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>Maybe it was his face, or the way his red hair glowed >in the sunlight. Could it be the beads of sweat on his >on his forehead, chest and neck. > She didn’t really care, watching him while he worked >brought a measure of comfort to her eyes. She never >tired of watching him. > He didn’t seem to notice at first. >She stared, eyeing every move, every gesture, every >strand of his hair flowing in the soft spring breezes. >Surrounding his face, and some of it, dripped with >sweat. He raised and lowered the ax he was using to >cut the wood. Each swing, each time the blade sliced >the wood, it was poetry in motion. She pretended to >read, pretended to be too occupied. As hard as she >tried to pretend to concentrate there was no mistaking >her nose taking a dive in to her book, when he looked >up. He could see the motion and the glances. She >seemed to sit and read at that bench when he worked. >She was never there at any other time during the day. >Not like she was ever going to cross the hedge to >talk, to him or offer, a cold drink of water. > > He wiped the sweat off of his eyes. His white shirt >drenched, his throat was dry. He gave the ax a final >swing and went to the well. Water waited down at the >bottom, as he raised the bucked his arms strenuously >turned the handle. The water was cold and his fatigue >began to take over. The cold water reached his lips >and he poured it on his head. He wiped his chin when >he heard the sound of the broken twig.. he looked up. >She was standing in front of him. >“May I ….” She inquired. >“Help yourself.” He told her. He put the ladle he >was drinking out of, back in the bucket. He moved away >from the well and with out so much as another word >headed back to the woodpile. She watched the black >tall knee length boots, the tight gray trousers and >the unmistakable strut as he walked away. >“I think he likes being watched.” She said to her >self. She smiled. Her impish grin was ear to ear. He >is a tough one. His attitude, his posture, and the >weight of step as he walked, all of attitude. >“She is a stuck up snob and I know it. I don’t need >her type in my life.” He said to himself. “Woman like >that are not worth time.” > >She had been sitting at that bench for weeks. She >tried to look out for a time that he was working so >that she could conveniently be at the right place at >the right time. Not once the whole entire time he was >there did he dare come over and introduce himself . >Even though she knew his name and she employed him you >would think he would show some sort of respect towards >her. She turned and walked away. > >As she sat sipping her tea in front of the fireplace >she thought of the ways she would make his life of oh >so interesting. As the fireplace crackled she ran for >her butler. >“What is the condition of our wood supply?” >“I really am not certain” >“ See to it that the fireplace has all the logs we >need and I want double the supply in the wood shed. >“Double.” His eyebrow raised. “Mame, he shed will not >hold double.” >“Then we will simply have to build a larger shed. Tell >me what are the other duties of our wood cutter.” >“The stable, the horses .” He told her. >”Hmmm “the plot begins to take shape.” Very well >double the wood and shoe all the horses for starters.” >“The horses all have shoes” >“Well reshoe them. “ > >When the butler went to the woodcutter he smiled. “She >wants all that she is going to pay for it.” >That night he went in to town. He bought a silk top >hat and a gold handle cane and a long black coat. That >night the bar he attended noticed that his battered >and bruised hands never gave indication he belonged to >a much richer society. > >Some times the richest of men were really most common >in appearance. > >She enjoyed the attention she was paying for. The view >as he pulled the loaded cart of freshly cut wood to >the shed. By days end he was tired. Every muscle ached >he laid in bed totally exhausted sleep came quick for >him. She knew it would. > >In the deepest darkness of night she crept out of the >large house though the family cemetery and towards the >cabin. The door was a jar, she pushed it. It opened >with a slight creaking noise. She carefully crept >where he slept. The sweat from the hot night beaded on >his forehead and arms. The cabin was unkept, his >clothes both clean and dirty were every where. >He began to stir. She froze would she be seen. He >coughed and turned over his movement was strained. He >continued to sleep she made her way out of the cabin >back to the house unaware to her, she dropped a >handkerchief. She did not notice until the next >afternoon. She was looking for it. > >He was amused by the find. Pure white,. Crisp and >delicately embroider he decide that the best place for >it was tied to the ax handle. He took a few minutes to >think about the fact that she was there He wondered >how long she stayed and why she came in the first >place. The next day during the hottest part of the day >he went to the river and took time out to bathe in the >cold waters. Soaking wet he came out tossing his hair >back. His hair soaked with water rained all round him. >He got out, dried himself off and went back to the >cabin. When his got there, there was a message. >You are invited to a picnic at the lady Bromwells >estate 2 p.m. RSVP >The mistress was sending a formal invite. > >Sorry I think I will be busy at the time. > >He didn’t want to go didn’t want to attend and did not >want to be finding himself in the middle of a ritzy >affair. He never like high society people. > >What the picnic was, a special event for two. With out >the RSVP answered she figured out that he was not >going to let himself be bothered. Okay next plan she >had the cook put together a large basked of a picnic >lunch. She decided she would take the mountain to >Mohammed she would have better luck. > > The tree in the middle of the estate where she could >see everything was her best bet. Laying out the >blanket she made sure the freshly cooked chickened >could be smelled for miles. >Passing by on his wagon he stopped where she was. >“Pretty odd place for a picnic.” >“Maybe so, Join me?”. >Very bold of her. He at first rolled his eyes but when >she pulled out the chicken his mouth began to water. >How could he refuse free meal. Not only was it fresh >but it was not table scraps supplied but the cook on a >regular basis. Okay he said (the stomach wins out.) He >pulled the wagon off of the road and allowed the >horses to have shade and join her on the red and white >gingham picnic cloth. “Help you self.” She said. She >had, had enough. He was very big man. She planned >extra just in case. >He ate, again she watched him. His hair kept getting >in the way of his face. >“Here.” She said tying back his red locks with yet >another handkerchief. She happened to have. Soulfully >her eyes rested on him. >“You work hard, surely you do not plan on staying here >for ever.” >“I need to lie low and save up some money” >“Why?” > >“The fighting I used to do took its toll. I owe money >and I owe my self some peace and quiet.” >Fighting in a circuit?” (It sounded dreadful to her >how could such a handsome man with such a gorgeous >body spend his time and trouble beating him self to >death)(maybe the answer is..$) > >“Oh.” She said “Well if that is what you feel you have >to do.” >“It pays better, but there are other things that come >along with it, they make up for the cost.” >She could only imagine. She was used to hearing >stories about the fighters that came to the town and >what happened after the fights were over. >“You are welcome to stay as long as you want no oÿ

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