by Livia Grant
The large round table near the door was filled with boisterous men trying to out-drink each other, which didn’t bode well for her safety. She set the tray down on the nearby serving sideboard and started delivering meals, trying her best to not draw attention to herself. That became impossible when one of the patrons hauled off and spanked her ass so hard that the bowl she was setting down flew forward, crashing to the table with a splash and sliding with enough velocity to shoot right off the table and into the lap of the unlucky man sitting in that spot.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry. Let me help clean this up.” She rushed around the table, grabbing up handfuls of napkins from a stack of nearby linens and started dabbing at the man’s lap. Too late she realized he was laughing a hearty laugh while complimenting her on her offer to service him then and there.
She pulled her hands back, horrified she’d been patting at his growing erection, now visible through his wet, stew-covered trousers. Her cheeks flared hot and she knew she was blushing something fierce as she stepped backward, trying to put distance between her and the patron.
Emelie’s back hit a barrier as strong arms encircled her from behind. Unsure what was happening, she struggled to free herself, but the acrid smelling man who was holding her only tightened his grip. One arm was around her waist, the other groped the bodice of her conservative gown.
“Let go of me, you brute!” She fought hard, but the vice grip did not loosen until she used her untrimmed fingernails to rake against the exposed forearms of her attacker.
“You little bitch!” In spite of the spots of blood pooling on the gouges in his arms, her captor refused to release her.
She was relieved to see Mr. Patton step next to them, at least until she heard him talking softly. “I told you. Not here in the dining room.”
“Ye have no say in this, Patton. I’ll take what I want, when I want, and where I want. Unless yer hankering for more trouble, I suggest ye run along behind the bar and leave me to enjoy my time with this fine little filly.”
The gunslinger from the bar started to drag her with him towards the front door of the pub. Emelie’s gaze met Mr. Patton’s and she saw regret, yet she also saw the coward had no intention of protecting her.
She fought like a madwoman, struggling until she was exhausted. She screamed for help. The miner she’d spilled stew on stood, tempted to intervene, but when the man who was dragging her out the door pulled a revolver and pointed it at the patron, he sat back down, unwilling to stick his own neck out for a mere serving girl.
Damn cowards, every one of them.
Once outside, she found the barrel of the revolver pointed against her back as she was propelled forward. “Start walking and ye’d better keep your mouth shut if ye know what’s best for you, girlie. If ye behave, you’ll have a little fun, get a nice hard poke or two and then I’ll be on me way.”
She didn’t want to know what would happen if she didn’t behave.
This was her worst nightmare. It was what she’d laid awake at night worried would happen in the wild city she found herself stranded in. She was going to be raped, true and proper. Sure Albert had already raped her throat and her ass, but he’d at least allowed her to retain that thin barrier that allowed her to define herself technically as a virgin. Once that barrier was breached, she would truly be a fallen woman. A small part of her had still held out the hope of marrying one day, but no honorable man would ever want her once she was properly used. Her mother had been sure to drill that into her and her sisters.
Emelie fought her panic down, trying to focus on getting out of this mess. Maybe someone would help her at the gunman’s inn, but that hope was dashed when he dragged her down a dark side street, pulling her into a small room at the back of the local stable. The smell of horse dung mingled with hay and grain, tickled her nose.
Once inside the small room, the gunman pushed her forward sending her sprawling onto a small pallet covered with a thin mattress. He reached to strike a match, lighting a small lamp and blanketing the space in enough light that when he turned back towards her, she screamed.
His face was full of deep pockmarks, but it was the three-inch long bright scar down his left cheek that gave him the look of a demon. That and the hungry look of pure lust in his eyes. She’d seen that look on Albert’s face all too often in her months traveling with the musical troupe and knew what lay ahead.
Her captor loomed over her, taking a few long seconds to look his prey up and down, licking his lips as if he would to devour her like the big bad wolf he personified.
“Get undressed. I want to feel you under me naked.”
She wasn’t sure how she found the strength, but she shook her head slowly back and forth. When he failed to stop his advance, she shouted her non-consent with a loud, “No!”
He had the gall to laugh at her, a merry belly-roll howl. “I see ye want to make this harder on yourself. Well, that suits me fine. I like a filly with a little spunk. Makes breaking her all the sweeter.”
Emelie slapped him away when he got closer, but within seconds his weight was crushing her to the bed, his hands fumbling with the buttons on her gown. When her movements prevented his success, he gripped the neckline and yanked hard, popping off the buttons, sending them flying to the floor and exposing her corset and chemise. The night was warm and perspiration had soaked through her undergarments, making them cling to her breasts and highlighting her nipples in the lamp light.
“Unless ye want me to rip the rest of your clothes off, I suggest ye lift up that fabric and show me those melons of yours.”
Her heart was beating so hard she felt light-headed. Emelie knew she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to get out of this nightmare. She would play along until she could escape.
With trembling fingers, she loosened her corset and pulled at the hem of the chemise, lifting it slowly until she felt the rush of air brushing across her bare skin.
The grin that lit up his ugly face turned her stomach. She was grateful she hadn’t had time to eat supper yet or she might have lost the contents of her tummy right then.
His callused hands roamed over her body, scratching her smooth skin as he left his mark on her physically and more importantly, emotionally. Her hands flew to try to smack him away when he pinched her nipples hard between is thumb and middle finger.
“Ouch! Take your hands off me! I don’t want to do this.”
“That’s great. Keep fighting me. The more you struggle the easier it is for me to rough you up the way I like to when I’m giving a filly a hard ride.”
Talking wasn’t going to save her from this one. There was no reasoning with him. That left few options as he lowered his face to suck her nipple into his mouth. Albert had never bothered to try to make her feel good so she was not prepared for the pleasurable feelings brought on by his lathing her breasts. Her mind fought for control over her physical reactions, repeating over and over in her mind ‘he is raping me—he is raping me—he is raping me.”
While he was bent forward, Emelie frantically looked around the stable for anything she might use as a weapon against the vile man with her nipple in his mouth. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain as he trapped her sore tit between his foul-smelling teeth.
When she couldn’t push him off, she flailed her arms out as far as she could reach, feeling around for anything she could use as a weapon. A groan of relief escaped when her left fingers clanked against the lit lamp. She had to wiggle under him to navigate closer to the edge of the pallet. It took several long seconds during which he moved his mouth to her other breast, repeating the nipping attention. The change in position gave her just enough leeway to be able to pickup the lamp at its base.
Before she could second-guess her plan, she brought the lamp crashing down as hard as she could onto his head. The bellow erupting from him so close to her ear told her that her aim had been true.
The smell of kerosene permeated the small space. Her captor was doused in
it and she felt the wetness already dripping down onto her clothes and skin.
“Ye fucking cunt, I was gonna have a little fun with ye and set ye loose, but not now. Now I’m gonna make sure I keep ye long enough to make ye regret that little stunt.”
One thing her caper had helped with was casting the room back into darkness. She took advantage of him pushing off her to feel the back of his head, checking to see if he was bleeding. In that brief window of opportunity, Emelie pulled her now free leg up, pressed the flat of her shoe to the center of his chest and kicked with all her might.
The gunslinger projected backwards, falling to the floor with a loud crash and grunt. Now free of his weight, Emelie scrambled to her feet, clutching at the torn bodice of her gown to maintain some modesty as she rushed towards the door, hoping to escape before he knew what was happening.
She felt him grabbing at her ankles as she passed by, but managed to kick his hands away, reaching the door and rushing out into the night air as she heard him scrambling to his feet in pursuit.
She glanced back over her shoulder to see how far behind her he was. It was hard to make out in the darkness of the narrow street, but she could see he’d picked up the lamp from the floor. She hurried away before he could relight the lamp and shed light on her whereabouts. She picked up her pace to an all-out run.
The whoosh of a small explosion followed by the anguished scream of a man in pain filled the air. Emelie stopped in her tracks, turning in time to see flames engulfing the vile man. Sweet relief warred with pressing guilt. She wanted no part of ending a man’s life, yet as the aggressor-turned-victim fell to his knees in agony, she knew it was already too late. There would be no saving him from the flames licking at his upper body where she’d doused him in kerosene.
The look on his face as he glared at her through the flames with surprised hatred would stay with her forever, haunting her for the rest of her life. She was sure of it. Why had he been stupid enough to try to relight the lamp?
It only took a minute for him to plop forward, his body lifeless in the dirt, flames still flickering in the breeze. The caustic smell of burning flesh made her gag.
Emelie turned and bolted away from the scene, anxious to distance herself from the nightmare. She was running so hard as she shot out of the small alleyway she ran full-on into a pair of miners carrying armfuls of supplies towards a waiting wagon.
“Whoa, there! Where are you heading to in such a hurry, honey?”
She didn’t take the time to answer, afraid she’d break down in tears if she tried to speak. She clutched her bodice as she pushed away from the miners to continue on her way. They called after her, offering to help her, but she kept running.
She hadn’t paid enough attention during her kidnapping and it took her ten minutes of wandering until she figured the way back to the pub. The entire time she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She was sure the nightmare of her ordeal was making her paranoid.
Mrs. Patton rushed towards her the second she walked through the doors. “Oh goodness. Are you all right, child?”
Emelie didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d come out of the encounter in better shape than the gunslinger. Relief slowly seeped through her consciousness at being back in the relative safety of the pub. She was exhausted—mentally, emotionally and physically. The burst of energy that had helped her fight for her life was spent and now all she wanted to do was collapse in her small bed and try to sleep the nightmare away.
Mrs. Patton shuffled her to a kitchen chair where she sat in a daze until the kind older lady set a bowl of stew in front of her. It had been twenty-four hours since she’d eaten, yet her stomach rumbled in protest as her employer lifted the spoon to her lips. In a trance, Emelie allowed herself to be fed like a child as the protective older woman clucked, ordering her husband to put pails of water on for a hot bath.
The normally grouchy man obeyed without complaint, undoubtedly ashamed and feeling guilty for the role he’d played in the trauma perpetrated on their server. She was grateful they didn’t try to press her for details. She was certain she’d have broken down into a teary mess if pressed to describe what had happened in her time away from them.
When her bath was ready, Mrs. Patton led Emelie to the small room off the kitchen. It was used primarily for a pantry, but also served as their private washroom. The copper tub wasn’t overly large, but lavender scented steam rose up to fill the small space with a calming aroma. She was grateful her employer stayed to help her disrobe, clucking loudly as each piece of clothing removed uncovered bruises. Emelie didn’t have the energy to explain that she’d received most of the injuries at the hands of Albert and not the gunslinger.
The water was too hot, yet the heat went to work on her sore muscles. Mrs. Patton lathered a small cloth and handed it to Emelie as she reached for a tin cup and started pouring water over her long blonde hair. It had been weeks since she’d had a proper bath. Tears of self-pity pricked at Emelie’s eyes as a wave of homesickness the likes of which she’d never felt before gripped her.
How had she ended up in a copper tub in the pantry of a pub in San Francisco? She closed her eyes, fighting down the wave of emotions coursing through her. The fingers massaging her scalp reminded her of her mother, caring for her youngest daughter.
When she’d been home in Wisconsin, Emelie had felt like a fraud. The youngest of three preacher’s daughters, she’d felt anything but godly, as she’d dreamed of seeing the world. She’d yearned to fall in love with a dashing entertainer like those she’d seen on their trip to Chicago the summer before.
Her parents had had other ideas. She’d been raised to be a respectable Christian wife. Her older sisters had obediently married men of God, each departing Waukesha to lead their own flock in nearby towns. Emelie had run away with Albert and his musical troupe on the eve of being introduced to a minister her father had chosen as her husband.
The motherly fingers massaging her scalp brought the memories crashing back with regret. Regret for hurting her parents. Remorse for her lost innocence and even guilt at killing a vile man.
Panic seized her heart as she realized she was a murderer.
Her eyes flew open as she sat up in a rush. Water splashed to the floor as she tried to push to her feet. She had to get as far away from here as possible before the sheriff came to arrest her.
“Steady, child. You still have soap in your hair.”
“I… Mrs. Patton…” She couldn’t say the words. She wanted to warn the woman, but how does one admit committing a sin like murder? Her heart sank realizing she was surely going to hell now. She could pray for forgiveness the rest of her days, but murder was the greatest of all sins.
“Hush now. Let’s finish your bath. I have Mr. Patton washing your gown. It reeked of kerosene something fierce. He’ll be bringing along one of my nightgowns any minute and we’ll tuck you into bed. Everything will be better tomorrow in the light of day.”
Emelie lay back in the tub in a trance, allowing the substitute mother to care for her. It might be the last bath she’d get in a long time so she tried to enjoy it.
The rap on the wood door startled Emelie, making her sit up fast enough to slosh now dirty water again on the floor. “Easy, child. Tis only my husband.”
Mrs. Patton stood, opening the door a crack. A man’s hand pushed through the opening, a thin white nightgown with petite yellow flowers on it gripped between his tense fingers. He didn’t speak loudly, but the space was small. Emelie couldn’t miss his warning.
“The constable stopped by along with two miners. They’re looking for a young woman who was seen running away from the stables. Seems a gunslinger was burned to death in the alley and they’re looking for witnesses seen in the vicinity.” He stopped speaking as his wife snapped the gown from his hand, and then continued with a whisper. “Keep her hidden until after closing in an hour. I don’t want anyone to catch sight of her here as I’ve lied and sent them on their way. I d
on’t think they believed me. Seems the miners followed her here before going for the lawman.”
He closed the door without giving his wife a chance to comment.
The older woman turned, their gaze meeting in the dim light. Emelie was grateful to see sympathy and relief instead of reproach.
“Oh, dear, what did that monster do to you? I’m so very sorry. I didn’t know what was happening before he whisked you away. That man, if I can call him that, has been a thorn in our side for over a year now. He… well…” Mrs. Patton’s voice trailed off as a tear slid down her cheek. She continued with a whisper. “God help me, but I’m so happy he’s dead.”
Not in a million years did Emelie expect to hear those words. The older woman got back to work, finishing rinsing her hair in silence and helping her out of the tub, patting her dry and covering her bruised body with the too-large nightgown. Emelie tried not to think about how scandalous it was that she had no undergarments on beneath the cotton.
Mrs. Patton led her to a small stool, seating her before pulling a hairbrush from a shelf. She went to work getting the tangles out of Emelie’s long blonde locks. She was sure she heard the sounds of the woman fighting back tears and by the time her hair was smooth, she was sure the brush was trembling in Mrs. Patton’s shaking hands.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Patton?” Emelie squeaked.
A long minute went by before she got her answer. “He violated me too. Every time he came through town. Ever since my husband was stupid enough to lose to him in cards at the saloon down the street, he’s been taking his winnings in the form of… well… unholy relations.”
A sob filled the space and Emelie rushed to her feet, turning to take the woman into her arms. They clung together as each woman let the relief wash over them that the scum would not harm them again.