#ThrowbackThursday--Smuggler's Bride
When Rand opened the cabin door he spied Julia up on the center of the table, skirt hiked up in her hand.
“Snake!” she whispered, pointing with her shaking free hand to a darkened corner of the cabin.
He dropped his bag and fetched the lamp and the broom. When he raised the lamp and peered into the corner, there was a faint susurrus—a sound like sand falling on the floor. Looking closer, he set down the lamp and broom and said, “C’mon outta there, fella.” He crouched down and waved his fingers in front of the snake, and when it coiled to leap he grabbed it behind its head. The snake wrapped itself around his arm, but Rand didn’t let go of the snake’s head.
He straightened and turned to Julia, the snake clinging to his arm, tongue darting in and out in agitation.
“This ain’t nothin’ but a corn snake, darlin’. He’s likely more scared of you than you are of him.” He held the snake up, admiring the red, gold, and brown stripes and chevrons patterning the reptile’s body as the snake squirmed in his grasp. “This is a frisky one, too. Bet he could help with those rats in the corn field. C’mon, fella, let’s put you to work out back.”
When he returned from releasing the snake into a friendlier environment, Julia was still sitting up on the table, cross-legged, staring out the window. Her hair had come undone and was falling down her neck and back in ringlets that clung to her skin, and large circles darkened her blouse under the arms.
“What are you doin’ up there?”
“I hate this place. I hate Florida. I hate living where giant beetles fly into your hair and where snakes come into the house. I hate breathing in wet gnats and I hate the mosquitoes and I hate the damp that keeps my clothes sticking to me. I hate that it is autumn and it is still hot enough to raise bread. And I hate you for keeping me here,” she finished conversationally.
When I was writing Smuggler's Bride in the early part of the 21st c. I had a lot of real-life examples I could draw from for my Florida critters. I even gave my son's pet snake Frisky, a native Florida cornsnake, a cameo appearance. He was quite cooperative and only expected to be paid in mice (the snake, not the son.)
My WIP is another smuggling tale set in North Florida, [working title] The Smuggler's Amnesiac Husband, and no snakes were harmed in the crafting of this novel. After all, they're a valuable part of our ecosystem, doing their part to keep the rodents in check.
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