Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog              

by  sloanranger

Part  Four

Everything was almost ready now. All necessaries save one and she would add the last after he arrived should the brew need it.  Felicity checked the wooden cabinet Isaiah had made her to make sure she had this last ingredient, although the brew smelt very good already.  Everything else was in the pot mingling and becoming delicious.

The cabin was clean and she had bathed herself two days earlier in the week in order to be pleasant for Jeremiah. She wore her best homespun dress.

Promptly at six o'clock there was a confident knock on the wooden door.

As he entered, Felicity could not help but think again what an ungainly countenance Jeremiah Douglas Smith had. Though a man of means, his looks and demeanor did not do him service. The man himself was not yet fifty and had never married. 

He stood in her doorway, his pants and boots puddling mud as they stomped on her threshold.

"Good Eve'n, Mistress." He tipped his hat.

(To be continued).