LITMIR.BIZ

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head on her arms, her face turned away from him. A delicate pink ear was visible among the disorder of her curls and he clutched his hands in his lap. When a light breeze brought the fresh scent of her soap to him, he closed his eyes. Help me, God, he prayed for the first time in years. She’s too young, too innocent. She doesn’t know what her mere presence does to a man.

      He opened his eyes and saw her sitting up, watching him with a mixture of longing and worry.

      “You won’t go away, will you?”

      I’m going right now. I’m catching the next train and riding as far away from you as I can.

      But the words didn’t form on his lips. Looking into her eyes, he knew he couldn’t say them.

      “Your parents won’t let us meet, ” he said instead, both relief and regret in his tone.

      She rose gracefully to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. “Don’t worry about my parents. Come to church on Sunday and don’t be late.” She paused, studying his rumpled clothes. “Do you have another suit?”

      “Yes, ” he lied. Sunday. He had three days in which to buy another suit. If it cost every penny he’d just earned, he would arrive at the church in a new suit.

      “Good.” She started to walk away. “Then come to the church by 8:00 a.m. The white church, not the brick one.”

      She was almost gone. “Wait!” he shouted, running after her. “I don’t know your name.”

      “Marian, ” she called to him. “Marian Cooper.”

      “Marian, ” he whispered, walking back to the log. He took off his jacket and rolled it into a pillow. His stomach growled but he pushed his hunger aside. A small price to pay to see her again. He curled up against the suddenly cool summer breeze and whispered her name over and over.

      He spent the next three days knocking on doors in nearby towns. On Saturday he went back to the storekeeper whose wares he carried, received his pay, then asked about a suit. The old man was pleased with his profit and offered Frank a discount on a ready-made suit. He directed him to the tailor’s house on the outskirts of town and by nightfall, Frank owned another outfit.

      He slipped into an empty freight car and watched the stars through the open door. Sleep eluded him. One part of him hoped the feelings she’d aroused in him would be extinguished by the real presence of her, and another part wondered how he would live if she’d forgotten him or, worse, been toying with him.

      What if she had only been using him to while away a few summer hours? What if she snubbed him when he arrived at the church, her adorable little nose in the air as she walked haughtily past him? He groaned and punched his bag into a pillow of sorts. He stretched out his long form and, resting his head on the crumpled bag, willed himself to sleep.

      By the time the train pulled into the village of Winston, he was a bundle of nerves. Each time he’d drifted off, her face invaded his vision. He could see again the soft curve of her cheek, the gentle sweep of her lashes, the rosebud perfection of her lips. Clenching his teeth to stop another moan, he grabbed the small bag with a sweaty hand and swung himself down from the freight car. The train’s whistle sounded in his ears as it chugged down the tracks, leaving him alone in the dark countryside.

      He found an empty barn near the edge of town and crawled into a corner, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and his heart aching with worry. Stripping off his jacket and shoes, he lay down and closed his eyes, begging for at least a few hours’ sleep to release him from his anxiety.

      He was up with the dawn, only slightly rested from his hours in the barn. He gobbled down the sandwich he’d bought the day before and dressed carefully in the new suit. The tailor had assured him he looked extremely well-dressed; he hoped the little man was right. He dusted off his shoes with a handkerchief. Using a bit of broken glass he found in another corner of the barn for a reflection, he styled his hair carefully. Satisfied he looked his best, considering the facilities he had to use, he hid his bag under some dusty tools and headed down the road to town.

      Winston, Missouri, woke up early on a Sunday. He could smell Sunday dinners already cooking. Children sat on porch swings, their hair brushed and pulled back from scrubbed faces. Their feet swung in shiny dress shoes. They waved at him and he waved back, his mood lightened by their friendliness.

      As he neared the center of town, church bells rang out. People were filing into the brick church; remembering her directions, he joined the throng at the white frame church only a few steps from her home.

      He chose a pew in the middle of the right side. He bent his head, unable to look around now that he was finally there. He chastised himself for being seven different kinds of fool for even being in the same village again.

      Just as he’d decided to bolt out the door and run for the nearest train station, the organist started to play. Hymnbooks rustled, and his neighbor handed him her open book with a pleasant smile. He returned her smile, nodding in thanks, then froze as he saw Marian.

      She was sitting across the aisle in the front pew with her mother. A dark-blue hat rested on top of her curls, enhancing their luminous glow. Her dress was in the same sedate blue and while the high collar hid her neck from sight, he could imagine its slender beauty under the protective material.

      She stood with the rest of the congregation and shifted slightly. He got quietly to his feet, his eyes still on her face. A hint of a smile lifted the corner of her mouth and a moment later she was singing lustily. The blood rushed to his head and he could hardly breathe.

      He felt relieved when they bowed their heads for the prayer. By the time he sat down again, his breathing was normal. He kept his eyes on Reverend Cooper’s face, wanting to know this man who was Marian’s father, but he could find no trace of the enchanting woman-child in the man admonishing his flock to always choose the right path.

      After the final prayer, the congregation was ushered out. Marian and her mother left first and he watched them walk up the aisle. Not by a single movement did she acknowledge his presence.

      Eyes narrowed, he followed the others up the aisle. She had given him her answer. He had spent his hard-earned money on a suit he could ill afford, all for a spoiled country girl who only wanted a bit of amusement.

      The noontime sun blinded him as he walked outside, and he shielded his eyes with one hand. “Bright, isn’t it?” said the friendly woman next to him and he nodded.

      As he turned to speak to her, his mouth suddenly went dry. Marian stood on the steps, her hand lightly resting on her father’s arm. She greeted each person who came out of the building, her voice low and melodious. Pushed by the people behind him and hindered by the woman in front, Frank had no choice but to stop.

      Reverend Cooper held out a hand. “Welcome, my son. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

      Frank swallowed, dragging his eyes away from Marian. The reverend still held out his hand and Frank belatedly remembered his manners. “Frank Robertson, sir. I was passing through and thought I’d stay for a while.”

      “Ah, so our fair town has lured yet another visitor.” Reverend Cooper’s smile was one of proud ownership. “Many a person has decided to settle in Winston after stopping for only a night.”

      He glanced around, as if searching for someone, and then tapped Marian on the arm. When she finished her conversation with an older woman, she turned to her father, still without meeting Frank’s eyes. “My dear, I can’t find your mother.”

      “She went home to finish dinner. She knew I wouldn’t mind taking her place with you.”

      Her father nodded and turned back to Frank. “My daughter, Mr. Robertson. Marian, this is Frank Robertson, a visitor to our community.”

      Marian slid her warm hand into his cold one and smiled. “Welcome, Mr. Robertson. I’m glad you could come today.”

      The warmth from her fingers remained after she released his hand. He didn’t think he’d imagined that slight emphasis on the

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