IF you are a lad swallowing your sense of something-or-
’nother (I know not what to call it), and are reading this “girls’
gazette” upon recommendation of your sister or mother, allow
me to apologize, because it was I who brought it up. So: I’m
sorry. Kind of.
But, stay a moment. This month’s gazette is for everyone.
Our theme of the month is relevant to you, as it is to our
young lady readers, because while ladies must learn to
surrender some pride in submitting to the noble deeds of their
male friends, the male friends can benefit from a simple
reminder regarding their part in the bargain.
As a young woman, allow me to assure you that chivalry does
not, and never must, mean perfection. Such a definition must
inhibit it’s ever being so. Read these quotes and take a glance
at the story found on the last page. Find here a notice that
ladies do not want to marry Superman, nor are they waiting
for any immortalized notion of a Prince Charming or a Victor
in Shining Armor, merely a “Gallant warrior or gentleman.”
Chivalry is the acts of kindness, the true respect and honor, the
humility—the becoming, rather than being, like King of the
Universe.
So stick around for a few minutes and hear the views of
women on the ideal you ride towards so nobly. You may just
find it more worth striving for.
~Agatha Forsyth~
ps - regardless of what other guys might tell you, a touch of romance is
really quite manly.
Signed,
Every Girl You’ll Ever Meet
~
Chivalry
the sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight,
including courtesy, generosity, and valor.
{Traits of} gallant warriors or gentlemen.
-Dictionary.com
~
Be courteous to the old maids, no matter how
poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry
worth having is that which is the readiest to pay
deference to the old, protect the feeble, and
serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or
color.
-Louisa May Alcott
~
Some say that the age of chivalry is past, that
the spirit of romance is dead. The age of
chivalry is never past, so long as there is a
wrong left unredressed on earth.
-Charles Kingsley
~
Chivalry: It's the little boy that kisses my hand,
the young man who holds the door open for
me, and the old man who tips his hat to me.
None of it is a reflection of me, but a reflection
of them.
-Donna Lynn Hope
~
The Benefactor
A serial by Aelsa Butler
A young widow sees the hand of God providing for her through a mysterious friend. To read earlier entries, please visit our website.
One
Just over a year had passed since Bryn's loss. Josie grew rapidly, becoming a pretty little girl, and it was with a sweet smile that she took a plate of sliced bananas from her mama's hands one chilly autumn morning. Bryn mustered a smile back, but turned away with a sigh. She'd never felt so alone for so long, and even little things like her own daughter gave her an achy sensation. Pain and uncertainty haunted Bryn every day, and the grieving that needed to be happening was not really there. Instead, as Bryn subconsciously knew, she wallowed in her fear and anger, not allowing others to speak into her personal healing, which had caused her sadness to stagnate, and Andrew's death still felt like yesterday's awful nightmare.
Returning to her seat at the computer center, Bryn sorted through the mail. Bill, bill, bill. Oh, here's a check or the freelance tax filing she did for an elderly woman at church earlier in the year. She'd forgotten to give Bryn the check, and when she recently found it, she made sure Bryn knew that her payment, though slow in coming, was on its way. But this uplifting piece of mail was followed by two more bills, one of which was a substantial emergency room charge incurred when Josie fainted for no apparent reason a few weeks ago. Bryn buried her face in her hands , reminded that she had an appointment discussing some blood work to find out the reason behind the episode tomorrow. Shoving the stack of mail to one side, she determined to ignore it for now, and focus on something more uplifting. Josie still munched happily on her snack, so she
went to the living room and picked up a piece of handwork she started recently. Before Andrew died, she used to do cross stitch constantly, keeping her fingers and mind busy while at home alone. For many months after the incident, she didn't pick the craft back up, but because of a firm intention to make a piece for Josie to hang on her wall every year for her birthday, she decided to begin a new project. It was a very plain hanging, a sampler with numbers from one to ten, and a simple puppy chasing a bouncing ball, but Bryn selected it because she wanted to teach Josie to count to ten over the next year, and thought the sweet, old-fashioned style of the piece would be a pretty way of hanging an education tool where the little girl would see it all the time. She reached over to the radio and switched it on, eased back into her seat, and began stitching. From the dining room, Josie chattered to herself, but craned her neck over the highchair tray to peer into the living room, watching as Bryn worked.
Bryn Meadows had many slightly old fashioned ways, but always been a very popular young woman. She had been homeschooled, but she never had any trouble for it. Growing up in Minnesota, she would drive from her home to the school in their rural community to pick up her best friend, and they would do
homework together, and Bryn would even participate in some of the school's events. Her long wavy dark hair and soft grey eyes stood out among many of her friends, stereotypical Minnesotans of Swedish and
Norwegian heritage with straight, thin blond hair and steely blue eyes. One such friend had a brother who enlisted in the marines right out of high school, and when Bryn accidentally connected with him
while at college, they fell head over heels in love. She married Marine Sgt. Andrew Meadows shortly thereafter, following him all over the country until his first overseas deployment, when he settled her into a
comfortable home nearby his extended family in Illinois.
The phone rang. Picking it up with a sigh, she said hello.
"Mrs. Meadows, this is the community hospital, reminding you of your appointment tomorrow morning with Dr. Eric Kinglet."
"What? Please explain why I can't see Dr. Gregg as usual." Bryn's customary physician was not a Dr. Kinglet.
"Dr. Gregg will meet you at your scheduled time, about ten, and glance over the results of your test, then he will hand you over to Dr. Kinglet."
Feeling her blood rising, Bryn sighed resignedly, but made it clear that this didn't sound familiar to her. "And I would think Dr. Gregg would tell me himself who he wants me to see."
"One would think a lot of things about Dr. Gregg, but this is what he gave me in the notes this morning."
Bryn hung up. " What ever," she mumbled, and returned to her work. Patience was not one of Bryn's strong
points since Andrew's death, and she knew it, which only irritated her further.Nothing went the way she wanted. If she had control over what happened, Andrew wouldn't be dead, but just wounded. Really, the bullet wouldn't have even hit him if Bryn could have had her way. Josie was having health issues, including
potential type two diabetes as well as whatever the new issue would turn out being. Now, her family physician had decided to shove her off on some other doctor, and there were stacks of bills that needed paying with a small amount of money available to pay them. This was breaking her will, and with a discouraged shake of her head, Bryn dropped it into her hands and sighed.
Editor/Author Note: This serial is a trial run on
my part. I’d love to get fellow amateur writers’
opinions on it as I experiment with the idea of
completing this novel. Thank you! ~A
