Free Summer's Passing by Randy Mixter Page B

shadows and showing its scarred face in the bright light of the day.

21
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    The season passed and Rachel healed, with the help of Morgan who always seemed close by when needed. They walked often and each time he supported her less. She became stronger as the summer aged; stronger physically and stronger in spirit.
    The days flowed together with an unexpected ease. Morgan became a teacher, with Rachel as his attentive student. Some days they sat together in a field of clover and wildflowers, while Morgan talked of past adventures in faraway lands. On other days, she read from the many books Morgan had acquired through the years, or she amused herself with his collection of jewels and trinkets collected on one of his voyages across the great seas.
    Morgan held her near at night and when in his arms, the strange noises of the forest ceased and she only heard the strong beating of his heart.
     
    "Would you care to join me for a stroll to the market?" Morgan asked, shortly after their morning meal. "I believe you're up to it."
    "I'd love to join you," Rachel replied. "Do I need to bring anything with me?"
    "Your courage will suffice," Morgan answered.
    Morgan kept a slow pace as they walked through the trees. Rachel suspected it was due to her hobbling. Her leg had mended properly but remained weak and unpredictable. She found that if it took too much of her weight, it would simply give up and she would tumble to the ground. On that occasion she wanted no part of the soil beneath her feet; she wore her favorite dress, one of the several given to her by Morgan after a long day away.
    "I traded some trinkets with a gypsy traveling along the path for these,” Morgan had said, lying the four dresses in front of her. “I hope they meet your approval."
    "They are beautiful," Rachel replied, though one caught her eye immediately. The dress was white and adorned with the most beautiful flowers, some of which she had never seen before.
    "The gypsy told me the dresses would last forever if properly maintained. I trust you will take care of them."
    "I certainly will," she said. 
    Rachel sat on her bed and ran her hand across the fabric. 
    "I must try these on. Do you mind?"
    Morgan took a seat in the chair facing the bed. "Not at all," he said.
     
    The sun had not yet centered itself above them when they walked out of the trees and on to a well-worn path. 
    "This is the carriage road," Morgan said. "We can follow it into town. Do you need to rest? We still have a distance to travel."
    "No. I'll rest in the town." She turned onto the path and resumed her awkward gait.
    "Rachel."
    She turned behind her. "Am I going too fast for you?" She asked with a bit of smugness.
    "No, but you are going in the wrong direction." He pointed to his left. "The town is this way."
     
    The town, when they came to it, was everything that she had imagined: a collection of open stalls lining both sides of the dirt road. A smattering of cottages and shops completed the scenario, along with the mass of humanity, of all ages, wandering about, shopping and browsing.
    There would be no rest for Rachel now. She insisted on seeing everything, in a leisurely manner, and with Morgan by her side, proceeded to do just that.
    They strolled one side of the road, and then traversed to the other, stopping at every stall no matter what the wares.
    "So, Morgan, is this the young beauty I've heard so much about?" An elderly woman behind a counter of assorted vegetables asked.
    "It is indeed," Morgan answered.
    "My dear lady, I am Corinna, daughter of Samuel the town's horseman."
    "Pleased to meet you," Rachel said as she curtsied. It became a somewhat awkward maneuver as she favored her good leg, and drew a smile from the merchant. 
    "My dear, careful you don't take a spill out of politeness," Corinna added.
    "If I may ask," Rachel said once she regained her dignity. "What is a horseman?"
    "The town's horseman stables the horses of those passing through and tends to their