Young Lady In Courtship Re-Examines Her Life

Suddenly, a cannon shot thundered its echo into the night air. The flare-like device soared high into the darkened sky, then vanished.

Suddenly, a silent explosion with a flash of light yielded a dazzling constellation of shooting stars. The device momentarily lit the Kingston landscape with its spectacular display that was followed by a distant boom. Another flaring device rocketed into the night sky followed by explosions of red, white, and blue sparks twinkling brightly in the dark of night.

“Ahhhhh …,” the large crowd expressed wonder.

The sky above Willow Park was aglow with a barrage of radiant colors for another fifteen minutes. The festive display, to the crowd, felt endless—and grander than last year’s event. When the fireworks ended with the grand finale, the crowds began to depart. The Thompson family, including Bridget and Grant, made their way home.

“Mr. Thompson … Mrs. Thompson,” Grant gratefully entreated, “I thank you both for giving me the opportunity to spend the day with you.”

“It was our pleasure,” Madeline replied.

Jacob felt remorseful for his rude behavior toward the lad, yet frowned when he extended his hand before Grant departed. Elsa escorted Grant outside, through the front yard, and just beyond the black iron gate.

“Elsa, I thank you for a wonderful time with you and your family.”
Elsa smiled demurely.It was wonderful, she wanted to say.

“May I—I mean—would it be possible for me to call again?” Grant asked nervously.

Elsa paused, hesitant to respond as her eyes broke contact with his and stared down for a moment. She really wanted to say no. But she couldn’t.

He was too nice a gentleman to be rejected.Maybe nothing will come of this. Elsa lifted her eyes back up to Grant’s.

“Yes, you may call again,” she accepted, somewhat reluctantly.

Grant smiled wide as a deep happiness filled him. “Well, Elsa, I don’t want to keep you.” They shook hands contentedly, for a long moment. The warmth of his firm grip as he clasped her soft skin rippled through her entire body. It felt wonderful—romantic. Grant released her hand and stepped backwards. Still smiling, he turned and departed.

After the sound of the sputtering motorcar faded into the night, Elsa entered her house and closed the door.My diary, she told herself.

“Elsa, dear, would you like to join us for quiet reading for a moment before retiring to bed?”

She walked into the living room. “No, thank you, Mother,” she replied assuredly.

“Did you have a good time?” her mother asked, desiring to know.

Jacob turned his eyes toward his daughter.

Elsa gave no answer. “Well, did you, dear?” her mother repeated.

“Yes, Mother,” Elsa replied in a rather flat and hollow tone.

Madeline smiled dearly at her grown daughter. She had expected to hear more.

“Mother, I’m going to my room.”

“All right,” Madeline replied, still smiling.

“Good night, Elsa,” her father said firmly.

Elsa approached her father and kissed him on his cheek. “Good night, Father.”

Elsa made her way toward the staircase when an inquisitive Bridget, bidding her good night, smiled from the kitchen. She longed to chat with Elsa about the day, but that would have to wait until tomorrow, she told herself.

“Good night, Bridget,” Elsa replied with a soft smile in return. The pianist lifted her dress above her ankles and treaded up the staircase to her room. Closing the door behind her, she sat at her desk and fixed her gaze at the array of palm-size figurines displayed on the shelves in her room. While she examined the details of her treasures, her heart told her she had much to sort out—knowing the day spent with the young man kindled warm impressions in her mind.Courtship will complicate my life, she begged herself to reason. Elsa sighed and redirected her gaze out into the darkened night. The sound of crickets filled the air as a cool breeze drifted through her opened window.My diary, she told herself again.

Elsa removed her diary from the desk drawer and pondered over the evening’s firework show.

July 4, 1915
Today was truly romantic.

As she meditated, her eyes became entranced in a deep gaze while her pen momentarily went idle in her hand. She then continued writing.

The park was more beautiful than ever; the fireworks filled the air with excitement. Grant shared so much about his family and his past. The deep love he has for his grandparents made me feel warm and comforted. I have never known so many private details about a boy. No, he is a man—an intelligent, compassionate, handsome young man.

Suddenly, a cold chill interrupted her and her pen turned idle again. Elsa envisioned herself standing at the crossroads of her life, each road having its own fate.

One road—forking to the right—presented her poetic world unencumbered by the uncertainties of courtship. Determined and strong-willed, she would pursue the position of a music teacher. Her treasured time of solitude would remain unthreatened, and she would remain comfortably alone with her thoughts and her music.

The other road—forking to the left—would involve the young man who had so intrigued her. However, much of her solitude would dissolve, being diverted to the duties of courtship. Embarking down this road would lead to who knows what end.

This thought frightened her. Elsa knew that if she didn’t take control of these matters she would face a struggle. Her intellect—the guardian of her soul—told her that she must extinguish this courtship. She realized how she had become emotionally intoxicated with a lover’s spell during the sunset hour.

Her life was poetically sophisticated and well structured. Romance could be poetic too. But romance could also turn into a monster.Yes, she told herself, stay in my safe, organized world—stay away from the edge.

How can I think these things about romance? I have no time for courtship—or love. My studies need full attention. A music teacher is what I dream to be. That is my plan. I must not deviate from that plan. Love can wait!

(Excerpt from The Silent Note reprinted with permission from the author, Patrick Davis).

(Originally published at GoArticles and reprinted with permission from the author, Patrick Davis).