Oh to be here.
Late fall at a girls’ boarding school somewhere in the Great Smokies . . . .Tennessee and a hop skip and jump from North Carolina.
Big game against the school on the other side of town and a championship one hopes to win. Hours spent in class but the other to live for. Boring sewing lessons but the rest fun. No free stabling for horses like the fancy schools up in Virginia but no one needing to be a debutante either.
No. Time to have fun with everyone. Charades on Saturday night in front of the big fireplace on the first floor and books to read in cozy corners. Letters from home and letters from beaux to hide under ones’ pillow. Not the same as a real beau exactly, but easier in a way. No boys to dress up for and not having to spend all one’s time cheering for their teams instead of one’s own.
Enough of that later. College maybe, men to take care of and children to rear but the lawn with its mounds of leaves to leap into and the lights of the dining room ahead. Names to be found on the napkin rings as the heap in the center of the table shrinks like a puffball in season. Pitchers of hot chocolate coming around to go with the chicken and waffles. Time to be free . . . . . .