Atonement

{Eleven} Demanding Answers

“You came back to find I was gone/And that place is empty/ like the hole that was left in me/Like we were nothing at all/It's not what you meant to me/Thought we were meant to be”

-Let Me Go, Avril Lavigne ft. Chad Kroeger

 They were smart. Whatever plan they’d obviously cooked up together, it’d been pretty well planned out. We rode for hours before we stopped—and even then at my request and only for a few minutes. It was already daylight. The sun was making its way to the middle of the clear blue sky. If I had to guess, it was probably around eleven.

  When we had stopped, neither Russ nor Cap would say a word to me. I asked more than a thousand times what was going on, but they were stone silent. They gave me enough time to change into Cap’s clothes and then we were off again. I’ve gotta say, now that I was finally wearing trousers I wished I was in the dress. Sure, it’d make it easier to ride in, but that was about it. I had to roll the bottoms of the pants up at least four times and used a rope as a belt. The good thing was that the shirt was so loose it hid the fact that I was very much a girl. It also hid the fact that I’d ditched my corset. It would’ve been a dead giveaway.

  I could look passed the largeness of the clothes, though, if I could wear some leggings underneath them. Good Lord, those pants itched! I was almost positive they were wool, and I was slightly allergic to wool. My pantaloons and knee-high socks didn’t make a very good barrier, either. I was almost positive that if I took those pants off right then, I’d have red welts all down my legs. When you’re allergic to something, there is no amount of layers that can protect you from it.

  Still, Russ and Cap thought it was a good idea to mask my identity. If someone stopped us and looked in our saddle bags, though, they’d see my discarded skirt and tops. Boom, cover blown. But we weren’t going to get stopped. Apparently. Men are too sure of themselves. They really didn’t believe for a second someone would stop us.

  By now we were more than likely wanted by the McCoy, too. I just kind of realized that in the silence of our ride. It all happened so fast, I didn’t quite realize it until I’d had time to reflect. But those McCoy hadn’t just been running for the Hatfields. They’d been running for me and my brother, too. We weren’t safe.

  Which was why Cap couldn’t be with us. I didn’t know what the hell Russ was thinking letting him in on our escape, but he was wrong. Wrong historically, and wrong morally. I still thought it’d been a little too convenient, a little too easy that we escaped. If I’d learned anything about the Hatfields, it was that they loved a good chase. Maybe that’s all this was. A game. Like hunting fox or something; or the Hunger Games 1860’s style.

  I waited for them to come out of the woodwork—Hatfield or McCoy—at every glance. Maybe I was being paranoid. But, damn, it wasn’t like I had no reason to be suspicious.

  This was insane that we trusted him—that Russ trusted him. I was the first one to trust Cap. Look at where that got me! It was because of my naïve feelings for him that we’d been captured in the first place. If only I hadn’t freaked out at the very sound of his voice! It was all so embarrassing now. If I could take it all back….

  “Russ,” I hissed. “When’re you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Russ didn’t answer me for a full minute. Apparently keeping control of his horse was taking all his concentration. He should really let me do it. Russ wasn’t a bad rider; he just wasn’t a great one, either. His hands were sloppy and he didn’t have a great seat. He hated going any faster than a trot. It was painful to watch, honestly. Things were different back then. They didn’t have cars. Riding horses wasn’t a hobby back then; it was a necessity.