I don’t know what this story is going to be: perhaps a comedy, most likely a tragedy, certainly not a plain drama.

You will soon learn that this is future happenings – that is most all of it, but the past is really past perfect and that is the reason for the future.

Mary Faust

Mary Faust was seventeen. She had blue eyes and a mass of red hair. She was tall and slender. Perhaps you have guessed her nationality. If you have you have succeeded in doing that which Mary herself has failed to do.

Mary’s ancestors were Irish Scotch and German. She was born in that part of the United States commonly called the South. She has lived most of her life in that other part just as commonly called the North and – hold your breath! – she was in love with a Dutchman! Notice I said “was” and that is the past perfect part. The Dutchman had done a very proper thing, married a Dutchwoman thereby causing untold sorrow – or joy in the future – for the life of me I don’t know which.

It was fully three weeks after Mary had ungraciously received the astounding news before she could think clearly and when Mary failed to think clearly something was really the matter. Then one cold day in March her wits came back to her and she began to reason things out for herself. Her thoughts were on this order: “I don’t really see how it can be true but I guess it is…. But oh I just know my heart is broken… how can I stand it (sob)?” She can’t really think as much of him as I did. (note the p.p. tense) The only thing left for me to do is to be an old maid (sniff) but I can’t be an old maid and stay here at home. Everyone knows I’m not old enough to be one. I guess I’ll have to leave home (sob) but I have only a little money and I’ll have to earn my bread and meat therefore I’ll have to work. I’ll have to do something where I can board for (sniff) if I keep (sob) my own house (sob & sniff) I’ll always be imagining I could do things with a (sob) lighter heart if I had him to do for (sob). I – I g.guess I’ll t.teach sch-sch-o-o-l.”

Thereby heaving a sigh and breaking into tears anew she flung herself on the bed and tried to soothe her broken heart. She didn’t stay very long on the bed however for on a cold, raw day in March the house closely resembled a refrigerator excepting within a radius of perhaps ten feet of the heater.

Will perhaps be finished some day….

Written by Ida May Schaffer