I rose and walked across the room so I could lean over the
open half-door into the yard. A stranger stood by the pump – a man
dressed in a dusty leather coat, his wide-brimmed hat obscuring his
features as he patted Missy.
The traitorous dog’s tail wagged.
“Can I help you?” I called, and tried to keep my voice from
wobbling.
We so very rarely received visitors of any kind. Our holding
was at the top of the valley, and the wain trail ended by us. Even
the mule drivers preferred the shortcut across the next glen from
ours.
My unexpected visitor looked up and smiled. “Sorry to be a
bother, ma’am, but I was wondering if I might trouble you for a
drink of water.” A flash of even white teeth greeted me.
The knobkerrie was reassuringly close, but the man did not
look like trouble.
