Tuesday, March 07, 2017

Disrupted: Day 6

Word Count: 36,025

Summary of Events:
Gwendolen enjoyed breakfast with Mrs. Harder before learning that there was a widower who lived out of town and didn't send his children to school; she intended to visit him right away, but Mrs. Harder wanted to teach her how to drive first. Ezra accompanied his boss and one of his boss' grandsons to the place they usually got their horses from and ended up picking up a short and rather cantankerous mare for his boys. Gwendolen, now knowledgable in how to drive, headed out to visit the widower, who startled her by already waiting for her when she turned around after having parked the horse . . .

Excerpt of the Day:
"Tall, lean, and with a face set of stone, he stared at her. His head was covered by rather thick, dark hair that curled softly; his blue eyes were fixed on her with a piercing sharpness; his jaw, which was decently bearded, was set.
Compared to the veranda around him, he was rather tall, with relatively broad shoulders and his arms, clad in whitish shirtsleeves, were crossed over his chest. His chest was additionally covered in a dark grey vest, while blue trousers covered his long legs.
The most fearsome thing of all, though, was the leather piece that came down from his belt and had an extra strap around his leg. Affixed to the piece was a pocket, in which sat a gun.
Gwendolen, after surveying his full height, looked back up at his face, which glared at her with all the cold of the day she'd arrived, making her wish she'd brought her coat despite the mildness of the day.
Her resolve faltered in the face of his imposing figure, but she managed to summon up some more courage and took a couple steps away from the wagon toward where he stood.
She glanced down at the gun on his leg, then back up at his face. "Mr. MacAskill, I presume?"
"A correct presumption," he replied, in a low, tense, voice that suggested brooding rage. For what?
"I," Gwendolen began, halting as she glanced down at the gun again before looking up. "I've come . . . on the account of your children."
"Then leave," he replied flatly, his gaze getting even colder, if that was possible.
"But I've heard–"
"It's all lies," he interrupted firmly. "Leave."
"Your children need an education," Gwendolen said quickly.
"They are receiving one," he replied, almost snappishly.
"But it's inadequate," Gwendolen protested.
"Only in the mind of your eastern-bred ilk," he replied.
Gwendolen didn't know what to say, so she exhaled indignantly.
"You have ten seconds to leave, or I fill the back of your wagon with buckshot," he said.
"It's not my wagon," Gwendolen said. "And I should hope you wouldn't plan to fill me with buckshot."
"I am not dishonourable," he said. "But I don't care whose wagon that is, you have ten seconds to leave before it's filled with buckshot."
"I am not leaving!" Gwendolen protested.
"Yes you are," he said, bringing his legs in from their wide stance and turning toward the door.
"Excuse me!" Gwendolen snapped, stamping her foot.
Mr. MacAskill stopped and turned around to look at her with an arched eyebrow, as if he were amused.
"You haven't heard anything of what I'm trying to say!" Gwendolen protested. "You haven't heard anything of my proposal!"
"I've heard enough of it to hate it," Mr. MacAskill replied. "And to think that it is high time for you to be leaving.""

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