Part 4: Marry Me, Marietta
Shropshire 1862
Marietta James hurried through the village, keeping her face turned down to avoid the rain. Why she hadn't brought her umbrella, she wasn't sure, but she always seemed to forget the thing on the days it actually rained. If she carried it skies would be clear. Now her one reasonably nice bonnet would likely be ruined, and there would be no money to replace it until next quarter day.
The click of her boots on the cobblestone streets and the rolling thunder in the distance made the village square a noisy place indeed this afternoon. She'd left for home at her usual time, but the storm had darkened the skies enough that it could have been midnight. Her heel turned on a cobble and she fell, bruising her hip and splashing mud all over her skirts.