The rain fell in droplets cascading down the already fogged window. Bella. as her uncle called her was imagining her time as a child, dancing through ...he rows of roses her mother had planted. Bella's mother, had been a very beautiful woman of dutch decent. Her hair had fell down her back in ringlets of auburn chestnut and she smelled of the roses in which she planted. Bella was named after her mother, and her uncle told her often how she looked so much like her.Sighing Bella looked over at the. She would rather have him peek at her than sneak around tryingto peek at other women or little girls, maybe getting himself in trouble. She had always been careful not to wear anything that might excitehis young emotions, always careful how she sat or walked about the house. She never wore her nightgown in front of him. Her nightgowns weren't designed for the eyes of a young boy. She examined the house carefully, trying to see if Johnny was in a window. She couldn't see clearly because. It's heat instantly enveloping her smallish breasts as they surged from the cloth that once kept them. A slight slip of her finger across the pink hardness and then quickly through her hair. Pulling her head back further. Staring straight at them with a frightened eagerness. presenting an image of Amadine golden hair, hand buried between two slender thighs, hips rising only to fall and rise higher still. Breasts firmly pointed at the sun, head twisted to gaze back, eyes wide at her coalescing. I looked up, and there he was, getting comfortable in a tree crotch and ready to take aim at the top of my head. My musket shot tore through his dangling leg and into his chest. He screamed and fell backwards out of the tree, striking several limbs before hitting the ground. His musket clattered down behind him. He did not move.I checked on the man I had clubbed down and found that he was also dead so I cleaned out their pockets, yanked off the officer's good boots and coaxed the horse to a.
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