South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club

Lake Conemaugh

Celestia

Setting out on the trail
one afternoon,
who should I pass coming the other way
but my own dear Estrella.
Her step quick,
her eyes bright,
she looks startled to see me. “Celestia, darling …”
I cannot conceal my surprise
at seeing her out walking: “What are you doing
out here all alone?”
She beams and hugs herself. “I thought to take a little turn
about the park since it is such a lovely day,
maybe see the waterfall.
It is a splendid day, is it not?”
“The waterfall is the other way.” I point toward the dam
where the spillway creates a picturesque picnic spot.
“No mystery, then, why I did not see it.
Enjoy your swim.” Estrella winks
and moves past me. “See you at dinner.”

I turn to watch her slender frame
traverse the rocks and tree roots
with the same easy grace
as if she were dancing in a candlelit ballroom.
Everything comes so easily to Estrella, I think,
as I have a million times before.
But the quality I admire most
is her lightness of heart.

“It is a splendid day,” I say to the trees,
trying on Estrella’s cheerful tone
as I make my way to Peter.

Well before my intended destination,
I notice a shape moving in the shadows,
one that could only be a man.
Perhaps Peter has changed plans
and come to meet me here.

I am nearly an arm’s reach from the figure
before he makes himself fully visible.
“Splendid day, is it not, Miss Celestia.”
Grayson!
The young tycoon.

I draw back
and feel my stomach clutch.
Did he say splendid?

“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Hunting. Of course.”
“I suppose it would be rude to inquire
as to the whereabouts of your gun.”
“Ah, yes, my gun. Where did I leave it?” He smirks
and pats his pockets.

“Where are you off to?” Grayson extends his arm. “Who knows,
perhaps we shall discover my rifle.”
“It is my intention to swim.
As a gentleman,
you will understand
my insistence on privacy,” I say,
though I know
he is not a gentleman.
He reaches for my hand and bows. “As you wish.”
He knows he is not a gentleman.

I snatch my hand away and hasten toward Peter.
I refuse to look back
but I hold my breath until I hear
Grayson’s irritating trilling tuneless whistle
descend in the distance.

How ever did Estrella get past this man
and still remain in good humor?