Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1) by Peter Grant Read Free Book Online

sometime!”
    “I’ll try. We’ll see.” He hugged her again, and whispered in her ear, “When I’m gone, take Pa with you and look under the pillow on my bed. All right?”
    She nodded and murmured, “All right. What’s there, Walt?”
    “You’ll see.” He released her, and said more loudly, “Tell that Jim of yours to treat you right, or there’ll be a reckoning.”
    He winked to take the sting out of his words, shared one more heartfelt embrace with his father, then swung up onto the wagon seat beside the driver. “All right, Mose. Let’s go get Mrs. Eliot.”
    “Yassuh. Giddap there!”
    Walt waved to his father and sister, then turned to look ahead as the team clip-clopped down the road. He smiled to himself, thinking of his father’s and sister’s reactions when they found the ten double eagles he’d left beneath his pillow, along with letters for each of them. He hoped his gift would help to make up, in some small measure, for his renewed absence.
    The wagon began to round a bend. Walt glanced back, and watched his childhood home pass out of sight behind the trees. He knew he was cutting himself off from his past by leaving it, and his family, behind.
So be it,
he thought sadly.
It wasn’t the same when I came back as it was when I left. Guess the war changed me more than I thought. I’ll put down new roots somewhere else… but not yet. Not yet.

The hired hack drew up outside a storefront labeled, in gold script on the glass window, “Josiah Fitch, Esq. Guns”.
    “This is the place, sir,” the driver said, turning to Walt as he sat in the rear of the open buggy.
    “Thankee. Wait here while I get my things, if you don’t mind.” He handed him a couple of greenbacks.
    “Yessir!”
    A bell rang as Walt opened the door, and a man sitting at a workbench behind the counter looked up as he removed a loupe from his eye. He looked to be in his early thirties, and was dressed in a white shirt over gray trousers beneath a craftsman’s apron.
    “Good afternoon, sir. How may I be of assistance?”
    Walt put down his burdens and offered his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fitch. I’m Walter Ames, from Sparta. My brother-in-law-to-be, Lt. Jim Webber, allows you’re a good man to do business with. Also, my father, Edward Ames, brought his shotgun here for repair one time, and told me you drove a fair bargain.”
    Fitch shook his hand firmly. “Your father is a fine gentleman, Mr. Ames. I’ve heard the lieutenant speak of his bride-to-be, but I didn’t know she had a brother.”
    “I’ve been away. The war, you know.”
    “I see. Were you in Lt. Webber’s unit?”
    “No, a different regiment.” Walt grinned inwardly.
Better not tell him just how different,
he decided. It still wasn’t clear whether paroled Confederate soldiers were permitted to bear arms after they got home. Policies varied from district to district. “I’ve got a few rifles and revolvers here that I don’t need. I want to buy weapons that’ll be more suitable for the western frontier. I’d like to trade these against the others, and pay the balance.”
    “So you’re bound for the west? I’ll be glad to assist you. I don’t guarantee the lowest prices, but they’ll be reasonable, and I’ll give fair value for whatever I take in trade from you.”
    “Fair enough.” Walt undid the ties fastening the blanket roll and spread it out to expose the guns inside. “I’ve got three carbines, two Sharps and a Burnside.” He indicated the carpetbag. “In the bag there’s an Army Colt, a Navy Colt, a Lemat, and a Smith & Wesson Model 2, the .32 caliber.”
    “The Sharps are in high demand; the Burnside less so. All the revolvers are popular models, the Colts in particular. May I?”
    “Please do.”
    The gunsmith spent ten minutes examining each firearm closely, opening the action, checking the chambers and bore for corrosion, and testing the lockup of the mechanism. At last he set down the Burnside carbine. “These