A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [486]
She spoke with considerable irony, and he smiled across the screen at her.
“That’d be nice, aye.”
“I was joking!”
“I wasn’t.” He was still smiling, but with complete seriousness behind his eyes, and she realized suddenly that this wasn’t a whim. With an odd small twist of the heart, she saw her father standing there.
One had known the care of other men from his earliest years, a part of the duty of his birthright; the other had come to it later, but both felt that burden to be the will of God, she had no doubt at all—both accepted that duty without question, would honor it, or die in trying. She only hoped it wouldn’t come to that—for either of them.
“Give me one of your hairs,” she said, looking down to hide what she felt.
“Why?” he asked, but was plucking a strand from his head even as he spoke.
“The paper. The pulp shouldn’t be spread any thicker than a hair.” She laid the black thread at the edge of the silk screen, then spread the creamy liquid thin and thinner, so it flowed past the hair but did not cover it. It flowed with the liquid, a sinuous dark line through the white, like the tiny crack on the surface of her heart.
79
ALARMS
l’oignon–INTELLIGENCER
A MARRIAGE IS ANNOUNCED. The NEW BERN INTELLIGENCER, founded by Jno. Robinson, has ceased publication with the removal of its founder to Great Britain, but we assure its Customers that this Newspaper shall not vanish altogether, as its Premises, Stock, and Subscription Lists have been acquired by the Proprietors of THE ONION, that esteemed, popular, and Preeminent Journal. The New Periodical, Much Improved and Expanded, will henceforth appear as the L’OIGNON–INTELLIGENCER, distributed upon a Weekly Basis, with Extra Editions as events demand, these provided at a modest cost of One Penny. . . .
To Mr. and Mrs. James Fraser, of the Ridge,
North Carolina, from Mr. and Mrs. Fergus Fraser,
Thorpe Street, New Bern
Dear Father and Mother Claire:
I write to acquaint you with the latest Change in our Fortunes. Mr. Robinson, who had owned the other Newspaper in the town, found himself removed to Great Britain. Literally removed, as some Persons unknown, disguised as Savages, invaded his Shop in the early Hours of the Morning, and pulled him from his Bed, hurrying him to the Harbor and there thrusting him aboard a Ship, clad only in his Nightclothes and Cap.
The Captain promptly cast off his Tethers and made Sail, leaving the Town in some Uproar, as you may imagine.
Within a Day of Mr. Robinson’s abrupt Departure, though, we were visited by two separate Parties (I cannot write their Names, being discreet as you will appreciate). One of these was a Member of the local Committee of Safety—which everyone knows was behind Mr. Robinson’s Removal, but no one says so. He was civil in his Speech, but his manner was not so much. He wished, he said, to assure himself that Fergus did not share the Willfully Wrongheaded Sentiments so oft expressed by Mr. Robinson, regarding recent Events and Particulars.
Fergus told him with a very straight face that he would not chuse to share so much as a Glass of Wine with Mr. Robinson (which he could not, Mr. Robinson being Methody and against Drink), and the Gentleman took this to mean what he wished, and went away satisfied, and gave Fergus a Purse of Money.
Next thing comes another Gentleman, fat and most Important in the Affairs of the Town, and a Member of the Royal Council, though I did not know it at the time. His Errand was the Same—or rather, the Opposite: he wished to inquire whether Fergus was inclined to acquire Mr. Robinson’s Assets, so to continue his work on behalf of the King—that being the printing of some Letters, and the Suppression of Others.
Fergus says to this Gentleman, most grave, that he has always found Much to admire in Mr. Robinson (chiefly his horse, which is gray and very amiable, and the curious Buckles on his Shoes), but adding that we have barely Means to buy Ink and Paper, and so he feared we must resign ourselves to the Acquisition of Mr. Robinson’s Shop by