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A Walk in the Woods
A Walk in the Woods
A Walk in the Woods
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A Walk in the Woods

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This anthology contains previously published as well as never before published works.

A Walk In The Woods - Flash Fiction
In search of the perfect woman, Mathias the Wizard invents the most perfect spell ever made.

Sweet Savage Charity - A Novelette
In 1621 New England, a Puritan woman fights for her right to choose.

Grindel's Tale - A Short Story
Grindel fights developers who would destroy the woods he protects.

Only In My Dreams - A Novelette
After 30 years of marriage, Delia can still dream, can't she?

Sir Dragonbreath - A Short Story
Gwendolyn is a lonely witch, looking for love.

Of Love And War - A Novelette
It's John v. Julie in this vintage battle of the sexes.

A Slice of Life - A Novella
Grace is 37, painfully shy, and she must overcome her fears to save her family restaurant.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 7, 2011
ISBN9781386728641
A Walk in the Woods
Author

Margaret Lake

Margaret Lake was born in New Jersey, but moved to Florida in her early teens and has lived there ever since. Reading has been her favorite activity since she was ten years old. Even after purchasing a Kindle, she still had seven large bookcases filled with paper books. It took years for her to part with the majority of them. Her other passion is history, especially English History, dating from when she first read "Katherine" by Anya Seton. When the inspiration came to write her first novel, she naturally gravitated to the Wars of the Roses because of that book. Her favorite author is Susan Howatch, her favorite book is "Outlander" and her favorite series is Harry Potter. She led a Harry Potter book club at the elementary school and helped with the chess club at both the elementary and high schools. Margaret rescued a nine-year old Jack Russell Terrier named Angelo who passed at the age of 15 on December 3, 2017. Now she has Mikey, a teeny-tiny two year old chihuahua mix (actually 50% chihuahua, 25% miniature poodle, 12.5% maltese and 12.5% terrier according to his DNA), adopted from the Humane Society on March 7, 2018. Mikey has gone a long way toward filling the empty space in her heart left by the loss of Angelo.

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    Book preview

    A Walk in the Woods - Margaret Lake

    A Walk In The Woods

    An Anthology

    By

    Margaret Lake

    Author of

    historical, contemporary,

    and fantasy romance,

    graphic novels and

    illustrated children’s books

    www.margaretannlake.com

    ––––––––

    DESCRIPTION

    ––––––––

    A Walk In The Woods

    In search of the perfect woman, Mathias the Wizard invents the most perfect spell ever made.

    ––––––––

    Sweet Savage Charity

    In 1621 New England, a Puritan woman fights for her right to choose.

    ––––––––

    Grindel’s Tale

    Grindel fights developers who would destroy the woods he protects.

    ––––––––

    Only In My Dreams

    After 30 years of marriage, Delia can still dream, can’t she?

    ––––––––

    Sir Dragonbreath

    Gwendolyn is a lonely witch, looking for love.

    ––––––––

    Of Love and War

    It’s John v. Julie in this vintage battle of the sexes.

    ––––––––

    A Slice of Life

    Grace is 37, painfully shy, and must overcome her fears to save her family restaurant.

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    A Walk in the Woods

    Sweet Savage Charity

    Grindel's Tale

    Only in My Dreams

    Sir Dragonbreath

    Of Love and War

    A Slice of Life

    Contact

    Acknowledgement

    Dedication

    Copyright

    A Walk in the Woods

    Mathias the Wizard strode through the forest, seeking the perfect subject for the most perfect spell ever invented.

    He could feel the magic humming around him and knew he was on the right path. Finally, he stood where the trees grew thickest and let the atmosphere of this dark place fill him body and soul. He spun slowly three times, eyes closed, then opened his eyes. A slender willow tree that he was sure hadn't been there before appeared in front of him.

    This is the one, Mathias thought, tall, slender, soft, leaves drooping gracefully to the ground.

    He pulled out his wand and gently tapped the trunk. Exorior Spiritus Salix Alba, he intoned, once, twice, thrice. At each tap, the tree shivered and Mathias knew he had the right one. When he finished the spell, he stepped back a pace, waiting for the wood nymph to appear.

    She was more magnificent than he could ever have imagined. Pale skin, luminous green eyes, long, slender limbs. And when she spoke, it was like the sighing of a summer breeze.

    What do you want, wizard?

    To free you from your prison..

    I am not imprisoned, she replied haughtily. I am the handmaiden of the Willow and I guard her spirit from all who would harm her.

    "Ah, but it is you who are the spirit of the Willow."

    If what you say is true, then the Willow will die if I leave her.

    But you would live as a human!

    What has humanity to offer? I take my nourishment from the earth and sky. My limbs feel the caress of the wind and the birds sing their sweet music among my branches.

    And except for the seasons, your life never changes. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall, you stand unchanged and unmoving. Do you never long to see the world beyond? Do you never long for the sound of a human voice? The touch of a human hand?

    Never! she declared.

    And yet you listen to me talk, gazing into my eyes. Do not tell me you are not curious about me as a man.

    I am curious, wizard. Show yourself to me.

    With a shout of triumph, he threw off his wizard's robes, letting her look her fill."

    You are indeed a fine specimen, wizard, she acknowledged. Come closer so that I may wrap my branches around you.

    I will come closer if you let me say the spell to make you human, he bargained.

    Then do so and I will enfold you as you say the spell so that we may become one.

    And so Mathias cast the greatest spell ever invented. Mutatio Arbore Homo ... But before he could say Femina to make her into a woman, she wrapped her branches around him and he felt his limbs grow long and wooden as he turned into a mighty Oak. And as she promised, they became one, their branches entwining, their roots entangled forever.

    SWEET SAVAGE CHARITY

    Plymouth Colony - 1621

    She didn't want to be here in this savage land. She wanted to be home in her warm, cozy room in London. But when Roger said they were going to follow the Puritans to the New World so they could practice their faith free from persecution, she had no choice but to pack up their things and follow him. Just as she'd had no choice when he converted to this strict religion that kept her in somber clothes and wouldn't let her laugh or smile or sing.

    Now Roger was dead along with so many others; buried in this unforgiving land so far from home. Now she was called before the Governor's council to hear her fate. Her future was to be decided by these seven stern men whom she was sure had never smiled or loved in their lives.

    Charity Williams, Governor Bradford intoned. Stand forth and hear the will of the Council.

    Charity moved slowly and with dignity to stand in front of the Council. Whatever they decided, she would keep her pride and accept with as good grace as she could muster. But, oh, how shamed she felt. Her beloved Roger had only been buried this morning and by tomorrow, she would be wed to another.

    Bradford looked at her with approval. She was strong, this one. The kind of woman needed if they were to survive in this country. And as the Governor of the colony, it was up to him to see that she receive immediate protection. This was a hard land and he had to make hard decisions.

    Goody Williams, he said not unkindly, the Council and indeed the whole colony wishes to extend our deepest sympathies on the loss of your husband. He was a good man and a good Puritan and will be missed.

    But we would be disrespectful to his memory and remiss in our duty towards you if we did not take immediate action to provide you with a husband to care for you.

    Get on with it, she fumed silently. With whom will I be sharing my bed?

    We did not come to this decision lightly. Much thought was given to your future welfare and so we chose Josiah Pettibone to be your husband. We hope you are pleased.

    I'm damned well not pleased! she screamed to herself. Why do I have to marry the only lecherous scab in this entire continent? And then she knew why. He was a member of the council and had added a goodly amount of supplies in addition to that furnished by the Merchant Adventurers.

    His wife had died just a few days before sailing and there hadn't been time to find a new one. At least not one that would take on his four brats and undertake a perilous journey to an unknown future.

    Her heart sank even further when she thought about the oldest boy. Samuel. Fifteen and already an eye for the women. Not that there were many women left. He'd cast greedy eyes at her more than once. If throwing her into that den of lechery was protection, she'd be better off with Daniel and his lions.

    But like a good little Puritan wife, she cast down her eyes, curtsied to the Council and thanked them politely.

    "The marriage ceremony will take place on Saturday but between now and then, you will move in with Henry Billings and his family. It won't do for you to be alone.

    Charity thanked them again and took her seat on the bench along the wall of the common house. Five days of relative freedom. Five days to build a raft and paddle all the way back to England, she thought bitterly.

    * * *

    She spent the next morning doing the wash and spreading the clean linen on the bushes to dry. It would give her some time alone and she badly needed time to grieve for Roger. Hell and damnation, she thought savagely, I need time to grieve for myself.

    Charity snapped the sheets furiously, spreading them out to dry, while she wiped hot tears from her cheeks. She was grateful no one was there to see her weakness. Anger was one of the seven deadly sins and, even though she was not a Puritan in her heart, she knew it was wrong.

    But she wasn't alone. She could feel it in her bones. Someone was watching her. If it was that horrid Samuel Pettibone, she'd give him what for and to hell with what the Council thought.

    She stared straight at the trees, shading her eyes from the sun. When her eyes became used to the gloom of the forest, she could see it wasn't Samuel at all. It was one of those half-naked Indians. She never understood how they could stand so still for hours at a time like a bronze statue.

    She couldn't see his features clearly, but he made a very impressive figure. She smiled and lifted her hand to wave him over ... the Indians here were friendly ... when he suddenly shifted his stance and melted back into the trees. She never understood how the savages were able to do that, either, or walk so silently even a sparrow wouldn't hear them.

    She would liked to have talked to him. Right now, she felt like she had more in common with the natives than she did with her fellow Puritans. In actuality, she thought bitterly, she had never really been one of them. Now she was doomed to spend her life here with a husband she couldn't love and half-grown children that weren't hers.

    Angrily, her hands curled into fists and she wanted to scream and cry and rail against Roger for leaving her like this. Her body shaking from head to foot, she stared at the place in the trees where the Indian had stood watching her, as if she could find an answer in the cool depths of the forest.

    * * *

    One day gone, Charity thought miserably. She wished she could have stayed awake all night, but the heavy work they had to do in the fields added to the daily chores sent all of them exhausted to their beds. She should have been grateful for the respite from her thoughts but all she could think was that she had slept away ten hours of freedom.

    The men went early to the fields so the women and children had to be up even earlier to build up the cookfires and fetch the water. Then they took the morning to attend to household tasks. When they brought the midday meal to the men, most of them stayed to work. It was a grueling life.

    Charity didn't mind. It gave her time to be alone and to think about her life; past, present and future.

    The past was the easy part. She was an orphan, dependent on the parish for her daily bread since she was seven years old. She was sent to work in the fields with the other children who had lost their families to the plague.

    Being the youngest, the other children taunted her and stole her food. It was poor enough fare, bread and butter, peas and beans and maybe a scrap of bacon on feast days. Still, it was all they had and they were constantly hungry from the hard work.

    By the time she was ten, she had learned to stand up for herself. Roger was the biggest of the boys, and when she bloodied his nose for him, she won his respect. After that, he became her protector and constant companion.

    When he was fifteen, he was sent to the city to make his own way. She was just thirteen, but hardship had made them both adults. He swore he would come back for her and she knew he would.

    On her sixteenth birthday, he kept his word, but he came back wearing the somber clothes of a Puritan. Even so, he was still her Roger, so she would marry him and become a Puritan, too.

    They had lived for over a year in London in a single room when Roger told her with eyes shining of his plans. Many of the Puritans had emigrated to Holland and now planned to cross the ocean to the New World. Charity didn't want to go, but she loved him too much to question his decisions. He was still kind and caring; still treated her with a tender and loving passion.

    No sense dwelling on what was because it could never be again. Her present boiled down to this precious moment in time when she was still free, still Charity Williams. The future didn't bear thinking about.

    Toward the middle of the afternoon, she found herself alone at the edge of the field. She had no idea how she had come to be so far away from everyone else. Something or someone had drawn her to this spot. She shaded her eyes and looked toward the trees and there he was. That same silent figure from yesterday. Was he following her? If he was seeking her out for some reason, then surely he would speak to her, although she didn't speak the language of the Wampanoag and as far as she knew, only Squanto spoke English.

    She stepped forward boldly and made her way toward him. As stern and forbidding as he looked, she had no fear. She was well used by now to facing stern, forbidding men.

    Standing Bear waited as the woman came to him. She had done so many times in his dreams, but never in his waking hours.

    Her eyes were as blue as the sky and her hair as red as the setting sun. He called her Fire Woman because he knew the touch of that hair would burn into his skin.

    She stopped in front of him and said hello while making the sign of greeting.

    He thought for now he wouldn't let her know he spoke her language. She could speak freely, thinking he wouldn't understand and so could he.

    He had watched her for many days, knowing she belonged to another. Two days ago, he had watched as they lowered her husband's body into the earth; had watched as the tears coursed down her cheeks with her grief. He wanted then to carry her off into the depths of the trees where he could burn off his desire for this woman but the English would never permit such a thing.

    There were only a few women left among the whites, and he knew she would be given to another soon. He would not take what belonged to another man, but with the death of her husband, she was free to choose.

    Now here she was, just an arm's length away, close enough for him to reach out and pull her to him. Still, he hesitated. He knew about the peculiar rituals these whites used to win a woman. Did he want to win her or just take her?

    Charity's smile began to falter as she waited for the Indian to respond to her friendly overture. He could have been a statue or even, like Lot's wife, a pillar of salt, for all the life he showed. It was only when she looked at his eyes that he showed any sign of having heard her.

    She was just about to back away when he moved so suddenly that she nearly jumped out of her skin. Thank goodness he was only greeting her in return. She smiled, hoping for an answering smile, but not surprised when she didn't get one back.

    Now she laid her hand on her breast and said, slowly and distinctly, Charity, then gestured to him to do the same.

    He repeated her name, really well, she thought for someone who had no English. Then he said something in his native tongue which she didn't understand at all. She tried to repeat it but finally gave up.

    I shall call you Adam, she decided. She pointed to herself and said Charity and then to him, Adam.

    Standing Bear was amused that she had named him the same as the Jesuits that had made him a Christian. He nodded to her to show his acceptance of the name. This was taking too long. He had no idea how long these Whites would give her to marry. It was time to let her know he spoke some English, but not that he was fluent.

    Greetings, Charity.

    Oh, she smiled, surprised by his words. His deep voice sent an answering rumble through her breast. I hope you speak more than two words of my language, because I fear I shall never learn yours.

    She laughed so prettily that Adam was surprised in his turn. In all the time he had observed these people, he had never heard any of them laugh.

    I speak some, he replied gravely.

    That's wonderful. She clapped her hands in delight. They were making progress but she wasn't sure how to proceed.

    What else can you say?

    I want to crush you in my arms and kiss you until you cannot breathe. Come, share food with me.

    That was the last thing Charity expected the Indian to say. He seemed to be waiting patiently for her to answer, but she didn't know what to say. She could not abandon her work. In such a small colony, everyone must do their share. On the other hand, she only had three days left before she became Charity Pettibone.

    Recklessly, she decided to follow this man. For an hour, she would be who she had been before donning these dull, gray clothes.

    My name is Charlotte, she told him firmly. Call me Lottie, if we are to be friends. She had no idea if he understood everything she had just said, but she would not use her Puritan name with Adam.

    Boldly, she lifted her chin and strode into the forest, not bothering to see if he followed. He was probably used to the women of his tribe walking behind him, but Charlotte Carpenter hadn't survived all those years on the charity of the parish by being meek and subservient. This was her chance to be Lottie again if only for a short while.

    Adam couldn't believe she had given in so easily. From what he had seen and Squanto had told him, Puritan women worked hard, spoke little and obeyed their husbands. This Lottie seemed to be as fiery and bold as her hair.

    He caught up to her in two long strides and turned her by the shoulders to face him. He wanted to look in her eyes; to know what she was thinking. But all he saw was blue-eyed

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