"'Tis unfortunate your property is located on the Mohawk frontier, for the valley is always in danger of attack from marauding bands of French and their Indian allies." Farnsworth drew his bushy eyebrows together. "Much as I hate to speak of it, Theo was killed in what appears to be a raid." He paused, fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and produced a small filigree cachet. "Needless to say, it will be difficult for me to find a miller to take your brother's place in such unsettled times." He opened the box to withdraw a pinch of snuff. Farnsworth touched it to his nostrils, inhaled sharply, and sneezed, spraying droplets of moisture over his cravat. "Therefore," he sniffed, "you should reserve any decisions until I have had an opportunity to see the mill and report back to you my observations."

Anne gripped the back of the brocade sofa and steeled herself for his reaction. "I plan to make the journey in your stead, Uncle Tobias."     

Farnsworth's jaw fell. "Nay! ‘Twould be folly!" he protested, almost dropping the snuffbox and its powdery contents on the fine woolen carpet. "Are you mad, girl? ‘Tis dangerous enough for a man let alone a woman." 

"Since there is little left for me here Uncle, it is my intention to quit Albany and begin anew."  And many would say good riddance. She lifted her chin. "I shall run the mill myself."

Perspiration sprang out on the solicitor's forehead, edging his heavily-powdered peruke. "When you said you'd retain the inheritance, Anne, I assumed you meant to hire another—"

"I shall leave within a fortnight, sir."

Bio:

--b. Mohawk Valley region, upstate, N.Y

--graduated: M.F.A. –art education

--public school art teacher; retired

--teacher for home-schooled students

--Interests: writing, drawing, painting, stained glass, writing & illustrating children's books, sewing

Links—

Irondequoit Lighthouse Trail