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One hundred and thirty years ago, Green Lake was the most beautiful lake in Texas. The water was cool and clear, and it sparkled under the hot sun. Peach trees lined the shore, yielding pink blossoms and decadent fruit every harvest.
Keith Kogane was the town’s only schoolteacher. He taught in a one-room schoolhouse that was old even back then. The roof leaked when it rained, the windows were stuck shut, and the door hung crooked on bent hinges.
A few hours after the groups of children ran home for dinner, he held night classes for the adults, as most were family farmers or laborers, and hadn’t received an education in their youth. The school was halfway down the road from the marketplace, which was a bit emptier this time of year, but the same space was occupied every afternoon by Lance McClain, who lived on the other side of the lake.
His niece, Nadia, went to the school during the day, and Lance was there from late morning to afternoon, selling various products he’d made himself from the juniberry flower fields across the lake. He claimed they were a cure for just about any problem, and, so far, he’d been right. The flowers themselves, in well-arranged bouquets, were just as popular as the various cures.
(Keith made a point to have fresh ones in his class as often as possible.)
Each day, without fail, Lance stood in the marketplace at his station, selling to those who came to pick up their orders and passersby alike. Even during the working hours, visitors coming in from the docks and the neighboring towns, groups pulling their parties through the smaller towns en route, and his favorite regulars all guaranteed that the stock he rowed across the lake at the end of the day was lighter than the one he brought in the morning.
This particular afternoon, wagon towers were coming up the road to Lance’s cart. They were led by Coran, a well known trekker and trader that often made a stop in Green Lake.
“Afternoon, Mr. Smythe,” Lance greeted, happy to see a frequent customer.
“Good afternoon, Lance!” Coran called.
“I have your order right here.” Lance stooped to haul a crate of tightly packed bottles wrapped in cloth out from under the station.
One of the pullers took the crate from him and set it on the wagon as Coran tossed him a small sack of coins. He caught it with ease, taking a quick glance at the contents.
Good Lord, he could have sold Coran four of those crates for this much...
“You’re very generous,” he said breathlessly. “Thank you.”
Coran didn’t seem to miss the money too much, pulling his hat down lower to block the sun from his eyes.
“I’ve got friends coming in sometime this week for more; been raving to everyone about you and your famous flowers.” He fetched a corked bottle from the crate on the wagon. “Alfor gave me damn near a fortune for one out of my stock. This one wards off the pests like magic. What d’you put in it?”
“Well, if I told you that, I’d lose quite a bit of business, wouldn't I?”
“‘Spose so, ‘spose so.”
Lance moved some of the more cramped boxes into the vacated space where Coran’s order had sat. “I do appreciate the extra crowd, Mr. Smythe. I’ll make sure to stock up for ‘em.”
Coran patted him on the shoulder and was off with the wagon, leaving Lance to count through the sack of coins (and nearly faint at the total).
He’d just finished hiding the bag in a small blue crate, covered by a cloth for safekeeping, when a bell sounded in the distance. Two long rings: school was out.
Children flooded out from the door of the schoolhouse, escorted by another one of Lance’s favorite customers. Keith kept a vase on nearly every spare surface he could find in the schoolhouse, always filled with juniberry flowers. He carried a basket over his shoulder as he brought his students over.
The kids swarmed around Lance’s cart, talking to each other, talking to him, and talking over one another as he attempted to quiet the crowd. Once they were settled and waiting anxiously, he took a flower from the overhang decoration of his cart, making a show out of presenting it to them.
“You know,” he began, twirling the stem through his fingers, “the secrets of the juniberry flowers are ancient. Way back when, long before Green Lake was even a city, they used ‘em for everything, stomachaches, toothaches, measles, mumps, anything that ailed them. But now, Green Lake is one of the only places they grow.”
Lance pointed a few feet away where a cow grazed on the grass, leniently tied to the cart. She was often instrumental in his sales pitches, but he wasn’t able to row the animal back and forth every day, and made weekly deals in exchange for her place of rest.
“If you don’t believe me, just ask Kaltenecker. All she eats is juniberry flowers, and she’s almost a hundred years old!”
Keith stepped forward, arms crossed as well as they could be with a basket on his shoulder. “Now, how would you know that, Lance? You’re not a day over twenty five.”
“Nature’s magic flower, Keith.” He winked.
He tucked the flower back into the overhang and walked around to the side of his cart as Keith dismissed the children, who were quick to run off to play.
“And just for you,” he said, retrieving a bundle of the purple blossoms tied with a ribbon. “I saved a bouquet for the new vase you told me about.”
“They’re lovely,” Keith marveled. He set the flowers in his basket with care, taking a jar out from beside them. “And your peaches.”
Keith was not only well known in Green Lake for being a schoolteacher; the jars of spiced peaches he made (and won quite a few prizes for when the Fourth of July fairs came around) were always in high demand.
“Thank you.” Lance opened the lid, closed his eyes, and inhaled deep, sighing at the smell of delicious spices. “Like heaven on Earth.” When he opened his eyes, they were fixed on Keith. “The work of an angel.”
Lance didn’t hesitate to grin when Keith blushed. He replaced the lid and put the peaches in the same blue crate as the money he’d gotten. As soon as he had draped the cloth back over them, he felt a tug at his sleeve.
Nadia, his niece and one of Keith’s best students, had caught a hold of it. Lance stooped immediately to meet her face to face.
“Mr. Keith let me ring the bell today!”
Lance gasped. “Did he really?”
“Uh huh!”
“Y’know, I heard the bell from aaaaall the way over here.”
“Really?”
“Mhm, that’s how loud you rang it!”
“Wow!”
He stood up straight, giving the side of the cart a few pats.
“You ‘bout ready to pack up and head home?” he asked. She nodded excitedly.
Lance retrieved the blue crate, one of the lighter items on the cart, and made a show of acting like he could barely lift it. He set it on the ground between them, wiping his forehead on his sleeve afterwards from the faked exertion.
“Can I carry that?” Nadia asked.
He tsked. “I don’t know, Nadi, it’s really heavy.”
“I’m really strong!”
He pretended to think about it for a moment.
“Well if you think you can lift it...”
She picked it up with ease.
“Wow!” Lance marveled, “you really are strong!”
Nadia gave him a determined smile and marched off toward the dock where Lance’s boat rested. Keith watched her haul the crate onto the boat and climb in after it. When he turned back, Lance had already finished packing up a box a third his size full of the unsold bottles, handling the fragile contents with ease.
“You have a lovely day, Keith, and thank you again.”
✦✦✦
Keith gazed ruefully out the door, shadowed by his young students. The rain came down hard, and the leaks in the roof left the floor wet and the room full of echoing, distracting raindrops.
He had to send them home.
“Alright,” he sighed, “come back first thing in the morning, okay? Be careful, and don’t run.”
Keith managed a sad smile at the chorus of ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you tomorrow.’ He shut the door once they’d all left and turned back, meeting Nadia’s eyes.
The McClains lived on the other side of the river, where the juniberry flowers grew. Lance rowed Nadia across every morning and rowed her back each afternoon, bringing his inventory for the day if the weather was nice enough for him to sell.
But when class was cancelled from rain that started halfway through the day, Nadia couldn’t just walk home. She had to wait for Lance to row all the way across, if he wasn’t already in the market that day.
And he wasn’t.
Keith took the pitcher that had been holding rainwater from his desk and emptied it out the door as quickly as he could before replacing it. He put away his supplies in desk drawers and cabinets, uselessly drying off surfaces that would be wet again in a matter of minutes.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry about the rain, Nadia.”
Nadia shrugged, at least attempted to with her head pillowed in her arms.
There was a knock at the door that grabbed their attention. When Keith opened it, Lance stood on the porch, grinning even in the rain. He took off his cap as Keith ushered him in.
“Got here as soon as I could. You two staying dry?”
“We’re trying,” said Keith, as Nadia ran to Lance’s side.
Lance eyed the buckets on the desks and floor, lingering on the pitcher steadily filling up with water on Keith’s desk. He followed the drizzle up to the patches in the roof.
“I can fix that.”
Keith crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me your flowers can cure a leaky roof.”
“Oh, no,” he assured, “I’m just good with my hands. I built my cart in the marketplace and the old boat I bring Nadi and the flowers over with every day.”
“Well, you’d be in real trouble if it leaked, then, wouldn’t you.”
“Tell you what,” said Lance, eyes on the roof again. “I can fix that roof for three jars of your spiced peaches.”
“You have yourself a deal.”
✦✦✦
Lance was kind enough to work right after the younger class had got out, even though the hours between day and night school were when he usually sold to the crowds that had just gotten off work. Keith felt guilty for taking time out of his business hours, especially with how many days it’d take to complete, but Lance hadn’t seemed too bothered.
Keith’s break, which he typically used for reading, was now underscored by hammering on the roof. It wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds, but if it meant he could teach during rainy days, he didn’t mind. He wasn’t opposed to the company, either; Lance liked calling down his commentary from the roof every now and then. He was quite interested in hearing whatever part of Keith’s book made him react so strongly.
Along with the jars of peaches that now sat in Lance’s toolbox, Keith ended up paying him in entertainment. The third day into the job, Lance insisted that he come up to the roof and read his book aloud. It was surprising, really, how interested Lance was in literature. He even recognized some of the poems Keith shared near the end of the week, finishing a line here and there when he remembered them.
After six days of working (with a day of rest in between), every hole had been patched up good as new. If Keith hadn’t been teaching under it for years, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it had ever been less than perfect.
“I guarantee that roof for five years,” Lance declared once he’d climbed down for the final time.
“I don’t think I could thank you enough.” Keith did wish he could give more, even if Lance seemed happy with his end of the deal.
He pulled the lid over his tool box, casting a glance over the room.
“Well, as long as there’s nothing else…”
Keith thought for a moment. He knew he would miss the company more than he’d care to admit, and the schoolhouse was far from perfect, even with the roof fixed.
“The windows,” he said. “They won’t open. The children and I might enjoy a breeze now and then.”
Lance lifted his toolbox.
“I can fix that.”
✦✦✦
It was easier for Lance to fix the windows. It wasn’t nearly as much noise, and he could work during the day without disrupting his sales. He did, however, stay late one afternoon. Nadia had asked for extra practice, and Lance could already be there to pick her up when they were done.
“And this maiden, she lived with no other thought,” Keith read aloud, “than to love and be loved by me.” He spoke slow and clear as Nadia listened and followed along.
“I was a child and she was a child,” he continued, “in this kingdom by the sea. But we loved--”
A voice interrupted him.
“--with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee.”
He looked up to the window; Lance had paused in his work to finish the line.
Keith looked at him fondly. “You know, that door doesn’t hang straight.”
Lance tilted his head.
“I can fix that.”
✦✦✦
Once night had fallen over Green Lake, the later round of school began. Keith’s night classes were often full of young women, typically more interested in the teacher than they were in getting an education.
But an education was all they ever got.
One such a woman was Romelle Walker. The Walkers were a wealthy family that owned quite a bit of the land (and water) in Green Lake. Romelle showed up nearly every night, but rarely paid any attention to the material, and had an affinity for slacking off.
Tonight, Keith could hear her cracking jokes with the others as he moved towards his desk, done with his final lesson for the night.
“That’ll be all for tonight, class, you’re dismissed.”
As students got up from their chairs and headed for the door, Lance walked in. He nodded politely to those he passed and was careful of his toolbox getting in the way. Keith’s attention was quickly thieved from the doorway by Romelle stalking up to him.
“How about you and me having a picnic sometime?” she asked, taking a seat on the side of his desk.
Keith winced at hearing the crumpling of a paper beneath her.
“No, thank you.” He continued to pack up his supplies, hoping she’d leave it be.
Decidedly, she did not.
“We could take a ride on my boat. It’s brand new. You don’t even have to row it.”
He knew that. Everyone in town had seen (and heard) the Walker’s boat. It was terribly loud and spewed black smog out over the lake every time they took it out.
“No thank you, Ms. Walker.”
“Come on, Keith. Don’t be like that.”
She rapped on the desk, trying to get his attention. He didn’t look up.
Her brow set in a frown. “You’re real stuck up, you know that? Nobody’s ever told me no.”
He finally looked up at her, not quite sure of what else he could say.
“My...apologies.”
Romelle huffed and pushed off the desk, not caring about the papers falling from his desk to the floor, She stormed out of the schoolhouse, shoving one of the tables on her way out.
Keith’s eyes fell to Lance, who looked back at his toolbox, at least making an attempt to act like he hadn’t been listening. He pulled out some screws and stooped to inspect the hinges.
The room was oddly quiet.
Keith picked up the fallen papers and smoothed them out, filing them each away, and left with nothing else to do after he’d finished.
That was when Lance spoke up.
“Did you ever finish the L.E.L. collection?”
Keith looked up. “Hmm?”
“Letitia Landon,” Lance explained, turning over his shoulder, “where we left off the other day. You get around to finishing it?”
“Not yet.”
There it was. The tension was banished out the window Keith retrieved the book from his desk drawer. He flipped through the pages, trying to find their last stopping point.
“Left off with Erinna.” He skimmed the poem. “Lord, this is long.”
Lance shrugged, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“We’ve got time.”
✦✦✦
The guise of sprucing up the schoolhouse only lasted so long. By the end of the semester, Lance had fixed the leaky roof, the stuck windows, the crooked door, the battered shutters, the creaky porch stairs, and the leg of every desk Keith could pass off as wobbly.
It was at least a fair trade; Lance got to listen to him read and receive quite a few jars of peaches, and Keith got to hear about the flower fields across the lake and anecdotes about Lance’s family. (Keith bought a few more bouquets to make up for the selling time Lance lost, figuring he still deserved what business he could get.)
The old schoolhouse had been turned into a well crafted, perfectly painted jewel. The roof never leaked, the windows and door always opened and closed, and the room lit up with the morning sunlight, more beautiful than it had ever been.
But how disappointing it was when there was nothing left to fix. When Keith only saw Lance through the windows as he bartered with the customers and leaned against the cart on slower days, or for a few minutes after school got out, when he would walk Nadia and the other children down to the market so Lance might teach them something new about his flowers.
And Lance would always have a shining smile, the same one he wore when Keith read to him, when he tested out the steps or hinges and declared a job well done. Keith missed having it around.
One afternoon, wind shook the schoolhouse shutters. Rain pounded against the roof, but the floor was dry as bone. The sky was a dismal grey, and Keith was, for once, happy to be at the end of the school day.
Most children lived not too far from the schoolhouse and could walk themselves home safely, but there were always those who stuck around to chat with one another. Keith didn’t mind waiting for them to head home; it was better they stay dry than debate out in the rain. He busied himself with fixing up the vase on his desk, making sure the juniberry flowers were arranged neatly from all angles.
Lance was leaning against the back wall, staying out of the rain while he waited for Nadia to finish talking with her friends. After a few minutes, she broke off from the group to run up to him.
“Everyone’s going to Kate’s house, can I go with them?” she asked, rocking back and forth on her feet.
“If you want,” said Lance, and immediately got swooped into a hug.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Nadia cheered.
“I’ll pick you up before dinner, okay?” he asked, but she had already run back to the others to relay the good news. The last of the children filed out the door, Nadia in tow, and Lance watched them go, leaning against the doorway.
“Keep your hood up in the rain!” Lance called after her, watching as she pulled up the hood of her jacket and gave him a wave goodbye.
Keith wanted him to stay. It was a selfish want, too; he knew that. There was nothing left for Lance to fix, and the raindrops pelting the faultless roof told him so. Keith was out of excuses to keep him around, far too afraid of losing him.
Lance glanced warily outside before stepping farther into the room and closing the door behind him. Keith cocked his head in confusion, but Lance had already reached the desk, just left of where Keith was standing. He took one of the smaller flowers from the bouquet and tucked it behind Keith’s ear, a shining admiration in his eyes.
“Now,” he began, voice low even though there was no one else around, “I don’t mean to be too forward, but--”
Keith kissed him.
Hey, spur of the moment decisions aren’t all bad.
And this one...this one was very good.
Lance’s hand came up to cup his cheek almost immediately, impressive considering how much Keith had caught him off guard. He didn’t let it drop after they pulled apart, in part to keep him close and in part because...because he just wanted to.
“Well, I didn’t expect that for another minute or so,” he joked, but Keith was already swooping him up in another one, letting his heart flood over this way instead of some stumbling confession.
They didn’t really need one at this point, did they? There was no way to misinterpret the perfect mix of gentle and fierce as anything else.
sweetheart, you’re just like the rain,
pure and arcane.
when i dream of you,
i don’t ever want to wake.