Free Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 by The Morning River (v2.1) Page A

it mean for the people, girl? What is
going to happen next? Something with these White men, I'll bet. It won't be
good."
                   "I don't know, Aunt." Willow pushed herself to her feet, snow cracking
from her robe. Her cramped muscles ached, and the cold tightened around her
body. "But for now, here, take my hand. As dark as it is, we'll have
trouble enough getting you back down to the camp."
                   Two Half Moons shivered hard, rattling like a
cottonwood leaf in the wind. With movement, however, their bodies would warm.
                   Heals Like A Willow began picking her way
along the rimrock, glancing back only once for a final look at the rocked-up
crevice. Snow clung in the recesses among her carefully placed rocks—a pale
spider's web that had snared the last of her dreams.
     
                   As dreams of Laura faded, Richard blinked his
eyes open to pale morning light filtering through the cabin window. The
rattling, shaking, and clanking of the Virgil brought him back to the river and
the journey's incredible tedium.
                   His blankets were pulled up around his chin
and when he exhaled, his breath rose frost white in the dim light. Loath to
leave the warmth of his bed, he snuggled into a ball and let his eyes trace the
white-painted wooden walls of his little prison. He could hear footsteps on the Texas deck above his head.
                   Curse you, Father, for doing this to me. Boston , ah Boston . If only he were home instead of racing
downriver toward God alone knew what fate.
                   In his memory, Richard relived that fateful
Saturday night in Will Templeton's home—Laura would wait for him.
                   Great God, here he was, traveling ever farther
from her and the wondrous opportunity she represented.
                   It's not forever. All you need to do is go to Saint Louis , then return. All will be as it was before.
On his very soul, he'd never leave the city again!
                   After that last bittersweet Boston weekend, Jeffry had roused Richard out of
bed before the sun rose. He'd dressed by lamplight, pulling on his warmest
things.
                   Breakfast had consisted of Sally's bread
pudding, pork, and eggs. Richard had been seated across the table from his
father. Phillip watched him eat, then said, "I’ve had Jeffry pack a pistol
in your grip. Given the nature of your—''
                   "I won't need it, Father. You know how I
feel about firearms."
                   Phillip's face twitched, eyes narrowing.
"We protested the Stamp Act. We threw their tea into the harbor in
defiance of their tea tax. We told them that if they wanted to tax us, we
damned well wanted representation. What good citizens wouldn't? When they shot
us down in the streets of Boston , we remained loyal. We wouldn't have—"
                   "I don't need to hear this again."
                   "We wouldn't have risen against them had
General Gage not ordered the confiscation of our rifles." Phillip pointed
a meaty finger, emphasizing his point. "We didn't resort to warfare until
they marched on Concord to seize our powder."
                   "I know. I know."
                   'Then you also know that no Massachusetts man worth his spit—let alone a man from Boston —will ever travel without his weapons. And
where you're going ..."
                   "I won't need it!"
                   Phillip closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"Here in Boston you might not, Richard. But you must face the fact that no matter how
much you despise weapons, the day will come when you will need one. Either to
protect your life and property, or as the counterbalance to tyranny."
                   "Father, I am an enlightened man. There
is nothing I can't cope with by employing