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Perception

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Emily Ann Benedict

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“Marion stared into his face. “Thank you.” She blinked back sudden tears. “Mr. Bradley, you’re swell. You’ve helped my family so much, and I never appreciated it before.” “Thank you.” Mr. Bradley returned her look, intensely. “I care for all of you. You’re some of the best people I’ve ever known.” Marion smiled and mumbled, “Mr. Sour-face.” “What was that?” “Nothing!” She grinned wider. He smiled back. It was a nice smile.”

“No pressuring them, Aunt Jennie,” Marion admonished with a straight face but laughing eyes. “They don’t like being hurried. They’re likely to baulk like mules and wait until they’re thirty.” “Jeepers, I hope not!” Frances cried, halting her knife and fork’s work at some beef. “I’m tired of waiting and guessing their intentions. I’ve been doing that for seven months. I just want to see them married!” Everett grinned. “So do I.”

“I don’t know how to ask this,” Everett began. “You and Mr. Bradley…you’re not…” He gestured helplessly with his left hand. “I mean, there’s not, uh, something…is there?” After a bewildered moment Ellen’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! Not—not at all.” Everett’s breath hitched. “I thought—I thought perhaps there was. That’s why I hesitated…but if there isn’t…then I got the right color.” He studied his crimson bouquet, spinning it slowly in a mesmerizing circle. Ellen gulped. Everett looked up, walked forward, and glanced down at his roses, then held them out to her and recaptured her gaze. “I remember you said you liked roses. I think you said white roses, but they don’t have the right meaning.” He smiled sheepishly. Ellen’s eyes dropped. She reached out a shaky hand and clasped the firm, cool, de-thorned stems. “You…do understand me then?” he asked. “Perfectly.” Ellen burst into tears.”

“At last, the details finally settled, Abbey found herself coming to terms with the inevitable: the whole lot of them would go to Cape Cod. It was a dizzying prospect. Thirteen years ago she had said goodbye once and for all to the only man she had ever loved. Now she was setting out with him on a vacation, accompanied by a young woman determined above all else to become his wife.”

“What?! Oh, Ellen, so the rumors are true! She’s married to Everett Shepherd! Why, I could wring his scrawny neck! I knew he was trouble. All men are! That cheating, no-good liar, cad, and—” “Please, Frances, I appreciate your taking up for me, but cursing him won’t help me. I’ve had a lot of time to ponder it, and I don’t think he’s worthy of that much censure. You see, he had been engaged to Leona Bingham for years, and it might have gone a little stale. He was attracted to me at first, but he stuck by Leona, as he ought to do. Men get tempted, but what really matters is what they do in the end.” Frances looked up at her, eyes and brows narrowed into a legible V. “Yep, you’re hurt. Girls like you, when they get hurt, they always defend the fella.”

“I was dead for a billion of years and in a few years I will be dead again. I'm not conscious of that state of lifelessness which was before I came to life. And I'm not sure about the lifelessness that is yet to come. Life is only a station between these two states. It is a chance to experience and to do something, the only chance known with certainty. The major issue is to find what is worth living for, but an even greater issue is to find what is worth dying for. We all die anyway.”

“The dominant philosophy in today’s public university is called relativism, which categorically denies the existence of truth or moral absolutes. Those who are foolish enough to believe in such archaic notions as biblical authority or the claims of Christ are to be pitied—or bullied.”