by Greg Dragon
“I can’t, I’m sorry. His mother is expecting me and she isn’t kind when I’m late. I have to go.” Charity gave her mother a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek. Guilt threatened to bubble up in her gut, but she pushed it down. She would soon be moving out of the small shop/apartment and into high society. And then her mother wouldn’t have to worry so much about making ends meet.
Charity stepped out the door and bounced along the sidewalk, flouncing her skirts as she walked. They weren’t fancy, but they weren’t the worst she’d seen, and she made them herself. That was more than most women could say. She was still certain that David’s mother would look at her clothing with contempt, as she always did. But soon, very soon, Charity would be married into that family and be able to afford dresses that she had only dreamed of.
She rounded the corner onto Sixth Street. The shopping district was her favorite place in the whole world. When she was younger, she would spend hours on end strolling along the sidewalks, staring at all of the beautiful clothes displayed in the windows, dreaming of how they would look on her as she spun in the mirror. And then her dreams came true. The greatest day of her life was when David surprised her with a shopping spree in R.H. Macy & Co. She had felt like a princess then. And now she was going to look like one, too.
Charity smiled at the harried pedestrians as they passed her on the sidewalk. They returned her smile with frowns of annoyance. But some day soon, they would no longer look at her like she was a waif. They would see her and immediately know she was Charity Banks, daughter-in-law to one of the richest men in New York City. She would walk into a store and the employees would flock to her. The manager would fawn about her, treating her like she was royalty.
She was so caught up in her daydreams that she almost walked right past the little boutique tucked away between two larger buildings. It was an exclusive shop with no sign out front to mark its existence. Only the best of the best were admitted. David’s mother knew the owner, of course, and a little over two months ago, Charity had first set foot into a shop that far exceeded anything her mother had ever known. The girl’s nerves had been tied into such tight knots that she almost vomited on the seamstress who was taking her measurements. But this time, she walked up to the door and pulled the string for the bell firmly, determined to hold onto her confidence. A pleasant tinkle echoed through the wood seconds before a narrow rectangular window opened beside the door.
“Yes?” Shadowed eyes peered at her with suspicion through the small gap.
“Hello. I’m Charity Banks. I’m here to try on my dress for my wedding.”
The eyes disappeared and papers shuffled inside for several minutes before the face returned. “You mean Charity Thomas?” The voice was snotty and knowing, emphasizing her last name with thinly veiled disgust.
Charity clenched her teeth and bit back her own snide comment. “It will be Banks soon enough. My mother-in-law is already inside. Let me in.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Please.”
Another long moment of silence stretched out, but she eventually heard the click of the lock. She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. She took a deep breath to still her growing agitation and stepped into the shadowy interior. The attendant just inside the door smirked at her before showing her to the main room.
It was stifling inside, no cooler than the sweltering heat out on the sidewalk, but fresh bouquets of flowers lined the walls and gave the little sitting room a pleasant floral aroma. It was a nice change from the smell of sewage and horse dung that was the typical odor of the city.
David’s mother, Catherine, relaxed on a velvet chaise in the middle of the room. She held a glass that was half full of wine in one hand and waved an intricately painted fan in the other. “Charity, darling, you’ve finally arrived. We’ve been waiting,” she oozed in that voice that Charity could barely tolerate. “Please, take a seat.”
Opposite the chaise was a matching loveseat. Catherine’s daughter, Melody, stretched across it like a pin-up model posing for her first shot. She also had a glass of wine in her hand, but it was empty save a few drops in the bottom. An overstuffed leather chair rounded out the trio of seats arranged in the middle of the room. It was occupied by Rebecca, the heavily pregnant wife of David’s older brother, Marcus.
Charity glanced around. Four small kitchen chairs were arranged along one wall. Three of them were occupied by the attendants of the three ladies lounging around. The only remaining seat was with them. Charity forced a smile and bowed her head toward Catherine slightly.
“Thank you, but I will stand for now. I must keep my figure for the wedding, you know.” The comment was meant to garner a laugh, as Charity was already too thin from lack of proper nutrition, but the only positive reaction she received was a small titter from Rebecca’s attendant, Sarah.
Catherine’s smile flickered and a dangerous light entered her eyes. It was gone in an instant, but Charity had not missed it. “Of course, my dear,” Catherine said as mock concern bled into her voice. “It must be difficult to do so, being stuck in front of a sewing machine all day. How tedious.”
Charity barely stopped herself from growling out loud at the woman who had treated her like dirt since they first met. Her future mother-in-law didn’t need to know that, until David came along, her family never had enough to eat. She didn’t need to know that her mother barely made rent every week. Charity narrowed her eyes at the spiteful, arrogant woman and almost laughed. Knowing Catherine, she already knew all that anyway. She was the queen of gossip. As much as Charity despised her and as many times as she wanted to smack her, she almost envied the social queen.
Charity’s forced smile grew bigger and became real. Oh no, she didn’t envy her. One day, Charity vowed, she would show Catherine Banks what it really meant to be high society. Charity would treat the people she met with respect and they would all love her. Everyone would look to her, Charity Banks, for advice on the best places to eat, the most reliable help, what dresses were in fashion. No, Catherine could have her moment now. Charity would wait patiently. She just needed that ring on her finger and then she could change things. She could show the world what Catherine was really like and prove that she wasn’t just David’s latest mistake.
A door behind the chaise opened and the owner of the boutique entered the room. She wore a simple pantsuit and had her black hair pulled up into a severe bun. She knelt beside David’s mother and kissed her on both cheeks. “Catherine, my darling, so good to see you. How are you feeling? Is this heat getting to you?” Her accent was thick and very French.
“No, no, not at all,” Catherine responded.
Charity knew the woman was lying. David had little sense for when to keep a secret and he had already told her that the heat always did a number on his mother. She would lay in bed with servants waving large fans over her, complaining about the horrible stickiness of the city and begging her husband to move them to the country. But whenever he suggested they visit their manor in upstate New York, she would come up with some excuse to not leave the city. Whether the woman was afraid of travel or just didn’t want to be out of the spotlight, Charity did not know.
The French woman, Victoire, greeted the other women in turn before finally focusing on Charity. “Ah, the future Mrs. Banks.” She beamed at the young woman in front of her and clasped Charity’s shoulders in her hands. “Come, my darling, see what I have come up with for you.”
Charity followed her from the room, thankful when the door closed on the watchful hawks behind her. They entered a large room that Charity had never been in before. It was filled with some of the most magnificent dresses she had ever seen in varying stages of completion. The skill and costly materials were far beyond anything her mother had ever handled.
Victoire walked up to a row of lilac dresses that would have been pretty if not for the color. “These,” she said as she waved her hand over one, “are for your bridesmaids. What do you think?”
Charity forced herself to smile.
“They’re lovely. But I thought we discussed using black. Who ordered them?”
The woman cocked her head to the side. “Why, Catherine, of course. She said your colors were lilac and violet.”
Charity couldn’t hold back her snorting laugh.
Victoire sighed and gave Charity a knowing look. “Those aren’t your colors, are they?”
“No. I made the mistake of telling her purple was my least favorite color.”
“Typical Catherine. She did the same to Rebecca, you know.” The seamstress plucked at a dress. “Oh dear. With the wedding so close, I’m not sure I can redo them in this style.”
Charity thought about the work the woman would have to do to remake all the dresses in time. Her own mother was scrambling to finish the gowns for an entire wedding party even as they spoke. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s all right. I don’t want you to do have to do more work than necessary. It’s not important.” Charity gave her a winning smile.
Victoire returned it two-fold. “Thank you, dear. I really am very sorry. Now let’s take a look at your dress.” She ducked between two of the bridesmaids dresses. On the other side, Charity found the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. It truly was made for a princess. Tiny diamonds were stitched into the bodice and lace adorned the neckline. The train wrapped around the base of the stand and glittered with matching jewels scattered along its length.
Charity was in heaven. She walked around the dress, brushing her fingers lightly against the smooth fabric. “It’s so beautiful,” she cooed as tears welled up in her eyes.
Victoire beamed. “I am so glad you approve, my darling. I hope it makes up for the bridesmaids dresses.”
The young woman nodded emphatically. “Oh, absolutely. It’s more than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Victoire grinned and clapped her hands. “Fabuleux. Let us get you into it so we can make the final adjustments.”
When all the adjustments were noted, Victoire herded Charity back out into the main room, still wearing the wedding gown. As the young woman waltzed through the door, all heads turned in her direction. The two younger ladies rose, proclaiming their love for the dress in happy squeals. Catherine, however, remained seated. Her lips held an icy smile, but she sent a stinging glare in Victoire’s direction. Her eyes held clear disappointment. Victoire intentionally avoided her the entire time Charity was showing off the dress.
When they were done and Charity had changed back into her boring, common outfit, Catherine finally rose from the chaise. “Rebecca, Melody, why don’t you ladies take Charity to the flower boutique? I will be along briefly. I just need to speak with Victoire for a moment.”
As they left, Charity shot Victoire a glance. The woman smiled at her and nodded. She knew what was coming and she was ready for it. Charity returned the smile warmly, a silent thank you to the woman who had wanted her to be happy in spite of the inevitable blow-back.
She followed the other ladies down the streets until they found the flower shop that would be supplying the flowers for the wedding. Charity let the others pick the arrangements, having already lost her choice in colors anyway. She had her dress. That was all she needed. She would sleep well that night.
Chapter 3
“Gray Wolf, set up a perimeter.” North Wind pulled the small band of survivors to a stop at the edge of a river, just inside a circle of trees. Aside from Summer Rain and Little Bear, the only others who had escaped the massacre were part of North Wind’s band of warriors.
The young woman slid from the horse and sank onto a fallen tree trunk as tears poured down her face once again. Little Bear dismounted and sat down beside her. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“What will we do?” Her voice was soft and barely reached his ears.
He watched as the warriors set up a small camp with practiced efficiency. “I don’t know,” he said, and he truly meant it.
Summer Rain sat up quickly and dropped to her knees before him. Her fingers twined through his and gripped them so tight they turned white. Her dark eyes glistened as she pleaded with him. “You can do something, Little Bear. You can call on the spirits, speak to them. They can help us.”
“Boy, come.” North Wind stood behind Summer Rain with his arms crossed. His long dark hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail to reveal an ugly scar that ran from his ear, down his neck, and across his chest, stopping just before his rib cage. It was a mark of pride and he refused to hide it.
Little Bear rose, jerking his hands from Summer Rain’s, and followed the warrior deeper into the woods and out of earshot of Summer Rain. The older man stopped and stared at him hard for several seconds before speaking.
“Why were you not in the village when the men came?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, merely questioning.
Little Bear glanced back to where Summer Rain sat on the log with her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. “I was helping her gather water.”
The warrior snorted, but a small smile played across his lips. “Yes, gather water. I used to help the young women of our village gather water, as well.” He paused and looked around, watching his men for several seconds before he continued. “Our village is gone, Little Bear. Your grandfather and father are both dead. I saw them die trying to protect your mother and sisters. We are all that is left. One woman, a son of a shaman, and half a band of warriors. We are finished. We will roam the land without a home. You and your woman may conceive a child, but it will have no family, no place to be raised the way it should.” When North Wind looked at him, the warrior’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She is right, you know. We must give ourselves over to the spirits and ask for their help. We must avenge this wrongdoing, as best we can. Will you help us? Will you stand with us?”
Little Bear stared at the warrior with his mouth open. “I am no shaman. I don’t have the proper training. I cannot do what my grandfather could.”
North Wind gripped the younger man’s shoulder gently and bowed his head so he could look Little Bear in the eye. “We need you. We have nothing left. This is the only way.”
Little Bear sighed and walked a few paces away from North Wind. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Summer Rain sitting by the log. She cried for her lost family, for friends she would never see again, for a life that was ripped from her without warning. “Very well. I will do what I can.”
“Good. We will go back to the village once we have rested. We will track the men to their homes. We will slaughter them and their families the way they slaughtered ours.”
Little Bear’s hands shook with excitement and fear. “What do you need me to do?”
North Wind looked at him once more. His face was grim. “Call upon the spirits. Ask them for help. We need them.”
The young shaman fought to keep his hands from shaking. “I will do it tonight. I need to gather some materials first.”
“Go. I will have a fire ready when you return. And Little Bear...”
Little Bear looked back as he turned to leave.
“Thank you.”
The young man paused for a moment before nodding. His heart pounded in his chest and fear coursed through his veins. He didn’t have the proper training to call on the spirits without his grandfather’s help. It could go terribly wrong. But what else could he do? He was not a warrior. He could shoot a bow well enough, but he was trained to hunt, not for combat. He would be useless to the group, little better than a woman. He had no choice.
Little Bear walked slowly back to where Summer Rain sat on the log. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I am going to gather wood for a fire and food for us to eat. You stay here. The warriors will take care of you.”
Summer Rain narrowed her eyes at him. Did she know what he was planning? What would she say? But she just nodded and put her head back in her hands.
He stood up and walked into the woods. His eyes scanned the ground as he
stepped carefully through the forest. Every so often, he found something he was looking for and would stoop to gather moss, flowers, or some other essential ingredient for his ceremony. He needed an eagle’s feather, but he did not know where to find one, so he settled on a turkey’s feather instead. He hoped the spirits would not notice the lack of salt, either.
When he had all the items he could find, he found his way back to the little clearing they were calling home. North Wind was stoking a fire in the middle of a dirt patch. Summer Rain was sitting on the ground next to it, plucking apart a piece of grass. Little Bear piled the items behind a tree and joined them. Summer Rain’s eyebrows twitched when he came back empty-handed, but again she said nothing. North Wind gave him a nod and stood up as two of his warriors entered the small clearing. They carried skins full of water and several small dead animals. One of the men thrust the animals toward the young woman with a grunt. She gave him a baleful look as she took them from the warrior, but she cleaned and skewered them before laying them over the fire.
While she tended to dinner, Little Bear went over and over the ceremony in his head. He was forgetting parts of it, he was sure of that. But he hoped the spirits would heed his call and forgive his missteps in favor of righting the many wrongs done to his family. His grandfather was a favorite of theirs, according to many. They would want to avenge him, to see his grandson cared for and protected. The young man was lost deep in thought when Summer Rain called to him.
“Little Bear, dinner is ready.”
He glanced up. The sun had fallen far below the trees and the sky had turned a deep, dark blue. The young shaman sat down with North Wind and several of the warriors as they shared the small meal. When it was finished and the sentries were fed, Summer Rain curled up behind the log away from the rest of them.
Little Bear sat beside her and waited, listening to her breathing as it slowed. When he was sure she was fast asleep, he rose and gathered all his ingredients. He knelt near the fire and sorted through the pile. With as much care as he could manage, he arranged the collection the way his grandfather had taught him. He surveyed his handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. The spirits should be pleased well enough. He hoped.