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

  1. #1
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    Western [Mature] Westward To The Heart [Kach x DuchessLivilla]

    Priscilla woke to a feeling that something wasn't right. She opened her eyes to her dark room, split by narrow cracks of light that shone between the edges of blinds that struggled to hold the late morning sun at bay. The house was quiet, but that was hardly unusual. Perhaps she had over slept on one of the few days her mother had not stopped in to rouse her during her morning routine? She really needed to stop staying up so late, deep in books. It was really quite distressing to be out of sorts and groggy all morning when there were lessons to prepare for.

    Crawling from her bed, she studiously made it in the dim light before she went over to the wash basin to freshen up. Her brow furrowed at the room temperature water meeting her porcelain hands.
    Odd, Miss Libby always brought warm water up from the kitchen in the morning for her to wash with, even if she did sleep late. Had she really slept that long? Perhaps the servant needed a reminder of her duties. Quickly and uncomfortably, she washed. Her stomach grumbled at the late hour for breakfast and she left her room, still in her night gown and cap.
    Surely it could not be late enough in the day she would be scorned by her mother for laying about...

    Exiting her room, the hall was dark too. The window at the end of the hall had not been opened and the lamps were unlit. It was very peculiar indeed. Priscilla recalled the last time something like this happened, one of their previous servants, a miserable old woman, died in the night. The other servants hardly did anything for a week in a languorous morose. She dreaded the thought of what would be left undone if that were the case.

    As she walked down the hall to the front stairs, she heard the sounds of light crying and soft voices drifting up from the parlor; she grimaced. Slowly picking her way down the stairs she strained to hear what was being said.

    "Now, now, Miss. Everything is going to be all right." The familiar brassy tone assured. "Miss. Gardner will take care of everything. She has a good head on her shoulders."

    'Miss Gardner'? Why were they talking about her?

    "Once you have had a few moments to calm yourself, you can go fetch her, and I will break the news." Another less familiar voice informed more than assured.

    Who are they going to fetch??

    Priscilla rounded the bottom of the stairs at the landing and headed through the open French doors to the parlor. Miss Libby was sitting on one of the sofa's, mothers favorite; printed with flowers on a pink background, dabbing her red eyes with a hand kerchief. Priscilla cocked an eyebrow; the servants were not allowed to sit on the sofa's. Especially when they had visitors! Mister Jeb knelt beside her, big hand on her shoulder, looking grim despite the reassuring smile that bent his lips.
    Mister Wendell Patrick Gardener, her uncle, her father's brother, stood opposite the small coffee table, looking rather uncomfortable at the display. He seemed more than happy to turn away from the pair and face Priscilla as she entered the room. Miss Libby let out a renewed sob, apparently at the sight of
    her, and Mister Jeb's eyes dropped to the floor.

    Odd. Uncle Wendell did come to visit often, but only with her father. He had never shown any interest in the servants before...
    She felt anger begin to rise in her chest. Not only had Libby not preformed her morning duties, but now she caterwauled while guests were in their home! She doubted that her father had even been informed he had a visitor yet! Pushing it down, she gracefully curtsied to her uncle, as a proper lady should; her cheeks reddening slightly at remembering she was still in her night gown.
    "Good morning Uncle, shall I fetch my father for you?"
    In truth, she had no idea where her father was yet, but someone had to remember their senses this mourning.
    A grim look crossed her uncles face. Priscilla didn't understand why. Had she done something wrong? Surely he wouldn't hold her responsible for this pair's lack of decorum. That coal of anger grew hotter in her belly.
    "I am afraid Priscilla." He began carefully. Still looking uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to begin an apology for the failings of their servants when he continued. "Your mother and father. Died last night. Their buggy overturned."
    A fresh wail escaped from Miss Libby and Uncle Wendell continued. Priscilla didn't register anything after that. Something clicked inside her, and she suddenly felt very heavy.




    The following days, she didn't register how many there were, blurred together. One moment she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the next, out in the blazing sun the sounds of horse shoes on cobbles stones echoing in her ears and distant conversation. An office with the smell of Tabaco smoke and the rhythmic voice of a spectacled man reading to her. She didn't hear what he was saying, but the movements of his mouth, the flashing of yellow teeth made her feel ill.
    Then she was in a field, the warm air carried floral scents and the sounds of birds. Two beautiful wooden boxes stood open, side by side. Her Father in one, her Mother in the other.
    They looked so, peaceful. It felt like a lifetime since she had last seen them. She missed them dearly. Her chest tightened and she gasped. An arm wrapped around her, pulling her into the side of a black suited man, and she cried. Between ragged breaths she burried her face into the chest of the man holding her tight. She never knew anything could hurt this badly.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  2. #2
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    News of the death of his brother had reached Wendell less than an hour after the event occurred, in the early hours of the morning. Rather than go at once to his now orphaned niece, and tell her, then comfort her -he would later claim he did not think it decent to awaken a young lady with such news- Wendell instead spent the precious time, when only he knew he had won, or so he thought to himself, making plans of his own.

    He did wake his son, and inform him, telling the lad to hold himself ready for the future but he made no outward mention of what he had done, or intended to do. He then left the house, returning only in the morning to change before he set off to inform his niece that her world had just changed, forever.

    She took the news as well as he had imagined and it found it tedious indeed to play nurse to her as she wept. He was glad to give that task to his wife, and he busied himself with the funeral arrangements -and secret meetings with his lawyer- while the womenfolk wailed.

    Wendell, if he was honest, which was rare, found the entire situation irritating. He knew his niece was going to be upset, but really, did she have to be hysterical? A thought had then occurred to him, as he stood at the grave of his brother and sister-in-law...If his dear niece would not consent to his plan, might he not have her declared insane and unfit to inherit? It would not be so hard. One needed only two doctors to agree...And he was sure he could 'inspire' them to the right decision with a heavy billfold.

    It was certainly an idea if all else fail.

    As he stood, stroking Pricilla's back and murmuring comforting words that he did not mean, he smiled a cruel smile. He would have his way. It was his damn turn. How long had he waited? Too long. That was for sure.

    -

    Wendell may have been a cruel, selfish and money-grabbing man but he was not entirely without a heart...And so he allowed his niece 3 days to cry and mourn and do whatever it was ladies do when alone, before he arrived at the fine townhouse in his carriage. He left his son at home, for now, judging the news might be easier to take if he came alone.

    As he stepped into the entrance way he removed his hat and nodded to the servant who had let him in. He didn't know his name, nor did he care to learn it. He did not even know his own servant's names by heart, aside from his valet. "Tell Miss Pricilla I am here to see her, on a matter of some urgency. I shall await her in the drawing room. And bring me something to drink," he added, in an attempt to make his authority clear.

    He strode past without waiting for a reply and made himself comfortable in said drawing room. As he sat, his gaze found the portrait of his brother and his wife above the fire. A grand affair, in stiff poses and lifeless stares. He smirked as he looked at it. "Lifeless, indeed," he thought smugly. Soon his problems would all be gone. He would have all he had ever wanted...all he was owed from life, finally, in his hands.

    The Meadows Ranch - 2 Miles from the town of Silver Creek

    As per usual, Arthur Ross was the first to emerge from his small cottage that morning, long before anyone else and just before dawn. He leant on the railing of the sagging porch of his home and looked over over the ranch, bathed as it was in hazy early morning light. A small, almost hardly there smile, pulled at his lips as he took in the sight before him.

    "A fine day," he thought, sipping the strong coffee he had brewed for himself. He liked this time of the day best of all; before anyone else was up and it was quiet and still...If he cared to, and he often did, he would let his mind drift back to similar days, when he would awake under bright canvas to the sounds of birds and a camp coming to life.

    But not today. It would only bring sadness if he carried on thinking of it. Best such thoughts were left until evening, when he could be alone with them and not have them mar his expression all day.

    Instead he drained his coffee cup and returned inside, placing it upon the stone sink before pulling on his tanned jacket, over his shirt and suspenders. He gave the place a final glance then grabbed his well-worn but cherished black leather hat, adorned with an aged piece of twine about it. If one looked closely there was, in one place, an old and very brown bloodstain.

    He left the house, pulling closed the door with a soft click, before descending the two rickety stairs, putting on his hat as he did so. He stretched and set off with a purposeful walk towards the stables by the main house; normally called by all staff as 'the big house'.

    Arthur always began his day with tending to his and the other horses; a habit left over from a time when one needed one's horse more than anything else. Not to mention, even if he would never admit it, he was a sentimental soul and had a great fondness for his mare, a fine black creature who seemed to understand her master more so than any other thing, man or beast.

    By the time that job was done, the sun was just creeping over the ranch and he could hear sounds of life coming from all over.

    Another day had begun.
    "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. #3
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    "There, now isn't that better Young Miss?" Libby remarked warmly as she fussed with the last curls of Priscilla's hair, tucking the ends of the long brown braids and pinning them in place.
    Priscilla was lost in the reflection in the mirror, wishing she could remain in the comfort of her bed. What was the point of getting dressed? She had no appetite, an no desire to leave her house, let alone her room. Too many reminders of who was lost.

    Libby continued to insist on waking, dressing, and attempting to feed her, despite her protests and foul mood; with a warm mothering smile. Had it been a week earlier, Priscilla would have scolded the woman for babying her. Libby began humming the tune to Simple Gifts as she took the small tray of make-up from the dresser and began brushing rouge onto Priscilla's ghostly cheeks. Taking a step back to admire her work, a knock came at the door, the familiar heavy sound of Mister Jebb's fist.
    "Come in." Miss Libby chimed, not waiting for Priscilla's answer. The woman was really forgetting herself, Priscilla frowned.

    The door cracked half way open. Down cast eyes in the dark stoic face of Mister Jebb were usual, but the man had been grim since the news. Priscilla had chalked it up to a reflection of her own melancholy.

    "Mister Wendell Gardner is urgently here to see the Young Miss; he is waiting in the drawing room." His brassy voice echoed around the quiet room.

    "The Young Miss will be right down." Libby chimed, speaking out of turn. Mister Jeb offered a solemn nod and backed out, closing the door. "See," Miss Libby sang as she fussed with loose hairs and wrinkles on Pricilla's dress, "you have a visitor! A fine to-do it would have been for a caller to find you still wrapped in your sheets."

    Priscilla had hardly said more than a dozen words to her uncle before... that fateful day. And hardly a dozen more since. When ever he had come over to talk business with her father, she had been hustled elsewhere; no need to get involved in men's business. She recalled one instance when she was six or seven, her mother had expressed a dislike for the man in private, but Priscilla's prying was met with dismissals and it was never mentioned again. She had no love for the man, but had to begrudge him some good will for comforting her in this difficult time.

    Rising to urgently attend her uncle as much as avoid further preening, Priscilla wavered, her vision darkening. It was late into the morning and she was feeling the affects of not eating well the past few days. Firmly brushing Libby's hands from her arm, she smoothed her skirts and marched to her door, the staccato of Libby's foot falls trailing behind.

    It was a short walk to the well appointed drawing room, the door was open. Priscilla paused at the edge of the door frame, taking a breath and steeling herself. Entering the room slowly, she offered a deferential nod to her uncle, expecting him to rise to greet the current Lady of the House. "Good morning uncle." She welcomed smoothly with just enough warmth not to appear cool.
    He sat comfortably on the chaise facing the painting of her parents, nearly empty drink in his hand. She carefully avoided looking at the wall it hung on as she moved to the arm chair her father had favored opposite her uncle.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  4. #4
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    Wendell indeed rose and gave a small smile. "Dear niece, I am pleased to see you up and about...Grief...it is a terrible thing but we cannot let it control us, nor ruin our lives. Your dear, dear parents," he said, his eyes staying to the painting once more, "Would be most disheartened to know you hide yourself away and cry. You are a woman alone now and you must show strength or you shall be lost."

    He smiled, a smile that did not reach his eyes. "You need not add to your woes with thoughts of the business, I have spoken to the lawyers and all is in hand; myself and Henry, you remember your cousin, of course, shall have it all set to rights. You need not worry yourself about any of it...It is, after all, not fit work for a Lady," he nodded, as if this was all for her benefit, and in any case she'd not understand it anyway.

    He gestured to the seat opposite him, as if this was his drawing room and she his guest rather than the other way around. "Now, there are a few matters we must talk of, as painful as they may be...Best you take a seat, my dear," he smiled again. This was hardly the way a may who had lost a beloved brother should look. Wendell appeared as if he had just been elected president or some such. Or else all his horses had come up winners.

    "Pricilla, my dear niece...You know I have always been mighty fond of you, and I am deeply proud of the woman you've become," he paused, nodding and trying to appear warm and caring. "But sadly, child, you are now alone in this world and it's not a place for a woman alone. I do not know if your father ever spoke to you of marriage and suitors...perhaps not, after all, he thought he had plenty of time..."

    Wendell sighed. Anyone who didn't know what a cold man he was might have thought he was deeply aggrieved at his brother's death. It was, almost, comical to watch. "But now you have no more time. You must, I fear, wed swiftly in order to protect yourself and your reputation. I am sure you know, a lady's reputation is worth more than her wealth. One wrong word to the wrong person can ruin you."

    It wasn't, quite, a threat, but it was clear enough the risk.

    "I think, and I am sure your father would have agreed and been supportive, that, when of course your mourning period is over, you should consider, most keenly, marriage to a suitable young man of means." He smiled again, taking it was clear, a perverse pleasure in drawing this out as long as he had, "And I have just the young man in mind...Your cousin Henry is a fine lad, well born, with excellent standing and it would unite the two branches of the family together. The business must be protected like a rare animal, my dear, and this marriage would ensure 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

  5. #5
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    Hands rested across her lap delicately as she looked at the polished mahogany table in the drawing room, her uncle's reflection was slightly blurred.

    Another lecture.

    There had been too many lectures in the last few days. The dry sort, that told of the virtues of a short respectful grief that could not be allowed to turn into a melancholy. Where did anyone, including her uncle, get off talking about her parents? God rest their souls, they were dead and gone. What they had wanted mattered little now. Still, she clenched her jaw as she struggled to keep her hands relaxed. She was not hiding.

    She had a vague awareness of the business of her father, it had been of little interest, and he seldom spoke of it in much detail other than to say that this acquaintance or that had a well-to-do son or nephew that she should make the acquaintance of. Priscilla did feel some gratitude, despite her indifference to the man, for seeing to the business. She hadn't thought of it at all in the flurry of events since the news, but it was reassuring to hear that she might not be entirely alone.

    The mention of Henry brought a concealed grimace. It had been some time since she had seen her cousin, but they had played frequently together when they were young. A frustratingly obstinate boy at her last recollection.

    The pause caught her attention in time for her to look up and see her Uncle's gesture. Hesitating a moment, she met his gaze, flat eyes watching flat eyes, before braking it and moving to take a seat gracefully. She smoothed her skirts delicately as he began talking again, caressing the wrinkles out of existence.

    She paused, tensing as he began. They were not words she had been expecting, or ready to hear. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the man. Her mother had said, 'Men never use honey unless they are looking to catch something.' Priscilla couldn't recall any other time her Uncle had seemed kindly or warm.

    The mention of marriage curdled her empty stomach and banished the little appetite she had leaving a gnawing knot. Her father had often joked of suitors and marriage, while her mother had schooled her in the finer points of womanly duties. All of it had not left her with an appetite for the topics. Was this what he wanted? To marry her off to make it her new husband's problem? She had hardly met any man she could tolerate, let alone marry. And it seemed he didn't intend to take 'no' as an answer.

    As he spoke, she steeled herself for what would come, but at the mention of marrying her cousin Henry, the calm serene face she had been working hard to maintain shattered. She felt queasy for a moment before a molten heat burned in her chest. Her cheeks flushed red, easily taken for embarrassment if not for her scowl.

    She rose, her hands fists, clenched on her skirts. "You forget yourself uncle." Priscilla growled, suddenly feral. "Take no offense, I am grateful for your guidance; but I will not allow you, or anyone, to force me into a marriage." She fumed, her anger only half from the grief at the loss of her parents. "I think you should see yourself out." Her brown eyes blazed and her fists were nearly white on handfuls of skirts.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  6. #6
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    Wendell, who had expected some outburst, was rather amused by this and let her say her piece before he stood up and fixed her with his cold eyes. "No, dear child, you forget yourself. I am a well-respected man in our fine city, with connections to other well-respected men, and my wife is friends with their wives. You are a silly young lady, with no family now, but myself, no security but your perceived virtue and future dowry, and, if I abandon you, no future but the poor house or some vile bordello."

    He sipped his drink and watched her before carrying on. "One word in the right ear, my dear, and you shall be worthless; no man wishes to have spoilt goods as a wife, and no society hostess shall admit a ruined woman. You shall lose any prospect of a good marriage, and be an outcast. My lawyers shall seize this house and your father's shares, as is my right as his partner. You shall be alone, damned and penniless...

    So, I suggest you change your views rather quickly and accept my gracious offer. You shall marry Henry, and benefit from your wealth and current good standing in society, or if you refuse, by this time tomorrow everyone will think you a depraved little harlot, who is no better than she ought to be."
    Last edited by DuchessLivilla; 02-26-2022 at 12:27 PM.
    "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. #7
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    The inferno that burned inside Priscilla suddenly shrunk as her uncle seemed to loom over her. His calm expression, to her surprise, was replaced with a self satisfied one rather than one of shock at the outburst. She met his eyes defiantly, but each sentence was a nail in the neat little box she had become entrapped in.

    As her flames of anger died, a sickening vacuum of despair pulled at her heart. With the motivation of not wanting her uncle to get the satisfaction of seeing her defeated, she was able to maintain a thin veneer of defiance. Her hands now clenched white on her skirts to stop them from trembling. If she gave into the grief that tightened her throat now, she didn't think she would ever escape it. She had to hold on. Had to find a way to thwart this vile man. Then she would have time to cry.

    Through gritted teeth she did her best to keep her voice steady. "I need some time to think on your most gracious offer dear uncle." She paused a moment, but continued before Wendell could reply. "Perhaps we can speak more of it tomorrow evening, over supper. Good day uncle." She said in the most respectfully dismissive tone she could muster.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  8. #8
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    Wendell smiled, drained his glass and set it on the table. "I knew you would come around and see it my way, my dear. It really is your only choice, and Henry shall make you a fine husband."

    For all she had spoken of 'thinking', it was clear, as far as he was concerned, the decision was made. He cracked his knuckles and grinned, looking very smug. "Henry and I shall come and visit you...perhaps tomorrow, so you can talk." He patted her shoulder, ignoring or maybe not even noticing, the way she cringed at his very touch.

    "I shall see myself out, my dear niece. Chin up, all shall be well! This is the right choice for you. You have little other!" He chuckled. "This world is cruel to women alone."

    Wendell strode out, his shoes clicking on the marble floor of the entry way. All was going according to plan. He climbed into his carriage and set off for home, already planning the announcement and events. Soon...soon, he would have all he had ever wished for. Once Henry had married the simpering fool of a girl, and got her with child, all would settle down. And if said child was a boy, well, the mother was no longer needed. If she became an issue, she could be dealt with then.

    He smirked and looked out at the passing streets. Finally. He would get what he deserved.
    "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. #9
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    Priscilla's jaw clenched, caging her words before they could escape. She felt as if any moment the sky would begin to call around her.
    Auguring, her gaze was locked into his, the certainty in his voice sickened her. She didn't volunteer a reply. She didn't think she had one that would not leave her sprawled on the floor with an angry red palm on her cheek.

    Priscilla watched him go.
    Little other choice? A cruel world!? Her despair exploded back into torrents of flame. She would see the vile man hung up from his toes in the square if she had her way! She growled through her teeth and began pacing the length of the drawing room. She would die before she bent to his will, if for no other reason, than to infuriate him.

    How could she get out of this trap?
    She couldn't go to the authorities, despite Wendell revealing his despicable nature, she had no proof of any wrongdoing, and her word would carry little weight against his own. If she fled to a family friend or relative, it would only buy her a short time; hours, maybe days? No, she had to leave the city, likely the coast.

    A frown creased her natural lips, she hadn't put on lip color today; she seldom did, it got everywhere.
    It had to be West. A new arrival would be unlikely to be remarked. She had heard rumours of single woman travelling west, and even taking their own homesteads. The railroad would offer a quick way to put distance between her and Boston. She would need money for a ticket and expenses, and whatever she could carry; not too much though. Best any persons who might be watching not think she was going anywhere.

    An adventure, some called heading out west into the untamed lands. It was not a romantic notion for her. The rough men, dust and filth, hard labour and purported lawlessness painted her an uncomfortable picture. It would not be forever though; just until she was of age and could return to take her father's place as head of the family.

    A wave of heartache tightened her chest as thoughts of her father drifted into her head. Had he known his brother was such a treacherous man? Had her father been trying to shield her from him; or had he been scheming even before her father had died?
    The realisation sucker punched her and she brought her hands to her stomach as she felt it tighten. Had her uncle somehow been involved in her parents' deaths? The redoubled urgency of her flight caused her heart to flutter.

    She took a few unsteady steps toward the door of the drawing room that smoothed as her resolve solidified. She had to escape Wendell Gardner.

    ---

    She felt like a thief as she left the Pawn Shop with the proceeds needed for her escape carefully tucked away. She had sold nearly all of her mother’s jewellery, her silver flute, and any finery she could find of her father’s that was small enough to be sneaked out without notice.
    The whole transaction had been miserable. The Pawner had thought she was much more ignorant of what things cost than she was. She had nearly bitten off her tongue to keep from berating the man. She didn’t want him to begin asking questions and he wasn’t inclined to if he would make off like a bandit. Relegated to small cooing noises, and eye batting, she was able to raise his offer, but she was still insulted. Had it not been a matter of life and death, she would have accused the man of gouging and been on her way to find another; but there was no time, and it would have to do.

    It was a cool spring day and the afternoon shadows held a chill as she made her way back to the Manor that had been her lifelong home. She had donned extra stocking, shift, petticoat, and blouse before she left, but not because of the cool temperature.
    She felt a bit warm at the exertion by the time she reached the quiet manor. Priscilla had instructed the servants to take the day off and then begin preparing for her uncle’s visit first thing in the morning. It had taken some convincing, but they seemed to have obeyed.
    Heading up to her room, she grabbed the small, carefully hidden suitcase from under her bed. It had already been painstakingly packed, but she glanced around her room at all she was leaving behind and took a breath. One day she would return.

    ---

    The train station was a buzz of activity, the smell of machinery and people moving was heavy in the air. People didn’t seem to pay much mind to where they were going as she made her way toward the train platform.

    She had purchased a newspaper on the walk and scoured it for clues. Where would she go?
    The advertisement had jumped out at her.
    Single educated women needed for school teachers in western communities. Placement and housing provided. Please mail application today!
    Without the time to waste, she had sent a telegraph ahead to Springfield informing them of her intention to apply, in person.

    “It’s too late to turn back now.” She thought as she climbed up onto the train and set to finding her seat. It would be a long few days to Springfield, but hopefully they would be ready for her.

    ---

    “I appreciate your enthusiasm.” Mrs Wolden said, eyeing the young woman, nearly a girl, who had introduced herself as Anna. A pleasant looking girl, if not beautiful she had been in unseemly haste to continue west the two days since her arrival in Springfield. The whole situation was highly unusual, but she wasn’t about to turn down a qualified applicant. Likely another girl who had shamed herself in her hometown, or was fleeing an arranged marriage.
    “But it will be a few days until we are able to send you on to your destination. I was only able to send word yesterday, and they will likely be receiving my letter today. They will need a few days to prepare for your arrival. Enjoy the city, we have excellent hotels here and likely the last hot baths you may see for a while.”
    The girl across from her frowned slightly, city woman always did when she brought that up.
    “Remember to only bring what you can carry.” She smiled warmly. The reminder didn’t hurt. She had seen too many struggling to drag trunks, of all things, loaded with their belongings.

    “Thank you Mrs Wolden, I will do my best to be patient. I am just excited to get to work.” Anna replied respectfully in an educated tongue that made her grin. She was sure the girl would be a fine teacher for the small mining town of Silver Creek.
    The final battle,
    Pain, suffering; overcome,
    by the united.


  10. #10
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    Silver Creek - Main Street

    Arthur leant against Mr Lennox's wagon, enjoying a brief and deeply desired smoke while his boss was conducting his business in the small yet always busy post-house. It may have been shocking, if not scandalous in the big city, as all such places like distant Boston or New York were called, that a ranch owner, a man of money and power -in a small place as this anyway- would share a wagon, the same seat in fact, with his hand...but here no one so much as batted an eye.

    It was common here. Mr Lennox, a bluff, cheerful man of high spirits who enjoyed life to the full, was in complete command of his ranch and often accompanied his men, normally Arthur, or his foreman, to town in the wagon for supplies. Or else he would ride over alone, taking the reigns himself.

    "Mornin', Arthur," a voice called out from the stoop of the general store. A man was rocking back and forth in an old chair, that looked like it had seen action in at least three wars and was now held together by sheer will. The man himself looked rather similar to the chair in fact!

    The man himself looked up from under his hat and drew his cigarette from his lips. "Mornin' Clyde. Fine day, isn't it?"

    "It is that," he agreed, nodded.

    "You gon' be doing any work today?" Arthur asked, a smirk on his lips as he took in Clyde's sedate posture.

    "Work?" Clyde laughed and slapped his knee, raising a puff of dust from his pants. "You know I can't do that, Arthur! I gots to keep an eye on all you young'uns! See you do as you is meant to."

    "Young'uns?" Arthur chuckled. "Now Clyde, you know I've not been a young'un for a decade and a half, I reckon, by now. I'm to be thirty this next year...And I feel it," he sighed and cracked his neck.

    Clyde grinned. "Ah, still a whelp! And you always will be, Arthur. I'm twice your age."

    "And as bone idle as they come, Clyde! Have you ever done a days work?" Arthur retorted, with humour.

    The older made a show of considering then chuckled and slapped his knee again. "No, I don't reckon so...Horrible thing work...I try to avoid it at all costs!"

    "Hence why your twice my age and as healthy as a horse?"

    "That's right!"

    Arthur shook his head fondly and leant back against the rough wood of the wagon. The sun was rising ever high and the heat with it. Hardly a gust of wind to lessen the blow. He glanced sideways at the horses and smiled. He had always had a way with them, even as a child. He pushed off the wagon and strode forward, his well-worn yet cared for boots, raising puffs of dust and sand from the parched earth. "Easy boy," he said softly, patting the horse's neck. "Hot, ain't it? Don't you worry...You'll be home soon...He can't be much longer," Arthur added, conspiratorially with a chuckle.

    As it happened, at that moment the door to the post-house opened and Mr Lennox strode out, putting his hat back on as he did so. He came down the stairs and tossed a sack into the back of the wagon while thumbing through a stack of letters and telegrams.

    "Ah, Arthur, have we all we need?"

    "Yes, sir," came the reply.

    "Good...good," Lennox nodded, reading as he did so. "Ah. Good," he tapped the paper he held. "We are to have, it is hoped, a new school-marm. Mrs Wolden, that canny old boot she is, sends word she has a possible candidate in mind. A Miss Anna Belle...It seems she possesses all we might hope for in such a person. I shall talk it over with my wife and see what she thinks."

    As owner of the ranch and the most powerful and wealthy man in the town, it was Lennox who held the sway over such matters. Then again...it was Mrs Lennox who had the final say. As everyone knew...Mr Lennox ruled the town, and Mrs Lennox ruled him.

    "Oh, I'm sure, Sir," Arthur replied, taking little notice; having no children, he had no interest or stake in the naming of the new school-marm. He had been fond of the old one, for sure, but fond as one is fond of one's neighbours, that was all. "Are we for home?"

    "Yes, yes," Lennox nodded, pocketing his letters.

    The two men climbed up onto the wagon and Arthur took the reigns.

    As they journeyed back at a leisurely pace, Mr Lennox spoke -mainly to himself as Arthur's input was not needed- and mulled over various matters on the ranch. Matters he would, no doubt, have sorted out when his beloved wife heard of them. "I think," he said, nodding to himself, as was his want, "This Miss Belle shall do fine...She has an education, which is rare enough! The fact she can read and write is enough to set her apart from most others I've been told of! And she is young, so shall, God willing, last us a time before she weds and finds herself over-burdened with the running of a home and her own children."

    "Yes, Sir," Arthur replied, paying little mind to his Master's words. He had learned, early on, in his employment, that Mr Lennox liked to talk at someone to help him make up his own mind. You did not need to reply much beyond 'yes sir' or 'no sir'.

    "And with a name like Miss Belle..." he chuckled. "I am sure she shall be quite the addition to our fair town!"

    "Oh, I'm sure," Arthur added, clicking his tongue to the horse. "Sounds like a name from the stage," he said, then coughed, not realising he had spoken out loud. "Not that I've..."

    His Master laughed. "Indeed! Perhaps her mother was a fanciful woman with a love of the stage. Miss Anna Belle...I can see it upon a board at the theatre."

    Arthur nodded along. Rather he was thinking that the name 'Miss Anna Belle' suggested a fake one. He smirked. "From a woman who's never had to think of one...Likely called Anabelle something, so decided to split it up and add another n for her alias. I wonder what she's running from?"

    -

    Naturally, Mrs Lennox was in agreement with her husband, after going over the letter and acclaiming that 'Miss Belle shall be most welcome to our town!' as if she was a Queen, welcoming a new ladies maid who had yet to prove her worth.

    The next morning Arthur was sent into town, on horseback this time, to take a telegram to be dispatched. He did not, of course, know the substance of the missive, but could guess. He also knew too that he, as ever, would be sent with the wagon to fetch her from the station in the next town over and bring her to Silver Creek. He was always the one sent. Mr -and more importantly Mrs- Lennox felt he was the best choice for these missions; he was quiet, stoic and knew when to be silent, and he could be trusted with a young woman. Some of the others might not be such.

    He glanced at the telegram as he handed it over. The envelope read 'Miss Anna Belle, co/ Mrs Wolden'. Arthur nodded to the teller and took departed, leaving the man to send it on.

    It read as follows;

    Dear Miss Belle,

    I find your qualities most suitable to our needs, and as such am delighted to invite you, at your earliest convenience, to come to Silver Creek and take up the place as our school's mistress. As I write I have sent word that the attached cottage is to be cleaned and prepared for your arrival. It is one of the finest homes in the town, and I am sure you shall be most happy there.

    The school is not over large and has but some fifteen or so pupils but we are a close knit community and I trust you shall find your feet here, and also, God Willing, happiness, for a great deal of time to come.

    I imagine Mrs Wolden has informed you not to take much in the way of luggage, but do not be concerned, we may be small here but we have all that a young woman shall require.

    I ask that you, or dear Mrs Wolden, send word as to what day and time you shall be travelling and I shall ensure my man, a Mr Arthur Ross, awaits you with our buggy at the station to bring you here to Silver Creek.

    Your Humble Servant,

    Mrs Catherine Lennox
    Last edited by DuchessLivilla; 04-01-2022 at 07:22 AM.
    "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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