Julian paused. “If we show ourselves on our front lawn now, we’ll suffer the same fate as he. You know that.” Julian must have seen her face fall, for his next words were more comforting. “Come now. He’ll be all right. He’s a fast runner—look at all the experience he’s had doing it. We’ll meet up with him on the outskirts of town.”
“But—”
“Go! Now!”
“Oh, of all the ridiculous…” she muttered as she grabbed hold of her hat, stomping toward their parish’s back entrance. “Must we always leave a town in a hurry? What a life. One would think that a minister’s daughter would have more sense than to…”
The rest was lost to the wind as the door gave way, and Angelia Honeywell hurried toward their buggy.
Luckily the barn was only a few steps from the house, and she was able to quickly round up and hitch the two horses tothe wagon. She had no more than snapped the harness into place when the gunshots started. Angel drew a deep breath, glanced skyward, the action seeking divine explanation, and then, lifting her skirts, hurried back inside the house, where she found her brother kneeling next to the window, trading shots with a mob of people outside.
Hurrying to the gun rack, Angel picked up two pistols that had been carefully mounted there, checked their priming and settled herself next to her brother, leaning forward to take aim and shoot. The fact that she accomplished this with an attitude as though this were as familiar to her as a Sunday sermon was perhaps telling.
“Did you hitch up the horses to the wagon?” asked Julian.
“Yes.”
“All right. On the count of three, we’ll both take aim, shoot and run. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“One, two. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Three!”
Both sister and brother jumped up, took aim, shot their pistols and ran.
One shot from outside came a little too close as she fled, causing Angel to complain, “My hat!”
“Forget your hat.”
“Oh! I will not,” she muttered. “I vow, I’ve lost more hats in these escapes of ours than I care to think about. And I so liked this one.”
“Forget it.”
“Not this time.” She swooped up the hat from the floor as both she and Julian ran out the door, where they commenced to jump aboard the waiting wagon.
Without pause, Julian picked up the reins and yelled, “Yah!” With a quick jerk, they were away.
Reaching up to take hold of her headgear as the wagon bumped over the uneven ground, Angel glanced back once. She watched as the townspeople realized she and Julian were escaping and began to chase them, several of the men there taking parting shots at them.
Angelia ducked a carefully aimed blast.
“Here.” Julian shoved a rifle at her. “Use it.”
Grasping the weapon into her hands, Angelia might have been handling something as conventional as a tea set, her expertise was such. Spinning around and bending down so she could use the buggy’s seat to steady her hands, she took aim and shot into the air.
A discharge from the one of the townsfolk’s rifles whizzed by her.
“Damn,” Julian muttered.
“Goodness gracious!” she said. “That shot was close. You don’t suppose they’re really aiming to hurt us? That’s never happened before. Usually the people in the parish just fire into the air in warning, much like I did.”
“Don’t fire into the air this time. You’re our only defense right now.”
“Come now. You know that I can’t purposely aim at them. What if I were to hurt someone?” She dropped her glance to Julian, and what she saw made her gasp. “You’ve been hit. Dear Lord, are you badly hurt?”
