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This material is Copyright, 2004, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
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Most of my other stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.


                          #  #  #  #  #

                          Danielle 1902 
                         Uther Pendragon
                     nogardneprethu@gmail.com


"This was," Danielle's papa commented, "the last harvest of the 
nineteenth century.  When everything's green and new again, it 
will be really new.  The twentieth century, the Christian 
Century.  Isn't this an exciting time, Nellie?"

Danielle didn't feel excited; being new wasn't -- pardon her -- 
very new for her.  Tomorrow, she was going to be the new girl in 
class once again.  She'd be starting the tenth grade in her ninth 
school.  (They'd stayed in Fort Plain two years.)


School was a lot like she'd expected.  Miss Blair, the teacher, 
knew all the other children, and -- worse -- they knew each 
other.  Nellie was 'the new girl' once again.  Recess was a chore 
for her, no more fun than lessons.

The only fun in the day was singing.  All the Osbornes could 
sing.  When they gathered 'round for devotions before bedtime, 
the readings were short, the prayers were short -- Papa said that 
saying short prayers was the hardest lesson a preacher ever 
learned -- but they sang three hymns.  Both mama and papa played 
the piano, and mama taught her children as they grew old enough 
to reach the pedals.

In the Whitesboro school, they not only sang "The Star Spangled 
Banner" every morning, they had music lessons three times a week.  
Miss Blair encouraged Nellie to sing as loudly as was comfortable 
for her.  "It doesn't help the others, dear, to hear best the 
voices which are off pitch."

Frank Granger, who sat behind her, was one of those voices.  Miss 
Blair suggested that he sing more quietly the first lesson.  She 
repeated that, now a direct order, during the second week while 
they were singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."  This was 
one of Nellie's favorite songs, and when they got to the "glory, 
glory, hallelujah" part, she leaned back at her desk and 
gave it the volume it deserved.  Even when she felt a tug on her 
pigtail, she finished the verse.

"Frank Granger!" Miss Blair exclaimed.  The singing died out and 
there were gasps and giggles behind her.  She felt something wet 
against her shoulder.  "Don't shake your head, Nellie," Miss 
Blair continued.  "Mary go out to the pump with Nellie and help 
her rinse out her hair.  Here's a comb.  Nellie, if you want to 
go home and get another blouse after you've rinsed the ink out, 
you may.  Frank, come up here and bend over the desk."  Nellie 
had heard enough to figure out that Frank Granger had dipped her 
pigtail in his inkwell.

She bent over and held her pigtail in the stream of water that 
Mary pumped.  When the water seemed to be running clear, Mary 
helped unbraid her pigtail and pumped more water to wash it more 
thoroughly.  Nellie pumped for a minute while Mary rinsed her 
hands off, and then they undid the left pigtail and combed her 
hair.  "Thanks," she told Mary, as she started towards home.

"You're welcome.  I'm only sorry I missed seeing Frank whipped."

Back in class wearing a dress, Nellie exchanged desks with Frank.  
A boy came up to her at recess.  "Sorry for what Frank did," he 
said.  "Not as sorry as Frank will be after Papa hears about it, 
though.  Frank isn't going to want to sit down for dinner for a 
week.  Paul Granger."

"Nellie Osborne.  I wish I could see it."

"I know.  New Methody preacher's girl.  No you don't.  If you 
were in the woodshed with them, Papa would let him keep his pants 
up.  Going to be splinters in him this way.  Going to put your 
hair back in pigtails tomorrow?"

"Sure.  It will be dry then, and Miss Blair has me sitting 
behind Frank.  He won't touch my pigtails again."

"Well, do as *you* please.  I think you look nice like that, 
though."

Girls played in one part of the school yard at recess, and boys 
played in another.  When she wasn't in the girls' games, however, 
Paul often came over to talk to her.  She had wanted so much to 
be invited into the games of tag; now, when she was, she felt a 
little disappointed that she wouldn't talk with Paul.  Farm kids 
and town kids didn't get together much out of school.  When they 
did, it was mostly at church-related events, and Paul was a 
Presbyterian.

Just before the weather turned cold, Paul invited her to his 
church's last picnic.  "I'll have to ask," she said.

"Of course."

She asked Papa, praying silently first.  She was a preacher's 
daughter and she knew what it meant to cross denominational 
lines.  "He the guy who pulled your pigtails?"  Papa asked.

"No."  Mama had been able to get *almost* all the ink out of her 
blouse, but you could still see the stain if you looked hard.  
"That was his bratty brother.  Paul is nice."

"You really want to go?"

"Yes."  She'd do anything to go.

"Lottie?"

"Why not?"  Mama asked.  "I'll help her cook the food."

"You can go, then."

She packed enough food for Paul and herself -- and a little extra 
if somebody should come by.  It turned out that Mrs. Granger had 
packed enough to feed Nellie as well as the Grangers.  Paul's 
parents sent their children away while they and Nellie repacked 
the baskets.  "So," said Mr. Granger, "you're the gal my sons 
like."

"Sons?"  She couldn't deny that Paul liked her, but Frank was a 
brat.

"Never pulled the pigtails of a gal I didn't like."  She left Mr. 
Granger with his opinion.  She thought Frank was a brat, and he 
didn't think any better of her.

She cheered for Paul's team in the baseball game.  Then, when it 
was over, they walked apart where nobody could hear them.  Some 
couples moved out of sight, but they couldn't, of course.  She 
was a preacher's daughter, and the story would be all over town 
as soon as the people got back from the picnic.

Over the winter, they talked during recess.  She froze nearly 
solid standing there instead of running around like everybody 
else.  There was an all-school Christmas party, and they talked 
there.  She was even his partner in the square dances, not that 
partners danced together awfully much.

When spring came, Paul invited her to three picnics, and she 
invited him to two.  But then planting season came along.  Paul 
wasn't even in school.  And, annual conference was looming.  Her 
family would move again, and she'd never see Paul.  "Can't you 
*ask* to stay here?" she begged Papa.

"It wouldn't do any good."

"The people like you."

"They'll like their new preacher.  They're fine people."

On the last Sunday before Annual Conference, Paul showed up in 
the Methodist church.  "Papa," Nellie said after the service was 
over, "this is Paul Granger."

"Presbyterian, aren't you?" Papa asked.  "The talk of my powerful 
preaching must have reached far to bring you here."  Paul, who 
was unused to Papa's humor, looked startled.  Papa laughed and 
shook his hand.

Then Mama came up, "Paul, Nellie, I want to show you something."  
They walked out of church and in back of the parsonage until the 
people getting into their buggies were all out of sight.  "Once 
upon a time," Mama said, "the man I loved was about to be 
reassigned.  I knew I would never see him again.  I said I would 
show you something. This is my back."  And she walked away.

While she was still in sight, Paul pulled Nellie into a hug.  It 
was her first kiss from a boy; it would be her last.  She would 
never look at another boy, and she would never see Paul again.  
"Danielle," Paul said.  "You're not a Nellie, you're Danielle.  
Danielle, I love you."

"Oh, Paul, I love you."  And they kissed until the slamming of 
the kitchen door made them jump apart.  They looked over there 
guiltily, but it was a minute before they saw it open again.

"Paul," mama said from the parsonage kitchen, "I think your 
family is looking for you.  Nellie, get in here."

"Thanks, Mama," she said when she was in the kitchen.

"Parting is always sad."

"Were you really in love with a preacher who you never saw 
again?"

"He came back and married me.  But I didn't know he would, I 
didn't even know he loved me back, until almost this time of the 
year."

"Do you think Papa will be reassigned here?  The people like 
him."

"Your Papa is a traveling preacher, Nellie.  He'll preach 'til 
the Good Lord takes him, and he'll travel just that long."

And they were assigned to Second Church, Rochester.  It was a 
step up, with water coming into the kitchen from city pipes; but 
it was half the state away.  She'd never see Paul again.  They 
did write.  But Paul didn't write as often as she would have 
liked.  

"You know, dear," Mama said after Nellie came back from the 
mailbox dejected, "Paul is a nice boy.  But there are plenty of 
nice boys in Rochester."

"I'll never forget him."

"I'm not suggesting that you do.  I'm suggesting that you give 
some of the nice boys in your class, some of the nice boys in the 
youth group, a chance."

"You just hate him because he's a Presbyterian."

"I don't hate him.  I just think you're making too much of this.  
There are nice girls in Whitesboro, too."

"Oh, Mama."  She collapsed into her arms and cried.  "Do you 
think he loves somebody else?"

"I don't think anything.  I think you're sixteen, he's what?  
Seventeen?"

"He's eighteen by now.  He's a man.  And I'm almost seventeen.  
How old were you when you were married?"

"We're not talking about me.  And you're not married."

"You were younger than I am when you fell in love."

"And the man I loved came back to marry me and took me away to 
where he lived."

"Oh Mama, do you think Paul will?"

"No.  I think that Paul is living his own life, and there is a 
life right here for you to live."  But it wasn't much of a life.  
There was school, and home chores, and she played the piano well 
enough by now that she was teaching eleven-year-old Ethel.  Two of 
Ethel's schoolmates wanted lessons, and Mama let her keep a 
nickel a week out of the quarter apiece that the girls paid for 
their lessons.

Papa had been assigned to so many places, her only hope was that 
he would be assigned back close to Whitesboro again.  Not to the 
church in Whitesboro, that was too much to ask, but somewhere 
close.  When the bishop came to visit late that winter, she 
almost asked him if he would.  Papa would whip her if she did, 
but that wasn't what kept her from doing it; she knew that 
bishops didn't make assignments for that sort of reason.

"Charles is in high school, isn't he?" the bishop asked at 
dinner.  The Rochester school system was fancy with several 
elementary schools and a separate high school.

"Yes, sir," her brother said.  "I'm in tenth grade."

"Well, I'm a preacher's son, and I know how new schools tear up 
your education."  It couldn't have torn up the bishop's education 
that much.  He was a college graduate, unlike Papa who had gone 
through the Course of Study.  "I can't make any promises, of 
course.  But I'll try to keep your father here for the next two 
years."

"Why thank you," Papa said.

"I can't make promises."

"Go to now," Papa quoted, "ye that say, 'today or tomorrow we 
will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and 
sell, and get gain.'  Whereas ye know not what shall be on the 
morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor, that 
appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away."

"Precisely," said the bishop. "And it's not only my life but a 
thousand other accidents.  We may need you somewhere else, and 
that is in God's hands."  So Nellie prayed that the church would 
need Papa close to Whitesboro, in Whitesboro -- if you're asking 
God for a miracle, Papa often said, why ask him for a small one?  
But, anyway, somewhere within buggy-ride distance.

It didn't happen, though.  She delayed answering Paul's letter 
describing his graduation until after Annual Conference.  Then 
she wrote: "Papa has been assigned to this church for a second 
year, and I think the members are happy.  I know that PAPA is 
happy.  I'm less happy."

He took even longer to reply than she had.  "This means you will 
be able to finish school there.  You should be happy.  I'm happy 
for you."  Well, she *wasn't* happy.  And she was even less happy 
that he wrote such nonsense.  Mama must be right; he'd found a 
girl in Whitesboro, and he wasn't interested in Nellie's living 
close to him.

She was despondent.  Mama noticed.  "Your life is just beginning, 
Nellie, don't act like it's over."  Well, it might drag on for 
decades more, but what had made it meaningful was over.

Papa noticed.  "Want to talk to me about it?"  At her head shake, 
"Well you have a heavenly Father who already knows all about it.  
Take your worries to him."

Even Charlie noticed.  "What are you dragging around like that 
for?  You look so low you could fit under the rug."

Then, one day, there was a knock at the door.  She answered it, 
looking at the visitor's boots.  They were dirty.  "Nellie?" he 
said.  It was Paul's voice.  It was Paul!

She must have shouted.  Mama came running.  "Get in here, 
immediately," she said.

"I'm not really dressed for a parlor," said Paul.

"That's all right.  Come into the kitchen if you want to wash up.  
Tell us why you're here."

Paul explained that he had a job with the traction company, a 
hostler caring for the horses.  "I'm a farm boy.  I really know 
about machinery, but nobody in Rochester will give me a chance.  
But they'll believe a farm boy can feed horses and clean out the 
stables.  The streetcars run sixteen hours a day, from five to 
nine, but each horse only work two four-hour shifts a day."

"I would hope so," said mama.  "Those horses work hard."

"So, I have to be there when they start out and when they come 
back, but I only have to be in the barn twelve hours a day.  I 
can ride any streetcar free on my breaks from work, but I don't 
really know my way around town yet."

"Well, when you're free -- decent hours, of course -- you're 
welcome here.  If you worry about the parlor rug, come back by 
the kitchen door if you want."

"That's generous of you."

"Not really.  Let's not pretend you're here to visit me.  If 
you're in the kitchen, Nellie will be in the kitchen.  And if 
she's in the kitchen, she can peel some potatoes or something."

"I can peel spuds," Paul said.

"No need.  You're a guest.  Now, if you'll excuse me...."  She 
left, but eight-year-old Mary popped in.  She stared at Paul.

"Mary, this is Paul Granger," Nellie said.  "He used to live in 
Whitesboro.  Now, mama wants me to peel potatoes.  If you're 
going to be here, I'll get a knife for you, too."

"School work," Mary said and went out.

"Have a seat," Nellie said.  She got out the tools and potatoes 
and sat across from him.

"I can peel spuds."

"You can talk.  Tell me about your work.  What did your papa say 
about your leaving the farm in the summertime?"

And they talked until the bell from the grandfather's clock in 
the parlor told him it was time to go back.  They were alone most 
of that time, but Nellie's brothers and sisters made frequent 
trips in and out.

"Tell us about Paul," Mama said at supper.

"I'll tell Papa.  You already know, and nobody gave us a minute's 
peace."

"What about Paul?" asked Papa.

"You remember Paul Granger.  He's in Rochester.  He's working for 
the streetcars, tending the horses.  He came to see me."  She 
told the whole story.

"He's sweet on her," Charlie said.

"You know, Charlie," Papa said, "at John's age," ten, "that is an 
appropriate way of teasing his playmates.  At your age, it's a 
little silly.  And *never* is it an appropriate thing to say 
about a guest in our house.  Anyway, Nellie, are you happier 
now?"

"You know, Papa, you say we should thank God for answered 
prayers."

"Certainly.  If somebody -- even little Mary -- does something 
you ask, you should say 'thank you.'  How much more to the 
Creator of all?"

"And if He doesn't answer prayers?  I mean, right now I'm 
grateful for what He didn't give me."

"Well, I've been told God always answers prayers.  Sometimes the 
answer is 'no.'"

And, at devotions that night, she thanked God for not moving Papa 
the way she had asked.

With his free pass on the horsecars, Paul visited often.  He even 
made it -- in his good suit and with boots cleaned -- to church 
some Sundays.  

He couldn't come in the evenings, and she moved her piano lessons 
back to 4:00.  Their original times had been set according to 
when school let out.  

When he was visiting, Nellie did what cooking she could.  Mama 
was only in the kitchen when she needed to be.  Nellie couldn't 
say the same for her younger brothers and sisters.  Every one of 
them drank more water, always getting it from the kitchen sink, 
than when he wasn't there.  If they wanted to stay, Nellie put 
them to work, which most of them avoided.  Twelve-year-old Ethel, 
though, seemed to have a pash on him.  Nellie couldn't blame her, 
though she could be jealous.  It was high time Ethel learned more 
kitchen chores, anyway.

Still, they wanted some privacy and weren't getting any.  Then 
Paul asked if she could walk out with him.  Papa said 'yes' on 
certain conditions.  They walked around the neighborhood.  
Whenever they met somebody she knew, she introduced Paul.  Papa 
might be strict on some things, but he was fair.  When some of 
the women from church commented that a hostler for the streetcars 
was a poor match for a preacher's daughter who went to high 
school and taught piano, Papa replied "He's an honest boy doing 
honest work."  

Well, Paul had graduated from high school and wanted to work up 
to a job as mechanic.  She didn't tell the women that, though; 
they were Papa's congregation, Papa's responsibility.  If he 
wanted to address their snobbery, that was his business.  

Paul, when he was in the barns and his own job was done, did help 
out the mechanics repairing the horsecars.  She knew that 
sparking her was interfering with that.  When he was with her, or 
traveling back and forth, he couldn't help the mechanics.  And, 
since his fellow hostlers took care of his horses when he was out 
of the barn, he took care of some of theirs other times in 
return.  

Paul told her that all the hostlers got some time off.  Since 
factory workers had to take the streetcars to work by 6:00, the 
cars had to start their trips at 5:00.  So the hostlers' busiest 
time was between 4:00 and 5:00.  Then, they could clean out the 
stalls for the horses which were gone.  From 9:00 to 4:00 the 
same number of cars were on the street, with -- of course -- the 
same number of horses, drivers and conductors.  Mostly, it was 
the same cars, but not the same workers or the same horses.  In 
the morning, as in the evening, cars were taken off the routes as 
fewer people wanted rides.  That meant that the hostlers had 
barely cleaned out the stalls in the morning when the first 
horses returned.

"The end of the day," said Paul, "is much easier.  The last trip 
is over at 9:00, but cars are coming in all the time.  We all 
help each other so that each of us can go to supper, and I don't 
think I've ever left the barn later than 9:30."

"You leave at 9:30 and get there at 4:00.  That's worse than farm 
work!  When do you sleep?"

"We all take a doze sometime in the day.  Most of us sleep there; 
there's plenty of hay, of course.  They tell me that we'll go 
back to our rooms in the winter.  The rooming houses near the 
barns keep their stoves going all day."

"So, when you visit me, you are giving up on your sleep?"

"But I'd rather visit you.  Besides, the conductors know me.  I 
sleep on the cars, and they wake me when we're near the  barns."

"And then we go walking; you must get awfully tired."

"But we walk slowly."

She had money from the lessons; Paul could ride the streetcars 
free.  She asked Mama to allow her to ride the streetcars with 
him.  Mama asked Papa and got his consent.  So, once or twice a 
week, she would get on a horsecar and ride south.  Paul would 
meet the car near the barns.  Then they would ride to the end of 
the line, then all the way back to the north end of the line and 
back again.

She only needed to pay her two-cent fare when she got on the car.  
The conductors knew Paul, and came to know her.  They might have 
objected to anyone else stretching the rules that way, but they 
looked kindly on the two of them.  One of the conductors even made a 
point of taking the driver off the car with him at the end of the 
line to stretch their legs.  She and Paul, who usually sat in 
back and talked quietly when others were on the car, had an 
opportunity to kiss and hug in absolute privacy.

When school started, they only could do this on Saturday.  She 
knew better than to ask for permission on Sunday.  Sometimes, 
though, Paul would stretch his time away from the barns to 
another round trip.  She consoled herself that, if she were not 
seeing him as much as she wished, he had more time for rest and 
for helping the mechanics.

Then the weather turned bitter.  "I don't want you riding the 
horsecars for hours in this weather," said Papa.  "Paul is, of 
course, perfectly welcome to visit.  Look, I can understand that 
he is busy at meal times.  But you might want to offer him a 
sandwich and some hot tea when he comes."

But, winter was the time for more work in the barns.  Customers 
who walked in the summertime rode the cars in the winter; snow 
clogged the tracks, and ice ruined the horses' footing.  Since 
the horses worked harder, those who cared for them worked harder.  
Some days, Paul couldn't get away even to sleep -- the long trip 
to the parsonage was out of the question.  The only good point 
was that Papa allowed Paul to visit Sunday when he missed 
Saturday.

Since Nellie couldn't spend pennies on the streetcars she saved 
up and schemed.  When the weather finally turned warm, she had 
nearly a dollar saved up.  

Paul came for a visit soon after Nellie got home from school 
Thursday.  "Mrs. Osborne," he asked before Mama left the kitchen, 
"could Nellie come for a ride Saturday?  I know Reverend Osborne 
said 'no,' but he blamed the bad weather."

"I'll have to ask him," Mama said.

"Oh, Paul," Nellie said when she'd left, "she said *she* would 
ask.  If she does, Papa is sure to say 'yes.'"

"Well,  I'll wait for the streetcar where it crosses Maple.  If 
you're not on it, I'll ride back and come here."

Mama spoke to Papa alone, or as alone as the two of them could be 
in the house full of children.  Papa's question to  Nellie seemed 
off the main point.  "You pay the fare each time, don't you?"

"Yes Papa.  When I get on.  Paul doesn't have to pay a fare, and 
the rules don't say you have to get off at the end of the line."

"Well, I know the conductors are Paul's friends.  But I don't 
want you cheating the company.  We are supposed to be good 
examples, not bad examples."

"Then I can go?"  He hadn't actually said so, but the question 
was senseless if he were going to say 'no.'

"You can go.  Be a good example."  Which didn't quite say she 
shouldn't kiss Paul where people could see, but that might be 
what Papa was implying.

She was on the streetcar when Paul caught it.  They had a seat to 
themselves in back, and the streetcar to themselves while it 
waited before starting back.  It had been so long since Paul had 
kissed her.  The kiss was so thrilling that she didn't hear the 
conductor get back on the car until he rang the bell.  They moved 
around a short loop of track and started back.  Soon, there were 
other people on the car with them.  They had much to talk about, 
and she had longed all winter to have enough time to talk with 
Paul.  Still, the drive through the city seemed an endless wait 
until they could be alone again.  The last two passengers rode to 
the north end of the line.  The conductor and driver got off with 
them, and she sank back into Paul's embrace.

That was their pattern for the Saturdays of the closing weeks of 
school: four long -- but never long enough -- conversations while 
they rode through the streets of Rochester, three short periods 
of kissing when they were alone at the end points.  The last 
Saturday, she asked him, "Can you meet me Thursday?  Same spot."

"Sure.  Is school over?"

"It will be Thursday.  Graduation is a week from tomorrow, but 
classes are over Wednesday."

Thursday, she greeted him shyly.  When they got to the turn-
around, however, she got up the courage to say, "Let's get off."

"I'm sure he'll let you on without paying again."

"That's not what I want.  Let's get off."

They walked away from the streetcar.  Soon, they came to a grove 
of trees.  He took her in  his arms and kissed her.  She kissed 
him back until he heard the bell of the car clanging in the 
distance.  "We'll have to run to make it."

"We can take the next one."

At that comment, he took her in his arms again.  Some time later, 
she wasn't quite clear how long, he sank down to the ground.  She 
lay on top of him and kissed even more passionately.  They heard 
the bell of the next streetcar and hurried to catch it.  She paid 
her fare as she always did.  She had a dollar saved; that would 
pay for 25 days such as this one, not even counting the 
additional nickel she got each week.  "Monday?" Paul asked before 
getting off.  She had explained her schedule on the ride back: 
lessons Tuesdays and Wednesdays.  She daren't ask to go out both 
Thursday and Friday.

And, although nobody in the family seemed to notice, she got back 
earlier.  Two streetcars traveled that route; they had caught the 
second one.

Monday, while kissing her, he ran his hands over her hair again 
and again.  Her left pigtail came undone.  She took out the right 
one, too.  "You have such beautiful hair," he said.  "You should 
wear it down."

"You like its look?"

"Its look, its feel.  You are beautiful."  He kissed her again.  
His hands went through her hair and then down her back.  He 
shouldn't put his hands on her seat, but it felt exciting when he 
did.  Paul had marked where the sun was when they'd got to the 
grove, and he marked where it was when the bell rang for the 
second car.  So, when the sun had traveled half that journey 
further, they walked back closer to the tracks.  They were still 
in trees, if not so hidden, and they kissed until they heard the 
bell of the first streetcar.

When she got back home, she carefully brushed her hair.  Charlie 
commented at supper.  "Well," she said, "Paul likes it this way."

"And so do I," said Ethel.

"Well, I think you're putting on airs," said Charlie.

"We all have opinions," said Papa suddenly, "but it's Nellie's 
hair.  She can wear it the way she likes as long as it's decent."  

"She does it 'cause that Paul likes it."

"Charlie, you said that you didn't like it down.  Nellie, did 
Paul say he didn't like it in pigtails?"

"Well, long ago he told me he liked it down."  She wasn't going 
to say he'd pulled out the pigtail while running his hand through 
her hair.  She'd never hear the end of that, and not only from 
Charlie.

"I'm not saying your *sister* would do something 'cause you said 
you'd like it," Papa continued.  "But, Charlie, listen to that.  
Paul said he liked something; you said you didn't like something.  
If you really want somebody to cooperate, you might try saying 
what you like instead of what you don't like."

"I," said Charlie, "really like this chicken."

They all laughed.  Mama blew Charlie a kiss, but she didn't pass 
him another piece of chicken.

Thursday, Paul was carrying a blanket and a picnic basket.  "I 
should have brought the food," she said.  He put his finger to 
his lips in a shushing manner.

"I didn't," he said when they were in the privacy of their grove, 
"actually have any food to bring.  I just didn't want to be seen 
carrying only a blanket."

They sat on the blanket just as if it were a picnic anyway.  
Soon, they were lying on it side by side.  They kissed hungrily 
while they hugged tight.  Paul stroked her back when he wasn't 
combing his fingers through her hair.

When he finally pulled away, it was to say "I really like your 
hair.  You are a beautiful woman."  He kissed her hair once 
before kissing all over her face.  His strokes moved from her 
back to her side.  Finally the heel of his hand touched her 
breast.  The both froze in place.

She relaxed first.  "Oh, Nellie," he said, "Oh, Danielle."  When 
he kissed her again, his hand cupped her breast fully.  Now he 
leaned on one elbow with that hand in her hair; his other hand 
caressed the entire front of her body, from her belly to her 
breast.  She'd never felt like this.  The day had been barely 
warm before, but now her whole body was on fire.  She held is 
face pressed tightly against her lips.

When he did break out of that grip, he kissed all over her face.  
His kisses went to her throat and then to her shoulders through 
the blouse.  This was wonderful.  She combed her fingers through 
*his* hair this time, and pulled him tighter to her when his 
kisses reached her breasts.  What made her push him away was the 
sound of a clanging bell.

She grabbed the empty basket while he folded the blanket.  The 
driver slowed the streetcar when the conductor saw them running 
after it.  Both driver and conductor gave them fond smiles when 
they climbed aboard.  They didn't kiss on the streetcar, but her 
hand never left his.  "Monday," was his last word.

Monday, when he climbed on the car, Paul was carrying the blanket 
and basket again.  Looking at the way he was carrying the basket, 
she could tell that it was empty.  Could anyone else?  "I have 
something to tell you," he said, "but let's wait until we're 
alone."

She tried to think of something else to talk about, but couldn't.  
"Tell me now," she asked.

"Can't you wait?"

"Not really."

"You know I've been helping some of the mechanics who fix the 
cars."

"Yes?"

"They are willing to take me on as an apprentice."

"Paul!  That's what you've wanted.  That's delightful."  Then she 
thought of something less delightful about it.  "What is an 
apprentice's hours?"

"Same as a mechanic's.  The barn is too busy when the cars are 
starting out, so we only have to get there at 7:00.  7:00 in the 
morning 'til 7:00 at night.  But we get Sundays off.  And 45 
minutes for dinner."

"Papa is not going to let me go out riding the streetcars after 
7:00.  And 45 minutes is too little time for you to come to our 
house for dinner."

"Well, I could see you on Sunday, but I have another idea."

"Sunday?  You could visit me -- only if you go to church first, 
though.  And Mama would be happy to have you come for Sunday 
dinner.  But that would mean only seeing each other when 
everybody else is around."

"Well, as I said, I have another idea.  But we have to talk about 
it in private."  This time, by the set of his jaw, she knew that 
he wasn't going to discuss it on the car even though there were 
fewer and fewer people on it.  They got off at the end of he 
line, and walked towards their grove.  He lay the blanket down 
but took her hand before she could sit on it.

"Danielle..." he began but didn't seem able to get any farther.

"Yes."

"Danielle, I won't get much better pay as an apprentice than I 
get as a hostler, but apprentices get to be journeyman mechanics 
after a few years.  A journeyman mechanic is paid better and can 
work anywhere."

"I didn't say I wanted you to refuse this opportunity.  I said I 
wanted to be with you; you want it, too.  That doesn't make being 
an apprentice the wrong choice; you're too good a man to spend 
the rest of your life in a job you could get at 18 -- a job you 
could have done much younger.  It's not the wrong choice, it's 
just that I don't like some of the consequences."

"Danielle, will you marry me?"

"Oh Paul!"  She sank into his arms.   He held her tightly, too 
tightly for his lips to reach hers.  After a moment, he kissed her 
ear, her shoulder through the blouse, her neck.  Finally, he 
eased her down on the blanket and lay beside her.

He kissed her face, forehead, ears, chin, nose, cheeks.  When he 
finally reached her mouth, she pulled his head against her.  She 
released him when she needed to breathe.  He licked her lips 
while his hand held her breast.  The licks felt so strange that 
her tongue ventured out to taste what he had done.  When it 
touched his, a thrill shot though her.  

"Oh, Darling," he said.  His hands were on the buttons of her 
blouse.  

"Let me," she said.  She took off the blouse and set it aside.  
He kissed her all over her shoulders and kissed her breasts 
through the slip.  When he pushed the shoulder straps of her slip 
down, she struggled up to her knees.  She pulled in her stomach 
so the belt of the skirt would let the slip slide higher.  Then 
she struggled each arm free.  The slip fell to her waist.

"Oh, Nellie," he said, "oh, Danielle, oh, sweet."  He rose on his 
own knees, and she pulled his head against her breasts.  Soon, 
she was lying down again, and he was lying half on top of her 
kissing her everywhere and sucking on her nipples as if he were 
her baby.

A clanging bell roused both of them.  Had all this happened while 
the streetcar was still at the turnaround?  No.  Looking at the 
shadows, it had to be the second car.  Well, they could wait for 
the first one to come back.

As they relaxed, they sank back into a kiss.  Paul's hands moved 
all over her upper body.  He touched her breasts, and -- oh -- 
how she welcomed his touch on her breasts.  But he touched her 
side and back too.  Wanting to feel him as well, she moved a 
little away from him to unbutton his shirt.  He loosened his belt 
to get the shirt off.

Then he kissed her again while hugging her.  They were lying side 
by side and pressed skin-to-skin.  It felt warm and delightful.  
His hand stroked her from her neck to her seat and back; his lips 
pressed against hers; his hairy chest pressed against her 
breasts.  When he licked her lips again, she put her tongue out 
to meet his.  Soon his tongue was inside her mouth. 

When he broke that, he pushed himself down on the blanket while 
kissing lower on her torso.  While he kissed all over her 
breasts, his stroking covered even more of her back.  His hand 
was on her leg through skirt and slip.  Then the strokes raised 
the skirt.  Finally, his hand was under the slip as well.  He 
touched the back of her bare leg above the top of her stocking.

"Oh, Nellie," he said.  "Nellie, I love you."

"I love you, Paul."

He kissed her again, hugging her so tight that he breasts were 
crushed against his chest.  When he relaxed, his hand stroked her 
breast.  Then he was stroking the top of her bare leg.  He 
trailed his fingers up to touch her through her drawers.

"Oh, Nellie," he said.  "We shouldn't"

Well, they shouldn't be doing any of this.  "Can you stop?"

"No."

"Nor me."  Her hand went to his fly.  He rolled away, 
unbuttoning and pushing down.  He was wearing long Johns.  He 
pushed them down.  

It was the first adult organ she'd ever seen.  The first of a 
human she'd seen since John had learned to wash himself five 
years before.  It was larger than John's had been, of course, and 
sticking out and up.  The end was glistening.  

His trousers and long johns were still tangled about his knees.  
He managed to kneel between her legs.  Her drawers were still on, 
and she couldn't take them off like this.  She pushed them down a 
little.

He moved them aside, putting his hand right there, where no hand 
but hers had been since she learned to wipe herself as a toddler. 
"Danielle," he said, "sweet, sweet, Danielle."  He moved over her 
and his organ touched her.  Then his hand was back, parting her 
folds.  Then the touch was even more intimate.  She moved her 
legs to clasp his.  When he pushed against her, she gasped.  "I 
can't," he said, "I can't hurt you."

Well, he'd have to hurt her some time.  They stayed there, looking 
into each other's eyes, until the bell of a streetcar startled 
them.  She jumped a little.  His reaction drove him in.  "Oh!" 
she said.  That had hurt, but the pain was over.  Paul slowly 
continued inward.

She hugged him.  He was holding himself up by his arms, so he 
couldn't hug her.  He did, however, kiss her forehead.  She 
kissed his shoulder.  She held him tight against her and rubbed 
her cheek on his neck.  "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Not any more."

"May I?"

Whatever that meant, the answer was clear.  "Yes."  

Slowly he moved back and then into her again.  He repeated that, 
moving more rapidly each time.  It was hurting a little, now, but 
not much.  "Oh, Nellie!" he said.  With his face looking pained, 
he thrust hard against her.  She felt him throbbing where she had 
never felt anything before this day.

He dropped onto her.  She hugged him, welcoming the closeness and 
the weight. The bell was clanging loudly now, and for an 
awfully long time.  They couldn't make that streetcar, though.  
She, for one, didn't want to.

Sometime afterwards, he rolled over on the blanket.  This time, 
she could be the one doing the kissing.  She covered his face 
with kisses, then his chest.  Finally she dropped back.  "Love," 
he said.  "I love Danielle."

"And I love Paul."  She did.  She didn't regret what they had 
done -- well, not much.  But her skirt and slip were all bunched 
around her.  Her drawers were knotted uncomfortably and there was 
something oozing down there as if the moon were in a different 
phase.

He got out a handkerchief and dabbed between her legs.  She 
winced at the touch.  "Poor darling," he said.  "I didn't mean to 
hurt you."

"I know."  She got her drawers and her slip back where they 
belonged.  She rose to her feet to loosen her skirt and put on 
the blouse again.  Finally, she was as completely dressed as she 
could be without the aid of a glass.  Paul turned his back to 
finish his own dressing.

"It's still chilly in the mornings," he said, apparently about 
the long johns.  They lay back down to do a little more kissing, 
but they were back to the line before the next streetcar came.  
They sat and talked on the streetcar, behaving very respectably, 
until Paul had to get off.

Where the time had gone, Nellie couldn't tell, but the sun was 
far west when she got off the horsecar on the corner.  She 
stopped off at the church.  She would tell her parents about the 
engagement at the same time.  Luckily, Papa was alone.  "Please 
come home as early as you can," she asked him.  "There is 
something I want to tell both you and mama at the same time."

"Give me a moment."

"You don't have to come now."

"It is not that long until supper."

"There is something Nellie wants to talk about to the two of us," 
Papa told Mama when they got to the kitchen.

"Very well.  Give me a moment.  Somebody came home late with her 
chores undone."

"I'm sorry, Mama," Nellie said.

"Let's go out back."  They walked over to the lot behind the 
church and Mama looked a question at her. 

"Mama, Papa, Paul asked me to marry him."

"And," Papa asked, "did you tell him he would have to ask your 
father?"  Mama *never* criticized Papa, but she did look annoyed 
at this joke.

Truly, she hadn't told Paul *anything*.  What they'd done was 
acceptance enough, but her lips were sealed about that.  "I told 
him that I would.  Paul has been taken on as an apprentice 
mechanic at the traction company."

"And," Papa asked, "where can you live?"  She hadn't asked that 
question.  Somehow, they had spent all that time together without 
discussing anything.

"There are respectable rooming houses out by the barns for 
married couples," Mama said.  Where had she learned that?  "It 
won't be like this parsonage, but neither of them are 
particularly spoiled."

"And," Papa continued, "did you make his apprenticeship a 
condition on your acceptance?"

"No Papa, he told me before he proposed."

"That's all right then.  I don't want my daughter acting like a 
gold digger.  There is nothing wrong with a boy's looking at how 
he could support a wife before proposing -- a man, really.  
That's part of being a man."

"His proposal was as much as a surprise to me as it was to you."

"Maybe more of a surprise, dear," Mama said, "Dan, why don't you 
go in and wash up?"  When he did, she turned to Nellie.  "It's 
fine that you said 'yes' to the wedding, daughter mine.  I can't 
approve of your saying 'yes' to other things."

"But...."

"That's for after the wedding."

"But...."  How did she know?

"Not another word.  I just hope your sisters don't guess."


The End
Danielle 1902
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2004/06/16
2010/05/10


Thanks to Denny for editing this. 

For another story of another couple in another century:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/Gjt/sch_01f.htm
"Honey Bee"

More than a hundred of my stories can be found through:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm