Chapter 14: The Vigil of the Marsh
On a clear, warm evening in late September, when the autumn dusk was painting the sky in shades of violet, amber, and molten gold, Margaret and Bradley walked out to the end of the timber dock.
Down in the shallows, five-year-old Thomas was skipping shells across the glassy water, his bright laughter drifting across the marsh on the evening breeze.
Across the creek, the warm incandescent lights of the apprentice cottages flickered on, casting a golden glow across the gardens where young papermakers and printers were sharing evening supper on the porch.
Bradley wrapped his strong arm around Margaret’s shoulders, pulling his mother close against the cooling evening air.
Margaret leaned her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady, unhurried rhythm of his breathing and the deep, eternal murmur of the tidal river.
""Do you remember Gate 24B in Atlanta, Mom?"" Bradley asked softly, watching the first evening stars appear over the maritime forest.
""I remember,"" Margaret replied gently, touching his hand.
""I was so terrified of being poor that morning,"" Bradley whispered, touching the live oak ring on his finger. ""I didn't know that I was already bankrupt.""
Margaret turned to him gently, looking into his clear, honest eyes with unshakeable maternal reverence.
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""You were just lost in the fog, Bradley,"" Margaret said softly. ""The gate was closed so you could find your way back to the river.""
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