answered.
“Pardon?” Matthew turned his attention to her, and the word he thought he would never hear issue from her lips.
“Supposedly,” David Stevenson said, bringing up his bemused smile, “a witch cursed the river, for drowning her son. And cursed the entire swamp around it, as well. This was many, many years ago…if such really happened. So now the river’s upper course remains largely unexplored, and according to the tale I heard it was said that…well…ridiculous indeed, but those who travel up it are destined to witness horrors that test the soul. And that the witch still lives and searches for a soul to trade the Devil for her son’s.” He had spoken these last two sentences with a quietly jocular air, worthy of a sophisticated distance between those who believed such poppycock and those who did not. He glanced up at the sun’s progress. “Getting hot early, I fear. It’ll be sweltering by noon.”
“Yes, certainly,” Matthew agreed, feeling the risings of sweat on the back of his neck even though they stood in tree-shade. In regards to the River Solstice, as he had spent much of his time in Charles Town either reading, plotting out chess problems, studying Latin and French or scribing testimony for the magistrate in cases that went on for hour after hour, Matthew had been primarily a single citizen of his own world. The selfsame for the Sword of Damocles Ball and all the other events meant for the town’s elite; he’d existed far below their influence, and certainly would never have been in the rarified orbit as the Prisskitts or anyone at that damnable festivity. “You heard this tale from whom, and when?”
“An elderly negress, nearing ninety years, at the Green Sea Plantation only a few days ago. She told a very compelling story, also entertaining, as I worked. I was summoned there to apply a compress to a horse bite on an overseer’s arm. It had become infected. While I was there I suggested an inspection of the slaves and house servants, thirty-four in all. I wound up pulling a few teeth and washing out some minor wounds.”
“The whip?” asked Matthew, having had some experience with that particular pain.
“No, thankfully not. The Kincannon family restrains the use of that. The wounds I tended were snakebites—not poisonous, obviously—and others related to working in the ricefields. I have had to go there and amputate a hand mangled by an alligator, unfortunately.”
“Dangerous work, it seems,” said Matthew. “Very dangerous. And often deadly. But the rice must grow and be harvested, and the new fields carved from the swamps.” Matthew checked the degree of the sun, and decided that if he were going he’d best get to the nearest stable, secure a horse and be on his way. An eight-mile trip would be about two hours, depending on the trail.
He reached out and took Rachel’s hand. “I’m so pleased to have seen you,” he told her. “Pleased also that you are happy, and have found a true home.” He squeezed her hand quickly and then released it. “Sir,” he said to Dr. Stevenson, “I wish you both a fine life and excellent health. If I’m in this vicinity again anytime soon, I’ll surely accept a visit to your estate and dinner.”
“Our pleasure, sir,” answered the doctor, who reached forward again to shake Matthew’s hand and give it another bone-crush.
“Goodbye, Matthew.” Rachel dared to deliver a kiss to his left cheek, which was likely more scandalous here than in New York, and yet it was correct. “Good travels to you today, and I hope…” She paused, searching the chest of hope that Matthew had given her when he had freed her from her bondage. “I hope you find a solution to every problem,” she finished, with a tender smile.
“Myself as well,” he answered, and giving a slight bow to Dr. and Mrs. Stevenson, he turned away and walked in the direction of the stable from which he’d rented his chestnut steed a few
“Pardon?” Matthew turned his attention to her, and the word he thought he would never hear issue from her lips.
“Supposedly,” David Stevenson said, bringing up his bemused smile, “a witch cursed the river, for drowning her son. And cursed the entire swamp around it, as well. This was many, many years ago…if such really happened. So now the river’s upper course remains largely unexplored, and according to the tale I heard it was said that…well…ridiculous indeed, but those who travel up it are destined to witness horrors that test the soul. And that the witch still lives and searches for a soul to trade the Devil for her son’s.” He had spoken these last two sentences with a quietly jocular air, worthy of a sophisticated distance between those who believed such poppycock and those who did not. He glanced up at the sun’s progress. “Getting hot early, I fear. It’ll be sweltering by noon.”
“Yes, certainly,” Matthew agreed, feeling the risings of sweat on the back of his neck even though they stood in tree-shade. In regards to the River Solstice, as he had spent much of his time in Charles Town either reading, plotting out chess problems, studying Latin and French or scribing testimony for the magistrate in cases that went on for hour after hour, Matthew had been primarily a single citizen of his own world. The selfsame for the Sword of Damocles Ball and all the other events meant for the town’s elite; he’d existed far below their influence, and certainly would never have been in the rarified orbit as the Prisskitts or anyone at that damnable festivity. “You heard this tale from whom, and when?”
“An elderly negress, nearing ninety years, at the Green Sea Plantation only a few days ago. She told a very compelling story, also entertaining, as I worked. I was summoned there to apply a compress to a horse bite on an overseer’s arm. It had become infected. While I was there I suggested an inspection of the slaves and house servants, thirty-four in all. I wound up pulling a few teeth and washing out some minor wounds.”
“The whip?” asked Matthew, having had some experience with that particular pain.
“No, thankfully not. The Kincannon family restrains the use of that. The wounds I tended were snakebites—not poisonous, obviously—and others related to working in the ricefields. I have had to go there and amputate a hand mangled by an alligator, unfortunately.”
“Dangerous work, it seems,” said Matthew. “Very dangerous. And often deadly. But the rice must grow and be harvested, and the new fields carved from the swamps.” Matthew checked the degree of the sun, and decided that if he were going he’d best get to the nearest stable, secure a horse and be on his way. An eight-mile trip would be about two hours, depending on the trail.
He reached out and took Rachel’s hand. “I’m so pleased to have seen you,” he told her. “Pleased also that you are happy, and have found a true home.” He squeezed her hand quickly and then released it. “Sir,” he said to Dr. Stevenson, “I wish you both a fine life and excellent health. If I’m in this vicinity again anytime soon, I’ll surely accept a visit to your estate and dinner.”
“Our pleasure, sir,” answered the doctor, who reached forward again to shake Matthew’s hand and give it another bone-crush.
“Goodbye, Matthew.” Rachel dared to deliver a kiss to his left cheek, which was likely more scandalous here than in New York, and yet it was correct. “Good travels to you today, and I hope…” She paused, searching the chest of hope that Matthew had given her when he had freed her from her bondage. “I hope you find a solution to every problem,” she finished, with a tender smile.
“Myself as well,” he answered, and giving a slight bow to Dr. and Mrs. Stevenson, he turned away and walked in the direction of the stable from which he’d rented his chestnut steed a few
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