Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos Read Online Free PDF

wounded or killed, even without the stage blood he'd offered to bring.
    "I think there's a skirmish next month," Michael said, taking a piece of parchment-colored paper out of an inside pocket. "Yes. Around Thanksgiving."
    "I think both our families are expecting us for Thanksgiving," I said.
    "Great; that's perfect – I'm sure your dad would love to come, too. He's been having a great time; all the guys love his booth. I'll go ask him, shall I?"
    He ran off, clutching his parchment, without waiting for an answer.
    "Oh, Lord," I muttered.

 
    "What's wrong, honey?" Amanda asked, dodging a stroller as she crossed the aisle to my booth. "You seem upset about something."
    "Michael's having much too good a time doing this reenactment stuff," I said.
    "Isn't it sweet?" Eileen said. "They never really grow up, do they?"
    "No, they don't," Amanda grumbled.
    "He's talking about keeping on with it after this weekend," I said.
    "Well, that's nice," Eileen said. "It's something you can do together, isn't it?"
    "It involves camping out in ruggedly authentic colonial conditions," I said. "I'm not very keen on camping out under any conditions."
    "I'm a city girl; I know just how you feel," Amanda said, looking around as if the nearby trees scared her more than muggers. "And my idea of camping out is staying at a hotel without a four-star restaurant."
    "You wouldn't like these outings," I said. "The one I went to, they served salt beef and hardtack."
    "Is that stuff even edible?" Amanda asked, wrinkling her nose.
    "Theoretically, I suppose; although if you ask me, they almost make starving to death sound like a sensible lifestyle option," I said. "I couldn't wait to get to a McDonald's afterwards. For that matter, neither could Michael."
    "Maybe he's not serious about keeping on with it, then," Amanda said.
    "Sounded serious to me," I said. "He's gone off to Dad's booth to enlist him, too."
    "I didn't know your dad had a booth," Eileen said. "What on Earth is he selling?"
    "Band-Aids and cheap thrills," I said, rolling my eyes.
    "What?" Amanda asked.
    "He volunteered to organize the first-aid station," I explained. "Somehow he convinced Michael's mother that it would be a good idea to have it serve as an educational tool, too."
    "What a wonderful idea," Eileen said.
    "So he's done up a replica of a what an army medical tent would look like in 1781, authentic down to the last gory detail."
    "Oh, gross," Amanda said.
    "Don't let Dad hear you say that," I said. "It's one of his hobbies, collecting antique medical equipment. He's absolutely tickled at having a chance to show it all off. Although all of the surgical instruments are reproductions that he had me make. You don't find that many genuine eighteenth-century scalpels and surgical saws floating around, and if you do, you don't take them out in humidity like this."
    "He's not actually getting any patients, is he?"
    "He had a few people earlier who thought they had heat exhaustion, but the authentic colonial operating table seems to have marvelous healing powers. None of them felt the need to lie down on one of the camp beds after seeing that exhibit."
    "Imagine that," Amanda said, chuckling. "Oops – got a customer back at the booth; catch you later."
    Eileen and I had customers of our own, and for the next hour or so, my mood improved considerably as great numbers of sightseers and a smaller but satisfactory number of buyers wandered through the booth. The day stopped feeling like a ghastly mistake and more like a pretty normal first day at the craft fair.
    Well, maybe not completely normal. In addition to a reasonable number of tourists and shoppers in modern dress, the aisles thronged with soldiers – redcoats sweating under bearskin hats; the occasional French soldier, scanning the ground for mud that might sully his spotless white uniform and hordes of blue-coated Continental soldiers, most with the red cuffs and lapels that indicated a Virginia regiment, but some with the white,