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Ten Months: Part 9

Ten Months

By Katherine Givens

Originally published in the Daily Love.

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May 13, 1810
Dear Charles,
Your concern is very touching. If my mother were to ask for such words to pass my lips, I would deny it to her. I wish I could conjure up the same response to your request. Unfortunately, I seem inclined to grant you anything you wish. I promise to not do anything irrational, but I will continue my explorations and adventures. It is in my blood. Perhaps I should tell you of my latest mischief. I promise that no physical harm came to my persons, but it was a close call. A local farmer recently purchased a horse. He named it Shadow, which is befitting for such a feisty creature. Shadow is a two-year-old colt with a mean streak. The farmer purchased the colt from a local horse breeder under the premises of a bet. If the farmer could break the colt, he would win the horse breeder’s prized mare. If the farmer could not, he would walk around the town in a gentlewoman’s outfit for five days.
The farmer was not having any luck breaking the colt. He tried everything within his power to train Shadow, but to no prevail. After learning of the bet from a few gossips, I decided to take a visit to Shadow. As a fellow hellion, I felt a strong connection to the creature. I thought I could somehow befriend the beast and break it myself. Under the veil of night I attempted to do just that. I visited Shadow’s pasture since the farmer did not keep him in the barn. Shadow trotted towards me when he noticed my presence at the fence. Seeing that he was calm, I perched myself atop a fencepost. This proved to be a mistake.
At first, I softly crooned to the colt to see if he would approach. He shyly walked towards me until he was only an arm’s length away. When I reached out to stroke his nose, Shadow tried to bite my hand. I pulled back. In my haste, I stumbled backwards onto the ground outside the pasture. Shadow cantered off as if he thought he was the victor. All I could do was laugh at the feisty boy, brush the dust from my clothing, and walk home. Perhaps this could constitute as a brawl.
Stay Safe,
Henrietta
P.S. Have you realized none of our past letters have discussed Flora? She wrote a letter to me, but said nothing of you. You should be pleased that she is well and good.
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