Archive for June, 2021

Gray Lace …part seven


page 17 … Trevor tries to sort his feelings about his new world…a southeast Carolina swamp in a 1908 elitist hunting camp, only to find confusing possibilities.

Edgar waved Trevor over, “Sit here and let me explain. The hunt starts soon, but Mercer usually begins with a target practice. You know, just to get the kinks out and to let us pick out the weapons we want to borrow. Some brought their own, but I’ve always liked Mercer’s supply. By the way, how’d it go last night? I couldn’t help but hear your pleasure.” He gruffly laughed with his mouth open, showing off his breakfast.

“Have you left your manners in Boston?”

The silence told him all he needed to know. Edgar Cranfield could hand out the insults, but not take them. Trevor watched him turn red, slam down his table linen like a dueling signal from the past century, and storm off toward the lodge.

He should be worried, but wasn’t. He should be concerned about the possible loss of Cranfield money, but instead he felt more peaceful than he had in weeks. After a deep breath and another peach bite, he thought his estate problems might work themselves out, somehow.

Then again, maybe he’ll lose it all and be destitute. Yet, that would be stupid and selfish. He had obligations and Eloise Cranfield was pretty, a bit too silly, but not half bad. He could tolerate her in the usual British fashion with little or no contact, but no, that’s not what he wanted.

First, he needed his siblings to be secure and safe, but that’s not what his father’s will guaranteed.

Trevor pushed himself from the table and headed to the target range. He heard the firing and waited for the excitement to surface. Those feelings did not appear like in his hunting days of his youth. Maybe it was this swampy environment . It wasn’t Kent, or the moors, or even the marshes of Norfolk. This wasn’t England.

“Over here, old boy!” Cranfield called.

Well, Edgar had cheered up.

Trevor walked to the shared shooting station and accepted the shotgun and ammunition. An unusual call of a wild bird caused him to look heavenward. He watched the graceful flight of a blue-gray bird sail over the lake. As his attention headed back to earth, he landed into those swampy-green eyes he had enjoyed yesterday at the train station, now partly hidden behind a tent. They were still full of the fear he’d responded to last night, but this time she had quickly nodded her head down toward his weapon. Then she clearly shook her head, “No!”

Enough! for a short while

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