I didn’t reply to this, but added an inch of whisky to both our cups, and raised mine to my lips. It seemed to pass straight through my tissues and into my dissolving core.
“Who?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly, and tossed off her whisky.
“And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where are the beast and the false prophet, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever.”
“Indeed,” I said, as dryly as possible for someone marinated in single-malt Scotch. I wasn’t sure whether the devil she had in mind was Jamie, George Washington, or the Continental Congress, but it probably didn’t matter.
“Upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it,” I said, and ceremoniously threw the last few drops from my cup into the fire, which sizzled and spat blue for an instant.
“You know, I really think we should go to bed, Elspeth. You need your rest.”
64
Ten Loaves of Sugar, Three Casks of Gunpowder, and Two Needles for Sewing Flesh
Salisbury
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK THE next morning, the Great Wagon Road lay before them, a broad stretch of trampled red dirt, spotted with dung and bits of rubbish, but empty of travelers for the moment.
“Here.” Jamie pulled one of the pistols from his belt and handed it to his sister. Who—to Rachel’s surprise—merely nodded and pointed it at a broken wagon wheel left at the side of the road, checking the sight.
“Powder?” Jenny asked, sliding the pistol into her belt.
“Here.” Jamie took a cartridge box off his neck and swung the strap of it carefully over Jenny’s white cap. “Ye’ve enough powder and shot to kill a dozen men, and six fresh-made cartridges to give ye a head start.”
Jenny caught sight of Rachel’s face at “kill a dozen men” and smiled slightly. Rachel wasn’t reassured.
“Dinna fash, a nighean,” Jenny said, and patted her arm before settling the cartridge box into place. “I willna shoot anyone unless they mean us harm.”
“I—would greatly prefer that thee didn’t shoot anyone in any circumstances,” Rachel said carefully. She hadn’t eaten much for breakfast, but her stomach felt tight. “Not on—on our behalf, certainly.” But she’d cupped Oggy’s bonneted head at the thought, pressing him close.
“Is it all right wi’ you if I shoot them on my own behalf?” Jenny asked, arching one black brow. “Because I’m no standing for anyone molesting my grandson.”
“Dinna be fratchetty, Mam,” Ian said tolerantly, before Rachel could reply to this. “Ye ken if we meet any villains, Rachel will talk them into a stupor afore ye have to shoot one.” He gave Rachel a private smile, and she breathed a little easier.
Jenny made a guttural sound that might have been agreement or mere politeness, but didn’t say more about shooting anyone.
They had two good mules and a horse, a stout wagon filled with provisions, a box of clothes and clouts, and a dozen bottles of Jamie’s whisky hidden in a cache under the floorboards. This would be the center of her world for the next several weeks, and then … the North Country—and Emily. Wishing with all her heart that she and Ian and Oggy were in their snug cabin on the Ridge, Rachel put on a brave face when Jamie bent and kissed her forehead in farewell.
“Fare thee well, daughter,” he said softly. “I will see thee safe again.” A smile creased his eyes, and brief as it was, it gave her soul enough peace that she could smile back.
Jamie took Oggy, helped Rachel up onto the seat, kissed the baby, and handed him up as well. Jenny hopped up at the back and took her place in a cozy nest of blankets amid the provisions, and threw a kiss to her brother, who grinned at her. Ian clapped his uncle on the shoulder, climbed aboard, and with a slap of the reins, they were off.
People said you oughtn’t to look back when you left a place, that it was ill luck, but Rachel turned round without hesitation, watching. Jamie was watching, too, standing like a sentinel in the middle of the road. He raised a hand, and so did she, waving.
You never knew, when you took farewell of someone, whether it might be the last time. The least you could do was say you loved them—and she wished she had. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and, as they swung out to go around the first curve, threw a kiss to the distant figure, still standing in the road.
OGGY HAD FUSSED all night, and Jenny had stayed up to walk him round the floor. Consequently, as soon as Salisbury and the pang of parting from Jamie had passed, Jenny crawled into the back of the wagon, curled up among the bags and boxes, and fell sound asleep, Oggy cuddled beside her, dead to the world in his blanket.