The Time Writer and the March by Alex R Crawford

Author:Alex R Crawford [Crawford, Alex R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781953485069
Publisher: Spilled Red Ink

Chapter Twenty

By mid-April, everyone settled in, and the meeting of the masterminds was to begin in Carlyle’s parlor. I wasn’t sure how many people they packed in the rooms and who slept in which room or with whom. Sarah and I had devised a grand sleeping plan, but that seemed to fly out the window as soon as everyone started showing up. Bodies piled throughout the house in a drunken slumber. We moved the chairs from the dining room, music room, foyer, and any other spare chair we could find into the parlor for the assembly. They didn’t invite me. Bastards. They didn’t believe a woman’s place was at the table. I had to remind myself this was 1755 and it would take another 250 years before I would be accepted.

Where there is a will to be involved, there is a way to make it happen. And I had every intention of getting my freckled little button nose in the middle of their discussion. Fortunately for me, every door and window were opened to allow air and people circulation. Nonchalantly, I brought drinks, food, remove a plate, or find some other way to saunter through the room in order to listen and eye Henry as he sat against a wall away from the chaotic planning.

“Wagons! We need wagons and horses!” Braddock’s thunderous demands reverberated throughout the room. The tray of tea I carried shook as I nearly dropped it at the outburst. “How are we supposed to take back the fort without equipment?”

I slinked my way through the room and stood next to a man seated off to the side. The occupant of the chair next to him left to find the privy. I plopped next to him and balanced the tray on my lap, hoping I would remain unnoticed. Looking over towards the man, he glanced at me. We each gave a quick smile, and he added a nod. I couldn't place the face, but he seemed familiar to me. He appeared to be in older than me, in his mid-fifties, perhaps. He leaned towards me and whispered, “Does any of this pomposity interest you?”

“I like to know what’s going on,” I whispered. I looked over at the man, dressed in brown from head to toe. Well, his shoes were black leather, with an intricate buckle. “Why are you here?”

“They desired the Postmaster General to attend, to confirm the passage of their correspondence as they go about this escapade.” The man sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs.

I cocked my head to the side and looked over at Braddock’s face as it turned fifty shades of red. I leaned close to the postmaster, and whispered, “I suppose for logistical reasons, that makes sense.” I leaned in closer. “However, if you ask me, and I know you didn’t, but they are completely unprepared and don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. Braddock’s blustering is going to send John, Major Carlyle, into a twisted ball of stress and make Sarah a widow.

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