Before the Rising Sun

. . . “Did Nicholas return the ribbon to you?” asked Mary.

“No, and I have not worn the color of that ribbon since,” replied Gertrude. “I did not address him that day, nor did he seek me out. I knew Colonel Hollis Yuleston greatly admired his fine carpentry skills and was going to continue to train him to become an architect at Wordston Hall. His apprenticeship as an indentured servant was to be completed after four years.” Something caught in her throat and she cleared it.

“I never saw him again until this afternoon.”

“This is simply a tragedy!” exclaimed Mary. “I can hardly believe you have been suffering under this injustice for these past years so silently and stalwartly!”

“Remember you said that you will not share my secrets,” said Gertrude.

“I shall not,” answered Mary and closed her eyes. “But I have wondered about the loss of bright golds from your wardrobe. I thought perhaps you considered the color to be too extravagant.”

“Golden silk,” said Gertrude, “possesses the touch of Midas. Midas regretted his wish and cursed it, finding loss in the reckless wish. It was so slippery on my cap, and I must not have not pinned it adequately. I should have chosen a crimson or evergreen wool. I cannot help but regret my choice.” Mary took off her glasses and pulled her chair closer to Gertrude.

“Your golden ribbon did not create unhappiness,” Mary said. “God has allowed the color of gold to be admired on earth, as well as in heaven. What are the lines we sing at Christmas? ‘Let every heart prepare Him room.’ Now is the time to leave that haunted chamber and prepare for something new—something golden.” As she spoke, Mary did not blink or close her eyes once. . . .