Free The Chronicles of Marr-nia (Short Stories Starring Barbara Marr) by Karen Cantwell

would consider a person of good spirit if he revered a man the likes of Mr. Lincoln.   Not a popular sentiment for a woman from the South, Rosabelle knew, but she did not often subscribe to opinions just because they were popular.
    “I have no need for a doctor, sir.   A brisk walk in the fresh air and some tea at our destination will be the only medicine I need.”   She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.   “Flora, could you help me to my feet please?”   Rosabelle placed a hand in the shallow snow to give her some leverage, while holding the other up for her sister’s assistance.
    “Here, let me help.”   Eli Witherspoon, the young man who had touched Rosabelle’s hand by way of introduction just moments earlier, was about to touch her again by placing his own hand under her back as support in her attempt to stand.
    Signaling him to keep his distance, Rosabelle rebuffed his offer promptly.   “No!   You have done enough.”   Stuttering a moment on her words, she quickly corrected herself.   “What I mean to say is you are too kind.   Truly, sir, your assistance is unnecessary.   We have a system, my sister and I.”   With minor struggle, Rosabelle was on her feet.   She quickly tucked the wayward strands back into her snood, attempting to regain some appearance of dignity.   “See?   I am upright.”   Rosabelle gave a slight curtsy to Mr. Witherspoon while brushing snow from her sapphire velvet cape, then placed her hands back in her muff for warmth.   Only then did she recognize the newspaper the young man held.
    “Interesting article, is it not?”   Rosabelle asked.
    He looked at the paper with an odd expression, as if it had materialized out of nowhere.   “Ah.   Well . . .” He cleared his throat.   “I have not read this paper yet.”   He fidgeted in a nervous manner, shoving the paper under his arm.
    “You should!”   Flora exclaimed, her eyes brightening.   “Rosa and I read it earlier today – a fascinating story about a lady spy!   What was her name, Rosa ?”
    “Abigail.   Abigail Dawes,” Rosabelle answered, studying the distracted Mr. Witherspoon intently.
    “That is the name!”   Flora said.   “A lady spy for the South.   Evidently she is a master of disguise.   It is very intriguing.   She escaped from jail some three weeks ago now.   Gives me goose pimples all over my arms.”
    Mr. Witherspoon pulled a watch from his breast pocket to check the time.   “That . . . is . . . yes.   Interesting.   Well, excuse me for my abruptness, but . . .”
    “No.”   Rosabelle put her hand up as if to stop his words mid-air.   “Excuse us, sir.   Come, Flora, we will be late for our engagement with the Waters family.”
    Rosabelle rushed away, her long hooped skirt pushing the snow along like a plow, while Flora, trailing desperately behind her, looked back at Eli Witherspoon, giving him an apologetic smile.
    Flora’s interest in Mr. Witherspoon was not lost on Rosabelle , but she did not have time to be concerned with such trivial matters.   Not since her recollection.
    “ Rosa ,” Flora wheezed, finally reaching her sister.   “You were so rude to Mr. Witherspoon.”
    “Me, rude?   Did you see how strangely he was behaving?”
    “Maybe you intimidated him.   You have that effect on people.   Oh!   I very much wanted to speak with him longer.”
    “Sister,” Rosabelle said, stopping abruptly and pointing down the road from where they had come.   “Look.   Your Mr. Witherspoon has disappeared into thin air.”   Indeed there was no sign of the man.
    Rosabelle continued on.   “And did you hear him say he had not yet read the newspaper?”
    “Well—”
    “Yet it was crinkled and worn and turned to the Abigail Dawes article several pages in.”
    “But—”
    “Flora, something is afoot with that man, and before the day is done, he will either kill or be killed.   If you have an interest in this Mr. Eli Witherspoon, come