In 1965, Linda, a gentle librarian, and Nina, a Native American farmer, find a rare, tender love amidst the harsh realities of prejudice. Against the backdrop of a world unkind to both their heritage and their love, they share stolen moments filled...
The sun had barely risen over the rolling hills of the farm when Linda found herself lost in a dream. In the quiet of the barn, with the scent of hay in the air and the soft rustling of the horses in their stalls, Linda's thoughts drifted to Nina. She could see her clearly. Standing in the open field just beyond the fence, her dark hair catching the morning light, She was smiling the kind of smile that made Lindas heart quicken, a little shy, a little daring. Nina waved from a distance, a gesture so simple yet so full of meaning, a silent promise of something unspoken, something Linda couldn't quite name.
Linda's fingers tightened around the reins, the faint rumble of the tractor far off in the distance a reminder of the world she was in, a world where such dreams were best left hidden. But for now, in the soft warmth of the barn, Linda allowed herself the fleeting moment of fantasy. She closed her eyes and let the image of Nina's smile carry her away, even as the weight of reality pressed down on her.
The church was filled with the scent of fresh roses and the murmur of soft, eager voices. Linda stood at the altar, her hand in Charles Anderson's, a man with steady eyes and a smile as bright as the future everyone imagined for them. She wore a simple white dress, nothing fancy but to the guests filling the pews, she looked radiant. And beside her, standing proudly and dabbing her eyes with a tissue, was her mother, Sharon Wells, beaming with so much joy it seemed to fill the room.
Charles was good to her, after all. He was everything a woman like her could hope for, and he would provide a future anyone would be proud of. But in the back of her mind, an image lingered, like a fragment of a dream. A vision of open fields, sunlight, and something nameless yet so vivid, as if something, or someone, was out there waiting for her.
Linda's life had settled into an almost comfortable rhythm, one shaped by duty and expectation, like the predictable tide against a rocky shore. She rose early every morning to tend to the farm, her hands roughened by work, her gaze often drifting to the hills, to places where her thoughts ran free even if her feet did not.
————————————————— Made by babyboyhoover and realitySung
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
