Trouble

Carey was furious. “This is my aunt and uncle’s farm!” he was yelling, bringing his horse between the torch men and the shed they had just lit on fire. “You have direct orders from Quantrill not to touch any of our property or our relations’!”
“Sorry! We didn’t know!” an older cross-eyed soldier spat back before riding off. Though it was too late for this particular shed, Carey was hopeful that he could save the rest of the farm from a similar fate. He was leading a small band of marauders into town. Quantrill had split his men into smaller groups so that they could enter the city limits a bit more stealthily. They would meet back up at the courthouse directly. Carey had given very specific directions to everyone as to which houses were to be spared, this being one of them, but apparently these outlaws had not listened as closely as he would have liked, and he began to fear for the safety of his father who was likely sleeping in the home they had shared. He contemplated whether or not he should break away and warn his father or continue to ride with this pack. As much as he hoped his father and their home would make it through the fray, the idea of gaining vengeance won out, and he led the men through his uncle’s property, riding directly between their home and the large barn that housed all of their horses, out to the road that led into town.
* * *
Will and Arthur stayed in the shadows but ran around to the other side of the house to watch the horsemen ride past, ensuring none of them stayed behind to wreak further havoc. “We need to get that fire out before it spreads!” Arthur cried, running back to the house to retrieve his sons.
There was only one thought on Will’s mind, however. “I’ve got to get to Cordia!” he yelled, running for the barn to get his horse. He didn’t wait to hear if his uncle had any words of wisdom. As he saddled up his horse, he realized he had neither of his weapons, having taken them both inside with him upon arrival. Climbing upon his stead, he hastened back toward the house. Though Arthur and his older two sons were running toward the blazing outbuilding, buckets in hand, John was coming toward Will, carrying his pistol and his rifle. Will slowed the horse only long enough to snatch the weapons out of his cousin’s hands, nodding his thanks, and he took off, headed straight for Cordia’s house, praying he could find a way to avoid the marauders as he went.
* * *
Cordia was looking forward to sleeping in her bed, even though she was missing her husband. Still, her mattress was so much more comfortable than the one at the cabin, and she was wondering if it might be possible to move her entire bed out there, though it would take up most of the room. Perhaps, once they built on they would have enough space for it.
She was just about to wish her parents goodnight when they heard a loud commotion outside. Isaac ran to the parlor window to see what was going on. Suddenly, a rock came flying through the dining room window, directly across the foyer from where they stood, followed by a burning torch. Cordia heard her mother screaming behind her, but she wasted no time in tearing down the curtains from the window and smothering the torch before it could ignite anything else.
Despite Cordia’s success in putting out the flames, the noise outside was an indication that they were not out of danger yet. Gunshots rang out in the air around their house, the cool night air bringing the sound in through the broken window. Jane was still screaming, and Isaac contemplated giving her a good, hard slap across the face to make her shut up as he crossed in front of her, hurrying to the gun cabinet. He didn’t have time, however, so she continued to fill the room with terrified yelps.
Frieda was up now, rushing down the stairs in her nightclothes, demanding to know what was happening.
“We’re under attack,” Isaac said as calmly as he could. “Jane,” he continued, crossing the room to hand Cordia a loaded rifle. “Go with Frieda into the crawlspace under the stairs. Lock the door, and don’t come out until Cordia or I tell you to—unless you smell smoke.”
Jane’s feet weren’t moving until Frieda grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her in the direction Isaac had indicated. The screaming stopped after a few moments, or at least they were far enough away that Isaac and Cordia could no longer hear her.
Cordia cocked the rifle. The thought of using the gun on a human being was revolting to her, but when it came to protecting her family, she would not hesitate to do so. The cacophony outside was growing louder, and the smell of smoke was wafting in on the breeze blowing in through the broken window. Isaac positioned himself next to the window in the parlor, and Cordia ducked down next to the broken window, pushing the shattered glass out of her way with the butt of the gun. Their house sat back away from the road a bit, so anyone who wanted to assault them again would have to cross through the yard. If there were not too many of them, Cordia and her father should be able to get a few rounds off before they got close enough to throw another flame. However, if there were enough of them, or if they snuck around the back of the house, there was no guarantee that they couldn’t reduce the house to ashes.
* * *
When Will took off from his aunt and uncle’s farm, he avoided the main road out front, choosing instead to pass through the yards and farms that would take him directly to Cordia’s house. This was risky, however, because, if a neighbor mistook him for a marauder, it was possible he could find a bullet in his back before he had the opportunity to explain. He made his way to the outskirts of town without incident. However, as he began to near the center of town, he realized the situation was far worse than he had even suspected. The sound of gunfire was all around him, and he could smell the smoke pouring off of houses north of town. He knew he would need to avoid the town square since it sounded as if most of the gunfire was coming from that direction.
He rode up on Tenth Street, one of the roads that led to the square, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Almost every house was on fire. Citizens were fleeing their homes, most of them in their nightclothes. There was no sign of the guerrillas, as they had apparently ridden on toward the square and the outpost stationed there. He was only about four blocks from the square, and the commotion coming from that direction was steadily growing. As much as he wanted to help these destitute people, he could think only of his wife and her family. He turned his horse south, concluding that, if he could ride a few more blocks in this direction, he could turn back west and cut over toward Cordia’s house. The further south he went, the fewer houses, and the less likely he was to draw the attention of the raiders, though it was more likely that these citizens would be ready to shoot anyone on a horse.
Riding south but glancing down the streets he passed, he saw several other structures on fire. Passing Twelfth Street, one of his most grave concerns came to pass as one of the civilians in his yard took aim at the only figure on a horse he could see. Will did not waste time trying to explain that he was one of the good guys, nor did he need to coax his horse to run faster as it took off with the sound of the bullet whizzing by so closely.
Hunkered down over the neck of his horse, he spurred him on, rounding the corner near Fourteenth Street, headed west toward his wife’s family home. A new sound spooked his horse now, a sound that Will had hoped he never heard again, the sound of cannon fire.