by T. S. Joyce
A table full of poker players argued and laughed loudly beside us and a couple of them shot considering looks at an uninterested Kristina. When their eyes fell on me, something about my expression had them ignoring us for the remainder of her meal. Luke sauntered in with eyes only for her, and Kristina lit up like a shooting star in a black sky at the sight of her husband.
“You’re up,” he told me through a relaxed smile as he pulled Kristina toward their waiting room. “Don’t come into town looking for her, Jeremiah,” he said from the stairs without looking back. “They’ll shoot you.”
The creature caged inside of me scrabbled and clawed at me to hurry up, and when I’d hiked miles from town, I dropped to my knees and lifted my head to the eyelash moon. Half-moon, full moon, harvest moon, or blue moon—the moon didn’t matter overmuch to a werewolf as legend suggested, so long as it gave off enough light to hunt by.
The hunt was what mattered. It’s what sated the beast and coerced him to give the human skin more time. The hunt made us able to adapt to the changing times by compromising with the monster.
My brother had always hated what he was before Kristina came along to soothe him, but I’d always accepted it. There was no dread about the pain. I could flip the switch and turn my apprehension off completely. Fear made you tense up when you transformed from one animal to another. Fear made it last longer and hurt more. There was no use for fear when it came to the change. That was something I’d understood since Da told me what would happen on my sixteenth birthday half a lifetime ago.
Accept the beast, and he’ll hurt you less as he rips out of you.
The ritual was short and always the same: fold my clothes and leave them nestled onto a low lying branch where I’d be able to find them later, but where ants and scorpions wouldn’t bother them. Propped on my knees and two clenched fists, I let the first wave of pain tear through me to the sound of my crunching, snapping, reshaping bones. My mutating muscles were quieter but they hurt just as much. What would Lorelei think of me if she saw my neck snap back, or all my fingers break and reform into a wolf’s paw?
Stop it. The change was no place to think of the woman. Thinking only slowed the pain down. Focus, Jeremiah.
I groaned as my ribs imploded in on themselves one by one, and in the last blinding moment as needle sharp fur blasted through my sensitive skin, the noise in my throat turned into a savage growl. The last of my humanity slipped away as the snarling beast pushed me out of my head.
“Please,” I whispered in the final wisps of consciousness. “Don’t let me kill anyone tonight.”
Chapter Five
Jeremiah
We boarded the train the next morning. It would be a six day ride with all of the stops but surely it would be smoother than a carriage bouncing through all of the winter divots in the pot-holed dirt roads. The passenger car was made of short, red cushioned benches and the walls around the ample windows were painted a deep forest green. As I took my seat by Luke, the door handle at the back of our car caught my attention. It had a lock on it, which in my book meant a car that carried valuables, like the payroll for the railroad workers. It was located directly behind ours.
A shiver of something instinctual ran through me and I nudged Luke. He frowned at the locked door too but shrugged and draped his arm around Kristina, who was staring excitedly out the window at the huge puffs of steam coming from beneath the train. There wasn’t anything we could do to make the situation less precarious.
The other passengers watched us curiously but seemed nice enough. Blatant stares were understandable. My brother and I stood a head taller than most grown men, and Kristina was on the petit side of a woman and blond and mouthy where we were dark-haired and reserved. She had a small waist but was curvy where it counted and Luke liked her wearing low cut dresses, to which she happily obliged his taste. No doubt, we were a different group of travelers from what people usually encountered.
Luke hung his hat on his knee and ran calloused hands through his long, dark hair, come by honestly from Da. The train jolted forward and blasted a whistle, bending both my brother and I over in startled pain. The train jolted again and gave a little, chugging its wheels below. By the time the ride steadied out completely, we were a quarter mile away from the loading area.
“What if your Ma doesn’t like me?” Kristina asked.
“Ma will like you just fine, don’t you worry about that,” Luke said. “She’ll be surprised I settled down is all.”
“You haven’t told your family we’re coming?”
I shook my head while Luke fiddled with his hat.
“Well,” she asked, “did you at least let them know you’re married?”
“Nope,” I said, making a popping sound at the end.
Her face paled so I threw her a bone. “Why’re you worried about Ma liking you but not Pa?”
She smiled brightly. “Because all men like me. I got both of you Dawsons to propose to me, didn’t I?”
I tried not to roll my eyes to the roof of the train as the young family beside us jerked their heads at our conversation. Kristina hadn’t ever been one for subtlety. The young mother cradled her palms over her toddler’s ears as Kristina gave her a cheery two fingered wave.
“Don’t worry,” she said to the mother. “I turned one of them down. Challenge! Can you figure out which one I picked over the next five days?”
I put my cowboy hat over my face and leaned back into the cushioned seat while Luke chuckled away beside me.
Let her have her games.
I didn’t have to play along.
****
Lorelei
“Lorelei McGregor, what are you doing in this wretched place like some commoner?” Mother asked from the doorway of my home-sweet-home.
“Mother! What’re you doing here?” I rose so fast from the tiny table the lantern rocked dangerously before I steadied it.
“Your father and I want you to come home. You’ve punished yourself quite enough.”
“Has the scandal of my divorce affected your reputation in any way?”
“No,” my graying mother said with a stubborn twist to her mouth.
Father stood just outside the door, watching something with interest down the hall. Probably the two whores who lived in three-sixteen.
“You haven’t noticed a dip in dinner invites? Have you been hailed to go to dances and political parties?”
Mother didn’t answer which meant there had been a drastic change, just as I’d feared. “Think of how it would be if I were living under your roof, Mother. I’m not punishing myself here. I’m trying to make my way in the world without the charity of others.”
She snorted. “You’re skin and bones, child. This is no place for you. At least let us give you money to rent a proper apartment in the city.”
A flash of stubborn anger seized me. “I don’t want to be supported by my parents after being on my own and married.”
“Daniel is engaged,” Mother blurted. Her gray eyebrows knotted with worry and I sat slowly on my croaking, miniature bed.
My voice sounded very small. “To whom?”
“Marigold Remington.”
“Marigold? But she’s only just come out in society. She’s a child!”
“She’s woman enough to catch his proposal. He’s moved on. It’s time you do, too.”
“Mother, you know as well as I things are different in society for men and women. No one batted an eyelash when Daniel flaunted his mistresses, but if I’d taken a lover they would’ve lynched me. His reputation survived. Mine did not. This is my place now. It’s the only way I can support myself and help you to stay as clear of the scandal as possible.”
“Lorelei,” Mother said in an agonized whisper.
Tears stung the backs of my eyes with her pleading but couldn’t she see? I was doing this for their own good. “I love you, but please leave before someone sees you in this place.”
“She’s right, Karina,” my father said in a grav
elly voice. “She’s grown now and has to find her own way around what’s happened.” He looked at me with somber gray eyes. “If it ever gets too hard, come home. Hang the scandal. Your our daughter and our door is always open to you, little wren.”
Emotion cracked my voice. “I will, Father.”
After he led my crying mother away, I lost it. My bed wasn’t much but it could cradle a sobbing woman who had doubled in on herself. It had been easier to be strong and keep trudging forward when I hadn’t the vision of my parent’s desperation and disappointment to draw from. With a frustrated groan I wiped my puffy eyes in the mirror and counted the change in my coin purse. After a day such as today, I deserved to buy myself a crust of bread. Maybe I’d even spring for some cheese to eat with it.
The coins jangled in my pocket as I pushed open the flimsy front door to the hostel. I turned and ran into a mountain. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like, but the mountain was actually a giant man. He towered over the others who hurried along the sidewalk near him and he was leaned against my building, not even at his full height.
“Pardon me,” I said, stepping around him and into a puddle of what was likely someone’s waste they’d thrown out of an upper window. Lovely.
The man held out a hand to steady me, but I waved off his touch.
His voice was rich and deep. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ms. Lorelei McGregor, would you?”
I turned and looked up into coffee colored eyes. He was a well-made man. Upon second look, he was devilishly handsome with dark, slightly slanted eyes, a straight nose and a strong jaw. Short, dark hair peaked out from under a cowboy hat, and the dimples in his cheeks made my heart pound a little harder..
“Excuse me,” I said quietly. “I’m just on my way to dinner.”
“Is that a yes? Are you Lorelei?”
“Who wants to know?”
He placed large, elegant hands on his chest. “I’m sorry to have surprised you like this, but I’m Jeremiah Dawson.”
I don’t know what the towering man saw in my face, but he grabbed my elbow like he thought I’d faint. “Jeremiah Dawson,” I repeated. “I thought you’d found someone else. You never answered my letter.”
He pulled me closer to the wall of the building to get out of the way of the bustling foot traffic around us. “I apologize for that. Things came up—big things and then I wanted to meet you before I made you travel all the way out to Colorado Springs. I should’ve written you. I see now it was a mistake to spring up on you like this.”
It was really hard to concentrate with his dark eyes looking so sincerely into mine and his masculine eyebrows knitted with such concern. I wiped my tearstained face with the back of my hand and tried to straighten my hair. “I must look a mess.”
“You look just fine to me. Where’re you going to eat?”
“Uh, there’s a bakery a couple of streets over.”
“Can I accompany you there?” he asked.
Despite the cowboy hat, duster jacket, spurs, tall boots, and thick southern accent, he was being more gentlemanly to me than anyone had been in weeks.
“Okay.” I don’t know why it sounded like a question.
Jeremiah pulled my hand into the crook of his arm like we’d known each other for ages. It was really hard not to squeeze obviously onto his bicep but his muscles were tensed and strong and despite my deepest desire to remain unaffected by a man, my stomach was filled with a warmth I didn’t recognize. His nostrils flared and he smiled down at me before he launched into a story of his travels to find and track me down. His voice was deep and soft and easy to listen to, like some lullaby I didn’t want to stop playing. He didn’t require me to talk much, just the minimal response to encourage him onward, but I couldn’t tell if it was from him being a naturally self-absorbed individual or if he was trying to give me a chance to recover from the shock of his unexpected visit. Thinking of Daniel and every other red-blooded male I knew, it was probably the former.
The bakery was busy with patrons desperate to get bread to their families for dinner. When I reached for my coin purse, Jeremiah pushed it away gently and said, “I’ll buy you dinner.”
My eyes were likely as big as the other woman’s who stood gawking at the strapping gentleman who’d descended upon the poor man’s bakery. Was he even real? I pinched myself subtly and the prick of pain definitely proved it. Jeremiah Dawson, who I’d imagined for months looked like some pockmark-faced squat man with a balding scalp and scurvy teeth, had actually turned out to be a man a girl would dream about. I frowned. He should’ve had no problem procuring himself a wife. Not with a face and body like that, so why was he seeking a wife in a newspaper? What was wrong with him?
“What’ll you have? Choose anything you want,” he said.
Anything? My stomach rumbled but thankfully it was too loud to hear over the noise of the crowd. A concerned look flitted over Jeremiah’s features, but just like it appeared, it was gone in an instant.
“I’ll have the baguette with chicken and cheese,” I said in a voice much softer than I’d meant.
“What’s that?” The baker asked.
“She’ll have the baguette with chicken and cheese and I’ll have the same,” Jeremiah said, his voice oozing command and confidence. Here was a man born to lead people.
“Are you some kind of criminal?” I asked as we left the bakery. I was so hungry my mouth was watering, but answers felt necessary.
“You eat, I’ll talk,” he said. “I’m not a criminal, though in Colorado Springs ranchers do, on occasion, have to take the law into their own hands.”
“So you’ve killed men?” I asked around a giant bite. “I’m sorry!” Where were my manners? A month out of society and already I spoke like a peasant.
“I’ve killed men,” he said as his eyes held mine. “None who didn’t deserve it though.”
“Oh.” For some reason that made it a little better that he was a murderer. At least he was a murderer with a conscience.
We strolled slowly as I ate my baguette and sifted through which questions ranked most important. “What do you do?”
“I live on a homestead outside of town. My brother and I ranch cattle and drive them to Denver every year. Sometimes twice a year depending on the size of the herd. We also grow crops and sell them to mills, the general store, anyone who needs to store up rations for the winter, that kind of thing. Ranch life leaves us pretty busy but we get downtime during the evenings when it’s too dark out to get work done. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I said, resisting the urge to lick my fingers like I’d seen the whores down the hallway do at almost every meal they ate on their doorstep.
“I’m on my way to see my parents. They live here in Boston, you see. I’m supposed to meet my brother and his wife before we head that way and I was wondering, would you like to go with me?”
I stopped chewing and my pulse quickened. “Would I know your family?”
“I don’t know but I don’t think so. They’re a modest family. They moved here only ten years ago.”
“I suppose I should meet your parents if you still intend to go through with our business arrangement.”
He nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Then yes. I’ll go with you. I just need to stop by my room and change into something more suitable.”
“You don’t have to fuss over your appearance on my account or theirs. We’re a simple lot. You look just fine for dinner.”
The hem of my dress was still soggy from the puddle fiasco fifteen minutes ago and my scuffed shoes hadn’t managed to keep the water from my socks, which sloshed uncomfortably with every step. “It won’t take but a moment.”
“As you like,” he said with a kind smile, then escorted me back to my room.
What did one wear when they were meeting their future in-laws for the first time? They were strangers just as my escort was. Fiancé? How did this mail order marriage stuff work? I’d have to talk to him about
the logistics.
I pulled both dresses up to the window and compared. One was a deep gray color with a cream sash and puff sleeves. The other was a gold color with white lace trim. With Daniel’s parents, I’d worn my very finest dress in an attempt to impress them, but both dresses I held up to the light were of plain quality and one of them smelled like dead chicken. That one I threw over the bed. The soiled streets of lower Boston usually masked the stink of my job, but we would be in a house somewhere and I didn’t want people putting delicate handkerchiefs to their offended noses as I passed.
Dressed and ready, I wrapped my threadbare coat as tightly around me as I could manage, then made my way back to the street below. What if I’d imagined him out of my desperation for an escape? A tall, strong, mannerly prince charming riding up in his cowboy boots to save me from destitution? Sounded pretty farfetched—but no. There he stood, waiting for me.
Something about his greeting smile made my heart skitter a little faster. It had been awhile since a man looked at my face without a trace of disdain.
“Where can we get a buggy around here?” he asked.
“Oh.” I looked around for inspiration. “There won’t be any around here. No one can afford them. Maybe up a few streets, that way.” I pointed.
The walkway had become congested with people arriving back to their homes after a long day of labor. The sky was darkening and pink streaks mixed with deep blue of the coming evening. I followed closely behind Jeremiah as he used his imposing size to cut through the crowd. A portly man bumped me soundly in his haste.
“Watch it,” he said in a harried tone.
I rubbed my shoulder tenderly and opened my mouth to retort, but Jeremiah spoke up from so close beside me, I jumped.
The man had kept on his way but Jeremiah looked down at me with such a look of tenderness it tugged on my tainted heart strings. “You all right?”
“Yes, of course. Just got a little behind is all.”
He grabbed my hand and held it close to his back as he led me out of the chaos. I couldn’t quite take my eyes from the sight of his large fingers clasped protectively around mine. I’d never held hands with a man before. There wasn’t even a glove to provide a protective barrier between our palms. How very intimate to hold hands with a man I’d just met.