Off Kilter

by Laura Strickland

  Every officer on duty must have filed past while the sergeant processed him, to stare. Kelly met each of them with an implacable gaze that, though intent, moved them on. And after, it was he who accompanied James to a cell, putting him into the last empty unit alone even though the other two had multiple occupants.

  Kelly stood for a moment and regarded James through the bars, and James wondered what he thought. Did hybrids think? The broad, good-looking face seemed curiously hard to read. Yet surely he, James, should be the last to question what went on behind a mask.

  “You want me to contact someone for you?” Kelly’s voice must come from a mechanical voice box, yet it sounded like that of no steamie James had ever heard, clear and very high-quality. James had to remind himself these units burned coal, like any other mechanical. Only their appearance—and some ineffable essence—made them seem human.

  The opposite of me. It’s my appearance makes me less than human.

  He shook his head. Sick to the heart, he couldn’t imagine lumbering Tate with this. Struggling to think, he realized Roselyn would no doubt send a message to Tate anyway. But he, James, deserved to be left here to rot.

  Kelly stepped closer to the bars. His eyes, a curious shade of green, rested impassively on James’ face. “The way cart horses are treated in this city is abominable. They are no better than slaves. I will make sure the animal in question is rescued from its owner’s hands.”

  James heart leaped. “Thank you.”

  Kelly nodded. He turned on his heel and marched out, leaving James feeling marginally better. Maybe he’d done some good after all.

  ****

  “Well, and sure this is getting to be an unfortunate habit. Did I not just buy your way out of this place a few days ago?”

  James looked up when he heard the familiar voice, and the despair that hovered around him like a cloud deepened. He felt sick to his heart, and the sight of Tate, his broad face creased in a frown, did nothing to help.

  “Just leave me,” he said. “I deserve to be here. Go home and forget I exist.”

  He wished he could forget he existed. Ugly, foolish, and prone to rages—what good could he do in the world? As the hours in the cell dragged by, he’d convinced himself he had absolutely no value and had ended up where he belonged.

  “Ah, so it’s that way, is it?” Tate returned. “Sitting there drowning in self-pity, are you?”

  James glared at his friend. “Any better suggestions?”

  “Aye. Pull yourself up by your socks and resolve to live a better life.”

  “Better?” James laughed bitterly. “How is anything better for me being in the world?”

  “Those dogs back in the kennel might claim to be, plus that poor cart horse back there. I heard what happened from Albert and Roselyn.”

  Albert. James groaned. “Albert saw what I did.”

  “Not setting a perfect example for a young lad, are you? Unless you want to teach him to stand up for what he believes in.”

  “Go away, dammit, and leave me alone.”

  “Is that what you really want? To stew in here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you will. They’ve hauled the coal driver away to hospital, but I can’t imagine he’ll fail to press charges, can you?”

  “No.”

  “That means jail time, unless I can talk to Brendan.”

  “Don’t bother, Tate. You’ve done enough for me.”

  “Ah, well, I’ll just abandon you to your misery, shall I?”

  James lifted anguished eyes to Tate’s face. “You’ll look after the dogs, will you? And—Albert?”

  “I thought you’d rather be on that task. But since you’re willing to renounce the world and all your responsibilities with it…”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Aye, laddie, I think you did. If you change your mind and want my help, send word to Brendan or tell Officer Kelly. He seems to have taken an interest in you—don’t ask me why.”

  Perhaps because a freak knows a freak when he sees one, James thought. He lowered his head back into his hands and never looked up as Tate walked away.

  ****

  “Is he all right? Jamie—is he all right?” Cat virtually threw herself at Tate when he entered the boarding house, stopping just short of seizing hold of the big Irishman.

  Tate gave her a kind look tinged with sympathetic impatience. “Depends on your definition of ‘all right,’ Albert. At the moment, he’s fallen into a well of self-pity and decided the world is better without him.”

  “But that’s not true.” Aghast, Cat stared into Tate’s face. “You must convince him otherwise.”

  “You think I didn’t try? Ah, Albert, you don’t know what our James is like when he goes off kilter. He is never too happy with himself, after.”

  “I don’t care.” Cat drew herself up to her full height. “Take me to see him, then. I’ll convince him.”

  Tate exchanged looks with Roselyn, who stood drying her hands on her apron. “At the station? I think not.”

  “Wherever I have to go, I will.” Cat drew a determined breath. “You don’t know me very well, Mr. Murphy. But I’ll do anything—anything—to help those for whom I care.”

  “Care, is it?” The corners of Tate’s eyes crinkled. “Right now he doesn’t think anybody should care for him—thinks he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “All the more reason for me to tell him differently.” Cat would pour out what lay in her heart if she had to. But she couldn’t be all that sure what did lie in her heart. The past hours, since Jamie was hauled away, had proved agonizing. Her emotions made such a tangled knot in her chest she didn’t know how to unravel them.

  “Please,” she beseeched Murphy.

  “Best you stay here for the time being. Despite what he says, I’m working on getting the lad out of there, with the help of some friends on the force. He’ll have to report back before a judge, of course, and it’s his third infraction in a couple weeks. Doesn’t look good.”

  Cat thought, wildly, about chances and opportunities. What if she and James ran away together, started somewhere fresh? But she couldn’t do that either. She had her sister to consider.

  “Mr. Murphy, have you had any word from Toronto?”

  “No. But James was on his way here to warn you when all hell broke loose. Boyd’s out of the hospital and on the warpath. That’s why I say you should stay close. Roselyn, keep Albert in, will you?”

  Dryly, Roselyn reminded him, “Albert has just been out in the street, and without his cap, for all to see.”

  “I know better now. But please, Mr. Murphy, will you bring Jamie by here when he gets released, so I can assure myself he’s come to no harm?”

  “I’ll do my best, so long as you’ll have a care meanwhile. Stay in your room or the kitchen, where the boarders can’t see you. Boyd has deep pockets and you never know who’ll rise to the bait.”

  “Aye, run off to your room now, Albert,” Roselyn bade. “Leave me to have a word with my brother.”

  Cat climbed the battered wooden stairs, her heart like a stone. Would Roselyn decide Cat’s presence here made too much of a complication and ask her to leave? If so, Cat could scarcely blame her.

  Her room, when she reached it, felt close and stuffy, but she shut the door anyway, then went to the crooked window and forced it open. The furor in the street had cleared as if nothing had ever happened. Both the horse and the coal wagon were gone. Rain pelted down in big, angry drops from a sky as gray as granite. Folks hurried about their business with determined strides and hunched shoulders.

  Cat thought again of Jamie as she’d last seen him. She knew him to be a champion of animals—especially those downtrodden—and to possess a generous heart, but what could cause him to leave go of his senses that way?

  Off kilter, Murphy called it.

  Upon that thought she saw Tate emerge from the door three stories below and leaned out to call down. “Mr. Murphy—a word with you, plea
se.”

  Murphy glared up at her. “Get inside, for God’s sake. I’ll come up.”

  She heard his large boots clattering on every flight and awaited him at her door.

  “Holy Mary, ’tis a hot box up here, and no mistake,” he observed. He shot her a close look. “Quite the comedown for you, isn’t it, Miss Delaney?”

  “I’m not complaining. Please, Mr. Murphy, if you can spare me a minute…”

  “Little more than that, lass. I need to see a man about releasing a fool from a jail cell.”

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss.”

  “Somehow I thought it might be. Interested in Jamie, are you, lass?”

  “Interested?”

  He arched his brows in a manner that made his meaning clear. “Interested. You being a young woman and him a young man—despite what he claims.”

  Cat’s cheeks flamed, but she tipped up her chin. “It wouldn’t do me much good, would it? It isn’t as if he’s attracted to me.”

  “If you think that, you’re more an idjit than you look.”

  “He’s an extraordinary man.”

  “That he is, and one with a load of trouble on his shoulders.”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask: this ‘off kilter’ thing, as you call it. Why does it happen?”

  Murphy shrugged heavily. “He has triggers. The main one is abuse.”

  “Tell me, please.”

  “I’m not sure he’d be wanting me to do that.”

  “But I need to understand. If I—if he…” Abruptly Cat’s words failed her.

  “Are you after saying you’d like a future with him?”

  “I don’t know, do I? I like and respect him immensely. At least, I did.”

  “Before you saw him half beat the life out of someone?” Murphy sighed. “Well then, lass, James had a complicated sort of love-hate relationship with his ma. His pa died early, when he was no more than a wee sprog. There was a younger child also, a sister.”

  “Oh.”

  “James’ mother had to go out and work long hours to keep her bairns fed. It’s a common story in this city and many others, and especially hard for women with no man. James both adored his ma for the terrible sacrifices she made, and abhorred how she took out her weariness and inability to cope.”

  Aghast, Cat wondered, “She never beat her children?”

  “Do not look so shocked. As a child, were you never whacked?”

  Dumbly, Cat shook her head.

  “Ah well, a swat here or there, or the slap of a wee hand, may be called for—who am I to say? James and his sister got more than that. Eventually he stood up to his ma to protect little Janet.

  “I’ll tell you now, Miss Delaney, so you do not hear it elsewhere: the rumor mill in this city says James killed his mother one night—‘kilt her’ is what they say when they taunt him. Not true. I made it a point to find out when I decided to help the lad, plus I heard the story from James’ own lips.

  “He came upon his mother hitting wee Janet one night, and got between them. His ma had knocked the lass down, and she continued with hitting Jamie, as well. He shouted at her, ‘Keep it up, Ma, and you’ll kill both of us!’ The woman came to herself, so he said, went pale as a sheet, and fell down dead before help could come.” Murphy grimaced. “James always blamed himself.”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  “He asserts his mother worked herself to death—the doc said it was her heart—for his and Janet’s keep. Ironic that, for wee Janet perished soon after her ma, from the battery her head had taken.”

  “He lost them both?”

  “He did. And since then any kind of cruelty—especially toward those weaker than him—has been a trigger, his only one, so far as I can tell.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Murphy.”

  “You’ve no need to fear him, lass.”

  “No, I know that.”

  “And please don’t harden your heart against him.”

  Cat didn’t think she could.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I don’t want to stop at Roselyn’s,” James said stubbornly, and not for the first time. Morning had come, but the rain still pissed down, and the smell of the river hung heavy in the air. Glad as he might be to get sprung from the small cell at the jailhouse, he felt like finding some other hole into which he might crawl.

  “I told Miss Delaney I’d bring you by.”

  James shot Tate a resentful look from the corner of his eye. And there it was, the reason he didn’t want to stop at Roselyn’s. He didn’t think he could bear to see Catherine. At the same time, he longed to see her. It was enough to drive a man mad.

  “Why did you tell her that?”

  “She’s worried about you, lad. The last time she saw you—”

  James drew himself up against the rain. “I am perfectly aware how I must have looked the last time she saw me.” As if he weren’t already repulsive enough. “Tate, I can’t.”

  “Thought you’d set yourself up as her protector. How are you going to protect her from a distance, lad?”

  “All that’s over and done.”

  He’d thrown it away in the street, while pummeling the cart driver. The man’s name, as he’d since learned, was Schmidt. Tate said he was in hospital and expected to make a full recovery. “Lucky for you,” Tate had added. “If you’re truly fortunate, you’ll get off with another fine.”

  A whopping big one, no doubt. Where was James expected to come up with the money? There went any hope of begging or borrowing funds to pay Dr. Roesch, and any hope of making him less a monster.

  “Tate,” he said now, “I just want to go home.” He’d not slept in that place, with both his mind and heart too full.

  “Do I look like I care what you want?” Tate returned.

  “No.”

  “Come do your duty and set the lass’s mind to rest.”

  The clatter of dishes and the smell of home cooking greeted them when they entered the kitchen. To James’ surprise, his stomach rumbled. He hadn’t wanted to eat inside, either.

  Dottie shot them a surprised look and then hurried out to the dining room with a heaping bowl of potatoes.

  A lad with a narrow back labored at the stove. Only she wasn’t a lad, as James saw when Cat turned around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and her face transformed with joy. The ladle she held dropped from her hand.

  “Jamie!”

  She flew around—or perhaps over—the end of the table and launched herself into his arms.

  And oh, how she fit there all warm and ardent, pressed against him. She clenched her arms about his middle and pressed in tight, cheek against his chest above his heart and head tucked beneath his chin. James froze for an instant, the wind knocked from him by more than just the impact, before folding his arms around her.

  Dimly he saw Tate move past them and take up a station at the door to the dining room, assuring no one could come in, but most of James’ attention centered on the trembling woman in his arms, and the intensity of her embrace.

  The agony that had filled him for days seemed to ease for the first time, as warmth took its place.

  “Are you all right?” She tipped her face and gazed into his eyes, but her arms never loosened.

  He longed to say, Don’t look at me. Shame made him want to push her away, even as he ached to keep her where she was. He found himself incapable of speaking a word. Instead, he nodded.

  “You’re sure? You weren’t harmed during that fight? Has a doctor seen you?”

  “Not me.” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears. What was that he saw in her beautiful eyes? It couldn’t possibly be meant for him. “I put that other fellow in hospital.”

  “He was a brute.”

  “That doesn’t make it right, what I did.” He forced the words out.

  “Of course not. But the way I see it, you had tremendous justification.” She reached up and touched the good side of his face, then put her fingers through his hair. A sm
ile further lit her eyes. “You’re all wet.”

  “It’s raining pretty hard. But Tate said—he said you wanted to see me.” James resisted the impulse to close his eyes and press into her hand, pretend for a minute that he was just a man with a beautiful woman in his arms.

  “I did, oh, I did! I’ve been on pins and needles. What happens now? Are you out for good?”

  “No. There’ll be a hearing and probably a sentencing.”

  “Well, never mind. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  We? Madness rose in a wild bubble to James’ head. But this made a good kind of madness.

  Someone tried to come in the kitchen door. Tate hissed to whoever was on the other side and then slipped through, leaving them alone.

  “Thank goodness. I thought he’d never go.” Catherine gazed up into James’ eyes and linked her arms around his neck. He stiffened. The soft skin of her left wrist brushed against the scar tissue that covered his right cheek. She shouldn’t…she shouldn’t be touching him that way. Abhorrence on her behalf rose inside.

  But she seemed to see none of that. The smile in her eyes became daring and wickedly bright.

  “I promised myself I would do this as soon as I saw you again.”

  As simply as that—as if it were not a miracle of the first water—she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

  Wonder flooded through him, tangled with a measure of horror and unbearable need. He knew very well that half of his mouth, the lips thickened and twisted, barely resembled a mouth at all. That she would consent—more, choose—to touch it with her perfect lips like rose petals almost felled him where he stood. On the heels of those emotions came desire, roaring like a train. He’d wanted this woman from the moment he saw her, and now, against all likelihood, he had her in his arms.

  As simple, and as incredibly complicated, as that.

  He groaned like a dying man, and she opened her mouth beneath his. This could not be what it seemed—blatant invitation. She couldn’t possibly want his tongue in her mouth. But that organ, acting without his volition just like the one lower down, thrust forth and claimed her sweetness in rampant victory.