Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
28th Sep 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutMARCH25th #facingtheunthinkable
“Does thee think perhaps thee should write to thy mother?” I heard Rachel ask seriously. The girls were behind Denny and me, sitting in the bed of the wagon and keeping things from bouncing out when we hit ruts and mud-bogs.
“No. Why?” Dottie’s tone was wary—not quite hostile, but very reserved. I knew she had written to tell her mother that she intended to wed Denzell Hunter, but she hadn’t received a reply. Given the difficulties of correspondence with England, though, there was no assurance that Minerva Grey had ever read the letter.
“It _is_ a war, Dottie,” Rachel said. “Unexpected things may happen. And thee would not wish thy mother to…well…to discover that thee had perished without some assurance that she was in thy heart.”
“Hm!” said Dottie, clearly taken aback. Beside me, I felt Denzell shift his weight, bending a little forward as he took a fresh grip on the reins. He glanced aside at me, and his mouth turned up in an expression that was as much grimace as smile, acknowledging that he’d been listening to the girls’ talk, too.
“She worries for me,” he said very quietly. “Never for herself.” He let go the reins with one hand to rub a knuckle under his nose. “She has as much courage as her father and brothers.”
“As much pig-headedness, you mean,” I said under my breath, and he grinned, despite himself.
“Yes,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder and so did I, but the girls had moved to the tail-board and were talking over it to Clarence. “Does thee think it a familial lack of imagination? For in the case of the men of her family, it cannot be ignorance of the possibilities.”