Welcome! This is Thanksgiving week. So we have an appropriate word prompt, "thanks". We're returning to the world of Colonial America again this week with more of Sam's story. When you're done here, please stop over and read the other stories by our wonderful Tuesday Tales writers. You'll find them HERE.
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After
their intimacy, Violet pushed her skirt down and smoothed the cotton fabric.
Sam ran his fingers through his hair. What had he done? Shame filled him. He’d
gone over the line and done the one thing Caleb told him not to do. But he
couldn’t take it back now.
He wracked his brain, looking for a
way out, a way to make it better. While Violet fussed with her hair, an idea
great in his brain. Shyly, with a hoarse voice, Sam reached for Violet. He took
her arm and gently turned her to face him.
“Violet, I love you. Will you marry
me?”
She laughed. “Feeling guilty already?”
“No, no,” Sam lied.
“Yes, you are. If I don’t end up with
child, we can simply admit we got carried away. I won’t hold you to your
proposal. Here, help me with my dress,” she said, turning her back to him.
He laced up the back, tying and fastening
whatever he could see in the dim light before he spoke.
“But I did the wrong thing. I wasn’t
a gentleman. I took advantage.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said, patting
his cheek.
He took her hand and pressed it to
his lips. “You’re special, Violet.”
She primped one last time. “How do I
look?”
Sam leaned back a tad and looked her
over. “I’ll be darned. You look like you just stepped out of your house, ready
to go to the harvest festival.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Let’s set you to rights,” she said, fussing with his hair and buttoning his shirt. “You’re
half naked.”
Cool air on his skin reminded him of
his state of undress. He rose to his feet and put his clothing back together. Once
he was dressed, he faced her.
“You’re beautiful.”
She took his face in her hands and
kissed him soundly. “I love you, Sam Chesney.”
“Come be my wife. Live with me on my
farm.” He stroked her cheek.
She smiled, but kept silent. “I must
get home.”
“I’ll speak to your father tomorrow,”
he said.
She took his arm and matched her
stride to his. “We’ll see.”