Gordie pulled into the driveway and saw his two old friends sitting on their front porch the picture of domestic bliss. He envied them. He had yet to find anyone he loved enough to pull him away from books for any length of time. Fred’s head bent low to hear something Jane was saying. Gordie watched them, as always marveling at the ease that develops between long time partners, knowing that he wanted that same ease and deep friendship when he finally found that one special woman.
Getting out of the late model sports car, Gordie strolled toward his friends, greeting them as he went. “Afternoon lovebirds!”
Jane laughed and waved to him. “Afternoon Gordie, thanks for coming on such short notice. I really appreciate it.”
“That’s what old friends are for aren’t they? Besides, you gave me the perfect opportunity to skip out of afternoon classes and meetings. Sometimes, I regret becoming Dean. It is far more politics and competition than I think I have the patience for.”
Fred laughed, a deep belly laugh. “Gordon Albert Fellstone that is the biggest load of bull I’ve heard you utter since we were nine and you claimed to have kissed Sally Jefferson at the creek.”
Gordie joined the laughter, “yeah ok so I love it. I have never had so much fun at work. So, I hear all the noise which I can only assume are the workmen you told me about at lunch yesterday Fred but Jane I’ll admit I’m very intrigued about the journals you called me about yesterday.”
“I really do appreciate you dropping everything today. Let me get you a glass of iced tea and I’ll meet you in my office.” Jane said as she got out of her chair.
Fred watched as Jane disappeared into the house, Gordie watched Fred’s appreciative face as Jane disappeared from view. “Gordie I am still in love with her after all these years and bud, someday you will find someone as amazing. Now, go find my wife while I change into more comfortable clothes and I’ll join you in the office.”
Jane made a pitcher of iced tea and grabbing three glasses, headed for her office. Gordie walked in just as Jane finished pouring two glasses, handing one to him she said, “Welcome to contained chaos Perkin style.” There was laughter and a hint of frustration in her voice.
Gordie was just starting at the piles on the floor. The general chaos of Jane’s office he ignored, used to that level of chaos in Jane’s writing area. The piles however were of great interest to him and he quickly looked around for a place to sit down. Finding none, he carefully scooped up a stack from the floor and headed for the dining room completely oblivious to Jane’s cry of dismay.
He set the stack of journals on the table and quickly seated himself. His six foot six frame and broad build dwarfing the chairs on either side of him. Jane followed him into the dining room. “What are you doing? I had those all arranged and sorted. Just march yourself back there and return them to their spot in my office.” Her tone was irritated and frustrated.
“Jane Allison Perkin you called me to help you so sit down, shut up, and let me help you.” He never even glanced up at her as he carefully opened the journal at the top of the pile.
7 April 1824
Today I was lucky enough to attend the first performance with my Mistress of Missa solemnis by a composer named Beethoven. It was beautiful and awe inspiring.
Gordie set the journal aside and opened the next one in the stack. Jane just watched from the doorway, silently sipping her tea.
August 14th 1900
I woke up this morning on my second day in Peking. I am still worn out from the long journey but I awoke this morning energized and ready to explore my new surroundings. Then I heard the sounds of many, many boots slamming the streets at once quickly followed by the sounds of weapon fire. I grabbed my Bible and books and dove under the bed. I’m flat out scared but I figured if I was going to die in a foreign land there would be some record of my last moments.
“Jane, do you have any idea the treasure trove of information contained in just these first two exemplars?” The awe and reverence in Gordie’s voice was staggering. “A firsthand account from a non-noble of the first performance of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis and an accounting of the Boxer Rebellion of a tourist civilian.”
Fred walked in and caught the last statement and whistled. “We knew Aunt Liza had left us invaluable journals but that seems too good to be true.”
“So, how do we preserve them? I want to be able to use them for my books but I also know we need to preserve these glimpses of history for future generations.” Jane’s voice was a mixture of frustration and awe.
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