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Thread: [Mature] Westward To The Heart [Kach x DuchessLivilla]

  1. #11
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    "Dear Miss Belle,"

    Priscilla started reading the creased letter she gingerly held again, despite the shaking of the train as it rattled westward. She tried to relax.

    It had been a tense five days watching over her shoulder in Springfield while arrangements were made for her to travel. She had confined herself indoors, the less people that could recognize her, the less clues could be found to where she was going. So, she set to studying her syllabus when she wasn't eating, glancing out the window to the street below, or through a cracked door out to the hall.

    One of the few times she had ventured into the city was to have her hair trimmed. The thought had been unappetizing. She had spent some time thinking about it, but decided the additional layer of security was worth it. Now sporting a pompadour style, raising her hair upwards in the central part, and leaving fallen curls at the sides, in a darker drown. She had to admit the shorter cut was lighter and more airy despite her initial reservations, and she had hardly recognized herself in the mirror afterwards.

    Three more days of travel and sleeping on the train, and she had decided she did not mind train travel; and only regretted not thinking of finding a good book for the journey and not travelling first class. It rather reminded her of travelling on the water, the slight motion of the train and constant noise. She did not mind sailing.

    Pricilla finished the letter once more. She wasn’t sure how many times she had read it. The talk of a cottage seemed quaint, however the mention of it being the best in the town, made her wonder if Mrs Catherine Lennox was prone to hyperbole.
    Fifteen kids seemed like an exhilarating challenge that she was looking forward to. She had enjoyed tutoring the younger well-to-do kids who her parents had known the parents of in Boston. Never so many, but Mrs Wolden had assured the number did not matter as long as their teacher kept a firm but nurturing hand.

    A shout came from the back of the car and she started, turning in her seat and peeking over it with a ducked head to see the commotion. Had she been discovered? A few moments observation revealed a cramped passenger had become upset with his travelling companion, and she relaxed once more. Glancing over at her seatmate, an elderly man with tufts of grey above his ears who she had only seen awake when they first boarded, she mused. His face and knobby hands were weathered, though even in sleep, he seemed grandfatherly. He must have worked out in the elements most of his life.
    Priscilla had decided he was a fisherman heading inland to visit his children. His wife had passed away some time ago. He loved his family, but he couldn’t leave the sea behind, it kept calling him back to his small fishing boat he had known all his life.
    She nodded with satisfaction and turned back to the letter she rested in her lap.
    Now what did the mining town of Silver Creek look like?


    The train shuttered as it began to slow, approaching the Goodwater station. A railroad town, like every other the train had passed through, there was little to remark about Goodwater save for that it was the closest to Silver Creek and thus, her stop.
    Peering out the windows at the sparse landscape, she might have been disappointed if it weren’t for the anticipation of arriving at her final destination. Far from the metropolis of Boston, Goodwater seemed a sparse, spartan place with the only colours contrasting the shades of brown filling the landscape, the handful of signs denoting one shop or another. A handful of people gathered at the station platform, one of whom she assumed must be the Mr. Arthur she was to meet. None appeared to be from Boston way, something she checked at every stop, just in case.
    As she began gathering her belongings, a warm, rough voice gave her pause, “Disembarking all ready?” The old man beside her peered up at her from bushy grey eyebrows with a toothless smile.
    Priscilla smiled back, she hadn’t met her grandfather, but she liked to think this man might have reminded her of him. “Yes, thank you for your company. I hope you have a safe journey to wherever you are going.”
    He nodded gratefully. “Thank you kindly little Muss. You mind your way, and keep a hat on your head. That sun out here will dry you up like a raisin like me if’n you don’t.”
    He chuckled at his own joke and she thanked him for the advice before bidding him adieu.

    The air was cool for mid afternoon under the clouded sky. Perhaps rain was coming, but it did not smell of it yet and the dusty ground held no moisture. Priscilla stepped onto the platform, moving to the side to let others pass as she peered into the handful of faces in the crowd. Her now short black hair was kept as well as she could given she had been train bound for the last few days. She had not bothered with makeup after the first day of travel, how it became mussed while she sat on a train was beyond her reasoning, and her complexion was quite fair. She wore a well cut, unadorned wide skirt in darker sky blue with a protruding bustle, a style falling out of popularity for flat bustles and tighter skirts in Boston. An intentional choice on her part to attempt to blend in with what had been common in Springfield. She had done her best not to dress like someone with money, but anyone with a fine eye for clothing would see a very high quality dress despite its lack of ornamentation. It was the best she could do until she could buy more clothing.

    Setting her small suitcase and bag of teaching materials down on the platform, she smoothed her apron and skirts, electing to wait until some of the crowd cleared before searching for ‘Mr Arthur.’
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  2. #12
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    Arthur had arrived early at the station -a habit of his for most things- and had passed the time while waiting smoking, and making polite -for the time and place anyway- conversation with the waiting travellers. Most of whom he knew by sight, and name, it was, after all, a small place and most folk went between Goodwater and Silver Creek at least once every few weeks for some reason or other.

    He'd hitched the old horse, Dobbs, to the hitching post round the side with the wagon, to prevent it taking up too much room. The post-master would be in a fit if he arrived in his cart to see a wagon in his spot! Arthur too, like the lady he was to meet, didn't set off towards the crowded platform as the train pulled in...There would be no point, after all...He had no idea what the new school-marm looked like, though he assumed Mrs Lennox had told her what he looked like.

    Or maybe he'd know her by sight. Some lost looking creature. "Miss Belle..." he chuckled and shook his head. Maybe she'd look like a show-girl! That'd go down well! Mrs Lennox was a stickler for such things...A show-girl would put the cat among the pigeons that was for sure. She had enough to say about the whorehouse! Though, ironically, the girls there were in church every Sunday, without fail, and even the preacher welcomed them.

    Arthur cracked his neck and took off his hat before he strolled towards the thinning crowd of travellers. Rough, working man, or not, he had manners enough to always take off his hat when greeting a woman, even the lowest woman. Courtesy, ironically, had been a lesson he had been taught by-

    No.

    He hastily showed such thoughts from his mind. The past was dead. And he was determined it would stay dead.

    As he waited by a rather stout woman with two large trunks and a cage with a parrot in it, he glanced down at himself and wondered if he should have changed his shirt. The boss hadn't said to...And Mrs Lennox hadn't been about when he left early that morning. What he had on was clean, for a working man's set of clothes; a blue, cotton shirt, open at the neck to let a little air get to his weather beaten skin, a pair of faded but perfectly serviceable dark, denim work pants, his prized quickdraw boots that had seen this life and his previous one -and showed it though they were still in fine nick- and his treasured black hat.

    His tan jacket lay in the back of the wagon. It was too goddamn hot for it...lady or not, he was not about to roast for her prudent sensibilities if that was what she was like. You never knew with some women. She could walk to town if she didn't like him. And good luck to her.

    Arthur saw Miss Belle before she saw him. He could have picked her out of the press of people within a second.

    Money.

    She had once had or still had...money. And old money too, not the new, flashy industry types who had come from nothing.

    It was a thing one learned to notice quickly in his previous life. And he was an expert at it. He had no idea what it was...breeding, maybe, but the old money folk carried themselves in a strange way, from birth, or so it seemed to him, when he'd watched wealthy children. There was something about them. An air of untouchability.

    "The plot thickens," he thought as he strolled forward to the rather lost looking woman.

    "Ma'am?" He nodded warmly. "Would you be Miss Belle? The new school-marm? Arthur Ross, I'm to take you to town. Mrs Lennox sends her complements."
    "Ye mustn't be afraid to ask for help. Pride is a good thing, my girl, but it will kill you in time." - Granny Weatherwax

  3. #13
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    Ms Anne Belle studied the platform as the crowd dispersed around her. A strange collection of people. A handful of business men in well kempt suits, mixed with dusty cattle handlers, women in a variety of dresses in a range of styles and one even had a colorful caged bird in among her two large trunks. She seemed to be staring daggers at a pair of rough looking mustached men as they ambled toward her at their own pace. She seemed well to do, possibly a successful shop keep's wife, or maybe a railroad man. It felt odd to blend into a crowd. In Boston there had always been people to watch and appearances to keep, but here she almost felt invisible.

    She noticed a weathered looking man walking toward her. Her warm brown eyes studied the man as he approached. Undoubtedly a local judging by his well worn boots and lightly dusted clothes. The first word that popped into her head was "Ragamuffin". The top two buttons of his shirt were undone revealing the sharp ruddy tanned lines of his collarbones in an unseemly fashion. His hair needed a good combing and a trim, and a shave wouldn't have hurt his sun reddened face.
    She wondered if this what passed for 'presentable' around these parts. At least he had the decency to take off the hat he held casually in his hands as he offered what she figured was his attempt at a curtesy. She was no longer in the upper crust of Boston it seemed, and a certain amount of "slumming it" would be required. His smile seemed genuine, but his face had a familiar quality to it that tugged at something in the back of her mind. Maybe something about is eyes...

    Offering what she would have called a 'casual' curtsey, normally only used among the well acquainted socialites in Boston, she accepted his greeting offering her hand more out of habit than intention.
    "Miss Anna Belle, a pleasure to meet you Mister Ross. I appreciate you coming all this way to meet me out here."
    She said formally, her tone carefully measured to be just warm enough to not seem cold or disappointed, but not warm enough to start putting ideas in the hired man's head.
    "I do look forward to giving my regards to Mrs Lennox personally."
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  4. #14
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    Arthur blinked. She might have changed her name, if his suspicions were true, but that voice...She was quality, to the bone, and as soon as she opened her mouth folk would know something was up. He wondered whether he should tell her. Likely as not, she'd not appreciate it, but he reckoned he should try.

    Later, anyway, on the ride home. Not here. Folk might overhear.

    He nodded, brushing his hair back and re-settling his hat back on his head to shade him from the heat. "No trouble ma'am. I had a few errands to run as well. D'you have bags with you? Best we get you out of this sun, ain't kind to a Lady's looks."

    That was all he said. One line, throwaway really, but if she caught it, she might twig he knew she was not some woman from town but a 'lady' in the full sense of the word, and change, if she could, her ways. Folk coming to hide out in Silver Creek wasn't new, hell, wasn't he doing the same? But effort had to be made!

    He gestured back past the small station building -it would be called a shed in Boston!- to the shade where the wagon and Dobbs waited.
    "Ye mustn't be afraid to ask for help. Pride is a good thing, my girl, but it will kill you in time." - Granny Weatherwax

  5. #15
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    Anna noticed Mr Ross seemed a bit unsettled by the introduction, almost as if he recognized her as he brushed his hand through his hair. But that was impossible, she must be seeing things.

    His drawl was informal and the words seemed rustic like the small town, almost as if they skewed slightly, leaning on each other. He definitely seemed a local of these parts. They were fascinating sounds unfamiliar to her ears.

    Anna answered with a nod, satisfied that she had made the impression she was expecting on the man.
    He gestured past the railway siding to a wagon part way down the street. He could have parked it closer...
    As she strode past him leaving her two small suitcases for Mr Arthur to carry, one containing all of her possessions she fled Boston with, the other her schooling books. Her skirts swished delicately.

    She felt a lump hit her gut when the realization hit her as she moved down the street toward the wagon. How many "ladies" left the city to work in the country? None; unless they had shamed themselves out of staying. She was already beginning to stand out like a sore thumb. Even a hired man from the sticks saw it in her at their first meeting. She would have to think on an explanation if anyone questioned her about it. It would take some time to adjust her bearing to something close to these country folk; if she could at all.

    A frown creased Anna's lips. It was a weathered open top wagon. She had been expecting a coach. The coming ride in the wind and dust of the road did little help her spirits. Hopefully their destination was not far. It was quite high compared to the carriages and buggies she was accustom too. She turned, expecting Mr Arthur to be on her heels with her luggage to fetch a stool for her to embark.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  6. #16
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    As soon as she had walked passed him -her gait and walk themselves giving away more than she likely knew- Arthur rolled his eyes and picked up her bags, the weight of the book one being nothing to him. He followed along behind, trying not to smirk and smile. He couldn't say why, exactly, but for some reason he found this whole thing rather amusing all of a sudden.

    A genuine, full-bred Lady, coming here with a changed name and hoping that would be enough...as if everyone out West was a simpleton who'd not notice something was up.

    Hell, they had their share of simpletons! He couldn't deny that, and maybe she'd go unnoticed for a few...but Mrs Lennox would smell a rat, that was for sure. "She best have a damn good story as to why she's here, and why she sounds like that. And walks like that. And looks at everyone as if we're barely worth her notice..." He thought.

    Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked around the wagon to place her bags in the back by his jacket. He climbed up onto the seat and sat down, only then -he had been so lost in thought to notice- seeing that Miss Belle was standing beside said wagon, looking more lost than ever and...if he was any judge, rather annoyed.

    Hell.

    What did she expect? A carriage? A fine coach, with velvet seats? Maybe a footman to help her in and out and offer her sweet-tea?

    That made him chuckle again.

    "Sorry, Ma'am," he drawled, leaning over to offer a hand for her to climb up onto the seat via the rung of the wheel. "Ain't a grand coach, but it gets us around. Sides, y'all don't want to be seen in a carriage round out West...Not if you want to get to where you was headed. Outlaws see a coach and know there's something worth stealing."

    He noticed she looked rather appalled at the idea...maybe of outlaws, maybe of having to a. hold his hand to get in, and b. having to climb in herself.

    "If y'all just step on the wheel and climb up, ain't nothing to it, ma'am. Best get used to it. Wagons and horses only way, aside from yer own two feet, to get about in these parts. I won't drop you, I swear it."
    "Ye mustn't be afraid to ask for help. Pride is a good thing, my girl, but it will kill you in time." - Granny Weatherwax

  7. #17
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    Anna heard her bags thud into the back of the wagon and winced slightly. The man was hardly a pedigreed carriage driver in Boston with his lack of regard for her personnel affects, but what could she expect at the edge of civilization? Luckily she had packed everything well.

    Her face tightened when she noticed Mr. Ross hefting himself to the seat of the wagon grinning like a fool. Was she going to have to climb up herself? Surely not, the seat was above her head! Then he noticed her standing beside the wagon, and he chuckled! What did he find so amusing?! She felt her face heat as her anger bubbled, and took a breath to calm herself. Putting herself at odds with the first person she met in what would be her new home for the foreseeable future was not a good start.

    He leaned over and offered her a hand up to the wagon's seat. What an unladylike proposition. Climbing up the side of a dusty wagon like some ape in the jungle. He was grateful for her gloves, and begrudgingly, that Mr Ross offered to pull her up; but she had no idea where to begin, and she was wearing a skirt! Glancing around hoping no one was watching, she hiked up her skirts to her knees and took Arthur's hand stepping onto the wheel spoke.

    It was an awkward display with Anna more or less being dragged into the seat as she scrambled to find purchase on the side of the wagon with one hand holding her skirts. Finally finding herself seated, she smoothed her skirts, looking forward to avoid Mr Ross's eyes. Very unladylike indeed.

    "Thank you." She said softly, not turning to face them man, eager to be past the embarrassing display. "Shall we be off then?"
    She wasn't sure that getting down from the wagon would be easier. Hopefully it would not be a long ride.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  8. #18
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    Arthur chuckled again and clicked his tongue, flicking the reigns as he did. Old Dobbs set off at a leisurely pace; which kept the dust to a minimum and avoided showering them in the same.

    For a time, he was silent, running things over in his mind as Dobbs clopped along. A few horses passed them, the riders calling out greetings to Arthur and tipping their hats to Miss Belle.

    He was a stoic man, at the best of times, and normally he would have been happy enough to sit in silence as they travelled along...But he couldn't. The woman next to him was going into a place where she needed to blend in, or at least fit in enough to be thought delightfully eccentric rather than, as Mrs Lennox would think it, 'uppity'.

    He coughed and searched his mind how to address this in a way that she'd take well. He came up a blank on that.

    "Ah, Miss Belle?" Arthur started, scratching his neck as he did to play off his nerves.

    "Nerves at my damn age? Hells teeth.

    "Miss Belle," he started again, "I ain't gon' pry, ain't my place, and I reckon it'd do no good anyway but...well, I ain't blind. And the folks in town ain't blind either, well, most ain't. Mrs Lennox, she isn't, that's for sure. Reckon she is the closest thing to society we have in this here backwater. Now, I reckon you, and you don't have to say yes or no, but I know you are a Lady...And I don't mean a lady like those back at the station...I mean a Lady with a capital L and mansion, type of Lady."

    He held up his hand, "Now don't be getting scared. I mean nothing by it and I don't mean no harm. Take this as friendly advice, which is what it is...Folks in town will ask questions, and look and gossip. Ain't much happens here. You are gon' be the most exciting thing to arrive since the last bout of the TB. I reckon...And y'all can ignore me all you like. But I reckon your best bet is to say you was a nanny or such to ladies children...And must've picked up some the lingo and walk, and manners."

    Arthur rubbed his chin. "Mrs Lennox, she might be more tricky, but you flatter her and that will be enough. And," he looked at her for the first time since he started talking, "Don't be looking down on folks. They may not be 'society' folks you is used to, but they're good folks, hard working and decent, if a little rough about the edges. And you'll be teaching their young ins', so just you remember that."
    "Ye mustn't be afraid to ask for help. Pride is a good thing, my girl, but it will kill you in time." - Granny Weatherwax

  9. #19
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    Mercifully he let it pass without further comment, though his chuckle galled her so that she nearly considered smacking him with her glove. Arthur seemed competent enough at the reins and she gave a small nod of approval. Her driver in Boston had been one, Mr Chesapeake. An excellent driver by her reckoning, he always drove them quickly and smoothly, and never missed a curtesy. Anna didn't know if he was still alive. Her uncle hadn't mentioned it that dreadful morning. In hindsight, she regretted not asking after him.

    The call of greetings from passing wagons snapped her out of her thoughts and she nodded her head to each in acknowledgement formally more out of reflex than effort. It was comforting to know some decorum existed even out here.
    What was she going to do about Arthur Ross? She had, seemingly, found her out right away at first meeting. She began to wonder for the first time if this had all been a mistake. Would her uncle be here to bundle here away in a week when word got back to him?


    Anna flinched at her driver's gruff voice, but played it off smoothing her skirts inclining her head towards him. She kept her eyes on her hands as they smoothed the fine cotton that had taken some rumples in the journey.


    Her heart was pounding in her chest. Why was he telling her this, some sort of blackmail perhaps? Of course she was a lady, was it really going to be so much of a problem? Anna had begun to regret her first impression. She did her best to keep a serene face as she brought up her now cool eyes to meet his.


    Scared!? She wasn't some girl run away from her family. He had said himself; she was a Lady! She was hardly frightened of Mr Arthur Ross. Faint traces of a scowl began to show on her face as she felt the heat rise in her belly. Then she heard her mother's voice in her head, a velvet covered iron bar.
    "Priscilla Annabelle Gardner, a Lady minds her temper. Yelling at men makes them think your hysterical, excitable, short witted, and they become as stubborn as a ox. They can be induced to more favorable action with calm, leading words, that let them come to your conclusion themselves.

    Anna tamped down her embers of anger and took a breath, thinking on his words, the serenity returning to her face. It seemed like sound advice.
    "I appreciate your concern Mr Ross." Came out a bit more coolly than she would have liked, it sounded like she had cut off before the 'but' she wanted to add. "Are there any others I should especially concern myself with?"
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  10. #20
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    Arthur chuckled softly, watching, with mild amusement as a range of emotions flickered across her face before she finally settled on, perhaps typically, politeness.

    "Funny lot...the quality," he thought. "Never show their emotions...it's all wrapped up tight! Can't be healthy."

    Folk in town held nothing back! There was hardly an evening that passed without a brawl in the saloon or a screaming match in the brothel between two girls! Or else a woman would be throwing her husband out over, most likely, said two girls at said brothel!

    He chuckled again, and realised he had been doing that often since he had met her. It had been a while since he had found something amusing.

    "No, you don't, Miss Belle," he quipped. "You reckon I should mind my tongue and just drive, like a good servant. Well, I ain't one, and never have been. Folk round these parts say what is on their minds. Life's too short out this way to hold back. Ya'll should try it. As for concerning," he scratched his chin, "the reverend, I guess. If you have faith...even if you don't, you should make a show of going to church. I don't bother. I don't need folk to not talk of me...You do."

    He went quiet a time, thinking of the past. A wistful, almost mournful look flashed over his face before he coughed and shifted in his seat. "And you'd do well not to annoy Mrs Wells. She runs the..." Arthur coloured, and cursed himself. It was not the topic, but who he was speaking of.

    Likely she didn't even know what such a place was!

    "The...local...house of," he chuckled, to cover his embarrassment, "Leisure, I suppose! She's a good woman, but with a sharp tongue, and a rumour will get from her, to her girls, to the rest of the damn county before I could spit! Some of the youngin's you'll be teaching, their mama's work there, so just be careful what you say...Youngin's repeat everything."

    He glanced at her, wishing to see how she took that news. He wondered how she felt about whores and such...And teaching a whore's bastard? Well. That was sure to be like biting a lemon for her.
    "Ye mustn't be afraid to ask for help. Pride is a good thing, my girl, but it will kill you in time." - Granny Weatherwax

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