Free Rebellious Bride by Lizbeth Dusseau

observed. “You’d better behave, or
you know what happens.”
    She pursed her lips into a little pout, and said nothing.
    “No
change of plans. You understand?” He scrutinized her face looking for a
sincere reply.
    “Well . .
.” she hedged.
    “Abigail
… You understand?” he asked again.
    “Of
course, I understand. How could I not,” she snapped. “Darcy and I
will behave like two little lambs today, you have nothing to wont’ about.”
    “Good,”
he said, noting the sweet expression that replaced the annoyed one. He gave her
a peck on the lips and left the house.
    “ Daminit ! Sometimes I feel like I’m still in my father’s
house,” Abigail said.
    “Aw, he’s
just being protective. I think it’s rather endearing.”
    “Not if
you feel like your every move is watched.”
    “You’re
being overly sensitive. We just won’t go up on the ridge. But we will have some
fun, fun Aaron Barrow will never get wind of.”
    “Oh? You
have something special in mind?” Abigail asked her face suddenly
brightening.
    “Well,”
Darcy considered for a minute. “I do know this old woman who lives a
couple of miles from here, down the gorge. You can go down there, can’t
you?”
    “I
suppose so,” she said. “Aaron’s never told me I couldn’t.”
    “Good,”
Darcy said. “That’s where we’ll go. And that old lady has a surprise I
think you’ll love.” There was a devil’s grin on Darcy’s face that made
Abigail wonder just what mischief her friend had in mind.
    It was at
least two miles to old Hannah’s house, it might have been longer, but it was
hard to say: the terrain was diffi cult to traverse,
nearly as risky as the ridge, though at least this wasn’t a steep vertical
climb. By the time the two arrived at Old Hannah’s place they were exhausted.
    “Darcy
Greenwood!” the old woman greeted them. “Been years since I’ve seen
you, girl. And where’s that old pappy of yours?”
    “Gone far
from me, Hannah,” Darcy said giving the woman a fond hug.
    Old Hannah had
a nearly toothless smile and her tattered dress looked ancient, but that hardly
dampened her spirit or the welcome she gave them. I’m glad you came,” she
said. “Just brewed up some-thing really special for you, you’re going to
love this.”
    The old woman
disappeared into her rickety cabin, and came back a few minutes later with two
mugs in her hands. Darcy tasted the drink first, her eyes brightening
instantly.
    “I think
this is just what you need,” she told Abigail. “Drink up.”
    “What is
it?” Abigail asked.
    “Just try
it,” Darcy encouraged her. “I swear it will make you forget all your trou-bles .”
    Abigail took
one long gulp of the liq-uid , and practically spit it
out.
    “Don’t
waste it,” Darcy shouted at her.
    “It’s
terrible. It’s spirits isn’t it?” She couldn’t think of anything else.
    “You have
to get used to them, acquire a taste. But believe me, sometimes it’s well worth
the trouble,” Hannah said.
    Abigail took
another drink, and then another. She’d had a little wine in her father’s house,
but nothing like this, nothing that tasted so bad or had quite the effect that
this did on her mind.
    While they
drank that afternoon, and ate the picnic that Abigail had made, the three women
talked. It seemed their con versations about the
mountains, and new settlers, and Darcy’s escapades, and Abigail’s feelings about
her new home, could go on forever. Without really being aware of time passing,
the day began to fade, the long afternoon shadows beginning to appear.
    “Oh my,
Darcy,” Abigail suddenly gasped, when she looked to see the sun now low in
the sky. “Don’t you think we’d best get back?” Funny, it was
difficult to talk. She was feeling light-headed and kind of silly, realizing
that she was slurring her words.
    “I
suppose,” Darcy replied, in a languid stupor. She was feeling lethargic
and giddy too.
    “You two should
wait a bit,” Hannah said. ”