Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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It was Saturday morning that he decided to spend Sunday in the vicinity of Marksville, and the same afternoon found him waiting at the country station for the southbound train.
He was a robust young fellow with good, strong features and a somewhat determined expressionâ âdespite his vacillations in the choice of a wife. He was dressed rather carefully in navy-blue âstore clothesâ that fitted well because anything would have fitted TelĂšsphore. He had been freshly shaved and trimmed and carried an umbrella. He woreâ âa little tilted over one eyeâ âa straw hat in preference to the conventional gray felt; for no other reason than that his uncle TelĂšsphore would have worn a felt, and a battered one at that. His whole conduct of life had been planned on lines in direct contradistinction to those of his uncle TelĂšsphore, whom he was thought in early youth to greatly resemble. The elder TelĂšsphore could not read nor write, therefore the younger had made it the object of his existence to acquire these accomplishments. The uncle pursued the avocations of hunting, fishing and moss-picking; employments which the nephew held in detestation. And as for carrying an umbrella, âNoncâ TelĂšsphore would have walked the length of the parish in a deluge before he would have so much as thought of one. In short, TelĂšsphore, by advisedly shaping his course in direct opposition to that of his uncle, managed to lead a rather orderly, industrious, and respectable existence.
It was a little warm for April but the car was not uncomfortably crowded and TelĂšsphore was fortunate enough to secure the last available window-seat on the shady side. He was not too familiar with railway travel, his expeditions being usually made on horseback or in a buggy, and the short trip promised to interest him.
There was no one present whom he knew well enough to speak to: the district attorney, whom he knew by sight, a French priest from Natchitoches and a few faces that were familiar only because they were native.
But he did not greatly care to speak to anyone. There was a fair stand of cotton and corn in the fields and TelĂšsphore gathered satisfaction in silent contemplation of the crops, comparing them with his own.
It was toward the close of his journey that a young girl boarded the train. There had been girls getting on and off at intervals and it was perhaps because of the bustle attending her arrival that this one attracted TelĂšsphoreâs attention.
She called goodbye to her father from the platform and waved goodbye to him through the dusty, sunlit window pane after entering, for she was compelled to seat herself on the sunny side. She seemed inwardly excited and preoccupied save for the attention which she lavished upon a large parcel that she carried religiously and laid reverentially down upon the seat before her.
She was neither tall nor short, nor stout nor slender; nor was she beautiful, nor was she plain. She wore a figured lawn, cut a little low in the back, that exposed a round, soft nuque with a few little clinging circlets of soft, brown hair. Her hat was of white straw, cocked up on the side with a bunch of pansies, and she wore gray lisle-thread gloves. The girl seemed very warm and kept mopping her face. She vainly sought her fan, then she fanned herself with her handkerchief, and finally made an attempt to open the window. She might as well have tried to move the banks of Red river.
TelĂšsphore had been unconsciously watching her the whole time and perceiving her straight he arose and went to her assistance. But the window could not be opened. When he had grown red in the face and wasted an amount of energy that would have driven the plow for a day, he offered her his seat on the shady side. She demurredâ âthere would be no room for the bundle. He suggested that the bundle be left where it was and agreed to assist her in keeping an eye upon it. She accepted TelĂšsphoreâs place at the shady window and he seated himself beside her.
He wondered if she would speak to him. He feared she might have mistaken him for a Western drummer, in which event he knew that she would not; for the women of the country caution their daughters against speaking to strangers on the trains. But the girl was not one to mistake an Acadian farmer for a Western traveling man. She was not born in Avoyelles parish for nothing.
âI wouldnât want anything to happen to it,â she said.
âItâs all right wâere it is,â he assured her, following the direction of her glance, that was fastened upon the bundle.
âThe lasâ time I came over to FochĂ©âs ball I got caught in the rain on my way up to my cousinâs house, anâ my dress! Jâ vous rĂ©ponds! it was a sight. Liâle moâ, I would miss the ball. As it was, the dress looked like Iâd woâ it weeks without doinâ-up.â
âNo fear of rain today,â he reassured her, glancing out at the sky, âbut you can have my umbrella if it does rain; you jusâ as well take it as not.â
âOh, no! I wrapâ the dress rounâ in toile-cirĂ©e this time. You goinâ to FochĂ©âs ball? Didnâ I meet you once yonda on Bayou Derbanne? Looks like I know yoâ face. You musâ come fâom Natchitoches paâish.â
âMy cousins, the FĂ©deau family, live yonda. Me, I live on my own place in Rapides since â92.â
He wondered if she would follow up her inquiry relative to FochĂ©âs ball. If she did, he was ready with an answer, for he had decided to go to the ball. But her thoughts evidently wandered from the subject and were occupied with matters that did not concern him, for she turned away and gazed silently out of the window.
It was not a village; it was not even a hamlet at which they descended. The station was set down upon
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