The Comfort Shack by Mark Souza Page A

had been made in the name of guest comfort.
    On either side of the hall were bedrooms. The
one on the right was furnished with a pair of twin beds and an
antique armoire. The girls shuffled in and chose beds without a
fight. The room to the left was nearly identical in size, and
furnished with a queen-size bed. The mattress was smaller than
Leanne was used to, but for one night, it would do.
    “I’ll give you a few minutes to get settled
and we’ll start the tour,” Ellie said. She closed the door and left
them. The Browns unpacked.
     
     
    Leanne answered the light rap at the door
fifteen minutes later. Ellie stood on the stoop holding a set of
brass pans fastened to long wooden handles. She set them down next
to the fireplace, folded back the lid on one, scooped up embers
from the hearth, and clapped the lid shut.
    “In the old days, people used these to warm
their beds before they climbed in. Your sheets will be nice and
toasty by the time we get back.” After placing the bed warmers,
Ellie joined the Brown’s in the main room.
    “Are we ready?”
    The girls looked less than excited. Leanne
didn’t feel much enthusiasm either and tried to come up with a
graceful way to beg off. It had been a long drive, the hour was
getting late, and the cottage was warm.
    “Who wants to hear about the slaughter of
1759?” Ellie said.
    Lisa shot a hand in the air and looked over
at her older sister who was trying to decide. Slowly, Jenny’s arm
crept above her head. Ellie smiled.
    “All right, the tour starts now. Fort
Cavendish was built in 1750 by the British to protect Cavendish Bay
and the towns nearby from French marauders, and Indian attack.
Cavendish Bay was a major seaport at the time. Ships left for
England heavy with tobacco, furs and cotton. They returned with
supplies like cloth, tea, and gunpowder.
    “This cottage was the home of Commander
Jonathon Smythe. The only record we have of what happened is from
the diary of his wife, Rebecca. The story of the slaughter centers
around a prostitute. Is that going to be okay Mrs. Brown?”
    The girls, Jenny fifteen, and Lisa thirteen,
smirked with their gaze glued to their mother. Maybe they thought
she’d squirm at the word or forbid them to hear the story.
    “It’s no problem. They’re old enough to know
what the word means,” Leanne said.
    “I’m related to Commander Smythe on my
mother’s side,” Stu blurted. “He’s my great, great, great,
grandfather nine generations back.”
    The girls looked embarrassed and a little
peeved. Initially opposed to the tour, they were now eager to get
started and their father was slowing things down. Ellie’s story had
two elements they were keen to hear; slaughter and prostitution.
And they had their mother’s permission. Leanne was peeved too, but
for different reasons.
    Ellie smiled graciously. “Wow, what are the
odds? A blood relative of Commander Smythe? That doesn’t happen
every day. Welcome home, I guess.”
    Stu grinned like a smitten schoolboy. Leanne
glared. She muttered under her breath, “She’s half your age,
moron.” Stu’s eyes slid toward his wife and his expression soured.
Her words had hit their target.
    “Where did I leave off?” Ellie asked.
    “Prostitutes,” Lisa chirped. She looked over
at her mother with fretful eyes and a wide grin exposing her
braces, to see if she was in Dutch.
    “That's right,” Ellie said. “Let's head
outside.”
    Ellie pointed out the various buildings
scattered inside the fort and explained how the largest structure
at the center, the barracks, housed the enlisted men. The cottages
along the walls were assigned to officers and their families on the
basis of rank. With one exception. Ellie pointed out a small
building next to the Commandant’s Cottage.
    “That cottage held prostitutes. The army
recognized that since the enlisted men were mostly single and
weren’t permitted to have anyone live with them, having ready
access to prostitutes might relieve