A Little Romance: Stories for Hopeful Hearts Read online

  1

  A LITTLE ROMANCE

  Stories for Hopeful Hearts

  by

  Marilyn M Schulz

  * * * * *

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  ~~~

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Marilyn M Schulz on Smashwords

  A Little Romance

  Stories for Hopeful Hearts

  Copyright © 2013 by Marilyn M Schulz

  ~~~

  Cover Art:

  Valentine Card (1860 - 1880)

  Current location: Museum of London

  Source/Photographer: Google Cultural Institute

  ~~~

  Additional cover images provided by: grsites.com

  ~~~

  (Use of the image does not imply endorsement)

  ~~~

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  A Little Romance

  Stories of Hopeful Hearts

  ~~~~~

  Table of Contents

  The Gardener

  Blind Date

  Dance with Me Again

  Ladybugs

  A Bend in the Road

  Sergeant

  Love Leaves a Memory

  The Sensible Bride

  She Waved

  Something Good

  Bridges

  ~~~

  Bonus Stories:

  Widow’s Weeds by Marilyn M Schulz

  Gladys Barlow by Francie Lucas

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  “When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.” ~Author Unknown

  “In the garden I tend to drop my thoughts here and there. To the flowers I whisper the secrets I keep and the hopes I breathe. I know they are there to eavesdrop for the angels.” ~Dodinsky

  “Gardening is cheaper than therapy and you get tomatoes.” ~Author Unknown

  ~~~

  THE GARDENER

  It’s not that she minded frogs, as a rule, but this time of year there seemed to be so many of them. They croaked so loudly in chorus too. Some of the other tenants called it mating season—and at least the frogs had a date!

  Lucy Monroe wouldn’t know if those folks were making fun of her or not, but she didn’t care enough to look up the facts of life when it came to frogs in any case.

  She had trouble sleeping through the sound at first. Now she realized the frogs drowned out all the noises that any town made, even at night when people are supposed to be mostly sleeping. Not that this town was particularly loud, it’s just not what she’d been used to for so long.

  She felt restless.

  It wasn’t jetlag, as Lucy had been back in the States for a few months now. But she had spent several years in Africa working in the fields and near villages for the church’s missions there—it now seemed to be in her bones and blood. Back there, it was about twelve hours of time difference too, so night would be day and vice versa.

  Maybe it just took longer to change those natural sleep rhythms from there to here? But she couldn’t remember this problem when she first moved to Africa. Not that they had this many frogs where she worked in Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, but they certainly had unusual noises compared to what she was used to then.

  It could have been the work, of course. Physical labor made you sleep much better, it seems, while mental toil was just as draining, but made you weary instead—and sometimes just a little silly. Some of those problems never went away, and while she didn’t regret that she was finally working in the occupation she had studied in college—high tech—she missed getting her hands dirty and her feet wet.

  This place wasn’t so different from where she’d grown up. Of course, while the town was similar, the people and terrain too, it was the work that was the biggest difference. Lucy had the dreaded desk job they all made fun of when she was in Africa.

  But something had called her home again. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, as she’d never been homesick before.

  Maybe she was just getting mature enough to want kids and a home of her own. Maybe the great and sudden loss in her life drove that point home. Had it been that she finally felt like the rest of the world was passing her by? That hadn’t been a problem before, until she got word of her parents’ accident, and everything seemed . . . changed.

  She sighed and gave up. Lucy got out of bed and went to the window. The moon was nearly full—it was beautiful

  She was lucky, her place in this boarding house had a view of the garden two stories below—the garden that was such a mess. It wasn’t a vegetable garden, but one of those English gardens you read about in British mystery books. It was huge, but clearly hadn’t been tended regularly in quite some time.

  “It must have once been beautiful.”

  The lily pad pond was large and rectangular, like it could have been a swimming pool, but not deep enough. Her mind flew back to other watering places, irregularly shaped, and all sorts of wild animals coming for a sip—nothing appeared like that here, nor were there ever tracks.

  Perhaps in the winter if they got snow tracks would show. That weather didn’t happen often, she had been assured, as this was too close to the coast for them to get snow on a regular and continuing basis.

  She smiled at the remembrance though. How long had it been? She closed her eyes and pictured them.

  The water in the lily pad pond was non-chlorinated too, so there were plenty of things growing there still. The small pumps that kept the water moving just enough so that no mosquitoes could attach had been turned off for the winter.

  “Somebody should turn them on again.”

  It wasn’t winter anymore, it was true, but there was just enough chill in the air to know that spring hadn’t quite arrived. Lucy hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until she came home. There were no drastic seasons where she had been—the weather and temperatures didn’t vary much.

  That made for a consistent growing season, so you planted and harvested and then did it again. In some places, it wore the soil out completely, and the farmers had to be advised on how to rotate their crops instead of clearing more land that should have been left as habitat for animals that were disappearing—elephants, lions, cheetahs, giraffes and such.

  Nothing so exotic here, she thought. The lily pad pond needed cleaning, true, but the frogs didn’t seem to notice at all. Maybe they liked i
t that way, and—

  What was that?

  Was that movement?

  She peered more intensely and out of habit, reached for binoculars around her neck that were no longer there. Something might be out there though, hiding behind the big garden shed.

  In the old days of prosperity the original rich owners had called it a pool house for parties and guests. Now the housekeeper and cook for the boarding house called it the garden house, though Lucy had never seen them do any gardening, nor did it look like anyone else had lately.

  What a shame too, she thought, sighing a bit.

  The garden house was much wider than the lily pad pond, and it was also just as deep as it was wide, she knew. It bordered out onto the back alley way too; that’s where their cars were all parked, and also where housekeeper and cook had to leave their trash—and didn’t they complain about that.

  The building had arches on a veranda, European-style, with stucco too and brick accents. There was also a two-story square tower in the center. The place had a high ornate roof and round windows on both the tower and the gables on either side. It was a miniature of what had once been the mansion, but was now just a boarding house where Lucy lived.

  It was all very picturesque, like something from a storybook.

  In that tower room were guest quarters too, but those were made before bathroom plumbing days, and so no one stayed there now. It had electricity strung out there though, and that’s where you had to go to turn on the pumps for the lily pad pond.

  Others in the boarding house called the garden house tower the Little Tower. And they referred to where she lived in the main house as the Big Tower.

  She was glad they didn’t call her Rapunzel or something.

  Lucy only knew all this because of some of the chatting by the other tenants in the sitting room after dinner. It was a sort of ritual—that gabbing—and sometimes she stuck around for that but usually didn’t say anything. Most times, she made her own dinner in her kitchenette or bought take-out on her way home from work, but other times, she got a little . . . lonely.

  The reflection of the garden house would be lovely in the lily pad pond in the moonlight, she figured, but there were too many lily pads now and too much pond scum as well. Clear a few of those out, and then when those lily pads bloomed . . .

  She sighed again. Someone should do something about it. She hadn’t been here long enough to know if that was done in the summer, but by the neglected state of the other beds and shrubs around the front and back yards, she doubted that anyone attended to them at all.

  The boarding house itself took the middle third swath of the entire block. Four other houses sat on the corners, and they were old and grand as well, but much smaller. Lucy didn’t even know if they were all occupied either, because in this neighborhood, people tended not to band together.

  As she gazed out with a little bit of longing, she noticed that something might have been done in the shrubs after all. It was there, if you looked close: telltale signs of gardening, there amongst the statues. Those stood at irregular intervals and odd places around the edges of the garden . . . six, no, seven, if you counted the one that served as a birdbath.

  Actually, it was probably meant as a work of art only, but water had collected in spots, and some birds used it for a bath now. from Women of the West

  Gladys Barlow from Shadow Reads

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  “When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.” ~Author Unknown

  “In the garden I tend to drop my thoughts here and there. To the flowers I whisper the secrets I keep and the hopes I breathe. I know they are there to eavesdrop for the angels.” ~Dodinsky

  “Gardening is cheaper than therapy and you get tomatoes.” ~Author Unknown

  ~~~

  THE GARDENER

  It’s not that she minded frogs, as a rule, but this time of year there seemed to be so many of them. They croaked so loudly in chorus too. Some of the other tenants called it mating season—and at least the frogs had a date!

  Lucy Monroe wouldn’t know if those folks were making fun of her or not, but she didn’t care enough to look up the facts of life when it came to frogs in any case.

  She had trouble sleeping through the sound at first. Now she realized the frogs drowned out all the noises that any town made, even at night when people are supposed to be mostly sleeping. Not that this town was particularly loud, it’s just not what she’d been used to for so long.

  She felt restless.

  It wasn’t jetlag, as Lucy had been back in the States for a few months now. But she had spent several years in Africa working in the fields and near villages for the church’s missions there—it now seemed to be in her bones and blood. Back there, it was about twelve hours of time difference too, so night would be day and vice versa.

  Maybe it just took longer to change those natural sleep rhythms from there to here? But she couldn’t remember this problem when she first moved to Africa. Not that they had this many frogs where she worked in Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, but they certainly had unusual noises compared to what she was used to then.

  It could have been the work, of course. Physical labor made you sleep much better, it seems, while mental toil was just as draining, but made you weary instead—and sometimes just a little silly. Some of those problems never went away, and while she didn’t regret that she was finally working in the occupation she had studied in college—high tech—she missed getting her hands dirty and her feet wet.

  This place wasn’t so different from where she’d grown up. Of course, while the town was similar, the people and terrain too, it was the work that was the biggest difference. Lucy had the dreaded desk job they all made fun of when she was in Africa.

  But something had called her home again. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, as she’d never been homesick before.

  Maybe she was just getting mature enough to want kids and a home of her own. Maybe the great and sudden loss in her life drove that point home. Had it been that she finally felt like the rest of the world was passing her by? That hadn’t been a problem before, until she got word of her parents’ accident, and everything seemed . . . changed.

  She sighed and gave up. Lucy got out of bed and went to the window. The moon was nearly full—it was beautiful

  She was lucky, her place in this boarding house had a view of the garden two stories below—the garden that was such a mess. It wasn’t a vegetable garden, but one of those English gardens you read about in British mystery books. It was huge, but clearly hadn’t been tended regularly in quite some time.

  “It must have once been beautiful.”

  The lily pad pond was large and rectangular, like it could have been a swimming pool, but not deep enough. Her mind flew back to other watering places, irregularly shaped, and all sorts of wild animals coming for a sip—nothing appeared like that here, nor were there ever tracks.

  Perhaps in the winter if they got snow tracks would show. That weather didn’t happen often, she had been assured, as this was too close to the coast for them to get snow on a regular and continuing basis.

  She smiled at the remembrance though. How long had it been? She closed her eyes and pictured them.

  The water in the lily pad pond was non-chlorinated too, so there were plenty of things growing there still. The small pumps that kept the water moving just enough so that no mosquitoes could attach had been turned off for the winter.

  “Somebody should turn them on again.”

  It wasn’t winter anymore, it was true, but there was just enough chill in the air to know that spring hadn’t quite arrived. Lucy hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until she came home. There were no drastic seasons where she had been—the weather and temperatures didn’t vary much.

  That made for a consistent growing season, so you planted and harvested and then did it again. In som
e places, it wore the soil out completely, and the farmers had to be advised on how to rotate their crops instead of clearing more land that should have been left as habitat for animals that were disappearing—elephants, lions, cheetahs, giraffes and such.

  Nothing so exotic here, she thought. The lily pad pond needed cleaning, true, but the frogs didn’t seem to notice at all. Maybe they liked it that way, and—

  What was that?

  Was that movement?

  She peered more intensely and out of habit, reached for binoculars around her neck that were no longer there. Something might be out there though, hiding behind the big garden shed.

  In the old days of prosperity the original rich owners had called it a pool house for parties and guests. Now the housekeeper and cook for the boarding house called it the garden house, though Lucy had never seen them do any gardening, nor did it look like anyone else had lately.

  What a shame too, she thought, sighing a bit.

  The garden house was much wider than the lily pad pond, and it was also just as deep as it was wide, she knew. It bordered out onto the back alley way too; that’s where their cars were all parked, and also where housekeeper and cook had to leave their trash—and didn’t they complain about that.

  The building had arches on a veranda, European-style, with stucco too and brick accents. There was also a two-story square tower in the center. The place had a high ornate roof and round windows on both the tower and the gables on either side. It was a miniature of what had once been the mansion, but was now just a boarding house where Lucy lived.

  It was all very picturesque, like something from a storybook.