Pastels and Stationery

Thomas Sanders was sauntering down the lane, as he always did, at four o’clock—after he had closed up the drug store. He was deeply engrossed in meditation, ruminating about his customers. He had listened to the elderly Miss Sarah Payton talk of her cousin, and her garden with its solitary marigold flower, and every article of her ornate fifty-piece tea set from the Orient. All this, Thomas had heard before, but the conversation that he must replay again and again was one which he had never intended to have…with a girl he had never met before.

He had just been about to close the shop when he noticed her. She was a bit taller than most women, but far from meeting his own moderate height, and she wore a violet town hat. She asked if he had any stationery.

During the four years Thomas had worked at Earling’s Drug Store, he could not recall ever being asked whether or not they carried stationery, and yet—when asked this innocent question, he had absent-mindedly answered, “Yes, we do. It’s in the back. Would you like me to get it for you?”

He answered resolutely that they had stationery. He was adamant about getting it for her, and he looked to her for the amount—but mainly, he looked at her because he wanted to see her wide, intelligent eyes. They were hazel, and dark like his own. There was nothing extraordinary about them except that they seemed to grow wider, and fonder, as they looked back into his own, and for some reason, he found himself unable to turn away from them.

“Yes, well,” the girl had said, with a slight blush, but she continued to look directly into Thomas’s penetrating gaze, “that would be wonderful. Any kind will do. It’s just to write a letter to my mother.”

Thomas had nodded, reluctantly turned away from the girl, and started toward the back of the store. He became so engrossed in finding the stationery the drug store did not possess that he began removing everything, item by item, from the back shelves of the store, searching in vain for the beloved treasure. He was certain they must carry some somewhere. He took down the Iodine and the eye drops and the Lidocaine, but the stationery was nowhere to be found.

Frustrated, but determined, Thomas marched back to the counter. “I believe there’s been a mistake, but I’ll take care of it,” he said, with a smile. He passed out from behind the counter, paused, as he passed by the girl, and whispered to the errand boy that he must run the shop for a time. Then sliding out the door, Thomas hurried over to the women’s apparel shop.

There, the young man’s unaccustomed eyes were met by a myriad of pastels, and strange items for a man to be seeing, but toward the middle of the store, he found the desired stationery. There was so much to choose from he could not at first make up his mind just what to get. Stooping down, he felt of first this paper and then that, weighing it in his hands, measuring it, shaking his head, adjusting it to the light, laying it aside, taking up another piece, sniffing of it, comparing one color to another, until at last he found a paper of the same pastel purple of that charming girl’s hat. He carried his prize to the clerk. “I would like to purchase this stationery,” he said boldly, holding up the paper with great care.

“That will cost you a dollar,” said the clerk.

Thomas’s eyes fell. He muttered something to himself, as he began picking his pockets. He found a few coins, and fished out a few more from his waistcoat, and scraped out the money onto the counter. The clerk took it, and Thomas took the coveted paper.

Back to the drug store Thomas dashed. He carried in the stationery with a look of triumph he did not try to conceal. “Here you are,” he said, extending it to the girl with sincere ardor.

The girl was speechless. She looked at the stationery, glanced up at Thomas, then down at the ground. She blushed again, and this time, she did not look Thomas in the eye.

“Is it all right?” Thomas questioned, a little alarmed. “Is the color to your liking?”

The girl made no immediate reply, but taking the stationery, she smiled up at Thomas in such a way that conveyed more than words could her gratitude. She must have whispered something. Thomas stared hard at her, struggling to hear what it was she said, but he could not, and so he smiled, and nodded, and remained staring at her.

At length, the girl gave a little laugh, and started slowly toward the door. “Thank you,” she said, waving, as she reached for the handle.

Thomas sprang to the door, opened it for her, and let her out, watching her all the while with eyes that expressed his ardor, the girl regarding him with a curiously awestruck expression.

That was the end of the interview…she had gone, and now, as Thomas finished reminiscing the encounter while he sauntered, he sighed. He wondered why he had never gotten the girl’s name, recalled that he knew next to nothing about her, and could not understand why she had asked him for stationery.

Thomas, weary from his work, approached a cafe. He felt for his pocketbook, and glanced up at the sign above the entrance of the restaurant. As he did so, he noticed a brightly colored hat, nearly at eye level with him from where he was standing. The next moment, he was hurrying toward it, and as the girl who owned it turned, his eyes glowed warmly. “Hello again, sir,” the girl exclaimed, rather taken aback, but nonetheless delighted, as her eyes grew wide, and a cheery smile spread across her lovely face.

“Are you dining in?” Thomas asked, and before the girl could answer, he added, “Let me pay for your meal.”

The girl looked strangely at him a moment. Then slowly, she nodded, and passed through the door he had opened for her. Thomas followed her to a window seat, where they could overlook the road, and have a view of the drug store.

“Do you live in town?” Thomas asked, as they took their order, and were seated across from each other, each commanding a full view of the other’s open-faced countenance.

“Oh, well—I don’t. You see, I’m just here for a job,” the girl smiled, her eyes dancing, as she tilted her head.

Thomas smiled, too, and he looked at her with glowing admiration. He thought of another question. “Do you live far?”

“Yes,” the girl said promptly, then with another smile, she continued, “I really live out West, but I came here to hire myself out as a secretary. I was intending to get an interview today, but, my potential employer was out.”

“It was his loss then,” Thomas said quietly. “I’m sure you would make a wonderful secretary, but an even better letter writer.”

The girl blushed again, and Thomas wondered why she did so, and why it seemed to add a strange beauty to her face every time that she did.

The two’s orders came. Thomas didn’t touch his plate, and neither did the girl, although she pretended to now and then. They talked about nothing in particular, Thomas venturing a question now and then, the girl answering in her pleasant manner, while the clouds gathered outside, and presently, a regular storm blew in. The street became full of water, and the drug store across the way looked sad and dejected.

Thomas glanced out the window. He turned back to the girl, enquiring, “May I walk you home? I have an umbrella; you won’t have to get wet in this rain.”

The girl hesitated, but complied. Thomas walked her out, opened his umbrella, and huddled beneath it with her. They did not speak, except when the girl commented on how strange the storm seemed to her and how it had not looked as though it should rain before then. Thomas shielded her from the splashing of rain water as the cars sped by them, holding tightly to the umbrella and paving a safe walk way for the girl.

At her apartment, Thomas rang the doorbell, and stepped back. He looked at the girl with remorse, quickly glancing toward the old drug store—warn and faded—then back to the bright girl in her pastel hat, with her beautiful stationary. He said nothing, as he stood regarding her, taking in the full glow of her face, her bright eyes, her soft complexion.

The door opened, and the girl made an indication to go in…but she didn’t. She stood irresolutely, and her eyes betrayed her longing to stay. “I—guess I’d better go,” she ventured, in nearly a whisper, and her eyes fell sadly, but her feet did not move from the doormat.

Thomas wished her to stay there forever, hoping that the rain would last, wondering what it was that compelled him to stay, what prevented her from leaving. All too late, ways to prolong the conversation rose to his mind as the girl glided into the house, and he chided himself that hadn’t said anything. The door was beginning to close. The girl had turned, and was regarding him one last time, with that regretful, patient look.

“What is your name?” Thomas suddenly called, stepping quickly to the closing door, straining to catch the whispered words he was sure he should hear.

The girl’s lips moved, but the maid shut the door. Thomas could not hear the words and the maid did not appear to have heard his question. The door remained closed…

Mournfully, Thomas sauntered down the lane from whence he had started, ruminating about this bright stranger. He thought to himself that he would probably never see her again. She would get the job; she would become a secretary for one of the larger businesses in town, and because he did not know her name, he could not hope to have an interview with her himself. He sighed dryly.

“Sir?”

Thomas wheeled about, amazed to find himself facing the girl. Her hair and dress were drenched by the rain, and that bright pastel hat sagged atop her head.

Instantly, the young man flung his umbrella over her, and stepped close to her. The two regarded each other breathlessly, each wondering how fate had brought them together again, just now, and each forgetting at the same time what each had meant to tell the other but a moment before.

Then the girl muttered something in apology, and started away.

Thomas backed up, feeling he had somehow done something wrong, then hurried after her, still trying to shield her with the umbrella. “What is your name?” He finally called.

The girl stopped. She turned. She faced Thomas with that glowing look, her cheeks flushed, her eyes full of something bright and fresh, just like the pastel hat. “Clara Oaklands,” she said.

“Well…” Thomas looked at her a long time again, unable to come up with the right words, unable to say what he knew he meant to, and yet, trying to all the same. “May I call on you some time?”

The girl’s eyes sparkled. That smile overwhelmed her face. “Tomorrow at noon,” she said warmly.

Thomas smiled, too. He walked her back to her apartment, and bid her good evening, watched as she disappeared behind the closing door, and he continued down the lane a final time that night, past the drug store. The rain had stopped, and the full light of the moon shone on the old place like a beacon of joy, a sight dazzling to behold, and Thomas equated its bright colors with the pastels and stationery.