Rebecca Wentworth's Distraction by Robert J. Begiebing

Worthington.”
    â€œI’ll send her,” Carlyle said. “Worthington. I’ll see to it she’s warned to bring plenty of camphorated spirits for this man.” Carlyle turned to McGuire. “My horse ready?”
    â€œAs you ordered, sir,” McGuire said, looking now toward the two woodsmen as they limped away down the crude road. “Dogs well fed, too.”
    â€œYou see these cowards again,” Carlyle said to McGuire, “you tell them I mean it. I’ll shoot to kill the next time I lay eyes on them.” He turned to Ladd. “I’d be obliged, sir, if you’d bury this brave little champion,” he said. Ladd nodded in agreement. Carlyle walked toward the stable to get his horse and roust out his two dogs.
    Ladd and Sanborn helped McGuire carry Robie into the house and onto the bear rug. Ladd went out, buried the dog, and returned with his and Sanborn’s horses to the tavern yard. Sanborn heard him in the yard and left the host to tend to Robie alone. He mounted his horse and the two set off again for Blackstone, unable to speak to one another about the drama they had just witnessed, trying to think instead of the affairs that concerned them.
    Having much business of his own upon reaching Blackstone that evening, Ladd directed Sanborn immediately to the house of Tristram Prescott, the Wentworth cousin who had, as he now understood, taken in Rebecca. It was a rather fine two-story house, though modest by Portsmouth standards. The wife came to the door herself in a much-used apron over an entirely presentable gown. Sanborn found that Mr. Prescott was not at home, being at a meeting of the proprietors on some matters of taxation and road building.
    Standing in the doorway, Sanborn presented his profession and credentials, and as soon as Mrs. Prescott understood him to be recently in the employ of the Portsmouth Brownes and Wentworths, she became more solicitous and invited him in. She removed her apron and called to a serving girl for cider and cakes “after the gentleman’s long journey.”
    In the parlor room, she offered him a turned chair and seated herself facing him in a chair upholstered in fabric.
    â€œAnd do I understand you correctly, sir, that you had thought to inquire of our own interest in portraits?” she said.
    â€œQuite so, madam.” He offered his most charming smile. He was uncomfortable making an appearance in dirty clothes, but she seemed to take no notice of his traveler’s disarray. “I had thought that such respected families as yourselves might be in need of my portraits. Madam Browne had mentioned you in particular.”
    â€œIs that so?” she said blushing slightly in pleasure. “Well, that is recommendation enough. Yet my husband has not mentioned any thought of portraits, so you shall have to discuss the matter with him.” She smiled. “Or should I say, convince him of the necessity.”
    â€œAnd may I inquire, madam, as to how many family members you have? There is yourself and your husband . . .”
    She filled in where he hung fire. “And five children besides.”
    â€œAh, I see. We can’t, of course, say whether Mr. Prescott will entertain portraits of each, or a family portrait or a children’s group, but I am anxious to be of service, whatever his preferences.”
    â€œHe should return within the hour, and you may discuss it then.” The servant brought a pewter salver of refreshments and laid it on the table. Mrs. Prescott offered him some of the delicacies and poured them both a tumbler of cider. “Would you care for pipe and tobacco, sir?”
    â€œPerhaps after the cider, madam, if you care to join me. Thank you.”
    She blushed and sipped immediately from her cup and peered at him with a twinkle in her eye. “And how go things in Portsmouth, Mr. Sanborn?”
    He grew expansive, taking care to enlighten and entertain her with the doings