Top of the World (War romance story)

Chapter Two

I've been working on this chapter for a while now. It may be a little confusing, or a little slow, but I promise it all has a purpose! I hope you enjoy. :) I really have worked hard on this. I've done research to make it all historically accurate, and I want to really set the scene and give it a real war era feel. FEEDBACK WANTED, please.

This is a long chapter, so that's good! Right?

Anyway, thanks for reading!

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Abby

I crept out onto the porch after suffering through a grueling breakfast, and stood there for a moment, taking in the day.

It was early morning. The fresh dewy crispness filled my lungs with each sharp breath, and the cool slats of the porch felt nice pressed against my bare feet. Everything seemed so vibrant and alive in these early hours. The honeysuckle's scent mixed with the freshness of the earth filled my nostrils, easing the tension that filled my body. My eyes had a feast of colors, thanks to a luscious late spring storm. Rain had been a blessing, washing the land clean, giving it new life. The grass was lush and green, the trees were tall and shady with leaves, and the flowers arranged in neat rows in gardens sprouted high, like a blanket of pleasant color.

I smiled, feeling content, and ventured towards my familiar nook. The swing creaked as I sat and nestled comfortably, resting my back against the armrest. I swayed back and forth with the use of my right foot, and kept my left foot curled beneath me. The gentle motion caused my eyes to droop, and I grew tired. Before I fell into a light sleep, the familiar whistling caused my head to jolt upright, towards the street.

The man, the same one from yesterday, came up the road again. This time, the burlap sack was replaced with a paper sack, one from a grocery store, but the metal tin and canteen were still cradled in his other hand. He swiftly walked past my house and skipped up the road to Mrs. Wilkes' driveway, and trotted towards her door.

After he knocked, she answered almost immediately. I tuned in to hear their conversation, not particularly being nosey, but curious.

"Good morning again, Mr. Lane. Punctual as always."

"Yes ma'am. What do you need done today?" He asked.

"The garden needs to be tended to. The weeds and ivy have grown so high, my rose bushes are being strangled." She replied in a distressed tone.

 "I'll get right on that, ma'am. In the meantime, here are those groceries you needed."

"Thank you, Mr. Lane. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

I turned away from them, focusing out towards the spacious yard. Rays of sunlight played hide and seek as the rising sun peeked through the trees, spilling color onto the lawn, reflecting off the dew. My mind was elsewhere, wandering deeper into my own personal thoughts as the comfort of nature and contentment washed over me.

The man, Mr. Lane, as I knew him now, crouched before Mrs. Wilkes' garden and began pulling weed after weed until his hands were blackened with dirt and soil. As the summer day unfolded, the sun's heat grew in intensity. Between rounds of work, he'd take a break, cooling off with ice cold water.

It was funny. I never was interested much in other people's affairs, nor did I ever pay much attention to strangers. Hardly ever, if at all. But I had found myself quite intrigued by this man. The way he carried himself, and the impression I got from him was enough to keep me enthralled. Of course, I was practically a prisoner of my house, by choice, and anything in the least bit exciting caught my eye.