Chapter 17
The morning mist had yet to clear when the Jeep began rattling its way up the newly built mountain road.
Miles Lawson’s hand pressed protectively against the small of Liana Langston’s back, as if shielding a treasure he had nearly lost.
His twenty–five–year–long obsession had begun with the silhouette of a ponytailed girl in a high school classroom. He endured four years of college apart from her, and spent endless drunken nights after she married Adrian Graham.
And now, finally, here in the morning light of this distant frontier, everything had settled.
“Hold on to me,” he said, drawing her closer
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to shield her from the crowd.
The monthly bazaar was the biggest event at
this remote outpost.
Locals traded smoked salmon for patched–up jeans, while soldiers traded canned rations for cigarettes–but Miles Lawson always managed to scrounge up something special for Liana.
Last month, a jar of French face cream from the base store. This month, he was searching for those imported Swiss chocolates she adored.
“That’s enough…” Liana pressed down on his hand as he reached for his wallet. “You already bought three cans of malted milk.”
Smiling, Miles slipped a delicate Timex watch onto her wrist. “Did you forget?
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bwo
I’ve been saving since high school–my ‘marry–my–girl‘ fund.”
He began counting on his fingers. “Stipends, base salary, and every birthday check you sent back…”
Liana flushed and quickly covered his mouth with her hand.
In the end, they had to hire a tractor just to carry all the supplies.
Liana sat among the mountain of goods, and suddenly noticed a thick envelope wrapped in brown paper.
Inside were twelve neatly stacked letters- love letters, postmarked from 1972 to 1983.
A breeze lifted the yellowed pages, revealing the first line: Dear Liana, today you turned
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the rip
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own the class monitor again…
the sun burned bright in the frontier skies as pathe wind off the lake tossed the hem of her
floral dress.
The chaplain peeled back the layers of his leather–bound liturgical calendar. At last, he circled a date with a red pen. “The sixth of next month–the first Sunday after Pentecost. No fasting, no mourning, just pure joy allowed.”
Miles’s fingers tapped a light rhythm on the wooden table–he had waited twelve long years for this day.
The cement floor of the county clerk’s office was hot from the sun.
Just as Liana’s pen hovered above the marriage license, her hand trembled
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suddenly–just once.
A drop of ink landed on the word “voluntary“, blooming like a tiny storm cloud.
Years ago, in the snow, Adrian Graham had also held her hand as she signed at that exact spot.
Back then, the hospital nurses used to say that marrying a war hero was the greatest fortune a woman could have.
“Liana?” Miles’s warm hand covered hers. “Do you want a new form?”
She shook her head and finished the final stroke with determination when a distant
train whistle echoed in the air-
It sounded like a farewell. Or maybe, the beginning of something new.
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