Traveler trilogy Book 2, updates every Friday!
Five years after killing Levi Cornwall, Arthur Morgan is happy. He has a wife who loves him, an honest job he enjoys, and two beautiful children named Sadie and Hiram. All of it is turned on its head, h...
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When Jenny awoke the next morning, Mac was gone. She didn't fault him for it, though, because she knew he likely had other business to attend to with the folk from the future. He'd proven he loved her, and clearing the air between the two of them, coupled with Jenny's realization that she'd kill Micah no matter the consequences, had put her in a decent mood this morning. She stood up, put her clothes on, re-braided her hair, and fastened her eagle feather in it gently.
She hummed to herself with a small grin on her face as she ate a few bites of jerky from her satchel and chased it down with a few swallows of water. She'd have liked to have some gin or whiskey instead of the water, but somehow she figured it wasn't worth drinking this morning. It might ruin her good mood, after all.
She continued to hum as she made sure Moondancer's tack was properly in place, and the humming turned to singing as she rode past the outskirts of Van Horn and into the countryside. Even the muggy, mosquito-filled swamp air could not tear down her mood as she spurred her horse into a trot, and then a canter, and then a gallop. Grinning from ear to ear, Jenny realized that for the first time in a long time, she felt free.
The happy feeling, however, disappeared as she rode into camp and noticed that it was humming with activity. Instead of a pleasant sort of activity, however, everyone's face was full of fear.
"What's going on?" Jenny asked Abigail as she helped herself to a cup of coffee at the chuck wagon fire.
"Where were you last night?" Abigail asked accusingly as she straightened up with her cup. "We needed your gun?"
"Why?" Jenny asked fearfully. "What happened?"
"The men are all back, but Milton found us," was Abigail's stiff answer. "And he brought a gatling gun, which he used to open fire on the camp." She took another sip of her coffee and glared at Jenny. "There were bullets everywhere. My son..." Her voice trailed off.
Jenny's stomach fell as though she'd swallowed a lead weight. "Jack's not... Is he..."
"He ain't dead," Abigail said angrily. "Just traumatized. He didn't sleep a wink last night, and I doubt he'll sleep tonight, either."
Jenny sighed tiredly. Her good mood from earlier was nothing more than a memory now, and she was back to wallowing in sadness. "Abigail, I'm sorry," she apologized. "Who's dead?"
"No one, thankfully," said Abigail. "And I'm sorry, too. I don't mean to snap at you. You didn't know they'd be coming. I guess I'm just... I'm so afraid, with John bein' in prison, likely to be hung any day now, and hearin' my boy cry last night while bullets ripped into the wall above his head." Tears filled her eyes. "I don't give a damn about my own life, but last night I was so scared my son was about to die in my arms."
"Oh, Abigail," Jenny said sadly. "The important thing is that he's alive. We're all alive." She shrugged. "Guess that explains why it looks like everyone is packing up."
