The Distance Between Their Minds

Chapter 5

Elaine's Point of View

The house buzzed like a busy hive today, filled with the comings and goings of eager suitors, one after the other. I could hardly blame them; the beauty of the Walker family is indeed a sight that cannot easily go unnoticed. Mary alone had over six callers, each vying for her attention, while Faith entertained four. As for myself, I was already feeling quite drained by the procession, and as the tenth caller of the day was about to be announced, I struggled to muster the appropriate enthusiasm.

"Mr. Nathanial Fig is here to call upon Miss Elaine," the announcer declared, stepping aside to allow Nathanial's entrance.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Nathanial greeted us with a polished air, and then turned to my father, adding, "And good afternoon, sir."

Father, who seemed rather pleased today, perhaps due to the steady flow of suitors for his daughters, returned the greeting with a firm handshake. "Good afternoon, Mr. Fig."

"I was beginning to think you might not come," Mama said, her voice laced with a little too much eagerness.

"Please, call me Nathanial," he replied, offering a charming smile. "I had hoped to be the first, but it seems someone..." He was interrupted by Jane, who interjected with her characteristic wit.

"Not someone, but some ones," she said with a knowing smile.

"My word, how foolish of me to think there would be only one for such a fine lady," Nathanial remarked, his eyes settling on me with an admiring gaze.

However, my mind was not truly present in the room. As he spoke of the afternoon, I found myself silently echoing, "Afternoon only." I was indeed growing weary of this endless parade of suitors and shallow exchanges. Yet, when he spoke again, I was drawn back to the moment.

"Would the lady kindly grace me with a few moments of her time? It seems like a pleasant day for a walk."

"Of course she would. Amy can chaperone," Mama replied without a hint of hesitation, already making the arrangements before I could form a response.

Reality seemed to catch up with me then, and I realized I would be taking a stroll with Nathanial. It was not an unwelcome idea, for I did long for some fresh air to clear my thoughts.

The air outside was indeed fresh and welcoming, a soothing balm to my restless mind. It was everything I needed, and I could not help but think what a splendid day it would be to lose myself in the solitude of a good book.

"It seems my lady's thoughts are wandering far from my company," Nathanial remarked, clearly striving to draw my attention back to him.

"I could not help but admire what a beautiful day it is," I replied with a polite smile, "the kind of day that begs to be spent in the pages of a lovely book."

"A book, you say? And what sort of reading captures your interest?" he asked, his tone mildly curious.

"Romance, the nature of society, the evolution of character and mind," I said, keeping my reply brief, though the truth was I could have spoken for hours on the subject. It was a topic I held dear, one that sparked a fervor within me that few things could match.

"I see," he said, with a faint, patronizing smile. "You're drawn to fables, then."

There it was—that word. Fables. He, like my father, could not understand the enchantment and significance that a truly great book could hold. It was as though the power of literature, with its ability to stir the deepest emotions, was something outside the realm of his comprehension.

"They are not mere fables," I replied, striving to keep my composure. "They are fragments of truth, distilled and woven into stories that possess the power to awaken the heart and provoke the mind. There is much to be found within their pages."

Nathanial seemed unfazed by my defense. "Surely," he continued, "you would not deem such tales as worthy of your time as the duties of a household, were you to have one of your own to tend. After all, there is much prosperity to be had in managing a well-kept estate."

It was clear that his thoughts ran no deeper than material concerns, and his ignorance of what truly mattered began to grate on my nerves. "It is growing rather late," I said coolly, eager to end the conversation before my patience unraveled. "I believe I should be heading back."

Without awaiting his response, I turned my steps toward the house, feeling a sharp sense of relief to be walking away from his tiresome notions.

At last, the day's tiresome parade had come to an end, and I was more than ready to retire. The dining table was alive with laughter and chatter, filled with light-hearted talk of suitors and jesting about the more comically attired or the ones whose conversation bordered on the absurd. For a brief moment, there was joy. But it was short-lived, for Father's voice soon echoed through the room, cutting through the laughter like a knife.

"What are your thoughts on young Nathanial?" His tone made it clear that this was a question to which I was expected to provide a satisfactory response.

I took a breath, choosing my words with careful bluntness. "His mind is rather narrow for my tastes, and he does not comprehend what stirs my passions. While he is undoubtedly a good man, he is not the right man for me."

A chill crept into Father's voice. "If this is about your fables," he began, his tone dismissive, "I suggest you set them aside and start focusing on your future. There are more important things at hand."

"They are not fables, Father," I retorted, my patience fraying like a worn thread. "You might understand that if your mind were open enough to grasp their worth. And as for my future, it is mine, and that is why I must decide who is fit to share it."

His face hardened, and the man I had once known as my father seemed to vanish, replaced by a stranger who spoke to me with a voice as cold as ice. "Elaine, I implore you to grow up and face facts. You will marry Nathanial. I shall hear nothing more on the matter."

The finality in his tone felt like a dagger to the heart, and I could feel the sting of tears welling in my eyes, the ache of his words piercing deeper than I could bear. It was as though my feelings were but trifles to him, matters of no consequence.

Without another word, I fled from the room, my vision blurred with tears as I hastened back to my chamber. I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face into the familiar softness of my pillow—the same pillow that had caught so many of my tears before. I wept until exhaustion dulled the pain, and at last, I drifted into a restless sleep, my heart heavy and sore.