Gears of Brass

by Jordan Elizabeth

  “N-no,” her father sputtered. “This monstrosity will not leave my home. What would people think? I can’t be blamed for creating something so hideous.”

  “He isn’t hideous.” Augusta grabbed her beast’s arm, and he stepped sideways toward her. The grinding gears created a soothing rhythm.

  “You’ll have to take him apart. Put the tools away where you found them.”

  Augusta stiffened and the beast pulled his arm away to hold it around her. Protective. Her father should have done that, rather than sealing off the doors.

  “Can’t you be proud of me? He’s a magnificent creation.” He might not be as smooth and polished as the other inventions around the house, but he worked. That had to be worth something in her father’s eyes. “We can show those professors—”

  “And then they might want to educate you.” He cupped her face within his hands, and the flush slid away from his face. “This is a wonderful first attempt, but you’re my assistant. Leave it at that, please. You’re safe here.”

  He kissed her forehead before walking toward the cellar, wiping his palms on his white lab coat as though she’d dirtied them.

  “Come here, beast.” Augusta clasped his hand to lead him to the front door. “Can you break the lock for me? I’ve never been able to find the key.”

  The beast’s gears ground as he smashed his hand through the door where the lock had once been and wood shavings sprayed over the floor. The beast pulled his hand back and shook it, splinters striking her yellow skirt.

  “What was that?” Her father’s boots thumped on the stairs in a run.

  “Come with me, Beast. Hurry!” Augusta shoved the door open and dashed into the night.

  The beast galloped at Augusta’s side. His body sagged to the left, and that leg appeared longer; he swiped at the vegetation with one arm, and his grinding gears gave off the impression of a growl.

  Weeds slashed against Augusta’s boots and caught in her skirt. A root hidden beneath the snow curled over her toe, knocking her off balance; as wind rushed by, a scream tore from her lungs, and she smacked into the ice. The beast lifted her by the waist and carried her in his arms as though she was a kitten.

  “We’ll find a place to hide.” The full moon filtered through the branches above them, the limbs bare and glistening with ice. Her breath plumed in front of her lips.

  Her mother had taken her for long walks in the woods to observe wildlife. If the escape had come sooner, Augusta might have better remembered where the best hiding spots lay, those overturned trees with the exposed root caverns, and the valleys by the streams.

  “There’s a cottage for the shepherds.” Augusta leaned against the chill of the beast’s body. “I’ll guide you there. We can stay the night.” She might know her way better in the morning.

  They could go to the city, but they would have to avoid the universities. Her father’s friends would tattle on her.

  She could take the beast to one of the invention exposes and a wealthy patron might help seal her fate in the outside world.

  Professor Louis lifted a chalkboard to show his sketch. “The clockwork beast looks like this.”

  The villagers crowded around him where he stood on the picnic table in the village green. Gas lamps hung from hands, and a few people cocked their pistols. An elderly gentleman brandished an axe.

  “He stole my daughter,” Professor Louis continued. “Since he’s metal, we’ll have to shoot between his joints. If we rupture the steam tank, he should fall in one swoop.”

  Clyde stepped out from the crowd. “You created this clockwork monster?”

  “No. I… don’t know where it came from. It burst into my house and took off with Augusta.” Clyde should have been getting rowdy, rather than staring him down. The boy had, after all, asked for Augusta’s hand in marriage many a time. He should care about her, then.

  Not that Augusta would ever know about those proposals. She needed to stay indoors, safe, close beneath her father’s eye.

  “They went into the woods,” Professor Louis continued. “Once one of your search party finds them, take down the clockwork beast first. We don’t want it further attacking my daughter.”

  “Augusta?”

  That couldn’t have been Clyde’s voice playing with her sleep-addled mind. She rolled over on her cot.

  She didn’t have a cot, but a four-poster bed with a feather mattress.

  “Augusta!”

  She jerked upright, gasping. Clyde stood over her with one hand on her shoulder.

  “Is Papa here?” A gas lamp rested near Clyde’s foot; the light extended over the walls of the shepherd shack and out the open door where moonlight took reign.

  No Papa. Her beast stood in the corner, unmoving.

  “Beast won’t attack you,” she whispered. “I told him who my friends were.”

  “Did you make him?” Clyde brushed the back of his finger over her cheek, and she closed her eyes, sighing. That touch of his skin… as soft as she’d imagined.

  She nodded, wordless, and he slid his thumb over her lower lip.

  “Your father has a hunting party set out to kill him.”

  “What?” She scrambled off the bed and stood, panting. “How dare he? I created Beast to be my protector. I was going to see the world again, because I would have Beast.”

  “Shh.” Clyde caught her hands. “We’ll confront the village and tell them. They won’t harm him if they know he’s not dangerous.”

  Augusta stepped back. Her father would never allow the beast to live, not after he’d lied about it. He would never afford her another chance to escape. “Clyde, will you help us get away?”

  “It’s snowing, so that will help hide the tracks. I knew you’d come here. Remember when we were kids and used to play in here?” Clyde glanced around the shack.

  “Please, help me get away. I can’t stay locked up in that house any longer.” Tears pricked her eyes.

  He kissed her lips so fast she couldn’t move. “I’ll take you back to my house. We can hide the beast there. You’ll marry me, won’t you, Augusta? Your father can’t touch you then.”

  She nodded, and one of those tears slipped out past her lashes. She’d longed for that proposal to come, but each noontime, Clyde had strolled on by her house with just a wave and that whistle. “Yes, we’ll go with you, Clyde. Yes.”

  Augusta sat on the roof of Clyde’s house, the summer sun bringing out highlights in her brown hair, as she tinkered with one of his old pocket watches. Her husband wouldn’t be back for another hour; after that, she’d have to go inside to help him with his paperwork. Even though he knew she’d snuck onto her father’s roof, he’d never made mention of her doing it on his home as well. If he assumed she spent the entire day locked inside, so be it.

  Someday, she would discover where her husband had hidden her beast bodyguard; then, she and her creation would escape.

  he should thank the stars in heaven that a nice-looking fella like Clint Wyatt took pity on her,” the Dalton girls babbled, wise enough to know I could hear every word from where I stood.

  It’d been two weeks since Clint asked for my hand in marriage, and although the entire Death Valley population worshiped him, I wasn’t considered a prize. Unlike most folks, Papa didn’t drink nor gamble which made us ill-suited for the festive town.

  Instead, he slaved day and night at the ranch. Every minute was spent in his research laboratory while other men worked cattle or excavated the mines for gold. Despite his efforts, Papa’s inventions made little money, forcing me to sew and sell my creations to the Dalton General Store for mere silver coins. Our livelihood was the only thing that kept me from smacking these two spoiled girls silly. Fortunately for me, Mrs. Dalton gossiped with class.

  “How is your papa doing, Anabel?” Mrs. Dalton asked as she entered the room with a wooden rocking horse. She gave her daughters a nasty glare through her round-framed glasses and set the horse next to a bundle of trinkets, lazily grooming its mane. />
  “I haven’t seen him come to town in a while,” she said. “I hope he isn’t ill. I remember the days when my mother was quarantined. It took such a toll on the store.”

  I tried to hold the intensity of her gaze, but my eyes dropped too soon. It pained me to watch her pinpoint at my insecurities. Maybe she was right, and Papa idled away the hours in a lonely laboratory. “He’s doing great, ma’am. Simply occupied with an invention. It’s hard work coming up with new ideas.”

  Mrs. Dalton choked on a laugh. “Of course it is, darling. Be sure to send him my greetings.”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  Across the room, the Dalton girls absorbed our conversation, gently dusting the water glasses on display. The oldest, Cecilia, mouthed a dirty word at me just as I noticed she was wearing a leather bustier I made last month. Strange, she could poke fun at me and yet wear my clothing.

  I grabbed the pinstriped and leather fabric laid out for me by the counter. The silver coins were on top of the pile, wrapped in a gray pouch.

  “Oh, Anabel.” Mrs. Dalton grabbed hold of my arm. “I need those new dresses tomorrow by sunup. There is a train passing through town, and I want to be certain to have enough merchandise.”

  “I’ll have them ready.”

  She nodded. “Now you be careful, Anabel. Take care of your papa and that delightful Mr. Wyatt.”

  Her eyes added what her lips didn’t—take care of Clint Wyatt before someone comes and sweeps him off your feet.

  By the time I finished sewing a lacy choker to match one of the dresses, the churning hum from Papa’s laboratory had ceased. It was dark out, past bedtime stories and nightly prayers. Every bone in my body begged me to crawl into bed, call it a night.

  After blinking repeatedly for hours, all it took was a knock at the door to shake me out of my stupor. My hand paused in mid-air, a pair of silver scissors in its grasp. I watched Papa enter the room and sighed. To my astoundment, he carried a cup of sugar cane water that he set before me.

  “The sun will shine before you’ve slept a wink,” he said in exasperation, his voice rogue like always, caressing every syllable. The sound of it alone caused me to drift back to sleep. It was a pleasant reminder of all the times he read to me as a child. “Drink the sweet water and go to bed before you sew those pretty, little fingers.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “Mrs. Dalton needs the dresses for tomorrow. I’ll go to bed in a little while. “ I forced a smile; the last thing I wanted was to add guilt on his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal for me, Papa. More like a challenge. I want to do this.”

  “Working so much is not good for you.”

  Well, somebody had to.

  Papa cupped my chin, locking his eyes with mine. “It’s uncanny how much you resemble your mother. When I look at you I feel like she is still here. She’d be so proud of you, too—of those magic fingers that can stitch wonders.”

  “I wish she could be at the wedding,” I whispered, ashamed of how selfish it sounded.

  “If I could bring her back, love, I would,” he said. “I would dig up her bones—whatever was left of her—and put her back together. We could be a family again.”

  I move away from his touch, trying to pinpoint where the conversation had gotten out of hand. But all I got from him was a frown, obviously hurt that I couldn’t understand his reasoning. He’d lost a wife and best friend. He was lonely. I wasn’t expecting Clint’s proposal to bring out this side of him.

  “You are frightening me, Papa. Promise you won’t mention this to anyone.”

  “Fear is for the powerless.” He held up a hand to silence me. “I would not speak of your mother this way if I didn’t need her—if I didn’t mean it. Soon, I will find a way for us to be reunited.”

  “Mama’s gone,” I cried. “She got sick and died. None of it was your fault. “

  “But I could have saved her. All I needed was more time.”

  “Do you listen to yourself? You are an inventor, not God. Have you any idea what is going on out there—what they say about us? About you? Believe me, there is nothing you could have done for her. And wherever she is, she knows it and wants you to let go of this guilt.”

  My words landed on him like a fist. For the first time, I didn’t recognize him.

  “They are going to lock you up,” I said through stiff lips.

  “I’ll let you finish your dress.”

  “Papa, wait.”

  I caught up to him at the door and hugged him with all my might. He was hesitant at first. I hated myself then for bashing him so hastily. Underneath his tough exterior, Papa was a sensitive man. Worse, he wasn’t well. More than ever, I needed to know what he was doing in that laboratory.

  So I held him tightly, pressing a kiss on his cheek, as my hand thrust into his right pocket and seized the key to his lab. No matter what Papa was doing in there, I would find out tonight.

  We said our good-nights, and after lingering quietly while Papa fell asleep, I headed across the house to the laboratory. The dresses for Mrs. Dalton could wait. I would pull an all-nighter if it meant putting my mind at ease. Plus, when would I ever get another opportunity like this?

  The ranch was old and the hardwood floors creaked as I passed, my body casting shadows along the way. Despite my mother’s loss five years ago from consumption, the decor had remained feminine and cheerful. We lived surrounded by pastel colors, dried flowers, and a collection of hand sewn table runners that would make the most proficient of spiders jealous.

  I had almost reached the laboratory when I heard it. Pounding. The blows were near, but not close enough to determine where they came from.

  “Papa?” I called, knowing his chill voice could calm rivers.

  But, of course, he didn’t answer. Papa was most likely asleep while I made a raucous fuss over nothing. Bravo, Anabel, no more night shifts for you.

  It took a moment for my beating heart to settle back into my chest. To breathe. I blamed the noise on coyotes roaming for leftover food. Until the blows grew closer, and I could no longer ignore them.

  “Papa.” I sounded like a helpless child. “Is that you? Why won’t you answer—”

  I froze. Resting ten feet from me, a dark shape came into view. Poor Papa must have fallen asleep waiting for me to finish. He looked so serene with his body curled on the sofa in the parlor. But if Papa lay in front of me, then who was making the noise?

  Too late did I come to that conclusion—that someone grabbed me from behind. I yelled, biting down the hand that forcefully covered my mouth.

  “Ow!” my aggressor cussed. “Dang it, woman!”

  I turned around in fury, recognizing the voice. “Clint!”

  It startled me how much I wanted to slap him. Despite the commotion, Papa only moaned, still deeply asleep. Clint, however, wouldn’t be lucky enough to escape my wrath. “What are you doing here?”

  He glared at me. “Didn’t know you had that bite in you.”

  “And many more. You are lucky it wasn’t Papa who found you. He’d kill you—”

  Taking the hint, Clint tugged me aside into the entryway. Under the candle lights, his blue eyes seemed black. His posture screamed frustration.

  “If anyone should be angry, it’s me,” I said.

  “Quit scolding! I know it’s late for visits. I was on my way home from the saloon and saw your front door open. What else was I to do?”

  I wasn’t expecting that—Clint as my knight in shining armor. I could have kissed him, but I was still trying to breathe. “I must have forgotten to lock the door when I came in with the supplies.”

  “Are you always so dazed?”

  “Would you like another bite?” I snapped.

  He laughed, and I understood he was teasing. I could smell a strong odor on his breath. From the grin on his mouth, and his erratic attitude, I guessed he’d been drinking.

  “I’m sorry, Clint. I do appreciate your worries—but I’ve had a long night and seeing you in my house, this
late, it’s making me—”

  “What?”

  My face burned. I welcomed the dimmed ambiance, glad he couldn’t see me blush. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a no.” And then he kissed me. I struggled not to throw my arms around his neck, afraid I wouldn’t let go. We’d never been alone like this. Our dates had always been chaperoned, and now I knew why.

  With great urgency, Clint clutched my waist and my pulsed escalated. A moan escaped from my lips.

  “Hush, my darling,” he whispered in my ear. “Just relax.”

  “Relax!” I took a step back. “There are a hundred things to worry about. Your impending death for one—if Papa sees you.”

  “You are nervous. I’ve never seen this side of you.”

  “Why do you want to marry me, Clint?”

  His smile faltered, and I was suddenly cursed with his silence.

  “Do you love me?” I asked.

  “It’s the next logical step.”

  “But do you love me?”

  “Why is it so important that I say it?” he asked exasperated. “Can’t you feel it? I’ve made it quite clear.”

  “I don’t want to get hurt.”

  “Why would I hurt you? I came here tonight to protect you.”

  He did have a point. I don’t know why I was acting this way. Doubting Papa’s sanity, and now Clint’s word, was I that insecure?

  “Sorry. I’m taking my troubles out on you.”

  He nodded, but I still needed to explain.

  “It’s this town,” I groaned. “And Papa—he’s a kind man, but I’m scared for his health. Lately, he’s been acting strange. I need to know what he does in his laboratory all day.” I took a deep breath and showed him the key.

  “Whoa…”

  “I need you to come with me,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to face it alone.”

  Clint slipped his hand in mine. “You won’t.”

  Opening the lock proved harder than I thought, but once I inserted the key correctly and heard the click, I couldn’t help but grin. It was imperative that I find out about Papa. For his well-being and for Clint’s, who’d be joining the family soon. I was done being the girl that stayed hidden.