Free Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) by Baird Wells

“Potatoes! Look at them all.” She
slipped from the horse, Porter hopping down behind. He pulled a musket from its
saddle-sleeve, slinging the shot bag around his neck.
    Porter scanned the area. “I'll flush
the trees. Rabbit and potatoes for supper couldn't hurt.” They smiled at each
other a moment, enjoying the idea of something besides camp rations. Just
because they were there out of necessity didn't mean they couldn't incorporate
a little luxury into their errand.
    Kate unhooked a burlap duffle from
the saddle. “I'll see what I can find around here. Bring me back a stick when
you come? We'll pry loose some potatoes after we beat back the snakes.”
    “You'll be alright here?” he asked.
    Kate pointed to the saddle bag.
“Pistol if I need it. Otherwise I'm fine.”
    He nodded, shouldering the musket's
weathered stock. “Call out if you get in a bad way.”
    She nodded with three years of trust
accumulated by bailing one another out of every kind of scrape.
    He moved into the high scrub between
the oaks and elm, and Kate turned her attention to the area around the house.
The chimney towered stubbornly despite crumbling mortar between every joint.
Hopping up on the wall, she tottered along its uneven spine to avoid anything
lurking in the bushes until she had circled behind the carcass of the
fireplace. On the back side of the chimney's smooth gray river stones, in damp
shade, she discovered a family of tenacious blackberries hugging the wall.           Scooping
a handful of pebbles from the old floorboards, she pitched them into the
brambles. When nothing slithered or scurried, Kate shook out her sack, sat
down, and went to work. Blackberries were grounds for gluttony, as far as she
was concerned. Pies, wine, preserves were all her undoing. She felt stingy with
her small bounty, unable to decide on any single application for the delicious
berries.
    She picked until her fingertips were
stained purple, the backs of her hands stinging from the thorns.
    Crunching in the undergrowth brought
her eyes to the tree line. Porter emerged from the shade with a grin, and a
pair of pheasants dangling from his fist. “Not cottontail, but they'll fill our
bellies.”
    It had been a long time since she
had felt real anticipation for supper. She rubbed her hands together. “Ready to
dig some potatoes?”
    He chuckled. “Ready to eat them, so
the work's got to be done.”
    She took the branch from his other
hand. “Jamaican grandmother?”
    “Mmhmm. Ornery old witch.” Porter's
tales of his grandmother were amusing, and Kate suspected there was a strong
bond between them despite his barbs.
    “Hmph. I like her.” Kate used the
branch and Porter the butt of his musket, stirring the grass tufting up between
the potato plants. “I think I would like to see Jamaica, whenever we're done
here.”
    Porter shrugged. “Never been there.”
    “Not even once? I guess I always
assumed,” said Kate.
    “My grandmama's people had a feud with
my granddad's people in Trinidad. She went along with the men, meanin' to put
hex on him.” He whistled. “Got one look at Josue and never went home.”
    Kate grabbed a bush, shaking sand
vigorously from the roots. “Decided not to hex him after all?”
    “She was the hex. Poor
grandad.”
    “Hah! Perhaps he deserved it. I
might have used just a touch of voodoo on my husband.”
    Porter tried to purse his
heart-shaped lips, but laughter shook him. “You and my grandmother – dangerous
pair of snakes.”
    “Good company.” Laughing, Kate
stuffed a final dirty handful of potatoes into the overflowing sack. “Remember
when we were in the Pyrenees? All we had for ages was oats and potatoes. Well,
it felt that way. I swore I would never eat another one, but now,” she
hefted the burlap tongues into his waiting hands, “I'm actually looking forward
to it.”
    “Anything else?” While Porter
secured their load, Kate turned and searched the clearing.
    “Looks like some comfrey