observant?"
"I'm extremely observant. For instance, I observe that you
don't want to tell me what that remedy is for."
"Not to worry." He wiped his stained fingers on his
equally inky apron. He certainly wasn't going to tell her it was for any one of
a variety of diseases a man could pick up from a loose woman. "It's
nothing you'll ever need to know."
"Oh." Bennie picked up his cup of tea and offered it to
him. "A manly thing, huh?"
"Ah, she comes bearing gifts." He accepted the tea.
"My thanks. And yes, it is something for men."
"I'm going to find out eventually, you know. One of you
always lets it slip."
"It's not going to be me. Not this time, at any rate."
"It's never you." She gave him a mock scowl. "What
do you keep all this stuff here for, anyway?" Bennie gestured at the
decrepit shelves of dusty merchandise, most of which had been there for years.
"You never sell any of it."
Brendan rolled the mug between his long, elegant fingers.
"People expect it."
"And of course you always do what people expect."
His grin flashed suddenly. "Absolutely."
Bennie dragged her forefinger along the edge of a shelf and
frowned at the grime that darkened her fingertip. "Business is good,
then?"
He shrugged noncommittally. "About the same as always. Paper
is still hard to come by. People seem to find other uses for their old linen
than sending it to the paper mill."
Drawing her brows together, Bennie contemplated her brother. Along
with printing contracts, deeds, and other legal papers, he produced The New
Wexford Journal and Weekly Advertiser. In this capacity, he often learned
of any news, controversies, or legal problems, both in and out of New Wexford,
before anyone else in the village.
"Have you heard anything lately?"
"About what?" Brendan reached behind his back and untied
his spattered apron.
"The mustering, the British. Whether there will be trouble."
"If you ask me, there's almost bound to be." He yanked
off the apron and tossed it over the counter.
"But the redcoats have orders. They can't fire."
"Elizabeth, any time you get that many men with that many
guns and that much anger in one place, I'd be more surprised if there wasn't
trouble than if there was."
Suddenly cold, Bennie rubbed her arms to warm herself.
"Things have been strained between the Crown and the colonies for such a
long time; sometimes worse, sometimes better but never here, Brendan.
And never now. It could all fall apart, couldn't it?"
"I think you should be prepared for it," he said evenly.
Bennie stilled. The threat had always seemed distant and vague;
there seemed no chance of its ever touching her. But now it was taking on form
and substance. "I don't understand why Britain can't just leave us
alone."
"Elizabeth, think." Brendan lifted a leather jerkin from
its hook on the wall and shrugged into it. "The Crown made a huge
investment in the colonies. They fought the French for years to protect these
territories. From their perspective, are they asking so much? A few pence in
taxes?"
"Taxes we had no voice in, Brendan. No control over."
He frowned, his eyes dark and remote. "How much in this life
do we really have control over? Or, perhaps I should ask, how little?"
Bennie drifted her fingers lightly over the odd collection of
bottles, their smooth curves and familiar solidity strangely reassuring.
"You think it is wrong for us to want our independence?"
"Not wrong, Elizabeth. Foolish, perhaps. I'm not sure we've
really thought through how slim the chances are of our winning it by force, nor
that we've understood what the price will be. I don't like waste, and I don't
relish the thought of any of us dying for nothing." He took his powder
horn from the hook and slipped it over his shoulder.
Bennie blanched. "Dying?" she repeated softly.
Against his thigh, his hand clenched. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth.
I didn't mean to... I really don't think anything is going to happen today. It
wouldn't be worth it, not for either side. I just want you
"I'm extremely observant. For instance, I observe that you
don't want to tell me what that remedy is for."
"Not to worry." He wiped his stained fingers on his
equally inky apron. He certainly wasn't going to tell her it was for any one of
a variety of diseases a man could pick up from a loose woman. "It's
nothing you'll ever need to know."
"Oh." Bennie picked up his cup of tea and offered it to
him. "A manly thing, huh?"
"Ah, she comes bearing gifts." He accepted the tea.
"My thanks. And yes, it is something for men."
"I'm going to find out eventually, you know. One of you
always lets it slip."
"It's not going to be me. Not this time, at any rate."
"It's never you." She gave him a mock scowl. "What
do you keep all this stuff here for, anyway?" Bennie gestured at the
decrepit shelves of dusty merchandise, most of which had been there for years.
"You never sell any of it."
Brendan rolled the mug between his long, elegant fingers.
"People expect it."
"And of course you always do what people expect."
His grin flashed suddenly. "Absolutely."
Bennie dragged her forefinger along the edge of a shelf and
frowned at the grime that darkened her fingertip. "Business is good,
then?"
He shrugged noncommittally. "About the same as always. Paper
is still hard to come by. People seem to find other uses for their old linen
than sending it to the paper mill."
Drawing her brows together, Bennie contemplated her brother. Along
with printing contracts, deeds, and other legal papers, he produced The New
Wexford Journal and Weekly Advertiser. In this capacity, he often learned
of any news, controversies, or legal problems, both in and out of New Wexford,
before anyone else in the village.
"Have you heard anything lately?"
"About what?" Brendan reached behind his back and untied
his spattered apron.
"The mustering, the British. Whether there will be trouble."
"If you ask me, there's almost bound to be." He yanked
off the apron and tossed it over the counter.
"But the redcoats have orders. They can't fire."
"Elizabeth, any time you get that many men with that many
guns and that much anger in one place, I'd be more surprised if there wasn't
trouble than if there was."
Suddenly cold, Bennie rubbed her arms to warm herself.
"Things have been strained between the Crown and the colonies for such a
long time; sometimes worse, sometimes better but never here, Brendan.
And never now. It could all fall apart, couldn't it?"
"I think you should be prepared for it," he said evenly.
Bennie stilled. The threat had always seemed distant and vague;
there seemed no chance of its ever touching her. But now it was taking on form
and substance. "I don't understand why Britain can't just leave us
alone."
"Elizabeth, think." Brendan lifted a leather jerkin from
its hook on the wall and shrugged into it. "The Crown made a huge
investment in the colonies. They fought the French for years to protect these
territories. From their perspective, are they asking so much? A few pence in
taxes?"
"Taxes we had no voice in, Brendan. No control over."
He frowned, his eyes dark and remote. "How much in this life
do we really have control over? Or, perhaps I should ask, how little?"
Bennie drifted her fingers lightly over the odd collection of
bottles, their smooth curves and familiar solidity strangely reassuring.
"You think it is wrong for us to want our independence?"
"Not wrong, Elizabeth. Foolish, perhaps. I'm not sure we've
really thought through how slim the chances are of our winning it by force, nor
that we've understood what the price will be. I don't like waste, and I don't
relish the thought of any of us dying for nothing." He took his powder
horn from the hook and slipped it over his shoulder.
Bennie blanched. "Dying?" she repeated softly.
Against his thigh, his hand clenched. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth.
I didn't mean to... I really don't think anything is going to happen today. It
wouldn't be worth it, not for either side. I just want you
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