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soldiers who come here are sohow do you say . . . "
"Insulting."
He nodded. "Insultingand why Thorn does not call them out because of it."
"I'll be quiet," she affirmed, slightly out of breath already from exertion and holding her breath against the smell of lye.
"I will make my tale brief. Thorn, he came from England. There was a reason why he left, something about the death of his older brother, but moi, I do not know that story. Here in the new land he became a soldier guarding the town of Pittsborough just after my people and his had ended in this area the battles you English call the French and Indian War."
"'Pittsborough'? I saw a sign in the town that said Pittsburgh Tavern."
René looked surprised. "Oui, that is its spelling, but the end is pronounced borough. Yet another oddity of Les Anglais, like their Scottish people call the town spelled Edinburgh as Edinborough."
"I see," Mariah said.
"Alors," René continued. "One day, visitors came to the new Fort Pitt." He took from her the dress she had been scrubbing. It was still crumpled into a wet ball, and he unrolled it. "Ah, non." He pointed to a remaining spot of slime from the river. Silently, she took it back and began scouring it against the washboard once more.
"The visitors were settlers," René continued. "A mother traveling with her boy, who had the age of about twelve, and several other families who spoke of beginning a new life in the Pittsborough area. There was not yet much of Pittsborough, you understand."
Mariah nodded. Of course, in her opinion there still wasn't much of PittsburghPittsboroughin this time.
So far, René's tale tracked the script. He remained kneeling on the ground as be took the dress from her and plied the bar of strong soap over the offending stain. Then he wrung out the garment, examined it and rose to hang it over the rail of the nearby hitching post.
Mariah glanced sorrowfully at her crimson, stinging hands.

 
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