A gusty breeze blew at their long cloaks, allowing brief glimpses of clothing—or lack of it—beneath. A few of the younger girls who worked in the kitchen dabbed at the tears streaking down their cheeks as they huddled together in the blustery chill. Patience swallowed past the lump in her throat, careful not to show the bittersweet emotion of leaving the houseful she’d mothered. They’ll be fine. I’ve taught them the value of independence and self-respect. The other residents of Encanto had come to say their farewells as well, a few of the men offering to escort her partway to Houston. She’d declined, patting the rifle beside her on the seat and the pistol in her lap—not that either would be necessary. A single unspoken whisper into the most malicious criminal mind would keep her safe. The pure of heart were much more difficult to influence. With a snap of the reins, the wagon lurched forward, her trunk bumping against the wooden side in the plank bed.
