The Legends of Lake on the Mountain by Roderick Benns Page B

sugar.”
    â€œI’m fresh out of dark green but there’s this dark blue shade here, or a lovely rich brown,” said Hannah, holding up the cloth.
    Moll pictured the quilts for the fall at their house.
    â€œI’ll take the brown, then, thank you.” Hannah was someone Moll had long admired. Perhaps it was her independence she found so attractive. As Hannah began to measure the brown sugar, Moll could see a streak of black on the right side of her neck.
    â€œMiss Pringle…you have a long, black mark – here,” said Moll moving toward her and pointing to her own neck.
    â€œOh – thank you,” she said, backing up from Moll and nearly tripping. “I can get it with a rag in the back. In fact, why don’t you just write down what you need to take here,” she said, pushing a ledger forward on the counter. “I’ll simply put it on your tab. Yes, that will work just fine,” she said, answering for Moll. “Take care now.”
    â€œBut…”
    The store owner rushed into the back room and closed the door, leaving Moll to finish shopping for herself.
    ***
    Darius Marshall sat on a wooden stool facing Anson Rightmyer. He gently stroked the back of the feeble sparrow with his thumb and hummed. He had noticed the bird struggling to fly last week, its left wing in distress – likely from a larger bird. It might need some extra attention and rest before it could fly again.
    His eyes drifted to a copy of the news sheet which questioned the politics of the Tories. It was perfect timing, he had to admit. He wished he had made it himself. But whoever the printer was, he was grateful for the man’s timing.
    Looking up, Darius smiled at the shirtless Anson Rightmyer. He didn’t want it to be this way and yet his men were overly protective. He tried to broaden it beyond the grin that was usually plastered across his face. As he stared at the sweat beading on Anson’s forehead, he wondered what it was that separated a killer from a kidnapper. Courage? Caution?
    Darius straightened his back, then stood and leaned against the cabin’s rough wall to consider his own question. In the past, he had been trained to kill as a soldier and would do so again if the situation suited him. For now, that would accelerate plans too swiftly. The wandering, nine-fingered farmer had gotten too close for his own good. Darius and his men had no choice but to take action.
    The others moved like cougars in the forest, as he had once done, always aware of their prey, always committed to victory.
    Darius knew he was out of practice compared to the eight, younger men who worked for him. And yet they respected him for past glories. They were allowing him to once again lead them because Darius told them he was on a secret mission with the backing of U.S. President John Quincy Adams.
    He was going to bring democracy to this sad, pathetic colony. A colony that took so much from its people. Just as the Family Compact drove him out of York. Just like one of these same godless men stole his wife, Sophia. He would bring the one thing the Tories could not deal with – a complete loss of control.
    He and Sophia had moved to York after the ‘incident,’ as he liked to call it. With a great deal of practice, they had shed their Kentuckian accents and took their place in Upper Canadian society. Ironic, wasn’t it? He had fought so hard against British North America, only to end up living among them.
    But Sophia hated York. It was too rough for her sensibilities, no matter what Darius tried to do. She blamed him for the downturn her life had taken.
    And that’s when Edgar had shown up, born and bred into the Family Compact. A smug, rich Brit with a sense of entitlement, if ever there was one. He and Sophia had met at a dance they had all attended. Within a month, she had declared she was leaving him for Edgar.
    Darius bit into his tongue as he remembered the humiliation.