Ruffling Society by Kay Moser

Author:Kay Moser [Moser, Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heritage Beacon Fiction
Published: 2018-06-02T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

Sarah awakened at first light and dressed with haste and silence in the chilly, invigorating mountain air. She unpacked the heavy shawl her mother had knitted for her, gratefully wrapped herself in it, and without bothering to put her hair up, stepped out into the brightening sunlight. As she hurried around the tent, her first view of the mountains bathed in the increasing eastern glow sent a thrill of joy surging through her. The early sunlight was painting the great slabs of rock a rosy terra cotta color. The somber green fir trees marched up the sides of the mountains, still shaded by the rocks and awaiting their turn to glow in the light. The knee-high, golden grasses of the mesa in front of her waved in the breeze, beckoning her forward, and she gladly accepted the invitation.

She walked toward the mountains, following a barely discernible path. She made slow progress because she could not resist the urge to turn and look behind her at the valley on her left which cradled the town of Boulder, and the great wide plain to her right, where the morning sun was making fast progress toward the deep blue of the sky overhead. The high altitude snatched her breath, and she was grateful to plop down on a small rock halfway up the hillside.

How far up I have come, she thought as she stared down at the tops of the tents. Even the high towers of the auditorium with their waving flags were far below her. Her mind drifted back to the long train ride, to the years in college, to that morning—not quite three years ago—when she had climbed out of the shallow valley containing her father’s farm with a jar of honey to sell and a craving for learning.

She jumped up and threw her arms wide. “How far I have come!” Sarah whirled, her long hair flying around her shoulders

“I beg your pardon! Were you speaking to me?”

At the sound of the male voice, its modulation suggesting education, refinement, and a bit of disdain, Sarah stopped. “Oh! I didn’t know you were there.”

“Clearly.” The tall, dark-haired man who stood before her in his fashionable brown tweed suit pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. His facial expressions, coupled with his short, pointed beard, suggested severe disapproval. He planted his cane on the ground and studied her. “Because of your youth, I am tempted to think you a town girl rather than one of the teachers, but your accent tells me otherwise.”

“My accent?”

His sudden smile seemed mocking. “Your accent. You are clearly from Texas. I am an expert in these things, you see. I study them. Indeed, that is exactly why I have agreed to abandon my customary summer tour of England and live in these wretched accommodations for six weeks.”

Confused, Sarah cocked her head and squinted at him.

“I am writing a book about the nuances of the southern accent and dialect. Texas speech is unique, really quite different from the

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