of ye a chance to get to know one another. Yer too young to be married yet."
The blonde brushed soapy bangs from her eyes. "I am?"
"Aye, lass. Do ye think we're that barbaric? To wed our oldest child to a stranger at fourteen?" Rachel sighed again and shook her head sadly. "It's just that there's not many options fer a pretty young lass out here. We can only do the best we can."
"Aye, mum." Kathleen ducked her head in shame.
"Promise me ye'll give him a chance, Kathleen." When her daughter raised her eyes to look back, Rachel returned to kneel by the tub. "Promise me. It's not Widower Stevens' fault, either. Don't be takin' things out on him."
The slumped shoulders were far more eloquent than the words murmured from the teenager's mouth. "Aye, mum. I promise."
"Good!" Rachel rose to her feet, a smile on her face. "Now, rinse yer hair, love, and I'll help ye dry off and get dressed." She moved away to check on the cookies, humming under her breath.
The teenager heaved a heavy sigh and did as she was bade.
Dinner had been a strained affair from Kathleen's point of view.
Her mother had dressed her in her finest and helped put her hair up. All the while, she was regaled with hints of how to carry herself in the presence of their dinner guest. When the men came back from the field, the responses were mixed. McGlashan and O'Neill were properly awed at the beautiful young woman blushing by the fireplace.
But when Stewart giggled at her, Kathleen lost her decorum and chased after him as he bolted out the door. Despite the stern commands from their da to return, she caught the little brat and knuckled his head for his disrespect.
Widower Stevens arrived on a horse at the required time, a tall, thin man dressed in dark clothing. The men immediately gathered together and began discussing the weather, the crops, and the animals. Stewart kept himself underfoot, trying to entice the visitor to the barn to see Caleb.
Kathleen watched surreptitiously from a window. He's not a bad looking man , she finally allowed. If we 'twere to be married, our children would be blond. And he appears to be gentle and kind. The teenager sighed and turned away, catching her mother watching her, a smile on her face. With a grimace, she returned to stirring the pot of stew.
Everyone sat at the table for the evening meal, though the women stayed more on their feet while they served the men and boy. Conversation ranged through various topics from the standard day-to-day existence to the rumblings from the colonies to the east.
"Ye know, there's talk of revolution in the colonies," Stevens commented. He smiled up at his neighbor's daughter who refilled his cup of water. "We get news so late here, though, I doubt we'd hear of anything 'til years after the fact."
"Aye," McGlashan nodded. He pushed back from the table. "Stewart, get my pipe. There's a good lad." As the man opened the tobacco pouch and began packing the bowl, he continued. "I'd heard that a British ship ran aground last year at Rhode Island. 'Tweren't long before the colonists themselves burnt it out."
"Things are gettin' volatile, and that's fer certain," Stevens said. "Out here, though.... Not much call to get involved. Don't reckon that the British will get this far into the wilds."
"Probably not," McGlashan agreed.
"But, da," the boy piped up. "Didn't the British get this far up north? They were fightin' with the French up by the lakes."
Their guest nodded. "True, lad. But, now they've got all the land b'tween here and there full of colonists who aren't happy with the way things're goin'. At least up north they had the support of the colonies."
The talk continued on as the women gathered up the remains of the meal. The men eventually wandered outside into the night to smoke and chat some more of politics and the like. Rachel used the time wisely to speak with her daughter.
"See, Kathleen? That wasn't so bad now, was it?" She scraped the remains of the meal onto a single
The blonde brushed soapy bangs from her eyes. "I am?"
"Aye, lass. Do ye think we're that barbaric? To wed our oldest child to a stranger at fourteen?" Rachel sighed again and shook her head sadly. "It's just that there's not many options fer a pretty young lass out here. We can only do the best we can."
"Aye, mum." Kathleen ducked her head in shame.
"Promise me ye'll give him a chance, Kathleen." When her daughter raised her eyes to look back, Rachel returned to kneel by the tub. "Promise me. It's not Widower Stevens' fault, either. Don't be takin' things out on him."
The slumped shoulders were far more eloquent than the words murmured from the teenager's mouth. "Aye, mum. I promise."
"Good!" Rachel rose to her feet, a smile on her face. "Now, rinse yer hair, love, and I'll help ye dry off and get dressed." She moved away to check on the cookies, humming under her breath.
The teenager heaved a heavy sigh and did as she was bade.
Dinner had been a strained affair from Kathleen's point of view.
Her mother had dressed her in her finest and helped put her hair up. All the while, she was regaled with hints of how to carry herself in the presence of their dinner guest. When the men came back from the field, the responses were mixed. McGlashan and O'Neill were properly awed at the beautiful young woman blushing by the fireplace.
But when Stewart giggled at her, Kathleen lost her decorum and chased after him as he bolted out the door. Despite the stern commands from their da to return, she caught the little brat and knuckled his head for his disrespect.
Widower Stevens arrived on a horse at the required time, a tall, thin man dressed in dark clothing. The men immediately gathered together and began discussing the weather, the crops, and the animals. Stewart kept himself underfoot, trying to entice the visitor to the barn to see Caleb.
Kathleen watched surreptitiously from a window. He's not a bad looking man , she finally allowed. If we 'twere to be married, our children would be blond. And he appears to be gentle and kind. The teenager sighed and turned away, catching her mother watching her, a smile on her face. With a grimace, she returned to stirring the pot of stew.
Everyone sat at the table for the evening meal, though the women stayed more on their feet while they served the men and boy. Conversation ranged through various topics from the standard day-to-day existence to the rumblings from the colonies to the east.
"Ye know, there's talk of revolution in the colonies," Stevens commented. He smiled up at his neighbor's daughter who refilled his cup of water. "We get news so late here, though, I doubt we'd hear of anything 'til years after the fact."
"Aye," McGlashan nodded. He pushed back from the table. "Stewart, get my pipe. There's a good lad." As the man opened the tobacco pouch and began packing the bowl, he continued. "I'd heard that a British ship ran aground last year at Rhode Island. 'Tweren't long before the colonists themselves burnt it out."
"Things are gettin' volatile, and that's fer certain," Stevens said. "Out here, though.... Not much call to get involved. Don't reckon that the British will get this far into the wilds."
"Probably not," McGlashan agreed.
"But, da," the boy piped up. "Didn't the British get this far up north? They were fightin' with the French up by the lakes."
Their guest nodded. "True, lad. But, now they've got all the land b'tween here and there full of colonists who aren't happy with the way things're goin'. At least up north they had the support of the colonies."
The talk continued on as the women gathered up the remains of the meal. The men eventually wandered outside into the night to smoke and chat some more of politics and the like. Rachel used the time wisely to speak with her daughter.
"See, Kathleen? That wasn't so bad now, was it?" She scraped the remains of the meal onto a single
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