by Ruth Glover
“I have some mail for him,” Mr. Bloom said, sorting through the items he had picked up to be distributed along his route—the way of the bush. And with a flurry the buggy turned into the small clearing and pulled up and stopped beside the rough-hewn, woodsy cabin.
“I’ll just run these letters over to him,” Mr. Bloom said, preparing to hand the reins to Tierney, and get out of the buggy.
Tierney was studying the garden plot slowly appearing behind the moving plow, and, suddenly, longed for the feel of the earth between her toes. But that was foolish!
“Let me take it to him,” she said impulsively. If not a barefoot run over the fresh-turned sod, then one with her shoes on—no matter, it would be an experience, a first-time experience, a strictly Bliss experience.
“Well, sure, if you want to. The exercise will seem good, I bet, after that long train ride and now this buggy ride—”
Tierney jumped from the rig, light as air, her serge skirt doing its best to swirl in the invigorating breeze. Holding one edge of it up to enable her to move freely, she stepped lightly and quickly toward the garden spot.
“Hey!” she hollered, waving the letter above her head.
The plow continued on its way, the man walking behind, the reins around his waist, his two hands firm on the plow handles. He was whistling, and the merry sound vied with the birdsong that never ceased from the surrounding bush.
The plow was heading away from her. Tierney stopped in frustration; it was either give chase or wait patiently until he made a turn this way. Tierney glanced back; Herbert Bloom waved her on, albeit with a grin.
Gathering up her skirt even more, Tierney ran after the plow. She had wanted the feel of the earth—well, it was getting into her slippers, ready enough! No problem! Bounding joyously, enjoying the freedom of movement and feeling younger and more alive than she had for a long time—particularly throughout the long, shut-in winter—Tierney quickly overtook the plodding horse and plowman.
“Hey!” she called again.
The man turned. The man turned, pushed his broad-brimmed hat to the back of his head. Turned, gaped, gave one shout, dropped the reins, and began to run toward her. Ran and leaped, even as Tierney had last seen him running and leaping, away from her, down the side of her hill in Binkiebrae. Running toward her, her name on his lips.
Her heart bursting with recognition and indescribable joy, her legs carrying her, like a thistle on the wind, to meet him.
Robbie Dunbar.
Ruth Glover was born and raised in the Saskatchewan bush country of Canada. As a writer, she has contributed to dozens of publications such as Decision and Home Life. Ruth and her husband, Hal, a pastor, now live in Oregon.
Also by Ruth Glover
A Place Called Bliss
With Love from Bliss
