Harriet Appleyard lives a quiet and privileged life. Desperate to escape her father, she seeks the help of an infamous gang of gunslinging outlaws. Newfound freedom raises new prospects for Hallie as well as hurdles. And how does one define morals...
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"Goodnight, father." She spoke softly, glancing at the older man, arms crossed and half asleep in his cowhide chair. He shook his head, awakened by her voice. "Goodnight, Dear."
A slightly melancholic feeling hit her when she realized those were the last words she would say to her father in a long time. If not the very last ones ever. Tonight was the night she began her new life. Only a couple of hours had passed since her meeting with members of a certain gang. Hallie had to be at the train station at midnight.
A part of her was still surprised they went along with her idea at all. Three grown men intimidated by the likes of a twenty-something woman. She liked being taken that seriously. Though maybe next time, she should try with fewer threats.
As she sat on her bed, her eyes fixated on the packed up suitcase statically placed behind her door so that nobody would notice it. It was all she was allowed to bring, but to her, it just fine. It still felt strange to prune your life to a single suitcase.
The brunette looked around her room one last time before cautiously sneaking her way downstairs. She held her breath as she sought her father's office for a sign of life. There wasn't any, thank god. She went behind the big, almost majestic, mahogany desk and bottom drawer. She took out a small tin box. Her father didn't know that she knew where he kept it. Several clips made up of beautiful $20 bills. There had to be at almost a thousand dollars. She didn't feel once ounce of guilt as she looted the box for every last clip of money. Quickly, she stuffed the cash down her suitcase and rushed outside without a single look back.
The warm night breeze caressed her face when she opened the front door, allowing herself to escape her own home. She felt ready.
The sweet face of her darling horse, Blondie, met her near the gate of the mansion. The young mare had been Hallie's for three years, but the two had been inseparable ever since. Blondie was a good listener, and Hallie would often pour her heart out to the poor horse.
"The two of us are going on an adventure." She whispered to the horse as she stroked its beautiful golden hairs and tied her suitcase up, and rested it on the Blondie's behind.
She was startled by a pathetic bark behind her. Hallie's heart dropped to her stomach as she saw her kind Walther tied up, once again, to the doghouse.
"No fucking way," Hallie swore to herself as she marched to free her best friend, thinking of several scenarios of how to wound her stepmother mortally. "I can't take you with me, Wallie. I'm so sorry," a single tear found its way down her cheek as Walther's brown eyes looked into her own. He had no clue what was going on, though she felt he did. She didn't dare to imagine what Victoria would do with him once she realized that Hallie had escaped. Hallie just hoped that her father was good enough a man not to follow her words blindly.
Forcing herself to walk away from the closest she had ever had to a friend was close to the only thing that hurt about leaving home. As she put her foot in the stirrup and swung herself up on Blondie, she looked back one last time and felt numb. The nostalgic feeling she had only minutes ago had left her body entirely. Now the only thing she wanted was to get the hell out of there.
