In An Age Of Shame

The Beginning

The sun couldnt have been brighter that crisp Fall day had there been multiple orbs suspended from the heavens. Shoppers meandered along the outdoor market aisles, choosing their fare with upmost concentration, as the sound of conversation and merry laughter accompanied the small groups of patrons. A young man dressed in Army fatigues wandered on his own, scrutinizing bottled buttermilk, bags of brown sugar and tins of loose leaf teas. He was struggling to remember everything his grandmother had asked him to buy, chiding himself for having thought bringing a list of the groceries requested wouldnt be necessary.

He swung his wicker basket lightly as he headed toward the vegetable and fruit section, and then executed an absolutely flawless comic doubletake as his eye was snapped up by a vision so exquisite and comely that he stood taking in the sight with no sense of self.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the young, breathtaking girl who trailed slowly behind the tall, old-world woman. The elderly lady wore a high-necked Victorian blouse, a very
long flowing grey skirt and wore her grey-streaked mahogany hair styled in a severe updo, and on her straight aquiline nose were perched thick, rimless coke-bottle glasses. The handsome young soldier watched the regal older woman peruse the fresh market produce with practiced sinewy hands and sharp amber eyes made ferociously huge by the thickness of her glasses. As she moved along the rows of squashes, cabbages and fresh herbs, she was so intent on her produce inspections that she almost seemed unaware of her young charge meekly clinging closely to her guardian's skirts. The stunning girl couldn't have been more than seventeen, but she exuded a sensual kind of innocence that she didn't seem aware of. Her hair was dark as a raven's wing, sleek, with a captivating widow's peak set perfectly in the center of her forehead. Her skin shone with the flawlessness of pure alabaster, and stark against that dewy complexion, ebony slashes of sylphlike brows framed demure yet dancing tawny eyes, with all of this set off charmingly by a pair of perfectly lush cupid's bow lips. He couldnt recall ever seeing a woman who could captivate his mind before quite the way this lass had. He was mesmerized, for the first time in his life. "She's an angel," he murmured under his breath, "straight from God's own heaven,"

William James Fitzgerald was on leave from the war with Germany for a few short weeks, returning to Flint, Michigan to visit his parents and large extended family before returning to the frontlines with the Infantry. He hadn't expected to do more than pick up a few items for his mother for the dinner celebration that night, certainly hadnt expected to find himself so powerfully smitten by a stranger's lovely face. She wore a spring green blouse that peeked over the collar of her dark rose overcoat, her small hands encased in warm, deep brown lined gloves, her fingers clasped primly at her waist, as she watched the older woman choose a few bell peppers for their basket, then move onto the various apples on display.

William tugged unconsciously at his regulation Army jacket, straightening it downward, and took off his cover, raking his fingers hurriedly through his thick, golden brown crewcut without taking his eyes off this willowy, lissome siren of womanhood as she moved along at the elbow of her elderly chaperone. All he knew at that moment was that he was irresistibly, helplessly drawn toward her.

Hesitantly, William approached the pair, unsure how to introduce himself. Never in his twenty-four years of life had he shrunk from any challenge , but this would require all of the confidence he would be able to muster. Besides, the girl's companion was clearly in charge.

Carrying his grocery basket down by his side, he moved self-consciously toward the ladies, and cleared his throat slightly before speaking. "Ma'am," he addressed the elder of the two, who turned and fixed him with her intimidating henna gaze. The girl simply sidled behind the lady and peeked at him shyly, silent as a cloud. "Err ... um.. well, I recommend the Red Delicious apples over the Rome apples. They're grown locally and so are fresher, having not been shipped from other states like the Romes." The elderly woman met his honest, deep angled blue eyes with a hard gaze, her thick spectacle lenses magnifying her suspicious yellow eyes almost frighteningly as she took him in from head to foot and back up again. Pulling herself up to her full impressive height, she replied, "We only use Rome apples in our Apple-Cheese Crisp, young man. Nothing else will do for our family recipe." She gripped her lavender shawl closer about her sturdy shoulders while the young girl hung silently behind the matriarch.