Moving On

They say some folk just don’t know how to move on. Some are frightened of taking the next step. Others, they stay ‘cause they got something left unfinished.

Rick remembered the first time he saw her. Maisie was a tiny little thing, no taller than his shoulder when she walked into the new barn all smiles and sunbeams. He watched her stepping gently this way and that across the hard floor as she walked from tool rack to hay bales, pausing at the shiny green tractor. And cradled in her arms, tiny hand clenched tight around a fresh spring daisy and looking out at the world with the magnificent wonder of someone lucky enough to see it all for the first time, there she was. Little Sally.

Her eyes flowed with the same care and grace as her mother’s feet, making sure not to rush over anything or let herself get tangled up in the pristine chaos of it all. She took in the soaring timber frame, raised by wiry arms; the shiny walls, polished by weathered hands; the floor scraped lovingly to level flat enough that a mother could carry her newborn inside without having to worry about tripping. Then for a moment - a long, breathtaking moment - she rested her questing gaze upon Rick, and all the world went quiet.

“One, two, three, up we go!”

Rick watched over the smouldering bowl of his pipe as Sal’s father lifted her up onto a hay bale. The young man looked up at the castle of tightly-bundled grain.

“Now you be careful up there Sal. Don’t climb too high, okay? I’ll be right over here if you want to come down.”

“Yes, papa.” Sal’s eyes were already wandering about the barn, searching among the rafters, the shelves, the roof and chassis of the grass-green tractor her father was just now beginning to work on. Finally her eyes met Rick’s, who smiled down at her from atop his throne of straw. Sally began to climb.

“You look like mama.” Sal’s cheeks were flushed from the climb, but she showed no signs of being out of breath. Damn youngsters, always making you feel old.

“That’s ‘cause she got my nose.” Rick took a deep puff from his pipe, grey-white tendrils dancing lazily skywards through his moustache.

“Then how come you still got one?” Sal demanded.

Down below, there was a clunk as Sal’s father opened something in the tractor’s engine.

“How come indeed?” Rick fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Mayhap I got it from a curious little girl.”

Sal looked thoughtful for a few moments. Rick could see the cogs turning in her head as clear as her father could see the innards of his open machine. Then with a sense of absolute finality she shook her head. “It’d be too small if you did that.”

Rick smiled. “I reckon it would, at that.”

“‘Asides, I’m the only little girl here, an’ you wouldn’t take my nose.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause I brought you somethin’.”

Rick saw Sal raise her clasped hands towards him, her face all smiles and sunbeams as she offered him a daisy.

The barn was cold when Sal tumbled into it, scrabbling to shut the heavy timber doors against raging winds and the pellets of cold, hard rain that they carried. She dried her head and hands with a spare rag, but her cheeks remained wet.

Rick was working, carefully sanding down and varnishing the posts that had been scuffed by heavy tools in busy hands. Folk could get splinters otherwise.

“You’ll get grease on your dress with that.” He said, turning to face her.

“Not like it’ll show.” She picked a piece of straw from the black fabric, her hand trembling. Rick took a step towards her and she ran the rest of the way, awkwardly throwing herself into his arms. She barely came up to his waist. “I miss him, grandpa.”

“I know, Sal. I know.”

Rick let her cry herself out. Best thing for a kid. Best thing for him as well, seeing as how his eyes were hardly dry. He didn’t know how long it was before she spoke again. “They buried him out by the old church.”

Rick’s face creased into a bittersweet smile. “He always loved the gardens there.”

“They put him next to you.”

“I always loved them, too.”

There was a long pause. Sal looked up at her grandfather from the safety of his arms.

“Will I see him again, as well?” It was more plea than question, and Rick’s heart all but broke with the answering.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“She never lets me do anything!” Rick felt Sal’s anger in her throw as he caught the ball, and shook his hand in mock-pain before tossing it back. A mote of Sal’s rage turned to repentance.

“Your mama loves you, Sal. She wants you to be safe.”

“Safe and bored. It’s just camping, what’s the worst that could happen?” Sal rolled the ball between her palms, looking around at the peeling paint and rusting tools.

“Bear attack, probably.” Rick held up his hand, and was rewarded with the satisfying thwack of leather hitting his skin. Sal shook her head, laughing.

“Ain’t no bears this far south, grandpa.”

“Fine, cougar attack then. Or… I hear...” He stared off into the middle distance, letting his arm drop.

Sal took a step towards him. “Or…?” She closed the distance, impatience clear on her face. “You hear what, grandpa?”

Rick slowly turned his head to face her. “Or...” Suddenly he sprang towards her, scooping her off the ground and spinning about to the tune of surprised laughter. “I hear there are ghosts about who like to steal little girls’ noses!”

As moments go, it was perfect. But Rick knew even perfect moments have to end, so he let Sal go, sat himself down on a haybale and patted the one next to it for her to join him.

“You know your mama just loves you, right Sal?”

Sal gave a long, deep sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

Rick smiled. “But she’ll come around. And if she don’t, well, tell her… tell her a ship that spends its whole life in a harbour never gets caught in a storm.”

“...But?” Sal raised an eyebrow. Rick’s smile broadened.

“But that ain’t what ships are for.”

“That roof better not drip on my pie.” Sal eyed the missing tiles warily. The sweet smell of steaming apple, cinnamon and pastry somehow felt right at home with old wood and fresh straw. “Sorry you can’t have any.”

Rick shrugged. “Folk do half their eating with their eyes and nose, and it looks and smells divine.” He smiled. “That’s enough for me, I reckon.”

“I just can’t believe I might be able to make a living doing this, someday.” Sal tapped on the golden-brown pastry with her spoon.

“Well, you’ve always been good with your hands. And too clever by half for simple work.” Rick smiled as his granddaughter shifted uncomfortably at the compliment. “Makes sense you’d find something like this.”

“Six months, though. I’ve never been away from home more than a week.”

“You’ll do great. And one day, you’ll be away from home a lot longer than that.”

“I’ll miss you and mama.”

“We’ll enjoy the peace and quiet.” Rick dodged the shard of pastry which flew his way, chuckling. “The daisies are in bloom to remind us of you.”

“What do you think, grandpa?” Sal twirled in the broad pool of sunlight which streamed in from the cracked window above, looking as incongruous as a snowman in a desert in her delicate white dress among the old machines and rusting tools. Watching from a wobbly stool, Rick challenged the sun to see who could beam brighter at her.

“I think he’s lucky to have you, Sal. And I think you’d best give the spinning a rest ‘fore you shame the flowers out of showing their faces.”

Sal laughed. “That’s a crafty way of telling me you’re scared I’ll get somethin’ on my dress, ain’t it?”

Rick put on his best poker face. “Might be.” Sal laughed again.

“You think I’m lucky too, right grandpa? To have him?”

Rick thought about what he’d seen of Sal’s handsome, earnest, humble groom-to-be, who looked at her like a plant looks at the sun after a long night. He grunted. “He’ll do.”

Sal smiled, looking out at the unkempt field beyond the barn doors. Rick stood up and joined her.

“I’m glad your mama’ll get to see it.” He squeezed her hand. She squeezed his in return.

“Me too, grandpa.”

It was early evening when Rick saw her for the last time. The rickety barn was barely used anymore, and was understood to have been kept standing only to satisfy the eccentricities of the woman who entered it now, stepping carefully across the hard floor. She needn’t have worried. The roof might be full of holes, the joists and hinges creaky and weathered, but the floor he kept clean and smooth. Folk might trip otherwise.

Sal smiled at Rick, her face held close to the tiny one she held bundled in her arms. From behind a curtain of wispy hair, tiny eyes beheld the splendour of the world with a wonder that Sal could scarcely remember. When Sal spoke, her voice was all sugar and feathers.

“Hey, grandpa. I brought someone to meet you. Meet Maisie.”

“Someone to see me, huh? Evenin’, little one.” Rick leaned down, and the babe’s eyes grew wide. For a moment he feared she’d cry, but then her face broke into a broad, crinkly smile, and Rick’s heart melted.

They sat together a good while, cooing over little Maisie and talking about little things.

“I’ve been offered a job, grandpa.” Sal said, finally. “Running my own place. In Paris.”

“I figured the rest of the world wouldn’t let us have you to ourselves for too long.”

“I don’t know if I want to go.”

“You’re not meant to stay in a harbour, Sal.”

“But I can’t take you with me.” Sal looked around at the sagging timber. “Can I?”

Rick shook his head. “No. But I reckon that’s okay.”

The two of them looked out at the sunset together for a while, before Rick spoke again.

“They say some folk just don’t know how to move on. Some are frightened of taking the next step. Others, they stay ‘cause they got something left unfinished. It's time for me to move on, Sal. Time for me to see your mama and papa again.”

“But what if you’re not finished? What if I still need you?” Sal’s expression was pleading. Rick just laughed, shaking his head at Sal’s surprise.

“Don’t give me that, Sal. You never needed me. I reckon maybe I needed you. To show me how to move on.”

Rick brushed a tear from Sal’s cheek as she looked away, towards the warm glow of the evening sky. Little Maisie gurgled again.

“I love you, Sal.”

Sal turned back to face the empty barn. Another tear rolled down her cheek, and she let her eyes follow it down to Maisie, who beamed up at her and held up a fresh spring daisy clenched tightly in a tiny hand.

“I love you too, grandpa.”