“Sweating, her legs aching from pushing through two feet of snow as well as falling into drifts, Cig stopped at the smokehouse, the last outbuilding. “While we’re here, want me to bring back a ham or something?” Margaret shielded her eyes. “I can’t even see the hand in front of my face.” Her clumsy mittens made opening the frozen iron latch difficult. “Here.” Cig reached under the latch, giving it a rap. Together they popped it up, the door swung open in the wind, knocking against the brick wall.... They stepped inside. Cig blinked the snow off her eyelashes, closing the door behind her. “Winter makes everything look beautiful but,” her chest heaved, “what a lot of work. I’m ready to go to Florida.” “Why would you want to do that?” “It’s a beautiful place with palm trees, beaches, bright sunshine, and in my time, too many visitors. ‘Course, I guess Spain still controls Florida in this time.” Margaret shook her head. “We shall yet collide with Spain.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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