The Scarlet Wench Read Online Free Page A
Author: Marni Graff
disappear.
Nora waved as Simon honked and drove away toward the train station in Windermere. She would keep Simon’s financial worries at the back of her mind for the next week and hope ticket sales kept increasing. Handing Sean his favorite stuffed bunny, she decided to do everything in her power to make this play a success and attract new customers to Ramsey Lodge.
*
10:50 AM
Nora approached St Martin’s, admiring the sandstone exterior and unusual lead roof while she mulled over the lodge’s precarious situation. There had been a church on this site since the early 1200s ; it had evolved to a mix of modern touches with a reverence for its roots. Nora had used the church for Sean’s December christening, and Kate had married Ian here two days ago.
The original wooden doors sported etched-glass inner doors commemorating the new millennium, echoing the mix of old and new. Nora pushed Sean into the church’s cool interior. The baby seemed awed by the dark nave, unaware he’d been the center of attention when the vicar had poured holy water over his forehead from the font that had survived a fire in 1480 . All eyes had been turned toward Val and Simon, his godparents. Sean had frowned and gurgled his annoyance, then gone promptly back to sleep, setting up a ripple of laughter in the congregation. Nora carefully lifted the font’s lid and, as promised by the altar guild ladies, found Kate’s lace, folded in blue tissue paper inside a carrier bag.
Nora passed memorials, set into the walls, dating back to 1631 and admired the east window; its crucifixion scene in jeweled stained glass glowed in the late-morning sunlight. She’d used the church as a setting for her second book. Her cranky gnome, sightseeing off Belle Isle by sneaking from the private island onto the Sawrey ferry, falls into one of the church’s organ pipes and has to be rescued by the rest of the fairies. Simon had labored over illustrations of the church’s ceiling beams, stenciled in religious quotations in gold. As homage to Nora’s American background, they’d decided to include the coat of arms of John Wessington, ancestor to George Washington, displayed in the interior. Nora felt pleased she’d been able to incorporate the space’s strong history to young readers without hitting them over the head with it.
A sound like sobbing reached Nora from outside. She stopped in her tracks to listen but the noise ended, and she wondered if it was the spring breeze she’d heard, whistling through an ancient window. She glanced at Sean; his eyelids flickered in the dim light. She sat down in a pew next to him to allow him to fall asleep, stowing the carrier bag under the buggy. The mixed scents of burned candles, cool stone and old wood surrounded her and brought her back to Saturday’s wedding.
There had been enough tartans and kilts to make her dizzy, and Simon had explained the extras that went into the outfit, like the purse called a sporran that hung in front of the kilt and the oddly named knife, a sgian dubh, that was stuck into knee socks. There had been a lot of jokes about what kilted men wore—or didn’t—underneath, but she’d never received a straight answer. If Declan had been there, she might’ve been tempted to find out.
Kate had been lovely in her mother’s dress, a simple 1970 s empire gown with an embroidered overlay she’d made her own by running a length of Forbes tartan from one shoulder to under her bust. She’d pinned it in place with a fresh nosegay that matched the flower circlet that held her grandmother’s veil in place. Forbes was her new mother-in-law’s clan, and Kate’s tribute had endeared her to Ian’s family. Ian had worn a kilt in the same tartan as he’d waited at the altar. Nora’s great joy for the newlyweds had felt tinged with sadness that she had skipped this traditional step on her way to motherhood.
But then marrying Paul would have been a truly bad idea, one
Nora waved as Simon honked and drove away toward the train station in Windermere. She would keep Simon’s financial worries at the back of her mind for the next week and hope ticket sales kept increasing. Handing Sean his favorite stuffed bunny, she decided to do everything in her power to make this play a success and attract new customers to Ramsey Lodge.
*
10:50 AM
Nora approached St Martin’s, admiring the sandstone exterior and unusual lead roof while she mulled over the lodge’s precarious situation. There had been a church on this site since the early 1200s ; it had evolved to a mix of modern touches with a reverence for its roots. Nora had used the church for Sean’s December christening, and Kate had married Ian here two days ago.
The original wooden doors sported etched-glass inner doors commemorating the new millennium, echoing the mix of old and new. Nora pushed Sean into the church’s cool interior. The baby seemed awed by the dark nave, unaware he’d been the center of attention when the vicar had poured holy water over his forehead from the font that had survived a fire in 1480 . All eyes had been turned toward Val and Simon, his godparents. Sean had frowned and gurgled his annoyance, then gone promptly back to sleep, setting up a ripple of laughter in the congregation. Nora carefully lifted the font’s lid and, as promised by the altar guild ladies, found Kate’s lace, folded in blue tissue paper inside a carrier bag.
Nora passed memorials, set into the walls, dating back to 1631 and admired the east window; its crucifixion scene in jeweled stained glass glowed in the late-morning sunlight. She’d used the church as a setting for her second book. Her cranky gnome, sightseeing off Belle Isle by sneaking from the private island onto the Sawrey ferry, falls into one of the church’s organ pipes and has to be rescued by the rest of the fairies. Simon had labored over illustrations of the church’s ceiling beams, stenciled in religious quotations in gold. As homage to Nora’s American background, they’d decided to include the coat of arms of John Wessington, ancestor to George Washington, displayed in the interior. Nora felt pleased she’d been able to incorporate the space’s strong history to young readers without hitting them over the head with it.
A sound like sobbing reached Nora from outside. She stopped in her tracks to listen but the noise ended, and she wondered if it was the spring breeze she’d heard, whistling through an ancient window. She glanced at Sean; his eyelids flickered in the dim light. She sat down in a pew next to him to allow him to fall asleep, stowing the carrier bag under the buggy. The mixed scents of burned candles, cool stone and old wood surrounded her and brought her back to Saturday’s wedding.
There had been enough tartans and kilts to make her dizzy, and Simon had explained the extras that went into the outfit, like the purse called a sporran that hung in front of the kilt and the oddly named knife, a sgian dubh, that was stuck into knee socks. There had been a lot of jokes about what kilted men wore—or didn’t—underneath, but she’d never received a straight answer. If Declan had been there, she might’ve been tempted to find out.
Kate had been lovely in her mother’s dress, a simple 1970 s empire gown with an embroidered overlay she’d made her own by running a length of Forbes tartan from one shoulder to under her bust. She’d pinned it in place with a fresh nosegay that matched the flower circlet that held her grandmother’s veil in place. Forbes was her new mother-in-law’s clan, and Kate’s tribute had endeared her to Ian’s family. Ian had worn a kilt in the same tartan as he’d waited at the altar. Nora’s great joy for the newlyweds had felt tinged with sadness that she had skipped this traditional step on her way to motherhood.
But then marrying Paul would have been a truly bad idea, one
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