#and i have returned once again - like a persistent horsefly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

authordanaelsamms · 4 years

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Chapter One

Every woman longs for an uninterrupted stretch of peace. That’s what makes death so inviting. Most of her life, Persephone felt the call of eternal sleep. It lingered in a secret corner of her heart like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

As she stood on the front steps, a silent call echoed to her over the pasture. Any other warm afternoon, she might find herself walking to the cemetery and sitting under the lone oak tree there. She might slip her hands from her mitts and pull her skirts up over her knees while she sat between familiar tombstones. On these visits, the itch gnawed harder.

Envy flowed in her blood for each of them.

Perseus, Helen, Missy, Mother.

The names carved into flat stone waited that day for her flowers and visit. Someday eternal visit. Until then, her best relief came in the time she spent quietly beside them.

Persephone relished her moments alone. Picturing the narrow path down the hill, over the pasture gate, between the trees, and across the meadow. Her mind carried her to the patchwork graveyard. The only other presence was the wind shaking the limbs of the trees and washing over her skin. For a brief moment that day, she’d found complete tranquility.

Pleasure broke.

A clatter reminded her that she still stood on the front steps. Behind the house, someone had dropped a pan on the stone floor of the kitchen. Frustrated shouts echoed with the rising heat and hurry. There was too much work left and too little time for error.

There would be no walk that afternoon. Her grassy throne of tangled tree roots would have to wait. Guests were coming, and she needed to find Abigail.

Like any other sunny afternoon, Abigail would be working in the herb garden. The midsummer warmth offered too many blooms, leaves, and roots that required plucking. No doubt most of Abigail’s night would go to laying out a collection of gathered herbs to dry before grinding what she’d gathered the day before.

Near her garden, Father once built a private shed for Abigail’s work. In past years, it was filled to the brim with requests from family and neighbors for pain relievers or any sort of wild remedy. Any spare jar from the kitchen and pantry were toted into the little room to be filled with blackberry leaves or geranium oil. When Persephone was small, Abigail teased her about being a witch, but even then she knew it was a joke.

“That’s how I got my eyes. I stole them from a lady who didn’t believe in my powers.”

When she was four, Persephone’s head only just reached the windowsill. The shade of the one room shed offered a breeze and relief from hot afternoons, and the sweet scent from Abigail’s work was too inviting to ignore.

“Then why do you travel so often with Dr. Abbott?” she’d ask from the doorway.

“Who do you think taught him to be a doctor?”

Even as the demand for her work had declined, sweet aromas still drifted from Abigail’s shed. A garden that once saw vines and flowers spilling over its white fence lay half empty in recent years. Tonics and teas that used filled shelves were confined to a single chest.

Occasionally, a neighbor might send word for black cohosh or white snakeroot. Yet the current requests for remedies did not match what was requested ten years before. Not after the work of God was blamed on a house slave.

With the bone poking through her worn stays and into her back, Persephone rounded the opposite side of the house. Out of sight of the herb garden, she made her way to the barn. She told herself a couple minutes could be spared inside it. After resting his leg away from the heat, Cerberus would be ready to join the others in the pasture. Persephone was duty bound to tend to him herself.

In the late afternoon, all was quiet. A soft breeze flowed through the stable’s open doors. Extra trees encircled the building, blocking out some of the heat. Between the soft wind and the shade, it was one of the coolest places on Oakwood during the summer. In the winter, with trees breaking the wind and livestock filling every stall, it was one of the warmest.

An old mare was the only horse inside besides Cerberus. His chestnut head ducked over the stall when Persephone entered. He let out a soft nicker when she approached. If one being was ever permitted to join her solitude, it was the gelding.

Loneliness shared by the two of them was heaven. That afternoon, the heaven was being rocked by a loud and persistent pest. The shaded stable was usually clear of flies, but one large, black annoyance kept passing Persephone’s cheek and narrowly missing her hair.

She shouted in frustration and swooped to miss the horsefly. The commotion drew the attention of one of Father’s recent hires. Persephone collected herself and pretended not to notice him.

Run down frontiersmen and those looking to avoid the law often found work from Mr. Nicholas. Usually three or four of them appeared in a year on Oakwood. A few returned more than once if they needed the work. Not only did they guard the biggest loads sent to market, but on occasion they could be rather convincing to anyone who might pose a problem.

All of them knew to stay out of the way of the plantation’s routine. And each was smart enough to stay clear of Persephone. The money from Mr. Nicholas was too good to make him angry by approaching his daughter. For any reason. The man near the barn was a regular of the odd hires, and Persephone always pretended not to notice him. Yet his language was not lost on her.

The fly swooped again. She swatted the air, but it took no interest in leaving her for the horses. Finally, it made the mistake of landing. In a loud crack of wood against wood, Persephone’s riding crop smashed the horsefly in a blundering heap against the stall.

“Deserving shit,” she whispered to the splattered body as she strode by.

Abigail’s salve had done its work. The nick to Cerberus’ fur had been small, most likely a scruff with another horse in the pasture, but it still drew the attention of his lady. For two days she shooed away help from the stable hands and leaned over his long legs to wash and tend the wound.

His leg was healed and coat in no need of grooming. Out of ideas for delays, and the bone still poking her back, Persephone gave in. The horses were put out, and she turned back to the house.

Abigail was almost hidden in her garden. A week before, she’d brought a sprout from the woods and replanted it. Only her straw hat was visible over the short fence as she crouched to examine the patch's newest addition.

Her dedication to wearing the hat sealed the youth on her face. Long walks to gather plants and hours with her mortar and pestle kept her body slim and strong. Persephone remembered running to Abigail’s side and seeing the same, youthful face since she could walk. Any time not spent with her plants and salves was devoted to caring for Persephone. As Persephone passed into adulthood, she still lingered at Abigail’s side and followed her direction.

“It’s still set on poking me to death,” she said from the gate. Beneath her dress, her old stays were wearing thin. In the center of her back, a pointed piece of whalebone poked through the fabric and irritated her skin.

�� “I told you it would,” Abigail kept her eyes on the lacy white flowers.

Manure and dust kissed the edges of Persephone’s dress. Yet in the garden she took care not to run her hem in the dirt. At least not in front of Abigail.

“You also said you’d fix it.”

“I mentioned attempting to fix your stays were there time.”

“Is there?”

“Probably not.” At last she turned to Persephone, blue eyes shining from the shade of her hat. “Not since you’ve checked every corner of the house for dirt and been to the barn twice.”

Persephone smiled back at her.

“My other stays don’t fit properly under the blue dress,” Persephone lingered at the gate, aimlessly brushing dirt from her mitts, “and Father told me to wear that one.”

“It brings out your eyes.”

“I’d rather wear the purple. That one fits better and matches the other stays.”

In her opinion, none of the colors matched her raven black hair, but that was her curse for bearing the last name Nicholas. Almost daily she found herself longing for soft blonde curls like her cousins. At twenty, the hopeless wish remained.

Abigail’s fingerings brushed the soft yellow petals of a flower, “Tell me what this is.”

“You call it a piss daisy,” Persephone replied.

“I’m the only one who does.”

Quizzing Persephone on plants and their uses was routine. For the life of her, none of the information stayed in her head very long. None of the information Abigail asked, that is. She examined the clipping and noted the purple coneflower, for colds, and the common chamomile, but that was not the bloom in question.

“It’s poisonous,” she said after a moment.

“Anything can be a poison if you use it right.”

That basic answer was usually adequate. Another tediously long stretch of seconds passed as she focused hard on the yellow flower.

“Father takes it for the pain in his hand.”

“Arnica,” Abigail explained as she collected her basket. “For some pains, and yes, like almost any herb taken in excess, it can be lethal.”

“I was half right.”

“For anything,” she chuckled. “Salt might kill a man if he had enough.”

Persephone blanched at the thought and turned toward the house.

“Will you please help me now?”

“The Tanners will be here soon,” Abigail led them through the back door. “I doubt that’s enough time to fix those stays and see you dressed. You’ll just have to wear the purple one.”

John Nicholas had been too old to fight the French, and in his own opinion, too young to call himself old. Two years after the war ended, he still refused to be considered old. Yet anyone else would certainly use the word old to describe him.

His hair had peppered quickly. Though wiry, it remained thick and tamed. Crow’s feet were rooted in the corners of his eyes and echoed across his face to the beginnings of other wrinkles. Permanent frown lines met them. Despite the weathered evidence of time, most could only see his eyes. They were bright blue, like Persephone’s, like all his children once had.

Those shining eyes were never happy. Disgust and frustration were his chief emotions. Both fought for first when Persephone arrived downstairs in crisp, lace mitts and her purple gown.

A plain looking carriage rolled to a stop by the open door, giving Father only enough time for a sigh of exasperation. Persephone turned to greet their guests with a warm smile.

She began the night ahead in their unspoken game and planned to stay there. Starting the evening in a dress of her choice and not her father’s was a perfectly executed move. Enough smartly accomplished moves in a night would bring a victory enjoyed only in the quiet recesses of her mind.

Samuel Tanner emerged from the carriage and offered a hand to his wife. While neither of them were as advanced as her father, both were old enough to pass as a parental figure. A simple glance to Margaret Tanner would prove they were only friends and not family. The dissimilar appearance to Mr. Tanner confirmed it.

In his successful years of breeding and training horses, Samuel was not a poor man. His wardrobe didn’t show it. While he did not dress plainly, he still did not see that night as an excuse to dress well. Persephone didn’t recall a single occasion when Mr. Tanner dressed as finely as her father. Mr. Tanner’s clothes were clean, but a wealthy man would consider them only for barn use. Most often, they were.

Mrs. Tanner more than made up for both of them with her extravagance. More than a fair share of allowance had been spent on ribbons and wigs and fine silks. It was rumored one gown came from Paris, but the gossips had no proof. Mrs. Tanner never rebuked them. Jealous whispers of her fine clothes were better than hushed judgements of her heritage.

Only Father had been silent about their marriage. Eyes still turned at Sam Tanner’s choice of wife. Neighbors whispered, “wild savage” when the fuss of her ribbons died down. But Mrs. Tanner had grown up in petticoats and buckled shoes just like the rest of them.

Whenever whispers turned from jealousy of her dresses or trimmings back to her skin and dark hair, a new piece of finery made an appearance. New rumors of her wealth quickly took front stage, and Margaret silently reveled in them.

To the neighbors scattered across the Virginia frontier, Mrs. Tanner dressed and held herself like royalty. Most of them claimed an entire bedroom was devoted to her petticoats and stockings, though no one who said it had ever set foot in her house. Whether they saw her as a friend or kept a secret hatred for her, she saw herself above them. Even on the Oakwood plantation, her ascension from the carriage was that of a queen.

“John,” Samuel nodded at the door. “Thank you for having us again.”

“Always a pleasure,” Father gave a polite bow. “Mrs. Tanner. You’ve both met Persephone.”

Persephone curtsied, letting her skirts shimmer for Mrs. Tanner to see. She gave a nod of approval.

“It’s been a while, but it’s always wonderful to see you.”

“You as well, Mrs. Tanner.”

“Please, call me Margaret.” She gave Persephone a genuine smile and bounced her plucked eyebrows. With another man joining the party shortly, they both knew they were outnumbered. The thought of friendly conversation between ladies promised for a more enjoyable evening.

Having no children, Margaret had kept her figure. Father noticed it, and Persephone noticed him. Once their guests had passed them into the house, she shot him a look of displeasure. He glared back.

Persephone pulled further ahead.

They moved inside to the only painted room in the house. Soft blue paint made the walls more presentable for guests, while reminding them they were in a Nicholas home. The large, square table was set. Porcelain and candlesticks were precisely aligned for the rare use of the room.

Most evenings, Persephone and her father didn’t even eat together. If he was working, or pretending to work, a tray was brought to Mr. Nicholas in his study. With no one else around, Persephone ate with Abigail in the kitchen. Even on a warm day she preferred the hot kitchen to any meal with her father.

Through the window, another carriage could be seen rolling in. Mr. Savidge had arrived.

Persephone sighed in annoyance. The old man spoke so loud and so often, any other conversation was difficult to be had. To her relief, Margaret took a seat across the table from her. The evening would be much more agreeable with Mrs. Tanner close enough to speak to. Father took his place to Persephone’s right at the head of the table, making conversation harder.

A loud thud announced Abe Savidge had entered the front door. The end of the cane pounded against the wooden floor until he and his companion entered the room.

Like Father, Mr. Savidge had greying hair. Unlike Father, it could not be tamed. That evening it forced its way out from under his messy wig in several places. A simple look in a mirror would tell a gentleman to fix it. Unfortunately for Abe, his eyesight meant every mirror he passed was a blur. Unfortunately for everyone else, age left his standards for gentlemanly behavior quite lax.

“Gentlemen. Ladies.” His voice was rough and matched his unbalanced pace. Every few words were muffled by the thud of his cane as he walked to an empty chair opposite Father. “This is my nephew, Warren. He’s been staying with me lately, learning about the business. I thought he might profit from supping with us tonight.”

The chair beside Persephone was suddenly occupied by a young man just a few years older than her. While some ladies might have called him handsome, she did not. His association with his uncle was enough to give Persephone disinterest. His jackassish airs completely shut him out of any significance to her, formal or otherwise.

“How do you do, Miss Nicholas,” his eyes took in her figure as he sat down. Her spine stiffened at the sight.

“Well, thank you,” Persephone looked across the table for conversation, but Margaret was occupied by her husband. Persephone skimmed over her father; Margaret held his attention as well.

Even with the table leaves extending it to a fuller size, Persephone thought everyone was uncomfortably close. Especially when the young Mr. Savidge glanced her way again. The quick look was anything but proper, and stealthily laid out before anyone else noticed. She imagined stabbing one of those murky eyes with her fork.

To Persephone’s relief, Abigail appeared in the doorway with a bottle of wine in one hand and cider in the other. She cast her a look, begging to be saved. Abigail returned it with a silent nod of sympathy and understanding. Tomorrow Persephone would have the chance to relay the events of the evening, and Abigail’s comments would make them both laugh. She could make it to tomorrow.

“You,” Father interrupted, glaring at Abigail, and pointing to his empty wine glass.

Persephone sighed as Abigail made the rounds. Her evening was not looking much better. Especially not with Warren Savidge as a guest.

“No,” Warren’s hand covered his glass before Abigail could fill it, “Do you have any port?”

“Yes sir, one moment.” She filled the rest of the glasses around the table, saving the cider for Persephone, before slipping back out the door.

“It has been too long since we’ve come by,” Mr. Tanner glanced Persephone’s way. “Miss Nicholas, you have grown into a fine young woman.”

She smiled. The last time the Tanners and Mr. Savidge came to Oakwood, Persephone had been only fifteen. That was just as Father was beginning to walk the rest of the house instead of spending dawn to dusk locked inside of his study. Persephone tried to thank Mr. Tanner, but was cut off.

“Obviously, we need to discuss the Floruitwood estate,” Father’s voice, though gentle at the moment, demanded attention.

“I doubt Parker left you anything, John, it all belongs to his son now,” Mr. Savidge smiled from his end of the table.

Father glared back at him. If his daughter was not making the retort, there was little he could do to stop it. Persephone kept her head down but relished the moment.

“That is exactly the issue,” Father continued, undeterred. “The Parker boy has no understanding of running a trade. He’s hardly a year older than my daughter. If we plan this season well, I think we could drive him out within a year. Maybe two.”

“I’m not sure John. My father left everything to me when I was seventeen.” Mr. Tanner took more interest to his fork than the others. “I hardly had an issue.”

“Weren’t you twenty when Grandfather Nicholas died?”

Persephone knew the answer to her question, but still asked it. Father’s look told her she would pay for the remark, but she encouraged herself it was worth it. Especially with his business partners at the table. He was not catching up in her private game. She felt like a mouse dancing on a rafter in the barn while the cat watched from the hay below.

If they heard her question, none of them showed it.

“The boy is lucky to be handed such a venture, but I doubt he is clueless,” Tanner sighed.

Persephone was curious how losing your parents was considered lucky. Not everyone had a father like hers.

“He might know his plantation,” Father reminded them, “but trade is another matter.”

“Stop badgering, John. Tell us your thoughts.” Gravy landed on Mr. Savidge’s front as he spoke.

“I think we should look to Kingston.”

Suddenly Father was more interesting than Tanner’s fork or Savidge’s food.

“The Parkers have had a monopoly in Kingston since they started planting,” Tanner said. “His grandfather made better trades there than we could match.”

“Since when do you skip a gamble?”

The words left Mr. Tanner silent. Father held his gaze, not regretting his honesty.

“You plan to scare him out of it with your men?” Mr. Savidge smiled from his end of the table. “They cost you too much.”

“Our wagons have always been safe.” Father’s glance told his friend not to mention it again.

Having consumed half her plate, Persephone’s eyes floated about the room for something else to keep her interest. Unfortunately, they met Warren Savidge’s own gaze. Her attention returned promptly to her plate, but she felt his lingering look on her and struggled not to shiver.

“How much of your stock can we count on for transport, Sam?” Mr. Savidge cut a large piece of potato and stuffed it into his mouth. Some of it remained on his chin, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s hard to say,” Mr. Tanner sat up straight. “I’ve kept the usual number aside, but I doubt I can take out more this year.”

“Why is that?” Father said curtly.

“You recommended me to your brother,” Tanner replied. “His crop did well last year and is looking even better this summer. Heavier wagons need a stronger team.”

“He needs that many horses?”

“He does.”

“My brother took an easy route,” Father sawed hard at his meet. “He married into a ridiculous apple fortune. Now he has a mad wife and wild children.”

“The only thing I can image that’s easier is inheriting a tobacco fortune,” Persephone took a sip of her cider. She could hear Father give a sigh. The rest of the table had not seemed to notice. Except for young Mr. Savidge.

He caught Persephone’s gaze with a smirk, pleased with her retort. She scowled back and returned her eyes to her plate.

“His land is worth less than half of mine,” Father grunted. “Even if he’s doing as well as he tells you, Sam, he can’t be making much. There isn’t a point to it. I doubt there’s anything more ridiculous than an apple orchard, except an apple orchard on bad land that hardly brings in a profit. I doubt he paid you what those horses were worth.”

“He paid well enough,” Mr. Tanner replied. “We’ll still have teams we need to transport what we bring in. We’re lucky our guests didn’t make off with them after all else they took.”

“How long did they stay?” Father’s voice changed to a different irritation.

“Only a night. We were lucky. A little farm down the road kept twelve men for the better part of the week. Ours left after breakfast the next day, and only took a few chickens off our hands.”

Quartering soldiers was still new in the area. Thanks to Oakwood’s position on its little hill and distance from the main roads, they had been free of uninvited guests. Yet even at Mr. Tanner and her father’s obvious disdain for the act, her heart skipped at the excitement of strange men wandering into their home for a night.

Any guest, including the Tanners and Savidges, was rare. Persephone longed for the company of a few men even if they were strangers and a bit rough and tumble. Having them arrive after Father’s hatred for them would be a delicious treat.

“I’d hide most of your grain before winter,” Father advised. “That’s when they’ll come through to stay, and only a week of them would be heaven.”

The turn of conversation appeared lost on the aged Mr. Savidge, who chose that moment to ask, “What mighty steeds have you in store for our bounty, Sam?

“Only the best, Abe,” Mr. Tanner smiled in return. “It’s the distance you’re aspiring and the speed that we might not make. Can we get a load cured fast enough?”

“We can,” Father gave a cheeky grin. The others remained on a string of curiosity, and he enjoyed it.

“Do you share your father’s interest in agriculture, Miss Nicholas?” Warren asked undeterred.

“No,” Persephone’s answer was sharp. She had shifted into a daydream of handsome soldiers clad in red and irritating her father while they all drank cider in the same room. The young Mr. Savidge proved quite the opposite, and his disruption in her fantasy only further poked the bear.

“Well,” Tanner broke the short silence, “I doubt your harvest will be ready early enough.”

“How early?” Bits of potato still clung onto Abe Savidge’s chin.

“We won’t need to worry if we use our stores from last year,” Father said. “There’s enough there for at least one load to Kingston. Perhaps two. And that’s enough.”

Persephone watched a trail of wax roll down the side of the candle. Once again, she noticed Margaret. The candle had held most of her attention as well. She smiled at Persephone, sharing in her boredom.

“The quality might be gone after sitting around all these months.” Even with food staining his breast and chin, Mr. Savidge’s mind stayed on alert. “You know better than any of us the art to curing a crop, John.”

“I know a lot more than Parker ever did. Anything his boy offers won’t be nearly as good as ours- whether it’s three years old or fifty.” Father withdrew two vials from the pocket of his waistcoat and passed them to Mr. Tanner. “I sent a boy to Kingston last year for an ounce of Parker tobacco. The other is some of my own crop from the harvest before last.”

The men held the two samples against the light to examine them. They were impressed by the difference. Words were shared of color and scent, all of them passing unnoticed to Persephone as she pushed an unwanted bite of meat across her plate.

A second line of wax made its way down the candlestick. Supper had lasted longer than Persephone liked, and the candle showed it.

“Why don’t we just harvest early? I doubt the buying man would care for the difference between these crops.” Warren Savidge spoke up from his end of the table. Both of the vials had arrived in his hands, and he clearly knew less about them than Persephone.

Dissatisfaction bubbled to Father’s surface. Persephone knew to keep quiet in that moment, and he was left looking for someone to unleash his frustration on. Abe seemed to hardly notice his nephew’s suggestion. Mr. Tanner seemed annoyed, but not nearly as much as his partner.

“Yes, we could,” Mr. Nicholas scolded. “And while we’re at it lose half our profit from not letting the crop grow. Abe, I don’t think your nephew’s retained anything you’ve told him.”

The remark left the young Savidge frowning. As much as Persephone loathed her father’s retorts, she loved hearing them poured onto someone else. Especially someone deserving.

“I see,” Warren muttered. The napkin on his lap became his new focus.

“Yes, thankfully you do. Until you take over your uncle’s affairs completely, you should stay quiet and learn a few things.”

Persephone stifled her giggle with a yawn. Thanks to Abe’s age, he had not heard Father’s agricultural lesson. “Undercutting him at Kingston is an excellent plan.” The last of the potato finally fell from his chin. “We could always delay a trip north a few weeks.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Tanner returned to the conversation. “By the time Parker learns of his loss in Kingston, your next round from harvest would be nearly cured and ready to ship. With our geographical advantage…”

Persephone slipped a pinch of sugar off the table and into her pocket. The conversation kept the others distracted from her subtle movements. She enjoyed planning another walk to the pasture more than listening to plans of tobacco and sales.

Candles were half gone and the food had vanished, most of it to Mr. Savidge’s chin and waistcoat. Usually at this point in the evening gentlemen would disperse to the study, but they remained. The conversation faded in Persephone’s ears as her attention remained on the three peas lingering on her plate. Every so often she heard something about a horse or fields. It reminded her of Cerberus’ leg. Perhaps Margaret would like to see it. Of course, Persephone was perfectly capable of caring for him herself; she hardly needed approval from the Tanners. Still, discussing a horse’s leg outside in the pasture was far pleasurable to tuning out plantation owners in the stuffy blue room.

“Mr. Savidge, I hope you know you’ve been in my prayers these recent months,” Mrs. Tanner’s voice pulled Persephone back in.

“Hmm?” Abe seemed as lost as Persephone had been.

“I wanted to offer my condolences,” Mrs. Tanner’s words hardly phased him, “On your wife.”

“Oh yes,” he mumbled. “It was a pity. Becky was very young.”

Becky Smith; now Savidge. Persephone had met her once before. The Smiths often threw large parties at their home just outside of town. On one occasion, Father had let her attend without much fuss.

Becky had only been a few years older than Persephone and looked healthy enough. She wondered if marriage to Mr. Savidge had taken its toll. Why had she married him?

One glance his way was unsettling. Five minutes in his presence made anyone forget how well off he was. Based on how well Becky conversed on the evening they met, becoming an old maid might have been her only other option. Yet Persephone was certain she would prefer spinsterhood over accepting a proposal from the aged Mr. Savidge.

She realized she had been staring at a stain on the front of Mr. Savidge’s coat for quite a while. The conversation had moved past Becky and her lack of children and back to tobacco. Persephone looked toward her father without hearing his words.

Her mind lingered on Becky. As if passing so young was not enough of a sorry tale, less than a year after she was in the ground her husband hardly seemed to care anymore. Indeed, the spinster’s life was looking more and more favorable.

The sun was growing smaller. At this point in the evening the warm, summer air had faded. Cerberus would be happy. The sugar waiting in Persephone’s pocket would make him even happier.

After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Nicholas finally offered that they move the conversation to his study where the supply of whiskey waited. Together, Persephone and Mrs. Tanner slipped outside and around the side of the house.

Most ladies would not leave a clean path in such finery as Mrs. Tanner wore. Yet without any prodding, she pulled up her skirts and took broad strides across the lawn.

Dusk was settling in, leaving a flattering light on the house, grounds, and individuals. Evening strolls were always preferable to afternoon walks. The heat was diminished, and the pasture was the brightest shade of green.

Final glimmers of sunlight highlighted Cerberus’ red coat making him shine. Behind the dark wood fence, between a few bay and black mares, he stood out as the most handsome. Persephone reminded herself she would always be biased, but in truth she knew her horse was the best of the Oakwood heard. Perhaps even of any horse she might come across in the colonies.

At her arrival, red ears tilted forward, and a smooth trot brought him close. He stretched his neck over the top rail. Wide eyed, his flared nose pushed against Persephone’s side. One pinch at a time, she withdrew the mound of sugar from her pocket and let him lick it off her fingers. Immediately he nuzzled her hand for more.

Persephone offered some of the mess to Mrs. Tanner. With a smile, she politely turned her down.

“It’s impressive to see a young woman so interested in horses.”

“There’s not much else to do all the way out here,” Persephone admitted. “Even if there were, Cerberus would still get most of my time.”

As soon as the sugar was gone, his attention returned to the grass. Clean steps showed his leg was healthy. Maybe not tomorrow, but the following day he would be ready to be ridden again. Persephone felt herself counting the hours.

“I expected a fine lady like you to busy yourself with parties and suitors.”

Persephone smiled, careful not to roll her eyes.

“Invitations aren’t too common all the way out here. When they do come, it’s not easy to convince Father to let me go.”

“No suitors either? I was juggling two at your age.”

Time had not been easy on Mrs. Tanner. Yet Persephone could tell she must have been lovely when she was young. Far prettier than Persephone. That would make finding and keeping the attention of any man a much simpler task.

“In my experience, men don’t seem to take to me,” Persephone focused on Cerberus’ walk. “Honestly, I’d rather be an old maid than fall into a fate like the late Mrs. Savidge.”

“We all would.”

Both of them leaned against the fence with their eyes on the heard. Each horse took single steps as they grazed. While each moved in its own direction, as a whole they stayed together as the ventured further into the pasture.

“Some men are tolerable,” Mrs. Tanner said. “Don’t judge every meal by the spoonful of sawdust you unfortunately swallowed.”

Persephone’s mind returned to the room. The frequent looks from young Warren Savidge leached into her memory. His hard gaze had seemed to slip under her dress. As she relived the memory, she could see herself grasping one of the lead candlesticks and applying it firmly to his skull.

“A few must be tolerable if you managed two.”

“More than tolerable,” she smiled. “One was Mr. Tanner. The other was almost as satisfactory.”

The herd was merging into the trees. Shadows grew darker as the sun slipped further away. Cerberus had disappeared.

“Is it too much to hope for more than satisfactory?”

“Of course not. Just make sure your choice matches your father’s opinion.”

“I think he’d be fine with anyone who’d take me off his hands.”

Fireflies began to emerge above the dark grass. They had become the pasture’s only visible inhabitants; their glow steadily getting brighter. Still, Persephone and Margaret lingered by the fence.

Without any horses in sight, Persephone’s mind remained on the topic of men. In nearly twenty years she had little time around men that were not brothers or cousins. Occasionally she found herself meeting others and discovering the brief pleasure of infatuation. Nothing ever felt long lasting. She knew she liked young men, but love and marriage always seemed like a far-off possibility. Lack of candidates pushed it even further away from probable.

The idea of being a wife was at least appealing. Bordering on desirable. Discussing it with an experienced lady was somehow fun and unpleasant at the same time. After that evening, a suitable man seemed rather unlikely. The more time Persephone spent alone, the more impossible it seemed. Besides, no man could love her as much as Cerberus.

“Perhaps I do find someone,” she said at last, “Then I move to his home and spend the rest of my life having his children.”

Persephone let out a heavy sigh. Mrs. Tanner laughed.

“Maybe, or not. Such is a woman’s life, but motherhood is not always so terrible.”

Darkness was very near. More fireflies were lighting up the evening as the grounds faded around them. Persephone stroked the pattern on the back of her mitt.

“Life is heaven for men and hell for women,” she muttered to herself.

At the house, goodbyes were exchanged from Mr. and Mrs. Tanner. Knowing Mr. Savidge would hang back perhaps another hour, Persephone excused herself for the night. She had no interest in hearing more of their clatter about harvesting tobacco or Father’s rebuttal for her tongue at the table.

Slipping out early meant he might forget. So, she daintily made her way out of the room after a moment of pleasant farewells.

Passing through the narrow space in the front door, she turned carefully to avoid bumping Mr. Warren Savidge. A gentleman might have stepped back so she could pass freely. A gentleman also would not have found her thigh and backside over her skirts as she passed.

Hell indeed.

#Persephone #queen of hell #chapter one #book teaser #persephone and hades

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