Chapter 3-1
508 Words
Chapter 3
Week 2, Instructor Calendar September 1898
David Bradley leaned against a pillar outside Moss Hall. The sight of his compact, muscular form beneath the rumpled houndstooth jacket and his lingering gaze made her heart pound in a disconcerting manner.
“Hello, Con-Miss Wells,” he said, straightening.
Misses Lovelace and Gage giggled as they passed by. Concordia rolled her eyes at their retreating backs.
He drew her into the shadow of the deep doorway. After a quick glance to make sure no one was in sight, he placed a kiss on her inner wrist, just below the glove.
She shivered with both delight and alarm. “David! This is not the time or place, no matter how soon we are to be married.”
He grinned. “Your satchel is slipping.”
She made a grab for it, but he adjusted it on her shoulder, his hand lingering just a shade longer than necessary.
“You are not helping my composure in the least,” she chided, stepping out of the shadows.
“That was my objective.” His tone was teasing, but her expression sobered him. “Still anxious about your talk with the lady principal?”
They walked towards Founder’s Hall, known simply as “The Hall” to everyone at the college. The library occupied the entire ground floor of the building, with the staff offices on the two upper floors. The solid gray stonework, set against the cloudless blue sky of this warm, early fall day, held the promise of permanence, of revered traditions. She sighed. She would miss it so.
“I should have told her when I returned in August. I put it off much too long.”
“It is difficult to leave the job one loves.”
She gave him a grateful glance. It was to his credit that he had come to understand her difficulty in giving up the teaching she loved in order to marry him. Although the twentieth century was nearly upon them, many refused to entertain the notion that a woman could derive her happiness from a vocation other than wife and mother.
However, her decision had been made, and the teaching had to go. She clasped her bag more firmly.
His brow furrowed in concern. “Do you want me to accompany you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, of course.”
The silence stretched between them as they approached the door to the Hall.
“Don’t forget,” he said finally, “we are dining at my parents’ house tomorrow evening. Seven o’clock. You have yet to meet my Aunt Drusilla.”
Her heart sank. Mercy, another relation. One gained an entire family, for good or ill, when one acquired a husband. She had not fully appreciated that fact before.
David pulled a slim book from a stack under his arm. “When she heard about our engagement, she asked me to give you this.”
Concordia opened the book. Manners & Social Usages, by Mrs. John Sherwood. She frowned. “Your aunt believes I need etiquette instruction?”
He shrugged. “I am simply the book-deliverer. I am sure she means well.”
She tucked it away. “Anything I should know about your aunt, besides her apparent fondness for self-help books?”
David hesitated. “I shouldn’t keep you. Shall I call for you tomorrow at six-forty? We can talk on the way.”
She was tempted to inquire further. Better not. One problem at a time. “See you then,” she said, opening the door.
- Writer
