The Woman on the Painted Horse

by Angela Christina Archer

  I toyed with the button on my lace sleeve as they drew closer to our table. William’s eyes locked onto mine. He hesitated for a second, the expression on his face full of frustration, and yet, sadness. The young man at his side grabbed William’s arm with one hand, and waved in our direction as he spoke. The young man didn’t want to approach the café.

  I yanked on the button harder, twisting it between my fingertips. I wanted to run to William’s side or at least shout for him to heed his friends obvious warning and not come any closer to the table. Only a fool wouldn’t notice that Thomas had trouble on his mind and William was walking toward it, right into Thomas’s trap.

  “You don’t want a scene, Thomas,” Duncan warned.

  “I do not plan on causing a scene, but Mr. Graysden will learn his place in this town.”

  “And, his place is where, Thomas?” I asked. At last, my anxious fidgeting, proved too much for the poor stitching on the button. It fell onto the table, and rolled a few inches before it settled next to my lemonade glass.

  “I will not tolerate your benevolence for those who don't deserve it, Alexandra, especially when the matter is none of your concern.”

  “I won’t watch you berate a man in public,” I said.

  “I do not plan on berating him in public.” Thomas slid his chair away from the table, and I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.

  “This is neither the time nor the place, Thomas.”

  Ignoring my words and my glare, he squeezed my wrist until the pain forced me to release his jacket. I glanced at John, and he slid his chair away from the table a few inches.

  “Do not even try, John, the matter is none or your concern, either,” Thomas said.

  “Mr. Graysden, I require a word with you,” Duncan said.

  “I have nothing to say to either of you,” William said.

  William and the young man glared at Duncan and Thomas as they approached them in mocking casualness. Duncan’s stride spoke the lie of peace, while his tone spoke the truth of maliciousness. The woman remained distant, hiding behind the young man for protection. Her hands shook as she fidgeted with her long black hair.

  “Quite boastful of you to believe you would do any talking,” Duncan said, poking his finger into William’s chest. “The supplies you sold me yesterday are rotten, and I want my money returned.”

  “They weren’t rotten when I delivered them,” William rebuffed. “If you have a problem with them, you can bring your concerns to my father when we deliver the next shipment.”

  William grabbed the young man, and the pair along with the girl turned and walked away from Duncan and Thomas, who eyed each other for a few minutes and nodded, communicating without saying any words. My hope for a mature confrontation between the men dwindled. Certainly, Thomas wouldn’t want a scene to tarnish his, what he considered desirable, reputation as he had described to me only moments ago.

  Or would he?

  To my horror, as soon as William, his friend, and the girl disappeared around the corner of the building next to the café, Thomas and Duncan followed, taking a shortcut in between the two buildings.

  My chair hit the ground with a thud, startling everyone.

  “Where do you think you are going?” John asked.

  “I won’t stand by and allow them to hurt those people.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, Alexandra, they will not hurt them,” Mary snapped.

  I ignored her and ran down the cobbled footpath. Distant footsteps hurried after me, but I ignored them too. Striding around the corner, I came face to face with the four men, standing chest to chest in the alley-way. Exactly what I thought I could do, I didn’t know, but I was not about to sit at the café like an ignorant little girl.

  William glanced at me, his head slightly shaking as if to tell me not to interrupt their argument. I lunged toward him a step, but stopped as I glimpsed at Thomas’s furious expression.

  “Don’t ever look in her direction again,” Thomas barked as he stepped closer to William.

  My anger boiled.

  “My money, boy,” Duncan shouted. “I demand you return my money.”

  “I don’t have your money, and even if I did, I wouldn’t return it.”

  Thomas grabbed William and shoved him up against the wall of the building. “Then, we have a problem, Mr. Graysden,” he shouted.

  The young man charged toward Thomas, but Duncan caught his arm, twisted it behind his back, and then threw him up against the wall next to William. Frightened, the girl screamed and ran out of the alley. She passed me and continued to sprint down the cobbled path.

  “Thomas, no.” I ran to his side and grabbed his arm as he struggled with a much stronger William.

  “Alexandra, don’t,” John shouted behind me.

  John moved to grab me, but didn’t move quickly enough. Thomas swung his fist sideways, striking against my face by accident. I fell to the ground. My backside slammed against the dirt, and pebbles dug deep into my skin through my dress.

  “You foolish cherry. Get out of my way,” Thomas shouted at me.

  His offensive insult stung. Certainly, Thomas could be malicious, but for him to think nothing of calling me such a vulgar term shocked me. William punched Thomas as John grabbed me and dragged me out of the way.

  “How dare you call her such a name,” John shouted at Thomas, grabbing him and yanking him off William.

  Duncan punched the young man, and slammed his head against the bricks. He fell to the ground and was slow to stand. Duncan marched toward my brother, but William stepped in front of him before he could reach John.

  “Your problem is with me, remember?” William said. His chest bumped against Duncan.

  The two men faced each other, both standing with their fists poised to fight. John pushed Thomas again, standing ready to pounce, if needed. All four men stood, their chests heaving as they stared each other down, waiting for someone to make a next move. Suddenly, William’s father stomped around the corner with the scared young woman in tow.

  “Charlie. William. That is enough. Go back to the wagon now.” Mr. Graysden grabbed the two men by their shirt collars, and in one swift movement shoved them both toward the street.

  “You are dead in this town Mr. Graysden. Do you hear me? Dead in this town,” Thomas shouted after him.

  In the blink of an eye, William, his father, and the young man and woman were gone. Leaving the ruins of a mess that shouldn’t have happened. Thomas tried to charge after them, but John intervened, and punched Thomas, knocking him to the ground. Duncan swung at John, but missed and his hand collided with the brick wall of the building. He howled in pain and crumbled to the ground. Mary gasped behind me, but cowered behind a bunch of wooden barrels, a scared heap of panic in a blue and white lace and cotton dress.

  “What did you punch me for?” Thomas yelled at John.

  “No one touches my sister, or dares to dishonor her reputation.” John grasped my hand. He turned and faced Mary. With her backside pressed against the building, she covered her mouth with one hand while the other trembled and clutched her throat. She gasped as John pointed toward Duncan. “If he is the type of man you choose to love, then I was wrong to have ever loved you.”

  Chapter 11

  I sat on the window seat in my bedroom, and stared out the window. My blanket enveloped me from head to toe, leaving my face the only visible skin in the glow of the moonlight. Usually, I loved to sit here and dwell upon thoughts or dreams, depending on a particular mood, but tonight I detested the spot. Tonight it wanted a truth I couldn’t admit. Tonight it wanted honesty I wasn’t ready to give. Tonight it wanted an answer to questions I only wished to ignore.

  Red and puffy, my face stung where Thomas had struck me by accident. I would give anything just to forget the awful memories of this af
ternoon. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Thomas and William struggling with each other, and could still hear the awful words I was desperate to forget, spoken by everyone.

  Thomas and William, together and fighting. My two worlds collided; the proper versus the simple and the expected versus the desired.

  Did I really just say desired?

  My bedroom door opened a crack, and John peered through the slight opening.

  “Alexandra, are you awake?”

  “Yes, John. Come in.”

  He tiptoed across the floor and set the candle holder on my bedside table. “Why are you out of bed? Are you not sleepy?”

  “I’m exhausted, but I can’t fall asleep.”

  He sat on the bench, grabbing my blanket-covered feet and placing them in his lap. The tick-tock of the bedside clocked mocked the seconds that turned into minutes without either of us uttering a single word. An owl flew past the window, and landed on the branch of a nearby tree. The massive wingspan and effortless landing drew my attention away from John’s concerned expression. If he was going to sit there speechless, then why should I speak?

  “Does your cheek hurt?” he finally asked.

  “You shouldn’t be concerned.”

  He nodded, and fell silent again, a comfortable silence to me, though John fidgeted with his hands. I ignored him, uncertain whether I desired to have the conversation that was obviously weighing heavily on his mind. I had my own questions to ask and answer. I didn’t need someone else’s, too—not tonight.

  “Alexandra, has Thomas ever struck you before?” I looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze. His genuine concern showed as well as the brewing anger. “I don’t know how I will react if you answer yes, but—”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  “You’d tell me if he has, though.”

  I smiled, and touched his forearm. “Of course I would, John, but, I don’t believe he meant to today. He was struggling with Will—with Mr. Graysden, and I believe it was an accident.”

  He opened his mouth to speak again, but said nothing, only stared at the floor with such fervor one would think he’d die if he looked away. His silence spoke volumes. John was never good at hiding his emotions.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, John.”

  “Do you want to marry him?”

  I didn’t know if his question or my answer suffocated me the most, but it didn’t matter. “I used to believe that one day I would be Thomas’s wife. But I don’t love him, and I greatly believe I never will.”

  John gawked at me for a moment, collecting his thoughts before he spoke. “Mother always told me that souls are never given the person they desire, because they emerge with the person they are meant for. Perhaps time with him will be a gift for you, turning your doubts into your desires.”

  John’s words struck me harder than Thomas’s closed fist could ever have dreamt. They consumed me like a disease spreading through my body, eating away at any happiness it could find and sucked the breath from my lungs with one crushing blow. For the first time, the thought of a world lived through Thomas’s ice blue eyes scared me, like a punishment of harsh exile.

  Fear pounded down upon me. Could John be right?

  “Did you mean what you said to Mary this afternoon?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

  He snorted. “Yes. If Duncan portrays the type of man she loves, I know why she never loved me.”

  “I believe she loved you once.”

  “I don’t care if she did. Her feelings don’t matter to me now.” He shrugged and adjusted my feet in his lap.

  “I find your sudden disinterest for Lady Buchanan deceptive,” I teased.

  He smiled for a second, and then frowned. “Perhaps, in time, I’ll come to love another. I believe Rhode Island will be good for me. I need to rid myself of this town until I have to return, of course.”

  “I don’t believe you have to travel to find love. I believe love is right under your nose. You simply need to see it, or perhaps acknowledge you have and embrace it. I know you visit her often.”

  “And who exactly am I visiting?” he snapped.

  “John, you shouldn’t be ashamed of your feelings for Maggie.”

  The shock in his eyes didn’t surprise me as much as my knowledge obviously surprised him. He raised his arm in anger, pointing his finger, and in a single moment, with his mouth open he stopped himself, and lowered his arm. He spoke not a single word, only gazed miserably at the floor.

  “Do you love her?” I asked.

  “She’s a slave, and I’m leaving for Long Island in less than a year.”

  “So you intend to just leave, find a suitable woman in Mama’s eyes, and shatter Maggie’s heart.”

  “That is all I can do,” he said with frustration and sadness.

  I wanted to press the issue further, but my words would fall upon deaf ears. Only he, and no one else, could realize his choice and his decision. Besides, I understood why John fought his feelings for Maggie. His reasons had been my own with William, and were the reason why I kept my distance from him. Maggie was a slave girl and nothing like the society princess Mama would allow for a daughter-in-law.

  John’s fingers brushed my cheek as he stood to leave. “I should let you rest. Good-night, and sleep well.”

  “Good-night.”

  The cool night air sent chills down my spine, fueling the coldness that swept through the room, gusting around every corner with my conversation with John. With a gentle click, he shut the door, shutting out the world and leaving me alone with my thoughts. I leaned my head against the wall and repeatedly glanced at the clock on the table next to the window, annoyed at the slow moving hands that taunted me while evading their sole purpose to pass the hours quickly.

  Every hour I spent with William passed within the blink of an eye. When I wanted the minutes to last years, they lasted seconds, and now when asked to last seconds they laughed in my face. Was the sadness in that thought, and the desire for time to outlast a lifetime when with him, how I really felt about him?

  I unwrapped myself and walked to my dresser. Hidden in the top drawer under corsets and stockings lay a wooden box, the home of a tiny chest key. Silver glimmered through my fingertips as the chest unlocked and opened to a wooden bottom lined with an array of small, tattered leather-bound books.

  I reached for the one in the corner, untied the royal blue ribbon, and opened it to the pages I had written over the last few weeks. The words were a profound reminder never to forget how I felt the afternoon at the O’Brien’s store, the afternoon William arrived with supplies for sale, and the stolen nights in his company.

  The mind thinks. It schemes, plots ideas for rebellion, winning a war, or committing crimes. It organizes, planning for crops, arranging parties, or entertaining guests. It speculates, questioning the reasons of why, where, who, what, and how. It comprehends answers, understands ramifications, and finds solutions. It develops through experience, and becomes intrigued with finding the answers it seeks—soaking up information like dry soil soaks up water.

  The mind thinks.

  But, the heart feels. It feels love, happiness, sadness, and loss. The heart does not think. It does not question or reason. It senses emotion, experiences pleasure, suffers pain, and bears heartache. It fights with the mind in a constant agonizing war endured every day between emotion and logic, a battle over what lies at one’s own feet, the unknown or the known, the chance or the risk. The heart dwells only in emotion, an emotion with unbridled motivation, and it stirs within people a vastness the mind could never grasp.

  My thoughts written on the pages of my journal bordered chaotic, just mindless rambles regarding the time spent with William and Thomas. Through the chaos, though, my excitement over whom was obvious. The heart won. It spilled its wish, it
s desire.

  The heart spoke and the mind was silent.

  I thought of the nights spent with William and how I felt after I left his side each morning. He invoked the passion for life that I longed for, passion I didn’t have with Thomas, nor would ever feel. Without awkwardness between William and me, or any hindrance while alone with him, the more I thought of him, thought of us, the more concern for my parents’ desires disappeared.

  The heart won.

  And, the heart rested with William.

  The now known feeling of my hearts’ desire clawed at me. Laughing and pointing, it mocked me. What would happen now? Would William be waiting for me tonight? Or would I find myself alone in the darkness of the night, standing by the gate in sadness? He hadn’t been there the past few nights, so why would tonight be any different, especially after what happened this afternoon? Or would that be the reason he would come back tonight?

  Fear shook me to the core of my soul.

  What if I never see him again?

  My bedside clock chimed midnight. Within seconds, I reached the darkness of night.

  Please. Please, let him be there. Let him be there waiting for me.

  Chapter 12

  Essiyetv nickered as I tiptoed through the gate. Loosely tied to the tree, he grazed on the little patches of grass next to where William sat on the brush box, waiting for me for the first time in many nights. William’s shoulders were hunched over, his face pained, and his eyes seemed lost in thought. I knelt in front of him, wanting to smile, but in seeing his expression the notion I should have anything to smile about faded.

  “William?”

  He smiled, but remained silent and motionless. No strong arms awaited me tonight, only cold, distant ones that rested at his side. I reached toward his swollen and bruised left eye, and he jerked his head away from my hand.