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Some were for sale and some were strictly her own.
Credit: Dell
She touched the bosom of her dress and glanced toward the latticework door at the rear of the shop.
Still closed, the blue curtains behind it drawn firmly shut.
Minnie had a good head for wine, needed no money, and was imper-vious to her fathers magnetism.
She did, however, have a decently filial respect for his powers of observation.
The murmur of voices from the back room didnt have the rhythm of leave-taking, no scraping of chairs .
She nipped across the book-crammed shop to the shelves of tracts and sermons.
She took several deep breaths; she mustnt look flushed or flustered.
But it was all right; the voices had changed againsome new point had come up.
This batch had plainly belonged to a man who liked a pipe when he read.
She was paying little attention to the new stock, though; her mind was still on the letter.
No salutation, no signature, as shed requestedonly the information:
Have found her,it read simply.Mrs.
Simpson, Chapel House, Parsons Green, Peterborough Road, London.
A name, at last.
A name and a place, mysterious though both were.
She didnt know what her father might do should he find out that shed been looking for her mother.
She said it silently, feeling the syllables in her mouth.
Was her mother married again, then?
Did she have other children?
The thought that she might have half brothers or sisters was at once horrifying, intriguing .
That someone else might have had her motherhers!for all those years .
This willnotdo, she said aloud, though under her breath.
She hadno idea ofMrs.
Simpsons personal circumstances, and it was pointless to waste emotion on something that might not exist.
She blinked hard to refocus her mind and suddenly saw it.
Perhaps it was dead?
Oh, youve met Frederick?
he said, stepping forward and taking the Bible out of her hand.
You neednt worry, my dear; hes quite tame.
Who would trouble to domesticate a cockroach?
The inhabitants of Madagascar, or so Im told.
He was bornor hatched, I supposein Bristol.
Minnie twitched, unable to keep the gooseflesh from rippling up her arms.
Mr. Rennie edged carefully toward the big shelves on the east wall, hand cradled next to his chest.
Her father picked a wicker cricket cage from the detritus and decanted Frederick neatly into it.
Heres your new master, just coming.
Her father stepped forward, beaming, and inclined his head to the customer.
Mr. Fraser will do, he said, as always, extending a hand.
Your servant, sir.
Excerpted fromSeven Stones to Stand or Fall, A Collection of Outlander FictionbyDiana GabaldonCopyright 2017 byDiana Gabaldon.
No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
