From the Improvement Era, September 1963 –

Be It Ever So Elegant

By Shirley Thulin

David sat on the couch and looked around him. Diane’s father was talking, but David wasn’t absorbing the words. He was sitting there feeling the softness of the fabric that his hands were resting on. David didn’t know a couch could be that soft. His eyes kept wandering from the painting over the marble fireplace to the fountain with the statue beside it. He never imagined seeing a fountain inside a home, but there it was, in the corner, with green large-leafed plants growing around it.

The painting was of a girl with lips parted and long black hair flowing. The depth of her eyes gave David a feeling that she was real . . . that he would see her move if he watched. The statue was oriental, and the angular cut of it was unusually beautiful.

“Have you thought of going into engineering?”

David was snapped into the realization that Mr. Garris had just asked him a question, and the blankness that filled his head embarrassed him. I must have been acting like an idiot, he thought. He cleared his throat to attempt an answer, but Mr. Garris went on talking. He was telling David of the opportunities in the field of engineering. David wondered if his chosen field would ever afford him a home like this one, and he again was lost in the complete fascination of his surroundings. He mentally compared all this with his own home and had to admit there was quite a difference. Not that there was anything wrong with his home! His mother and father were hard-working people, but they were only able to provide an ordinary home. Neat and clean . . . and ordinary!

David didn’t realize that Diane had entered the room until Mr. Garris stood up and said something to her.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, David, but I got home late and mother’s still shopping.”

“I didn’t mind,” he told her, and he hadn’t minded. Who would mind waiting in such an enchanting atmosphere? The lush carpeting, the blending of the colors, and the quiet— the restful quiet. David couldn’t remember when he’d ever sat in his own home for more than five minutes of absolute quiet. There were few serene moments in a family where seven children lived.

As Diane bade good evening to her father, David looked at her. She was little and blonde … a natural blonde, with long lashes. And she smiled with her eyes.

“Isn’t it a beautiful evening?” she said, and David watched her stand for just an instant on the top step of the porch and breathe deeply of the September air.

Everything is beautiful, and wonderful, he thought. Out loud, he agreed with her about the evening, and offered his arm as they walked down the curved sidewalk to his car. He almost remarked aloud that it seemed good to see a sidewalk unblemished with hopscotch games, but he knew she wouldn’t understand. She didn’t have younger brothers and sisters.

As David started the car, and it began to make its way down the tree-lined street, he felt good. “Like my new car?” he asked her.

“It’s nice.”

“I got a real good buy . . . put in a new transmission myself.”

“Runs smooth,” she said, her eyes smiling.

David had never dated Diane before, though from the beginning of his first quarter at the university when she’d sat next to him in Dr. Hertz’s class, he’d wanted to. It had had to wait, though. He hadn’t been home from his mission long enough to afford dates. Now with a good part-time job, the classes he’d wanted this quarter all signed up, a “new” car and a new girl, he felt all was going well.

After the show, David took Diane to an ice cream store and then remembered that his mother had invited him to bring Diane home for a snack. David had always brought his girl friends home, but they were girls that already knew the family. Diane lived across the town, high on a hill . . . and she was someone special. Anyway, after having been in her home, he was glad he hadn’t promised his mother he’d bring her … he just couldn’t see Diane sitting on their lumpy sofa, with Jill and Tommy on each side, their hands sticky from recent peanut butter and jam sandwiches. That, he told himself, would have to wait until . . . but he couldn’t tell himself when would ever be the right time to bring Diane home. . . .

The next morning at breakfast, David was glad of the hustle. Ned and Sue were giving a play by play description of the high school football game so his mother didn’t quiz him about Diane. Last night he’d let himself in the back door, and when his mother had called to ask if that were he, he’d answered her briefly as he hurried down the steps to his room. He usually went to the refrigerator for milk before going to bed, and he usually had things to talk to his mother about, but not last night . . . that night, and his date with Diane, and his mother were worlds apart.

David looked at his mother hurrying from the stove to the table to the sink. She was tall and fairly nice looking for her age, he thought. Her brown hair only hinted a few gray hairs, and her face didn’t have many wrinkles . . . only around her eyes where they squinted when she laughed. David’s father always said she would never grow old because she enjoyed working with the youth. She certainly was popular with the young people, David thought. For as long as he could remember she had been a favorite Primary teacher, and when he and Ned and Sue had gone into the MIA she had taken over a Beehive class. Now she was the stake Beekeeper and worked with all the girls in the stake. She seemed to love them almost as much as she did her own children, at least she did as much worrying over them, it seemed to David. She had often told him how much she enjoyed working with the ward Beekeepers, too. “Most of them are young and very efficient,” she had told him. “It’s an inspiration to have such close contact with them.” David had joked with his mother and said that he would trade her jobs. He said he was sure she’d make a good elders’ quorum secretary, and he knew he would like having to go around visiting all those young teachers.

The weeks passed, and September turned into October. David and Diane were growing friendlier, though they hadn’t had many dates. Tonight they were going to the symphony. He was glad they were both in the music department. This gave him a chance to mix business with pleasure. It seemed to make Dvorak’s New World sound even better when she was sitting by his side. He parked his car and had trouble making his feet slow down to a respectable pace as he went up the walk, but when she opened the door, he could feel that something was wrong. Was it her thin smile that told him or the slight set of her jaw? Or was it just his imagination? He couldn’t be sure. He started the conversation time after time but after a few words she was silent. They usually had so much to say to each other that an evening was always too short.

“Is there something wrong?” David didn’t look at her when he asked. He was afraid of what he would see in her face.

“Maybe you could tell me,” she said. And she held her hands politely in her lap and looked down at them.

David nearly stopped the car. He could scarcely believe he’d heard right . . . didn’t want to believe he’d heard her right. One of the things he’d liked so much about Diane was that she was different from the other girls he’d gone with. And here she was acting just like the others. She’d always given intelligent answers before, and now she was talking in riddles just like the rest! He opened his mouth to ask what she meant by that but decided not to. He’d tried this same kind of merry-go-round discussions before and always came out the loser. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and clamped his words between his teeth.

All through the concert David tried to think what he might have done to make Diane behave this way. And his thoughts kept swirling around in his head along with the notes of the music. Then he looked at Diane. She was looking at the conductor, and her eyes were misty. He could tell she was just as miserable as he was, but he didn’t know why or what to do about it.

The silence on the way home was unbearable. David wanted to say something to comfort her, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally they were in front of her house, and as the car came to a stop, she put her hand on the door handle.

“Wait, Diane . . . what’s the matter . . . what have I . . . ?”

“Please, David. I don’t feel like talking.”

“But we have to. . . ”

“It’s nothing you’ve done . . . it’s just that . . .” and she looked at David with a pleading that he couldn’t understand. So he said nothing . . . did nothing . . . and when she opened the door and let herself out he just sat there sick— miserably sick.

Long after her door had closed behind her, David sat in his car and tried to separate his thoughts . . . but there was no relief to the heaviness of his heart. Then he started the engine and slowly drove home.

The next day in the music class he tried not to look at Diane, but it was impossible not to glance her way. Every time he looked, she was looking the other way, though he could feel her eyes on him when he was looking at the professor. At the close of class he tried to take his time about gathering up his things to give her a chance to leave first, but she waited for him.

“David, could I talk to you for a moment?”

Sure. …

“I’ve been thinking . . . you know, about last night. I guess we just don’t hit it off, do we? I mean . . . if you think your family wouldn’t like me or something, I wish you’d say so. I know that sometimes happens. That a boy might feel a girl just wouldn’t mix with his family . . . that she wouldn’t belong . . . might be ashamed of her. . . .”

Be ashamed? Of her? Good night! Of her? She must be kidding. David couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t tell her that it was just the other way around . . . that he was afraid she wouldn’t like his family . . . that he was sure she would be uncomfortable with all the kids swarming around the way they always did . . . and while he was wondering what he could say to her, she turned and was gone. He called after her, but she was out of sight in the crowd.

David was glad he didn’t have any more classes that day. He knew he could never concentrate on anything. He could only see Diane’s sensitive face before him. As he drove the car to the curb in front of his house, he was vaguely aware of the Cadillac convertible parked in front of his house. There wasn’t often a Cadillac parked on his street. He opened the front door and then stood there, a mixture of astonishment and disbelief filling him. His mother began to introduce him to the young lady that sat on the couch . . . the lumpy couch, with Tommy on her lap, and Jill leaning against her.

“David, this is Mary Jackson. . . .”

“We know each other, Mrs. Dallas. Hi, David.”

“Hi ”

Mary stood up. “I really must be going,” she said. “I have a class in a half -hour. I always spend more time here than I intend to. David, you have the most wonderful family. There is always such a sweet spirit here.”

“It’s always a pleasure to have you, Mary,” David’s mother told her. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at leadership meeting.”

“Right. Bye, bye.” Mary left, and David was still standing there in the same spot. . . .

“David, are you feeling well?”

“I think so, only. . . .”

“You’ve been acting so strange lately ”

“Mom, do you know who that girl is?”

“Of course, she’s Mary Jack—”

“No, I mean . . . she’s the Homecoming Queen! Good night! What’s she doing here?”

“She’s one of my Beekeepers. She comes here all the time . . . brings the girls’ books for me to sign and. . . .”

“But she’s the Homecoming . . . and she’s Diane’s best friend. . . .” Suddenly the dull ache that had been in David’s stomach for days was activated. He hurried out the door and into his car. Now the words that he hadn’t been able to speak to Diane were right on the tip of his tongue. He had so many things to say to her, and he knew just how to say them. He knew that it didn’t matter if he didn’t have a fountain in the corner of his living room, or a statue or an original painting. . . . He had a wonderful family. Hadn’t Mary Jackson just said so? Hadn’t he really known it all the time?