He was a handful—I’d have to be the one to ride him.
When I arrived back at the wagon, Charlotte was in a state of protest again.
“No, we can’t leave Papa,” she wailed.
“Shh, shh, shh. Papa’s dead. We have to leave him. He’d want us to leave,” Emily hissed. She looked in the direction of the encampment, and her eyes widened. “Oh, no. Someone’s coming.”
I glanced over my shoulder as two men stumbled from their tents.
“Hey! Stop!” one of them shouted, sprinting toward us on his bare feet.
“Shit. We have to go.” I vaulted on the back of the fussy Appaloosa.
Startled, it bucked and reared on its hind legs, trying to dislodge me.
I clung to its mane and clutched its sides with my legs.
Emily clambered on top of the wagon and swung her leg over the top of her steed. “Charlotte! Get behind me!”
“No!” Charlotte cried. “I refuse to leave Papa!”
The men grew closer, cursing and swearing as they stumbled across the rock-strewn ground.
Other soldiers popped out of their tents.
“We’ve got to go.Now!”I said.
One of the men lifted his rifle and aimed it at us.
“Charlotte! Hurry! Climb on!” Emily said.
“I’m scared.” Charlotte sobbed.
The rifle exploded, and Charlotte threw backward.
Emily screamed. Her horse bolted.
Mine galloped behind hers. As if this was a race, mine surged ahead, running for its life. All I could do was hold on for the ride. I was sad about what had happened to Charlotte. But going back and saving her meant both Emily’s and my death.
Far behind us, the sound of galloping hooves struck the ground. More shots were fired. Thankfully, it was dark, so the bullets didn’t even come close to us. Still, the explosive sounds spooked our horses, and their speed increased.
We galloped through the night. I didn’t know what happened to our pursuers, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that we were free. We raced until dawn’s light appeared in the sky, lending substance to the world around us that had only been shadowy shapes before.
I glanced behind us. Seeing no one, I slowed my horse to a walk. I stared at the start of a beautiful sunrise pushing through the thin clouds surrounding us.
Emily’s horse slowed also.
“That was close,” I said to Emily. “Are you all right?”
Our horses breathed heavily as they picked their way through a forested landscape to the tune of morning birdsong.
“Yes,” Emily said in a strangled voice. “My poor sister. She’s dead. They killed her.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. And then another, until she sat quietly weeping.
“I’m so sorry for your losses, Emily. I know what you feel inside—all the pain you carry,” I said.
“I know. It’s awful. But I keep reminding myself how spoiled rotten she was by her mother.”
