The sound of her voice fluttered through the window with the beautiful ease of a leaf upon gentle wind. Travis felt his heart flutter in his chest and his stomach do a turn as the words surrounded him as if in a loving embrace, “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me.”
A smile spread across his face, and just like every day, every time he heard her voice and her song, his back straightened and his stride became more sure, more confident. It was as if he were walking on streets of gold each time he passed her window.
Gwyneth, Gwyneth Archer is what she was called. He had seen the sweet girl a many times, once at the bakery, another time at the general shop and more times than he could count since last May at church.
Travis had never been much for the game of religion for that is how he had always viewed it. It was a game of Russian Roulette dressed up in false hallelujahs and Preachers peddling snake oil just to earn a poor man’s coin every time the offering basket was passed.
That was how he saw things ever since he was a child, his Daddy had taught him so and that was his view until he began to see the world through Gwyneth’s window.
The first time he heard her song as he passed her window on his way to work, he felt an anger rise in him that could have set the whole street on fire. He had cursed her from outside, too late to confront her face to face for disturbing his already rough morning and too eager to get out of the rain to really stop.
He couldn’t remember why he was so angry that day, he just remembered the look in her big brown eyes when she peeped out from her window. Her fingers hardly drew back the curtains, but enough of her round face had been seen to nearly stop his heart. He didn’t know if it was the scar that ran across her face and underneath her nose, stopping right were the dimple of a smile began, or if it was the look of disappointment that froze him like ice.
He quickly pulled his eyes away from her, raised the wet collar of his coat and pushed forward through the rain, his shame tucked beneath his tail like a chastised pup.
Her face had stuck with him, the sound of her voice singing praise and adoration to her God, replayed over and over throughout the rest of the day, so much so that he couldn’t keep himself from asking anyone he knew, “Who is the girl who lives on Brigs St, blue window frame, sings like an angel?”
The answers came slowly at first, for very few folks knew her, although many new of her. The answers of her identity came in the tune of “The girl with the scar?” “The girl who got cut because of her daddy’s gambling debt?” “The girl who don’t talk to nobody, always hides her face.” “The girl who sings every morning?”
“Yes, her!” He would respond until someone was able to give him her name, only he had to go and ask the Pastor about that.
Travis was nearly completely deterred by having to seek a Pastor to find out her name, but he had become so enthralled by her song, the light in her eyes, the peace with which she sang even though life had been so cruel that he couldn’t help but go.
And each Sunday as he sat in the back pew watching her sing before a audience of One, for he knew she only sang for God, did Travis begin to love her. Not only did he come to love her but the God of her song, for He was the One he let him hear her.
He strolled passed her window, now whistling to tune in unison with her voice. He strolled only across the street and back again, a pot of flowers in his arms. A giddy feeling ripped through him as he crept towards her home, her voice still carefree. He slid the pot in place and began to slide away stopping only when her song ceased mid-verse.
He turned and locked eyes with her, this time he removed his hat and smiled as confidently as he could. “I hope you like them,” He twisted his hat in his hands. He was suddenly very nervous.
Gwyneth touched the petals with fingers a gentle as her voice. She too smiled nervously. “They are lovely, Travis.”
Travis flinched. She knew his name? She knew his name! his smile broadened, the same feeling he got from her singing he suddenly felt at the sound of her saying his name. “So are you, Gwyneth. So are you.”
I have not taken the time to read over this (I have been bad about that lately) but I am so glad that I took the time to write it. I have been so regimented over the last week that I have kind of forgotten to have fun and just create. I hope this story made you, the reader, feel as easy and relaxed as it did me to write.