"And just there," he said, pointing directly north of where we sat toward the intersection of Maple (old Mud Street) and Lincoln Avenue, "is where I first cast eyes on Miss Patc." His look took on a mystical veil, but noticeable through the ethereal shadow was a sparkle in his eyes, a moist glistening evident. His pale blue eyes conveyed sorrow and loss. He lowered his head for a few moments. His posture, normally rigid, relaxed as he remembered. In appearance, a sad, tired old man, he took his seat facing me, managing to sit on the picnic table seat with intentional grace.
Then he told me about Miss Patc.
"Mr. George Stonebreaker was from Maryland. He was a master tanner and an exceeding good man. He migrated west and settled in Kentucky with his small family. There, his first spouse took milk fever, died, and was buried. Learning of the promise of this area, he took a new wife and they left Kentucky and came to Fayetteville to start anew. That was only a few years before I began my apprenticeship with the Dickson brothers. Mr. George operated the tanning yard. When I came to Fayetteville, Mr. George was thirty and his bride, Miss Patc, was seventeen, only a year older than I." The veil had opened; his wonder-filled, blue eyes filled with joy and his cheeks reddened. He lowered his head. Embarrassed?
Lifting his head, his glistening eyes locked on mine, he confessed, "I fell in love with her the first time I saw her. I still retained that love when I stood at her graveside at Rose Hill on the hottest day of July in 1882." He cleared his throat, sniffed and stretched his neck as if to renew his strength. "I kept my composure during the preacher's words, all through that dreadful occasion. I walked to my carriage when it was over, took my seat, closed the door, and at length cried. I had my driver ride around for near an hour while I tried to restore my emotions."
"So you loved a married woman?" My perverse self pushed the confessor as I gloried in what I thought would be the strongest element of my story of George Washington Jones.
"Sir, I said I fell in love with Miss Patc the first time I saw her. I did not say any more. Your cogitations are a graceless affront."
Stern and accusatory, he said, "Sir, you do realize you can love someone and only fulfill that adoration with thoughtfulness and fondness? The sexual act is a gift of commitment. In truth it is only a grunt, a hunger that is sated but for a moment. It seems to me only when intertwined with open spiritual communion is it a blessed thing. Otherwise it is but an animalistic indulgence. Wouldn't you attest?"