New Arrangements

"Lou," he began, "I'm forty-two, nearly old enough to be your father. I have chosen or been chosen for a calling that hardly pays my expenses. I own one suit, a pair of boots and my beat-up old hat. My worldly possessions can be put in two large saddlebags. Dr. Burrus is holding eighteen books of mine and $127. That is my real estate. When I get back to Dellrose, I've got to wire him to get the books sent here. I've got little to offer you but a loving, heart, warmest respect and devotion."

At this, their first real conversation since his arrival, he reached over the loveseat's small space which separated them and took her big, hardened farmer's hand and said, "Mary Louise Fields, I'm her to court you. I want us to marry. I don't want, will not accept, an answer now. Please hear me out." He paused and looked down at his brushed old boots.

She kept her silence and looked at the worn, lined profile of his face and the gray hair that had nearly replaced the dark brown. His moustache's color was mostly gray, a real difference from seven years ago at Caladonia Plantation where she first laid eyes on him. He put his other hand to his upper lip and pulled down on his lip, mouth, and moustache to his chin. It reminded her of how she'd pulled on the milk cows' teats before sun-up.