Between Brothers
By J.M. Snyder
It’s February. The sky darkens later now, and the days aren’t quite as short as they used to be. We already put away the candles and greenery from our ‘Christmas in the Colonies’ bit and hired a few new employees in anticipation of the field trips schools usually do in the spring.
I’m really looking forward to summertime—each year it gets hotter and hotter. I don’t know how I manage in the cotton breeches and starched shirt I wear at work, but it could be worse. I could be Angela over at the inn, with her bustle and her ten yards of fabric and her tight-ass corset. Or Thad at the capitol building in his ironed breeches and polished shoes and long-tailed coat. Or Jeremy at the smithy’s, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bent over a hot furnace all day
