Miss Cornelia Ponders Her Future

Miss Cornelia was nearing marrying age, and as the winter’s snows gave way to the blooms of spring, she became quite interested in the male folk in her town. From farm boys to workers, from vendors to schoolboys; there were stately gentlemen and rugged servicemen. Her world was full of interesting things.

The youngest of four daughters, her sisters had already begun adult lives of their own when they moved out to become wives and mothers. That was what awaited Miss Cornelia, and it excited her to no end; the merest thoughts of falling in love drew the breath from her lungs, never to return it. She paid no heed to the strengthening sun and instead paid more attention to the goings on outside her window, beyond the garden.

The garden itself was impressive. A multitude of colors pleased her eyes from a variety of exotic flora. The smell of springtime was lovely, and the accompanying buzzing of the bees was soothing to her ears as she let her eyes wander. Birds darted here and there, chirping amongst themselves in a merry fashion, drawing Miss Cornelia into their conversations. Occasionally, her feathered friends would land on the branch outside, or on the sill itself, and she would delight in sketching them with pencils of the most radiant hues. One day, a hummingbird wafted along an invisible current of air. She asked him if he would help her choose a husband, but her new friend was much too busy for conversation, and eagerly darted off in search of nectar.

Miss Cornelia would take to the rooftops on pleasant days, and lay on her back with her long hair beneath her head, as a pillow. She spied many a feathered friend on those days, and she could only smile and wave as they passed her by.

Robins were industrious and reliable, like the town boys. Perhaps a town boy - though unremarkable in both prospects and appearance — would make her happy.

But she yearned for adventure. Would marrying a sailor or an explorer suit her wild side? She giggled at the thought and blushed, though no one was around to see it… the taboo of which made her cheeks all the redder.

Owls. The majesty of the night, with their keen vision and noble nature. What would that signify if she spotted one? She never had, of course. The fall of dark always made her sleepy, and she was often in bed before the sun’s rays had fully bled from the sky. An owl would not do; simply incompatible.

What about bats? Were bats even birds? A bat was like a thief in the night one could never see, but only hear. The thought of marrying a thief made Miss Cornelia shudder.

No. She wanted a good man, and a good bird to match.

A songbird, then! Surely a songbird would indicate an artist, a man unafraid of his own colors! She grinned, there was excitement in that! Would he hold her hands with the very same fingers which mixed paint? Would they — gasp — kiss?

She dared not think about such things, lest she faint under the midday sun!

She rolled over to her stomach and drummed her fingers on her cheeks as she rested her head in her palms. Her house was centrally located, and she could see all the neighborhoods, all the activity.

A gull circled above the tavern. What did that mean? That she was to marry someone at the tavern? A midday drinker? A drunkard?!

She scowled.

Moving on.

Crows were linked to the Clergy. Miss Cornelia could almost imagine them, their black feathers hanging down like robes. Clergyman? Her mother would be quite pleased.

But Father Dunwoody never stepped outside of the church. Miss Cornelia wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life surrounded by stones and stained glass. She was an outside kind of girl. She rolled over to her back and peered up at Heaven, hoping God wasn’t angry with her for not choosing a holy man to wed. The clouds barely moved as she stared up at them, awaiting a sign.

She squinted into the sunshine. She swore she saw some movement, something other than a cloud, and before she knew it, a feathery missile darted out of the sky and picked up a rat from the alleyway behind the tavern, causing Miss Cornelia to catch her breath and put her hand to her chest.

A hawk!

Streamlined and sharp. Its every feature that of a killing machine. As beautiful as it was to behold, it was also frightening. Miss Cornelia didn’t want to watch, but it was ever so captivating. She found herself wide-eyed with excitement.

The hawk circled once, and veered off toward the treeline of the forest.

Before she knew what she was doing, Miss Cornelia jumped down to the street below and gave chase. She never lost sight of the bird, even as her lungs began to burn from the running. She picked up her skirts as she ran, then was not the time for delicacy, it was the time for speed. She kicked off her shoes and felt the soft earth beneath each footstep as she followed the hawk.

Just when she thought her heart might thunder out of her chest, the trees cleared and the hawk lighted on an upper branch of a mighty elm. In the center of the clearing was a mountainous man, bare chested and shoulders of stone. His long blond hair was loosely pulled back into a ponytail and a buck knife hung from his belt. Balanced on his shoulders was the biggest deer she had ever seen.

Her heart, beating so hard a moment ago, stopped dead in her chest. “Oh my, a hunter,” she said, and caught a flash of his teeth as he smiled at her.

“Hello,” she curtsied, “my name is Miss Cornelia, and a little bird told me we were meant to be together.”