and she knew even more changes were in store—wonderful changes.
Together they sat watching the flames reaching into the autumn evening. The seasons were definitely moving from autumn to winter, and from the occasional touch of cold in the evening air, she knew that winter was making its steady way toward them.
Hayden raised her chin with a single finger and kissed her again. “I think,” he said, his voice husky, “that I’ve wanted to do that from the first time I laid eyes on you, as you drove up in Trevor’s truck, the horn blaring.”
She smiled at the memory. “I had my book at my side. The Complete Guide to Home Construction and Repair—I thought it had everything I’d ever need in it.”
“Where is it, by the way?”
“It’s propping up the venting from the clothes dryer, which reminds me. I’ve got it taped together with aluminum tape, which I think works better than duct tape, but—”
The conversation lapsed into a discussion of the merits of the two kinds of tape, but it was punctuated with a kiss, and another kiss, and another kiss, until finally the fire died down and they were forced to rake it over and splash the coals with water from the bucket that was always nearby.
He walked her to the door of Sunshine. From the porch, she could hear the sound of the late-late show. Hayden squeezed her hand. “I need to get him and take him home. He’s probably asleep in front of the tube.”
