Free The Magic of Ordinary Days by Ann Howard Creel Page A

meet?”
    In one instant, I knew why I hadn’t wanted to attend church.
    My father planned to tell everyone in Denver that I had eloped. During the war years, two people taking off together and marrying on the sly was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Rushed weddings happened every day, sometimes just hours before a soldier was shipping out. Not until the baby came would people realize that I had to get married.
    I said, “I eloped.”
    Mrs. Pratt looked baffled. Then Ray was back at my side. “We met in Denver several months ago.”
    â€œHow romantic.” She was genuinely pleased. “I never knew you traveled to Denver,” she said to Ray, then winked.
    Although a potluck was planned for noontime, we declined to stay, as Ray said he had another place he wished to take me. On the way home, he explained, “There’s a fishing hole nearby. Thought you might like to see it.”
    Truthfully, I’d never liked fishing. Once my uncle had taken Abby, Bea, and me out to a pier on a lake, but after a few minutes of no bites, my sisters and I had abandoned our poles and gone off exploring in the woods on our own. But anything would be an improvement over spending the rest of the day at the house. So when Ray drove us home, we changed into denims and shirts, then headed out again. At the edge of Holbrook Lake, Ray led me to an overturned rowboat. He righted it and slipped the bow into the water, keeping the stern on shore so I could hop in without getting wet. A minute or so later, he pushed us off. Ray dipped the oar on one side and then the other. Soon we were in the center of the lake surrounded by dragonflies courting over the surface of the water.
    â€œMiddle of the day’s not the best time for fishing,” Ray said. “But maybe we’ll get lucky.”
    Rimming the bank were stands of cottonwoods and fingery willows. Pheasants prattled about in the branches near the ground, and in the top of the tallest tree, a bleached bone of spindly arms, I saw a tangled nest that could only have been home to something quite large, perhaps a hawk or an eagle. Ray cast out a line and waited. I leaned back on the wooden slat that served as my seat and closed my eyes into the sunlight. I had to admit it was restful here, on this pond.
    â€œIt’s nice,” I said to Ray without opening my eyes. “Thank you for bringing me.” And thank you for lying to Mrs. Pratt.
    I could barely hear his voice over the sound of whirring dragonflies and tender licks of water against the sides of the boat. “Hoped you’d like it.”
    I kicked off my sneakers in the bottom of the boat and fanned out my toes. Later, I felt Ray shift his weight, then I heard him reeling in his line. In the bright light outside my lids, I saw that he had caught something. “Cutthroat,” Ray said as the fish flipped in the water at our side. Ray lifted it into the air, where the creature began its struggle for life.
    But I had to look away.
    â€œTrout are good eating. And this one’s fair size.” I could hear him working on getting the hook out of its mouth.
    â€œI don’t think I could eat anything I’ve seen breathing.”
    â€œWell,” he said, still working. “Fish don’t really breathe.”
    â€œI know. Gills instead of lungs.”
    â€œLook,” Ray said.
    I saw that he had removed the hook, that he was slowly sinking the trout back in the water. He held that fish so gently in his large drum of a hand that it surprised me. For a few seconds, he held on, letting the fish move within his hand. He explained, “Got to let it get used to the feel of water on its gills again.” After a few more seconds he let it go. “See, it’s okay. It’s swimming off now.”
    I watched the silver shadow disappear into deeper water. “You didn’t have to do that.”
    Ray took off his hat, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then