Judge Erskine's Daughter

Zec Stone grunted, “Grrr!”

Annoyed.

Imperfection of human nature of those around him made Zec so cross to the core. Faint hints of intelligence from these people in question just irritated him. Zec felt that simpletons in his society are undeserving of his respect.

Another condescending outburst lost his words. Though so many in his vocabulary, summed it all up with, “Grrr!”

Letting out a series of annoyance, Zec folded his arms, freed them later when he got tired of their enclosure.

Paced. Muttered. Paced.

With a wave of his arms in the air, and then dropped them slapping his sides. The parlor contained enough room for what seemed miles he’d paced.

His treads on the azure carpet swirled dust. The first ray of western sun beamed gentle orange light into the French-laced curtains- casting shadows on the Edwardian choicest furniture. He had intended to vent his vexation in the library with, “W. Cowper’s Treasury.” But as soon as he had arrived, a settee in the parlor looked more inviting than Cowper’s.

Hisses almost took on snaking out the coiled annoyance from within. “Grrr,” with a few jolting words beating from his heart-- rising rapidly--loud enough to echo in the room. His voice thundered like an accomplished opera singer. The vibration in his libretto bounced within the walls of the parlor. Words escaped like a steed-- mounted, galloped at a full speed.

An Englishman by decent, Zec composed a tongue of wealth of vocabulary.

“Grrr!” He finally let out the fourth one. Color deepened on his cheeks. His hearers counted.

“Looks like your visit with Judge Erskine fell to naught.” Zec’s mother did not mean to jest. She was curious to hear how it all went.

“Come sit, and regale me about any good side of your visit.”

In the way he was behaving, Zec baffled the eloquence of the wise. But his mother knew him so well for twenty-seven years. She would have turned him on her knees for a life-changing spanking even if he were seven when he began to reason out for himself. Rather, she saved her words of wisdom for later--when Zec was cool-headed.

“Zecky, did you have a lovely chat with Ruth?” Lottie’s long braids dangled as she sat on Zec’s lap.

Zec colored and said, “I almost did.”

“She wasn’t there?” Lottie thought aloud and innocently. Pity came over her for her eldest handsome brother.

“Lottie, you little curious munchkins,” he paused, tugged a gentle pull on his sister’s braids.

“There were others visiting.” His crimson face deepened. A disdainful, “Hrmph!” fastened his lips. At which Zec chose the deep sigh than another surly “Grrr”.

“Hmmm,” acquiesced Mrs. Stone at who might be “visiting”. She was sure that Judge Erskine’s daughter could make a perfect daughter-in-law. Her eyes twinkled at the prospect. Every well-to-do matchmaking mother at church thought so too, for their own sons.

“Lottie, dear, time for supper,” interrupted Mrs Stone. She stood and ventured a gentle tap on Zec’s shoulder and said, “Father just came in from his study, we must not keep him waiting.”

The following week, the church choir commenced practice for Easter. Zec straightened at his pew and caught glance towards the sopranos. His heart raced,excited with a confident lift. Tenors usually sat behind the sopranos.

“I need a tenor soloist to accompany us in, “Calvary’s Mercy,” announced Mrs. Biggs. Satisfied, she liberally scanned faces from where a good number of choristers sat.

“Ehem,” keyed-in a baritone-speaking voice from the men’s side. A marvellous tenor, an earl-like stance possessed him-- sat straighter, yet continued looking at his music sheet. He was sure he could sing this high C.

“Mr. Zecky Stone, can you do this part?” said Mrs. biggs.

Brilliant! Zec thrilled at the choice made. But flinched at how the misfortune of a permanent, invisible pet-name tagged on him. Aunty Dottie Biggs never gripped her grrr-ing nature-- so aggravating, to never dub him that pet name! How insulting! A miserable pout nearly caught up. Ruth Erskine looked behind and smiled at Zec. He was sure that Ruth agreed with Aunt Dottie, not with the name but with his brilliant singing voice.

Whew! Saved by the smile.

Visiting with Judge Erskine’s daughter became frequent. Zec eyed the “farmer boy” with condescending animosity. He harrumphed crossly at such nature of a suitor. He was sure that farmer-boy would never get a chance!


----

Judge Erskine’s messenger bestowed from his hand an elegant silver envelop. He laid it on Zec Stone’s hand.

1, September 1860, 10:00 am.

Judge and Mrs. Mosse Erskine
Mr. and Mrs. James Weaver

Request the honour of your presence at the marriage ceremony of

Ruth Erskine and Aaron Weaver

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Reception at Judge Erskine Estate
Special Song By:

Mr. Zechariah Jr. Stone

Grrrrrrrrrrrr!

Proverbs 16:18 Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.