Seventy-Four, The Perfect Woman

Seventy-Four
The Perfect Woman
21 October 1824
I have been sulking. 
The chickens greet me each morning with a cacophony of sound; this usually perks me up, but sometimes I just cluck right back at them and go about my business of finding eggs for breakfast.  I hear Warner’s horse, Mayzie, kicking at the stall most mornings.  We do not have fences put up except around the planted fields; the cattle and pigs and oxen roam free through the woods and grasses.   Nearly all of our surrounding neighbors are relatives, so we keep an eye on each other’s livestock as they roam.  However, the horse, being of value, is kept in the barn at night.
Yesterday when John came by to take me to the class meeting, I kept my spirits up as he once again talked excitedly about Mr. Jemison, his upcoming opportunities, and the cotton gin.  I have been working it out in my head how often I might be able to see him once he moves.  I think, perhaps, that we will be able to see each other on Sundays.  He may be able to come to services each week, or, he may come for the afternoon and early evening.  They have a church in Perry County, recently built by Mr. Seaborn Mims who is rather famously building chapels everywhere that he can. He has an amazing ability to bring together many men each time he wants to raise the walls and put on the roof of each hallowed place. So it might be tempting for John to attend services close to him, and in a chapel rather than a private home.  That said, I believe that John would wish to be where he has friends with whom he has shared so many things.
We arrived at the Terry place a little early as usual.  Class meeting was unremarkable, the hymns were dutifully sung.  Afterward, Mr. Houck and Nan stayed only a moment before returning home, so it was that we did the same.
As we walked along the now darkened path, it being nearly eight o’clock on a fall evening, I noticed that the moon was very nearly full.  Everything was lit up as though we had lanterns everywhere.  All the same, John had taken one of the lanterns at the Terry place and had lit it to light our way.  There were not that many noises outside, the summer insects being mostly gone, and the owls not yet awake and hooting.  It was so peaceful as we walked along. 
John spoke to me about his plans to become a local preacher.  He told me a little of the process of becoming a deacon and then an elder, and explained that unlike the circuit riders, a local preacher stays with one congregation, filling in whenever the circuit rider was not present.  The local preacher usually has other professions or occupations during the week.
Although I was initially surprised to hear him say it, of course it made sense.  John has always been a gifted speaker, a wonderful interpreter of the Gospel, and a very caring man.  I have often thought to myself that he could easily do that which Reverend Terry does.  John said that the process could take many years.  I grew more excited as I thought about it, and I told him that I very much approved. 
As we approached the falls, John turned to me and said that he would like to recite a poem if that was all right.  As it had been a while since he had done so, I was pleasantly surprised and readily gave my approval.  As usual, he had written it down on paper for me to keep afterwards.  I repeat it here:
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly plann’d,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.
John set down the lantern, no longer having need of it.  He faced me, taking both hands, and he said that he has long been wanting someone to share his life with; all his goals and aspirations, as well as his future children.  But he was wanting the most to find someone who could share his spirituality; someone who could not just stand behind him, but who could stand beside him through life’s difficulties.  He said that he was wanting someone who could challenge him, someone who could speak her mind.  But, he has grown to realize the value of having someone who make him laugh, both at the difficulties we face, but also at one’s self.
Louisa, said he.
I have found my Perfect Woman.  She faces me.  And I see in her not just the inner beauty that I grew to love first, but the outer beauty that is just magnificent.  When you had your hair down the other day, I was stunned.  I saw you as not just a friend, but as a woman that I truly desired as a wife. I finally knew what I had very long suspected:  that you are the only one that I have ever considered, and the only one I ever shall.
And here, he dropped down on one knee, and asked as I cried tears of joy,
Louisa, my heart,  will you follow me to Perry County and wherever life takes us?  Will you bear our children, should we be so blessed?  Will you carry my heart?
Louisa, my most precious darling, Will You Marry Me?