The Stranger - A LGBT Contemporary Fairy Tale

When The Stranger arrived in the small mountain of Baylor, he moved in quietly like a gentle autumn breeze. In much the same way the winds of nature may change things subtly and imperceptibly, the residents were also changed forever. The strangest thing, was no one realized it was The Stranger responsible for all the oddities that unfolded.

Not dissimilar than other small towns, everyone knew everyone, and everyone liked to know everyone else’s business. Everything they could need or want they provided for themselves. They knew a little something of this and that, and then some, making them industrious and self-sufficient.

The town was nestled in a remote and beautiful valley among majestic mountains, which was half a day’s travel from anywhere else.

Visitors rarely came to town. When The Stranger arrived in town on a dark blustery Wednesday in October, bearing nothing on his person but an old worn gray duster, an ancient olive green satchel, and a navy blue baseball cap that matched his eye color, the residents of the town should have taken notice, but they saw him as little more than a passing traveler.

The first person he encountered was young Evie, who was just a little more than half past childhood and not quite a full turn to adulthood yet. She was gathering her flock to bring them in. A storm was brewing and the sheep were becoming restless.

He stopped at the fence and watched her impassively as she maneuvered the flock. She turned abruptly and was startled when she saw him there.

“Oh my goodness.” She smacked her hand over her heart. “You scared me senseless, stranger!”

She recovered quickly, then smiled more broadly as she noticed that The Stranger couldn’t be much older than her. She fluttered her eyelashes prettily, hoping The Stranger might take note that she had the longest eyelashes of any girl in town. He was tall and trim, muscular under his worn coat, and had the deepest blue eyes, rivaling the skies of the coming storm.

He smiled apologetically. “Do you have a tavern here in this fine town of Baylor?”

“Of course! It’s just down this road.” And she pointed just up the way. “The only road that leads into town, and it will be the second building on your right.”

He tipped his worn ball cap like a cowboy from an old western movie, and she watched him walk away. Evie slumped and sighed with disappointment as she returned to herding her flock on towards the barn.

The Stranger pushed open the old wooden door to the tavern. All eyes looked up, but only when he fully entered the room did the silence of jovial conversation cease. He sat down at the bar. The old bartender, whom the locals simply called Barb, approached him.

Barb studied The Stranger, noticing quickly he appeared to be the same age as herself. He was an older man. Perhaps a few years past her own life span but not quite a full turn to senior status yet. What little hair she could see peeking out beneath the well-worn navy ball cap was streaked with gray. Lines etched the old stranger’s face, and he was perhaps thin and frail under the tattered gray duster. Despite his unimposing appearance, The Stranger did have one feature that was striking. His eyes were intensely fixed on locking eyes with Barb’s. The Stranger held no expression except a slight twitch of a smile pulling at his lip.

“What’yll have stranger?” Barb asked.

“You make a house brew?”

“Sure do.” Barb proudly placed her hands on her hips. “Ole’ family recipe. Can’t beat it.”

“Alright, I’ll have that.”

The handful of other men and women in the tavern scrutinized The Stranger with both curiosity and wariness. Each of them whispering in turn, trying to puzzle out his motives and purpose for being there. They never received strangers this late in the year. Summer brought them the occasional mountain ‘adventure-seeking’ hikers looking for a place to rest up and rejuvenate, but never this late in the autumn.

Meanwhile, Barb polished glasses and hummed quietly as she often did. The Stranger sat and sipped his ale nonchalantly, as if it were perfectly normal for a stranger to cause such a sensation in a remote mountain town.

Just as one of the locals was about to open his mouth and say something, the door swung open swiftly, as it caught in the gust of the coming storm. A slightly short plump woman, about the same age as Barb, struggled to pull the door shut. She entered the dimly lit room, stood in the entryway a moment stamping her feet to remove the cold, and shook her honey and white streaked ringlets away from her shoulders.

The stranger watched the new arrival with what appeared to be nonchalance. On the contrary, he did take notice that her eyes had lit up just a notch as she smiled at Barb.

As the woman’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the tavern she noticed The Stranger sitting alone at the end of the bar, instantly smiled, and without hesitation took up a bar stool right next to him. She had a pleasant cherubic round face. She was plump yet curvaceously attractive in her own way.

“Well hello, stranger.”

“Hello.” The Stranger smiled pleasantly at the woman.

The woman studied The Stranger, noting that he was about her own height, stout and plump like her. Oddly the same color hair as her own! How strange she thought. She extended her hand to shake his. He took her hand amiably and shook it. She happened to glance at his hands. They were worn and well worked like her own. A hard-working man! In her years of experience, it likely meant she could trust him. Then again, there was something not quite right about him that set her a bit on edge. After studying him for a moment she placed it. His eyes! My goodness, those eyes! Not quite normal…

Barb approached her and broke her train of thought concerning The Stranger. “The usual Greta?” She asked her and winked playfully.

The Stranger studied the exchange and took note of the slight blush that crept into Greta’s cheeks. “Yes, Barb. Big storm brewing out there. Hope you got your roof all patched? It might be a long one.”

“I did, I did,” Barb said as she filled a large stein with the homemade ale and set it down in front of Greta.

“I set aside those eggs for you, but darn it all I up and forgot them. I’ll bring them by first thing tomorrow before I get started on the day’s first batch,” Greta said.

Up until this point, the stranger had only been watching, and remarkably like a passing evening shadow, had all but been forgotten. Until he spoke up, asking innocently, “First batch of what?”

All eyes once again turned to him, startled that they had so easily forgotten him. “Greta’s our town baker and makes the finest home-baked bread you’ll ever eat,” Barb said with pride that paralleled her own when she was boasting of her homebrew.

Greta straightened her back on her stool, yet blushed all the same.

The Stranger cocked one eyebrow up and said, “Huh. Is that so?”

Greta sniffed then said, “Oh, don’t listen to her. Bread is bread. Fills your stomach and keeps ya alive. It’s well and good.”

Barb argued. “Phssh. Not true. I think I might have ingested stones that taste better than some bakers’ bread to be sure!” There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said this. Eyes fixed only on Greta.

“Now they weren’t a baker then, were they? They’d be a mason! And you’d be confused as to which establishment you were in, Barb!”

With this, the patrons at the bar guffawed loudly, as did Barb. The Stranger merely observed with no laughter. Yet if one were to inspect him closer, that sly smile was ever present, dancing in his eyes and tugging at his mouth.