an ongoing serial by William and Elisha Thorpopoulis
The most anyone had gained from her arrival was a headache. Not to say that she wasn’t welcome, nor her baggage, but the other residence where always sceptical of new folk, especially pregnant thirteen year olds.
She stumbled into town, ragged, filthy, other villages might have discarded her as nothing more than trash, but not widow Watring who untangled herself from her knitting as she scurried out into the snow to help the young girl.
The bruised face of the fragile blonde looked sullen, death warmed up-going cold, Watring threw her own dressing gown over the child, forced her arms under the girls and with a surge of strength- and tenacity, lifted the girl and rushed her inside.
It wasn’t until the young teenager was safe on the couch near the fire place that Watring collapsed into her own recliner.
(ps this is our 99th post, be sure to check back very soon for an extra special ONE HUNDRETH POST!!! WOOWOO!)
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