Margaret Brownley by A Long Way Home Read Free Book Online

small price to pay for her baby’s security.
    *****
    It was late afternoon when she was awakened abruptly by gunshots and wild hoots and hollers. Clutching the blankets to her chin she sat up on the pallet and glanced nervously at the door.
    Mr. St. John sat at the table, his head bent over what appeared to be a sheet of soft fabric. “Just the miners returning to town, is all. Letting off a bit of steam.”
    He seemed totally unconcerned by the mayhem waging outside his walls. Obviously, such wild behavior was common practice among the residents of Deadman’s Gulch. As bad as the rumors and tales had been about this town, nothing had prepared her for the reality of it.
    Rapid gunfire lambasted the air, followed by a silence that was no less frightening, and only made the blasts to follow seem that much louder. She needed to use the facilities again, but she’d die before setting a foot outside the cabin.
    Mayhem continued for the remainder of the afternoon; horses stampeded past the cabin, shaking the very walls around Libby. Gruff male voices bellowed, guns fired.
    Sakes alive, if it didn’t sound like war. Not that she knew what war sounded like, of course. But she did remember her father vividly describing his own experiences and death of his brother during the War of 1812.
    Fearing that a stray bullet would enter the cabin she sat huddled on a chair against the wall farthest away from the road. As was her usual habit during moments of anger or fear, she talked incessantly.
    “I’ve never heard such rowdiness in all my born days. It’s a wonder they haven’t killed each other by now. Why…”
    She continued expressing her indignation and disgust, not to mention fear, for a full half hour without as much as a breather.
    *****
    Logan couldn’t help but laugh at the stern angry face tilted in his direction. She looked like an angry magpie. He never knew anyone could talk so much. He’d heard that women in a “delicate condition” ate for two, but never had he heard tell that they talked for two.
    At last he interrupted her tirade to ask, “Do you need to…” He indicated in a way that had come to be understood by both.
    Tearing her gaze away from the direction of rapid gunfire, she gave him a scowling look. “There isn’t any way I’m going outside.”
    He shrugged and hesitated before adding, “I have something for you.” He lifted the fabric he had been working on and shook it out in front of her.
    It was a buckskin dress that was long enough to reach clear down to her toes. “It’ll keep your legs warmer than my shirt,” he said. “It’ll also fit better.”
    She stared at the dress, her eyes incredulous. “You made that for me?
    He nodded. “As soon as I finish lacing up the seams you can try it on.”
    She looked close to tears again. “I’m most…obliged to you. I only wish I knew how to repay you for your kindness.”
    “There’s no need,” he said. It surprised him that she considered the garment a kindness.  He deemed it a necessity; more so for him than for her.  A man could take only so much temptation.
    He gave his full attention to the dress despite the escalating fracas outside. The entire time he worked she fretted and fumed over the “shocking behavior” of town residents.
    He responded to any direct question in a polite voice that showed no more concern than if they were discussing the weather. But mostly he let her talk unimpeded, although he did cast a speculative glance at her on occasion. He wasn’t at all certain that a woman in her condition should be getting herself so riled up. Why didn’t she settle down and rest? Why did she persist in asking him the same questions after every gun blast, and then think it necessary to restate her unfettered opinion of the town and its inhabitants as if he didn’t already know it by heart.
    “Did you hear that, Mr. St. John?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Just like the last time.”
    “I’ve never heard such unbecoming behavior in