335 Marsh Ave

The problem with automating most of his small farm was that Andrew Canfield had tinkered himself out of work, and a mind like his needed something to focus on. His father’s unexpected passing on the heels of his sixteenth birthday, seven years after Mrs Canfield took off, had left the entire town believing sweet young Andy would buckle under the pressure. Instead, the pimpled, sinewy redhead hid from the grief inside every problem that arose and those he anticipated. Orphaned but brilliant, he quickly made Canfield Farms more effective, efficient, and profitable as he broke through the canopy of youth, a strong, handsome, confident man.

He walked inside the main house for water and found his two favorite people waiting to corner him. They’d had several variations of the conversation they were about to have. “Son, just listen to us, please. You’ve done great work here, improving everything there was to improve. Now you’re restless, in need of new problems to solve. Obviously I don’t mean leave, I just mean…go into town. Maybe offer your handyman services to some folks, maybe think about going to school.” Elijah Williams, a rugged gentleman with rich copper skin taut over muscles toned from years of manual labor, had served Andy’s parents as a farmhand for as long as the young man could remember. He was an animal whisperer, a genius with crops, and loyal to a fault.

Mary, the woman responsible for the functioning of the estate, had sharp, dark features that starkly contrasted her soft demeanor. She was also Elijah’s wife. “We all know you can afford another set of hands, which would give you the opportunity to use that mind of yours for better things! At the very least, you could ask after that Cavanaugh girl you ran into last week. I’ve never seen you smitten–it’s making your sullen little face appealing again.” Mary winked at him before the jab could truly land.

Andrew blushed, laughing as he let the moment he’d met “that Cavanaugh girl” play across his mind. He was more grateful than ever for the photographic quality of his memory.

“Excuse me!” The phrase, the clear alto voice, the rain steadily falling on cement–all swallowed by the sound of a car horn. The voice’s hand jerked him out of the street, back to safety.

He was too startled to speak and then too stricken. All the while, the beautiful woman stood there, existing, wrapped in lilacs, honey, and a scent he couldn’t place. Her throat cleared, the sound having the same effect as if she’d disrobed. He verbally fell to his knees. “I am so sorry, mam. I don’t get out much. Thank you, truly. I think you just saved my life? I can’t believe I stepped in front of a car! That is what happened, right? My head was in the clouds, I stepped in front of a car, and you saved me?”

The words had rushed out,

air from a balloon.

The question mark

at the end

wasn’t so much

punctuation as an

onomatopoeia, a

whoosh

of carbon dioxide

leaving the body

thanks to

lungs that still breathed

thanks to

violet eyes

which followed the lines of his body.

“To be clear,” she started speaking, matter-of-fact in a way that made his brain stop writing poetry, “you stepped in front of me, and then you stepped in front of that car, cloud boy.”

“It’s actually Andrew, and you are?” Her dark, silky waves were only partly contained in a nest of pins at the top of her head and his hand itched to tame each errant strand.

She was assessing him in the way he often assessed new information, the kinship immediate.

The violet goddess laughed and disappeared, a sunset he wanted to chase around the world.

Elijah and Mary were waiting patiently for Andrew when he pulled himself from his thoughts. They took no issue with his long moments of silence. His mental processing speed was remarkable, his intellect off the charts, and his affinity for understanding how the world worked made him incredibly handy, but his conversational skills were often lacking. Put simply, he was brilliant, and sometimes needed time to sort through everything. Not wanting to forget a moment or detail, he’d documented the meeting with his female knight with fervor and relived it often.

"You back with us, dreamboat?” Elijah chuckled.

Andrew took a hard look at the couple, their faces woven with all of his best childhood memories. They were the closest thing to family he had, and he mainly protested their plan due to feelings of guilt around allowing them to continue working while he lazily reaped the benefits of being the owner.

The following week Elijah came to introduce their newest employee, Jerry, and to provide Andy with a list of supplies they needed in town. The decision having been made for him, Andy conceded to their wisdom, recognizing that they were doing what they felt was best for him and appreciating the small courtesy of being given something to do with his time.

Just like that, seven years into watching Andrew bury himself in the farm after burying his father, the Williamses were unearthing his corpse and sending him out into the world.

As he walked into town, the sunlight caught his list, revealing ink on the back of the parchment. In Mary’s script it read, “I will, of course, be devastated to outsource our laundry, but I’m willing to fall on the sword for a good cause. 335 Marsh Ave. Love, M”

When Andrew had given Mary a description of the woman he’d run into, he’d mentioned seeing “A. Cavanaugh” embroidered on the inside of her bag. Mary knew Mrs Betty Cavanaugh, a local laundress whom she was certain had a couple daughters. Andy theorized that the large bag she’d been carrying was a sack of clothing. Sweet Mary must have tracked down her address.

Her kindness and thoughtfulness reduced Andrew to the child who’d pretended the “M” at the end of Mary’s letters stood for Mom. Mary defended Andy when his dad called him a freak, whereas his mother would simply huff and walk away. That little boy still wondered if he was the reason his parents split up. If he’d played dumb, hidden his intellect behind a taller, thicker wall, would his mom have stayed? Would they have remained together? Would his dad be alive?

Andy approached the modest covered porch, banishing all thoughts unrelated to his search for A. Cavanaugh. He need not have put in the effort, as the thrill of seeing the girl darning clothes in a rocking chair became his sole focus, the poetry writing itself in his mind as he approached.

No asymmetry has

ever been as

exquisite

as that of her face.

Wine-red lips

a permanent smirk,

elegantly arched brows

suggest hidden truths

I am desperate

to uncover.

I can feel

the bump of her nose

beneath my fingertips

across space and time,

a distinct confirmation

of home in the dark,

charming as every

other hill, groove, and

valley of her body.

She is art.

She is poetry

Desperate to study her eyes up close, he wiped the sweat off his own face and inhaled, readying himself to speak.

“It took you long enough to find me,” Alice quipped, startling him. The street bustling with activity, he hadn’t thought she’d notice his approach.

His mind was a rubber band stretched to capacity by the sight of her and suddenly flung through the air by her words. He dabbed the handkerchief against his skin, the heat a blameless scapegoat for his flop sweat. “I don’t…I didn’t…I’m not sure…”

“Oh, Andrew, it’s okay. I’m only teasing. I’m glad that you came, I could use a friend to sit with while I work and you seem interesting enough.” She remembered his name, the sound of it on her lips positively intoxicating.

“Interesting enough?” He laughed, flirtatious, walking closer. The smell of lilacs and honey was there, mixed with the scent of clean linen. He wanted to bottle it.

“Enough, yes. You figured out who I am and where I live, which I’d love to hear more about. Are you a Private Investigator, sir? Also, you walked up here attempting to look aloof while profusely sweating.” Alice laughed too, gently teasing.

“Well I saw the inside of your handbag was embroidered with ‘A. Cavanaugh,’ and then I remembered that bigger bag you were holding–”

“The bag full of clean laundry, which you almost made me drop in a puddle because you weren’t paying attention in the slightest?” She tilted her head inquisitively, raised both beautiful brows.

“Yes, that bag. I told my friend Mary about all of it and she knew Betty Cavanaugh was a laundress with at least one daughter. She gave me your address and here I am. We were hoping to hire you.”

“That’s the only reason you’re here? To hire me?” She looked him up and down. “So, where’s your laundry, Andrew?”

“Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I left it at home in case you…weren’t taking new clients.” He knew he sounded daft, but what else could he do but forge ahead. “Maybe you’d like to walk back to my farm with me to retrieve it? It’s a beautiful place, I’m sure you’d love it.” She didn’t start talking when he paused–just stared at him, gorgeous and pleased with herself—so he continued. “I could help make any deliveries you might have on the way or…help with another task, if it means you’ll have spare time. Okay, to be completely honest, I’d just really like to get to know you. Whether or not my laundry is involved.”

Her demeanor changed, a slight dulling of her brightness. “Spare time isn’t on the menu, I’m afraid. No matter how many tasks I complete, there are fifty more waiting for my attention. And with Mama’s health…” She trailed off, looking at him with eyes that held a mixture of sadness, knowing, and pity. He was familiar with the look and knew what would come next. “Well, I suspect you know what it’s like to work to keep your parents’ business running as you grieve, though our situations are different.”

“I didn’t realize your mother was sick. I’m sorry.” He paused before asking, “So, are you the Private Investigator in our relationship?”

“Oh, we’re in a relationship now? I thought we weren’t being presumptuous.” Some of the color returned to her cheeks. “You looked familiar that night in the rain, but I rarely see you around. I gave my mom a description of you, told her your name was Andrew. Together we realized you were the Canfield boy, all grown up. You lost your mother so long ago, and when we heard about your father…I’m just so sorry about all of it.” Andrew waved it off. “Anyhow, if you know all of that, you should at least know my name. I’m Alice.”

All Andrew wanted to do was assure incredible, lovely Alice that everything would be okay, but the reality was that it wouldn’t be–her life would be turned upside down by her mother’s death. “It’s nice to meet you, Alice.” Insanely, he felt the need to sing or shout or dance. Instead, he stayed on track. “For me, after everything, support from friends was what kept me going. Elijah and Mary, both of whom have worked at Canfield Farms forever, got me through. They’re the reason I’m here now, trying to do normal twenty-three-year-old stuff. All that to say, I know you don’t have spare time, but I really would be happy to work beside you. I just want to get to know you.” He felt awkward, exposed.

“I’d be happy to come fetch your dirty laundry with you, Andrew Canfield. So, is this our first date? It’s quite romantic.”

“No, this isn’t…that’s not…I think you’re misunderstanding–”

“Oh, Andy, one day you’ll grow accustomed to my teasing.” The implications left Andrew reeling as he took her hand, guiding her down the stairs.

The walk to and from Canfield Farm was the start of many hours spent together. Andrew helped with deliveries, sometimes offering handyman services to her clients as they went. Sitting side by side, he and Alice would patiently wash clothes from all over town, just happy just to be in good company. Andy even learned how to sew, quickly becoming a professional whether at the machine or with a needle and thread.

Andy fashioned several items for Alice, her favorite being the rubber-soled shoes that allowed her to navigate all the sloping hills of their town as she made her rounds. His intentions were made clear through his actions, and Alice was endlessly appreciative.

“If you only have two workers, how do you have all this time to spend with me?” Alice’s curiosity was boundless, a quality Andy realized he valued deeply. They’d carried laundry to the farm, where Andy had Mary light the porch with dozens of candles. The ambiance was romantic, despite a multitude of questionable stains on clothes belonging to a midwife and her butcher husband.

“Well, when my dad passed, Mary and Elijah hurriedly showed me the real state of things. To start, I reduced the staff and Elijah helped me craft a few lever and pulley systems to decrease the number of two- and three-person jobs. We also added simple irrigation systems, as well as feeding and watering mechanisms for the animals, on timers.” Suddenly he envisioned his young parents happily singing as they walked each bale up the steep staircase together.

He didn’t share that part with Alice, but their presence in the room didn’t escape her. “Where did you just go?” she asked, her beautiful face sincere and concerned.

Memories collided with reality, stumbling over one another. “Oh, just…when those systems worked, I started crafting other machines—”

“No, that’s not what you were thinking about. You went somewhere else, somewhere sad. You don’t have to tell me, I just want you to know that you can if you’d like.’

Andy paused for a long while and Alice sat quietly with a hand on his knee, having dropped the clothing into the pail. “It’s just…well, I remember my parents doing a lot of the jobs together. They’d laugh and sing, like life together was the greatest adventure. My dad was kind to us, but when times got hard, especially when my intellect somehow…threatened him…he often abused and harassed the animals. Looking back, I think he just wanted to feel powerful. In any case, Elijah showed me that caring tenderly for the animals endeared them to me in a way that was opposite and exponential to the way my dad treated them.”

“Are you saying you’re treating me how you’d treat a billy goat in order to gain my affection, Mr Canfield?” Her teasing voice was appropriately haughty.

Andy chuckled. “I’m saying anything with a beating heart needs to feel genuine love. I noticed it first with the animals, but my mom proved the theory was universal when she left my dad for the same reason the animals would have fled if they could. I couldn’t do anything to make Mama come back, but I could help the animals.”

“Oh.” She paused, pensive. “I’m so sorry, I'd assumed they’d both passed.”

“My dad let everyone think that was the case, embarrassed as he was. Mary let it slip once that we didn’t really have to worry about money–even when the crops or the economy or both weren’t doing well–because of my mom’s inheritance. My father didn’t like for her to speak of her family’s wealth. He wasn't boastful, but he wanted others to believe he was a self-made man. I know she must have hated him by the time she left, after everything he did to her, but she stayed for me.” Everything was quiet for a long, long time, before Andrew quietly added, “For him, she was a reminder of all her parents accomplished and all he hadn't. She only left when staying meant enduring the sort of abuse that could have killed her.”

Andy watched Alice’s mind working, her mouth opening and closing like a fish washed ashore with the tide. He nodded his head, silently letting her know she was safe to speak her mind, to ask her questions. “How did your father die?”

The hawkeyed look on her face told him she was really asking if he’d been involved. “Ironically, he fell down the steps in the barn and broke his neck. Still, when I’m in there, I only ever see the two of them sandwiching a hay bale, happy as can be. I don’t think he even needed to go up there that day—if he brought anything up, it wasn’t obvious. Honestly, I think he was just there because he missed her. And if he threw himself down, it wouldn’t surprise me either.”

They finished washing the clothes in companionable silence, and then moved into his home to explore one another, as they were wont to do.

Slowly but surely, Alice allowed Andy to help with her mother’s care. One day, as he sat mixing soothing honey into her tea, his journal fell from his pocket. His account of their first meeting was peeking out from the top, so she read a few lines.

“Andy, what’s this?”

Andrew looked from the parchment to her, eyes full of love and hope, “It’s the story of how I met my best friend. You’re welcome to read it."

Looking up as she finished, Alice found Andrew on his knees with a diamond ring and her mother smiling ear to ear. “I’ve been carrying this around for months. The universe seems to think now is the time. Alice Cavanaugh, you quiet my over-active mind and light up my soul. Will you marry me, allowing me to chase your sunsets into forever?”