Violists | Page 4

have to forgo marital
companionship if she were to retain her individuality--for the price of
her freedom was a monumental sort of loneliness that only the severest
mental discipline could overcome. She had seen so many of her school
friends smothered in the clutches of bad marriages, worn out beneath
their husbands' heels--almost like doormats. To be truthful there were
those who seemed to prosper in the state of matrimony, but she thought
them few. Yet, she still had an abiding fear that she would grow old
alone--and soon enough become as obdurate as Miss Sadie-- a pitiable
spinster with none of the finer sensibilities left to her. Was there no
man, Gretchen wondered, with whom she could share her life and
interests--a man with progressive ideas? Not a man that she, like a tiny
moon, would orbit eternally, but one with whom she could find a state
of mutual orbit. Well, she thought, something of that nature anyway.
Her knowledge of astronomy was not up to the task of finding a better
analogy, and she resolved to remedy that as soon as she was able. She
added another volume--'something concerning the heavens' she called
it--to the list of books she thought she really must read.
Gretchen bustled, thinking these thoughts, dreading her next birthday.
She blew softly on a wisp of auburn hair that had somehow escaped
from the green ribbon with which she tied it back that morning. Several
strands had somehow got into her mouth but her arms were too full of
books--heavy tomes, all--to pull them away with her fingers. She was
on the verge of setting down the burden and tending to her hair for a
moment when, as she turned a corner into the next row, a shadow fell
across the topmost book in her arms. She glanced up in surprise. A man
stood mere inches in front of her--and looked up to find her bearing
down upon him with a full head of steam--even as he stepped toward
her.

"Oh!" she cried, attempting to stop herself. The books slid irretrievably
from her grasp, their pages flying open with a flutter.
The man's arms shot out. "The books!" came his cry of astonishment as
they tumbled about him. He tried to catch a few, left and then right, but
alas they fell--all but one--to the floor with a dull clatter.
"Oh dear," Gretchen whispered, looking down. She feared she had bent
a few pages, and putting a hand to her mouth knelt immediately to
gather them all. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she continued in a rush as she
piled books one after the other. "My clumsiness..."
"Think nothing of it, Miss," the man replied lightly. "It's my fault. I do
hope you were not harmed by my clumsiness..." He knelt then, and
began to place books upon her stack, starting with the volume he had
saved from falling. The lucky book was one of the late Mr. Darwin's,
and when he glanced momentarily at the spine she blushed deeply
despite herself--for she had that day finished reading it, and was
returning it to its rightful place. She knew that he had seen her cheeks
color.
Gretchen looked around, and seeing there were no more stray books,
prepared to pick up the stack again. She stood up to catch her breath
and smooth her wool skirt, arching back her shoulders. Looking down
at the man, she finally remembered to blow the wisp of hair from her
face. He was looking up at her and positively beaming--clean-shaven
and light complected, she noted--but the smile faded almost instantly to
a faint curling about the corners of his lips.
"Please accept my apologies," he stated, still kneeling upon the floor. "I
will have to be more careful." His hair was dishevelled--great curly
locks of jet black, and he laughed nervously as he brushed it from his
eyes. He peered at her with eyes so black, yet so kindly, that Gretchen
found herself blushing again and put a hand to her chest. The man
stopped for a moment to adjust his shirt and coat, then stood slowly,
and with the hint of a bow, swept past her and away. Unaccountably,
she felt suddenly light-headed and sat down upon the floor by her
books. His eyes! she exclaimed to herself with an outrush of breath.
She felt that in an instant they had devoured her; had known all about
her. She could not recall ever having seen such lively and intelligent
eyes--so deep and black they seemed like windows opening onto a
starlit sky. And his hand! when he placed the last book upon the

stack--the nails so trim. His hands were almost feminine, and finely
wrought. Gretchen gradually composed herself, then picked up her
books and continued about her work.
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