The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution Read Online Free PDF Page B

think I should add a second
page?"
    Betsy blinked at her.   "It's been seven years since I helped
with a print run."   And she hadn't
missed it at all.   Printing was filthy,
grueling work.   "A few calculations
should show whether the increase in your expenses is worth adding a second
page."   Her back to the window, she
glanced at the workbench near her elbow, where Susana had composed an article,
letters arranged backwards.   Her brain
inverted type.   Someone named Reverend
Gunn had authored the article.
    "I'm not good at numbers.   Might you help me after supper?"   At Betsy's gesture of acquiescence, Susana
smiled and squeezed her hand.   In her
peripheral vision, Betsy saw a flash of scarlet uniform on the porch.   The relief on her aunt's face converted to a
snarl, and she lowered her voice at the sound of the shop bell jingling.   "Wait here while I get rid of that ghoul ."
    After she huffed from the
pressroom, Betsy read a line from the preacher's article: Only then shall
man be at peace with his god .
    In the shop, Susana snapped,
"We're closed for the day."
    The soldier responded, "I
think not, else you'd have changed the sign in the front window.   I shall have a look around.   You're acting culpable, as if you've
something to hide."
    Susana's voice rose to a
whine.   "I have family
visiting.   That's why I've closed early
today.   I've nothing to hide.   Very well, look around.   I lost a scissors in that rat's clutter last
week.   Do let me know if you find
them."
    With the soldier and Susana
occupied in the shop, an impish smile seized Betsy's lips.   She inverted a "g" and
"d" on the stick and inspected Reverend Gunn's revised message: Only
then shall man be at peace with his dog .   Animal worship.   Now Alton was
the exciting "somewhere" Susana longed to be.
    While wiping ink off her fingers,
Betsy heard anxiety rise in Susana's voice: "Begone!   You've no right to snoop about."
    "To the contrary, madam, I've
heard you express seditious sympathies.   My superiors are loath to imagine women acting as spies, but I'm not
handicapped by such views.   In light of
your family's recent activities, you'd make a perfect rebel courier."
    Well, he certainly was yanking
Susana around.   Not that her pretentious
aunt didn't deserve a little yanking around.   Betsy meandered to the doorway of the pressroom, crossed arms over her
chest, and leaned against the doorjamb to watch the show.
    The soldier scoured shelves, piles,
and boxes with his gaze, aware that Susana fidgeted behind him when he'd poke
in a shelf or box.   He'd laid his cocked
hat on the counter next to the package.   A plait of russet hair extended over his collar, and he sported a tan on
his hands and face.   Approximately
Stoddard's age and height, he moved with the confidence and solid musculature
of a man at home in his body, not like the striplings she knew in Augusta.   And not at all like Stoddard, either.
    "How rude of you to come in
just to heckle me!"
    "Just to heckle you?   Hardly.   I've a letter to post."   He
whipped it from his waistcoat pocket.   Betsy's gaze snagged on braid ornamenting his left shoulder.   Lieutenant.   So this was Fairfax, so disliked by his peers and her uncle.   Maybe it was his arrogance.   Her gaze roved his profile, and she recalled
the pimples on Stoddard's chin.   Not a
pimple in sight on Fairfax.
    "We're closed.   Return at nine on the morrow for the
post."
    "My dear Mrs. Greeley, I'm
charmed.   You've enjoyed my company
enough to detain me in Alton another day."
    Betsy could almost hear her aunt's
teeth grinding.   She stifled a snort
while Susana rose to the bait again and snatched his letter.   "Then I shall post it for
you."   She marched around the
counter, dragged the ledger out from the shelf, and slapped it down before her,
pluming a cloud of dust into the air.
    While she readied quill and inkwell
and flipped open the ledger, Fairfax laid coins on the counter.