Kate and Joe

Posted Tuesday, October 06, 2009 5:53 PM

The couple was in town for Remembrance Day, an annual anniversary party commemorating Lincoln’s hallowed words and the ground they consecrated. For three days each November, neo-Yanks, pseudo-rebs, and their sweethearts descend on the farming community wearing period dress. Last year, Joe dragged Kate along too -- although he allowed her the luxury of wearing civilian clothes.

The plan was to fire off the question during a horseback tour of the battlefield from the Confederate vantage point on Artillery Ridge. Joe imagined that he -- resembling a more ethnic but still tough-as-nails Tom Berenger -- would take his horse over to Kate’s and that he would summon the words like fresh troops to the Bulge.



The plan was thwarted, however, when the tour guide informed Joe that 12 Federal Bureau of Investigation agents who had trained together at Quantico would be joining them on the expedition. When, upon mounting his spotted pony, one of the Feds unleashed a rebel yell and shouted “Come on boys, let’s have us a tour of Northern aggression!” Joe knew that he had no choice but to abort the proposal and search for higher ground.

After some reconnoitering, Joe decided to propose back at the inn, where he had the element of surprise in his favor. He would make use of one of Kate’s legendary hour-long showers to torch some candles and take a knee beside the bed. Kate, emerging from the bathroom in a veil of steam, would be disoriented long enough for Joe to unleash his feu d'enfer. The plan was as failsafe as Operation Anaconda.


But alas, Kate did not feel like bathing. No, Kate felt tremendously, frustratingly clean. Like any general in the field facing imminent defeat, Joe decided to summon his cunning tactical skills. “But Kate,” he said. “You smell like a barn. Sure you don’t want to at least rinse off?”


Kate sniffed herself. “I smell fine,” she said. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying. I saw your horse peeing and I think some may have bounced off the ground and hit your leg.”



“Gross!” Kate said, peering over a stack of brochures. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”



Despite repeated attempts to convince Kate that her horse had somehow relieved itself on her, Joe was forced to retreat for a second time. Convinced that the proposal was now completely in God’s hands, he poured himself a whiskey and took his spot next to Kate on the bed.



As all experienced tacticians know, when one is presented with an opportunity to flank a rival, one must not hesitate to exploit the weakness. So, when Kate asked Joe where he would like to go for dinner, he immediately conjured a brilliant strategy to remove her from the room.



“You know what? I think I’d like to go to the Cashtown Inn,” Joe said. “It’s not in town, though. We’ll have to get directions from the front desk.”



The fait accompli was secured when Kate volunteered for the mission. Upon her return, Kate found the door open and the lights dimmed. Candles were lit...candles that smelled like flowers and wintry nuts. Joe concealed himself in the corner, beside the bed, like a rebel sharpshooter in the brush. He cleared the fear from his throat.

“You know, Kate, I didn’t just take you here because I really like the Civil War.”

“I know."

Joe stood up and sauntered over to Kate. Even though he couldn’t quite summon the words, he’d like to think Abe Lincoln would have been proud.