Amendment

{Twelve} Amending History

The faster I rode, the quieter the night grew. So I ran fast. I was very careful to give the horse breaks—wouldn’t want him ending like the poor horse in Gone with the Wind, would I?—every now and again.

My everything was on edge. I was getting a migraine from clenching my jaw too tightly. I was both tense and trembling, leaving my muscles confused and stiff. For the hundredth time I wished I had some sort of weapon with me. Now that I was away from the skirmish, there were other things in the night I had to worry about.

Lions, and tigers, and bears—oh my!

Not.

If lions, tigers, or bears were all I had to worry about, I’d be able to face the dark woods without much fear. But there were worse things than wild animals. There were wild, drunken men. I didn’t think they were really as prominent as mothers would have you believe in this time, but it was certainly still a danger.

I was one big mass of worry; from my head down to my feet. As I was rushing towards my brother—er, hopefully towards him anyway; I really wished there were more road signs—I was leaving Cap behind. It seemed that would be the way of it when it came to them. I couldn’t have them both at the same; and that kinda sucked.

If I had to choose, and it was a harder decision than it should have been, I would always choose Russ. He was my brother. And right now he needed me.

I loved Russ, but he wasn’t a fighter. He liked to think he was, but he just talked a big talk. In reality, he could fight about as well as I could. I’d seen how hard that fool had clubbed my brother. He was in worse shape than me. At least, in this time, I had the excuse of being a girl. It was kind of a prerequisite that I get treated for. Russ, though….Russ was a man. And men were dangerous. If they only knew the real Russ…..

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I pushed them back. There was certainly a time for crying, and if anyone deserved a good cry it was me. But now was not the time. I had to channel the brave girl inside me that I only became on special occasions.

Curse my stupid head injury! I couldn’t be sure, but if I had to bet I’d say I didn’t have a concussion. It was probably all stress and, well, maybe a lot of me being a hypochondriac. It looked different at night, sure, but if I’d head a clear head on my shoulders I would’ve been able t-o at least halfway recall the ride to the McCoy home. There were no signs that said, “Rand’l McCoy’s house this a’way!” No; I was completely on my own here.

The temperature had dropped pretty low for late August. The smell of rain was thick in the air—which, really, was all I needed right now. I added please don’t let it rain to my increasing list of prayers. These past few minutes—and God only knew how many of them had already passed—I’d been praying harder than I had my entire life. I was praying that I would miraculously find my way to the McCoy house; and I was praying that my visit here hadn’t gotten Cap killed. Lord knew what kind of a mess he was in right now. I just had to believe he was alright; otherwise I think I’d turn back.

The path I was taking was that of the main road—which would be dumb if those bastard McCoys were tailing me, but I doubted they cared about me that much—and it seemed only vaguely familiar. I promised myself that if I ever came face to face with the moron who’d kidnapped me and my brother I’d beat the holy shit out of him. It was his fault I was used as a freaking pawn to hurt Cap and his family and that Russ was still there. Beating him to a bloody pulp would be too kind, but I couldn’t really shoot him between the eyes, either.

The night was eerily quiet, seemingly echoing my desperate thoughts. They bounced off the silent hills almost mockingly. I slowed down the horse, giving him a break in his ceaseless running. The longer we road, the more I was convinced that this was the horse I saw Cap riding, and for some reason that had me really choking back tears. Horses didn’t mean to people back then what they meant to people in my time. In this time they were a means of transportation; no better than a car. But that didn’t mean people still couldn’t love them. For me, it would’ve been a great sacrifice to give up my horse, knowing I’d likely never see her again. It meant more to me than Cap would ever know that he’d given up his horse for my safety.