by Haley Weir
“I didn’t get to set the charge.”
“But they’ll escape,” she snapped.
“We’ll get them another time.”
“That’s not good enough.” Mary Ann raced through an onslaught of gunshots and slid across the ground, coming to a stop beside Boone. She grabbed the modified grenade as well as two sticks of dynamite. Boone moved too slow to stop her, and Mary Ann ran to the other side of the tunnels. She lit the fuse of a stick of dynamite and tossed it at the outlaws.
They dove for cover, allowing her to get to the tunnels. Mary Ann pulled the pin and rolled the modified grenade inside. She hit the ground and covered her head with her arms. After the explosion went off, the wendigo that hadn’t been caught in the blaze came running out. Mary Ann didn’t panic. She flipped her rifle off of her back once more and loaded the special rounds. Her fingers worked in a flurry of motion.
She pulled back on the hammer, aimed, pulled the trigger, flipped the lever, reloaded, and repeated the process over and over. Bullets hit their mark with a wet thwack. Mary Ann could hardly breathe, and her fingers began to cramp, but she didn’t give up. She fired and fired her revolver until the click of an empty chamber filled her ears.
Mary Ann tossed the rifle aside. There were only three wendigo remaining.
She threw one of her knives and hit a wendigo. The second attacked her at full force. Mary Ann slashed her blade, carving up the creature as if she had been born to hunt them. Sam and the others cleared the area and came to find her kneeling in a puddle of blood. Mary Ann wiped her face with her sleeve. She breathed harshly, trying to calm her heartbeat. “I...did it.”
Sam, Boone, and Wesley stared at the gruesome sight with slack jaws and wide eyes.
“Mary...you did this, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
He holstered his revolver and walked over to her. Sam picked Mary Ann up off the ground and carried her to the horses. She was tired and invigorated all at once. Boone and Wesley whispered to themselves. “What happened with the outlaws?”
“Not outlaws at all,” Sam grumbled.
“Then who?”
“It was the sheriff and his deputies,” he replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. “If any of them survived that shootout, they’ll head to town and spread their nonsense that I’m an outlaw again.” Sam helped Mary Ann into the saddle and climbed in behind her this time. She was grateful that she didn’t have to support her weight as she leaned back against him.
The ride back to the ranch was long and quiet.
Beth met them at the gate and shook her head. “Another attack. They made off with eight cattle and three servants.”
“Wendigo?” Boone hissed.
“Outlaws.”
The news came to a shock for all of them. Jesse had the sense to head into town to meet the U.S. Marshal at the station instead of allowing him to be poisoned against the Cassady family. The intelligent man got right to work with his invitation, promising to clear Sam of his charges by the end of the week. Mary Ann was thrilled that Sam had a real opportunity to be a free man.
Even though their days were filled with confusion and anger, Mary Ann had everything she needed in life. She was a mother, an aunt, and a wife. She had the love of the man she had always dreamed of being married to. Live was as good as it could be, and that was fine by her. Mary Ann only wished Beth could have been so lucky.
But she had faith that things would work out the way they were meant to.
Epilogue
Chicago
May 1871
Children of all ages worked in lines, filling molds with lining or banging away at freshly forged metals. Sheets of iron and steel trudged down the lines. The sizzle and pop of heated tools dipping into cool water filled the air. Steam mingled with the clouds of black smoke from the coal furnaces. “Pick up the pace, ya filthy rats! Last hour!” someone shouted over the metallic bangs and clangs of the factory. Sweat dripped into the icy blue eyes of Beth Mason.
Molten steel poured from the large drums, casting an ethereal tangerine glow upon her face as she worked vigorously. Eyes watched her from high up in the rafters. She called them bruisers, large men who worked for Mr. Kingsly. They were thugs who pretended to be hired security that liked to beat on the children.
Beth cautioned a glance over her shoulder and spotted the factory owner, Ashton Kingsly, staring at her intently. She kept her long hair tucked beneath a lad’s cap. Beth wore men’s trousers that had been mended one too many times. Her breasts were bound, and she donned a dirty muslin shirt and gray vest to complete her daily ensemble. Though Beth had worked in this steel mill for as long as she could remember, she often wondered if they knew she was a woman.
There were mills that hired women, but not Mr. Kingsly.
As a child, Beth had been a poor orphan eating out of the refuse piles behind shops and inns. People spat at her and called her names. Without many options, she had gone to Ashton Kingsly and asked for work. When he curled his lip at her, claiming that she was small for a boy, Beth hadn’t contradicted him. She used his mistake to her advantage and worked harder than any other child or adult at the factory.
In the beginning, she had clamored for Ashton Kingsly’s attention.
Now, Beth would have given anything to rid herself of his gaze.
Beth swiped the grimy sleeve of her jacket across her brow, streaking her face with blackened grease, and used the last of her energy to fill the mold. When the bell chimed to signal the end of the day, she disappeared into the throng of workers. Beth waited in the shadows until the factory was silent. The children shuffled off to supper in the kitchens before bed. She held her breath, watching in case Mr. Kingsly or his goons were around.
Once she was certain no one would see her, Beth climbed one of the metal beams and reached her perch up in the rafters. The flat overhang acted as her little sanctuary within the large building. She laid on her back and dug into the pocket of her trousers with oily, calloused fingers. A pristine letter was marred by the smudges caused by her hands as she read from the note someone had sent her.
Beth thought it was odd, for she did not have a family. Most of the letters she sent were to the papers, complaining about work conditions in the factories. She didn’t know if someone wanted to play a cruel joke on her or if the letter spoke the truth. A lawyer from out west wanted Beth to meet him to discuss her grandmother’s will? She read through the first page and flipped through the next. Beth nearly choked on her own spittle as she read the word heiress.
She...needed air.
The lights went out in the workroom, and Beth climbed down from her perch. She turned to leave, but strong hands gripped her arms painfully. A bag was thrust over her head, and Beth was dragged somewhere. Loud sounds of the city blended with her thundering heartbeat. The bag was removed. Beth stood upon a thin metal beam that hung off the roof of the building with her arms tied behind her back. “W-what’s this about?”
Mr. Kingsly stepped onto the beam, and it wobbled. He strolled up to her and used the sharp end of his knife to cut open the front of her shirt. His brow raised at the bindings upon her chest that had been fashioned out of two corsets. Mr. Kingsly cut those open as well, baring her tender breasts to the cold winds. Beth shivered, but she refused to cry.
“Beautiful, isn’t she, fellas?” he asked mockingly. “Chicago has a diamond in the ruff.”
“What do you want?”
He reached into her pocket and retrieved the letter. “Dear Miss Mason...Blah blah blah...grandmother’s last will and testament...blah blah...oh, yes! Here it is.” Mr. Kingsly cleared his throat. “I am pleased to announce that you are the heiress to a rather impressive fortune.”
Beth shook her head. “It’s a trick. Clearly, they’ve got the wrong woman.”
“You lied to me for nearly ten years, Beth. I’m quite sad to say that I cannot trust you any longer. My heart is broken, and only you can repair it.”
“Got to hell.”
<
br /> Mr. Kingsly chuckled. “This can all go away if you agree to marry me.”
It was Beth’s turn to laugh. “Like I said, go to Hell. And if you’re going to threaten someone with forcing them to jump into a river...make sure they don’t know how to swim.” She flipped backward over the edge, tumbling four levels down into the rushing waters of the river.
Beth hit the surface of the water and felt pain radiate through her bones. She wiggled her shoulders and kicked her legs to breathe through the water. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air and tried to get to the river bank. She slammed herself against the hard ground and looked for something to tear through her bonds. Beth saw shards of broken glass twinkle in the moonlight. She scooted over and clutched a shard in her hand.
She sawed at the binds, hearing footfalls in the distance as the bruisers gave chase.
Even exposed to the cold wind and sopping wet, Beth managed to free herself. She raced towards the streets, hearing the sound of her water-logged boots pound against the ground. Three of the bruisers called her name. Numb fingers worked to cover herself once more. Beth ducked through alleys and took sharp corners to throw her chasers off, but they caught up.
Her body bounced off of the brick. Beth dropped to her knees and breathed deeply through her nose to help ease the pain in her ribs. She clenched her jaw, hissing through her teeth, “How much is he paying you to hurt me?”
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, apparently.”
“I’d hate to be boring,” she quipped. “Tell me...did Mr. Kingsly tell you about the knives?”
“Knives?”
“The ones you forgot to take off of me.” Beth climbed to her feet and retrieved four silver blades that she twirled between her fingers all at once. “These knives.” She threw them in the blink of an eye. The bruisers fell to the ground in a river of blood. Beth reached down and plucked her blades from their bodies. She had been hurt by them before, and she knew if she hadn’t killed them, then they would have harmed the other children.
Beth grabbed one of their shirts and left them where they belonged: in the gutter.
If Mr. Kingsly thought she would submit to him, that she would ever agree to marry him, then he was terribly mistaken. Beth would never submit her freedom to a man...never. She walked along the streets of Chicago and swiped a long duster coat, flipping the collar up to hide her face. Beth moved through crowds of folks heading home for the night after a long day at work in the so-called enterprising city.
She stopped outside of the train station and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. There was only one way Beth could find out if she truly was an heiress. Beth pushed open the door and approached the ticket vendor. “One ticket to Colorado.”
“Sorry, sir, there aren’t any trains headed that way at the moment. There’s war brewing down there. May I suggest getting a train to Texas?”
“Texas?”
The ticket vendor leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s a man that will take folks from Texas to the Colorado Territory if they’re willin’ to trade or pay a fair price. He’s a simple man, and he won’t ask for much.”
“What’s the man’s name?”
“Leroy Pearl.”
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About the Author
Haley Weir is an author from South New Jersey. Obsessed with all things romance, you can catch her over at FictionObsessed.com, where she one of the head writers.
Growing up near Philadelphia, she always loved taking trips into the city and felt magnetized by its culture and art. She recalls her first trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art as a young girl. The vast displays of skills and beauty left her in awe and she slowly developed an interest towards the creative side of life.
She began drawing and writing at 13 years old and graduated from Drexel University with as an English major in 2011.
You can find her outside reading at her local park in South Jersey, strolling through the streets of Philly, or awkwardly sipping a glass of wine at a nearby bar.
