Love Always, Ruthie Mae

A Tree

Anthony Smith rounds a gently sloping curve in the trail and is greeted by a large oak tree. The massive branches stretched up toward the sky, leaving a large grassy shaded area below, much too inviting to pass up. He moved toward it, whistling to catch the attention of the dog trotting along in front of him. The sheltie turned and trotted back to its owner.

As they rested among the branches, Anthony reached inside of his bag and pulled out a bottle of water, quickly dumping it into a small bowl for the dog, before pulling out a second bottle for himself. Six months ago today, his wife had left him with the dog saying simply, “I can't.” before walking out of the door. He hadn't heard from her since.

That's not to say he hadn't heard from her lawyers though. The next week, he was served with divorce papers, a week later, an eviction notice. The house had belonged to her parents and they had apparently decided quite quickly if she couldn't, they didn't have to. He wasn't surprised about the divorce and while the eviction caught him off guard, coming so quickly after the separation, he had seen in coming as well.

For years, he had tried to convince her to start a family, something she had sworn she wanted. For years, she had come up with one excuse or another as to why now was not the time. He knew when she came home with the puppy, their relationship was ending. The dog was a half heart-ed attempt at a band-aid on their already failed marriage. She hated dogs, one of the many red flags he had ignored, she never would have bought one if she had any intentions of sticking around.

He hadn't been surprised three days ago when his boss, Ian Thompson, told him he was retiring and selling the store. “We just can't hold on anymore, Ant. You and I both know it. I'd give you the place, you know that.. but we need the money. Sherry's treatment isn't cheap, you know. Someone from over in Atlanta is willing to give me $70k for the lot. Gonna bulldoze the whole damn store, auction off the inventory. I'm sorry, Ant, you know, I hate doing this to you. Especially with everything lately, its just.. Sherry...”

He had told the old man he understood. He had basically been raised by the Thompson's, his own parents too lazy, and drunk, to bother with the task themselves. He would have sold the store too even if it meant he was now both unemployed and homeless, having moved into the small upstairs apartment after his eviction.

So t,here he was, hiking through the mountains, with his dog, a few bottles of water and protein bars, waiting for inspiration to strike. The Universe had given him more than his fair share of hard knocks, he figured now was as good of a time as any for it to finally cut him some slack, or maybe he'd fall off the mountain and it wouldn't matter anymore.

He leaned back against the tree, deciding to rest a while before turning and starting back down. Milo, the dog was already laying in the grass at his feet, chewing on something.

“Crap.” he muttered, sitting back up, “Milo, bring!”

The dog stood and began walking toward him, before darting past, his prize still clenched tightly between his teeth. Anthony jumped to his feet and began chasing the fluffy blur of a dog.

A Notebook

Several minutes later, settling down again at the base of the tree, with a now contently exhausted dog beside him, Anthony opened the small black notebook he had wrestled away.

He expected bad poetry or maybe some sketches of various objects and scenes up and down the trail. What he did not expect was the clear simple handwriting, addressing the notebook to.. well him it appeared.

Dear Traveler,

I have had a happy life, but I feel in is coming to an end. My husband Frank and I fell hopelessly in love over a piece of pie. He would be 76 next month. He's been gone five years now and I am heartbroken. But always remember, heartbreak is a sign of a heart that's been loved.

Before Frank's passing, we were happy, successful, life was good. We had a business, grew it into an empire (No, I will not tell you which.) sold it for an obscene amount of money, donated almost all of it, and retired to our cabin, not far from where you sit.

So here's my gift. I have enclosed directions to the cabin. In the back cover of this notebook, I have taped a key.

Go to the cabin. Use the key. Look inside the wood stove. The contents are yours to use as you see fit. But take the coin to my lawyer, Mr. Wilson, he'll understand,

I do not know you, stranger, but that doesn't matter. I am trusting that you must have a sense of adventure if you've went this far. So adventure on, fair traveler, your prize awaits you.

Love Always,

Ruthie Mae

The pages following the letter included a map to the cabin, a business card for Mr. Wilson, and as promised taped in the back, a small silver house key.

Anthony was concerned. In his hands, he held either the answer he had been looking for when he set out that morning, or quite possibly a map to some unknown serial killer's cabin in the middle of no where. He wondered how many hikers had went missing on this trail but quickly decided it didn't matter. This was crazy, no way was he going to do as the notebook asked. The whole idea was crazy.

“Come on, Milo, time to head back.”

A newspaper

When he got back into town that night, the sun had already set so Anthony decided grab a few burgers a small diner before checking into the hotel next door.

“Y'all have many hikers go missing?” he asked before realizing he sounded crazy, “I was out there hiking today. Some of that trail is a little dangerous.”

“Um..” the man muttered, clearly still thinking Anthony must be insane, “Not that I know of. Your in Room 208.”

Anthony took the key from the man and turned to leave the small dingy office, but stopped noticing a newspaper on the counter. The clerk had already returned to the sitcom rerun he was watching when Anthony walked in.

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” he asked, holding up the paper.

“Yea, sure thing.” he answered, without turning from the screen.

In his room, Anthony pulled out two bowls and set them in front of Milo before dumping kibble into one and water into the second. Moving around the room he pulled out a spare set of clothes and a few toiletries from his bag before giving up and unfolding the newspaper.

It was a small publication, only a few pages thick and holding more ads for local business than actual news. The main article covered a recent county fair but his eyes were drawn again to the caption below the picture of the pie contest winner. “Mrs. Ruthie Mae Winter takes the first place prize with her world famous blackberry peach pie for the 5th year in a row!”

“It can't be..” he exclaimed, checking the date on the paper. “This article is six months old.”

At the foot of the bed, Milo stared up at him quizzically, as he pulled out his phone and began typing, finding first the obituary for a Mrs. Ruthie Mae Winters, dated just a few days before. “While Mrs. Winter and her husband, Frank, founded Winter's. Pie Company in 1965 growing it into an empire until its eventual sell in 2016. ”

After a few more minutes of browsing, he had learned that Frank had passed away five years ago, shortly after selling the chain of bakeries, which had bankrupted not long after. It seems when they sold the company they refused to include the recipe for their signature blackberry peach pie, stating it was just too personal. The recipe was never shared.

Anthony looked down at Milo, “We have to go check this out, don't we?” he asked.

The dog sneezed in response.

A cabin

The next morning, dressed in the spare clothes from his bag, Anthony stopped in at the diner again and grabbed a few breakfast burritos for himself and some scrambled eggs for Milo before heading to the trail.

Starting out much earlier this time he reached the tree before noon and pulled out the notebook with the map drawn in. It was surprisingly accurate and easy to follow. He found himself looking up at the small cabin less than thirty minutes later. Before walking onto the porch, he pulled out Milo's bowls and fed him in the grass of the front lawn.

“Just in case there's something more dangerous than pie in there.” he told the dog before he climbed the steps and slid the key fit into the lock and turned opening up to a cozy, albeit dusty, living room. In the corner sits a small wood burning stove, he opened it, expecting ashes but found it was actually quite clean inside and holds another black notebook identical to the one in his hand, on top of it, a white envelope stuffed full, and an old coin on top.

Despite his curiosity about the contents of the envelope, he sat both it and the coin aside, turning his attention to the notebook. Inside, he is greeted by dozens of recipes, each followed by a story. The stories he realized were in Ruth's handwriting while the recipes are a smaller, much simpler script. Frank.

He slid the notebook into his bag with the other and reached for the envelope. Inside rested a stack of crisp bills. Surprised for the first time in his life, he pulled them out and began to count..

“There's $20,000 in here!” he said to the dog who had finished his dinner and come in to search the house himself. “Milo, buddy, we're having steak tonight!”

A pie

A year ago, today, Anthony's wife walked out. Six months ago, today, Anthony's luck changed, They did not, in fact have steak for dinner that night. By the time they left Mr. Wilson's office, everything in town was closed other than the small diner, but resting in him jacket pocket was the deed to the cabin.

The next day, he and Milo walked into Mr. Thompson's store and handed him the envelope. “Consider this a down payment. If I can't turn this place around in 90 days, you can sell it and keep my money.” he had explained.

But he had turned the business around, using the recipes in Frank's notebook, they took the dark dreary bookstore and turned it into a cozy café, selling vintage books and the best tasting blackberry peach pie, ever made. He hadn't paid the Thompson's off yet, but he was well on his way.

Anthony and Milo spend their days at the store and their nights in the apartment above. On the weekends, they drive out to the cabin to hike and fish. They are happy and completely inseparable.

Today, Anthony will look up to see a woman, her blond hair will be pulled into a loose ponytail and her sundress will pool around her as she kneels to pet Milo. Anthony will offer her a piece of blackberry peach pie and they will fall hopelessly in love. He will not be afraid of heartbreak because a wise woman once told him, heartbreak is a sign of a heart that's been loved.