by Amy Faye
I did. His hands found my hips. His fingers gripped tight. My own fingers dug into the bedsheets and I grit my teeth to keep from having a reaction. I hated the idea of encouraging him. Almost as much as I hated the thought of him stopping.
Euler hitched my skirt up. I felt his hands trace my skin. I felt the goosebumps that it raised after it. I felt my body reacting in other ways. Readying itself for what was going to come next. I forced myself not to tell him that I wanted it.
And then, in spite of the reactions my body was having, in spite of the fact that I was like putty in his hands…
He stopped. He let my skirt fall back down.
“Consider yourself lucky this time,” he said.
I didn’t. Lucky would have been an entirely different outcome, I told myself. But I didn’t tell him. Because I was a good Christian woman. And I wasn’t going to admit that there might have been some part of me that wasn’t.
Eight
I let my weight fall onto the bed, and then rolled over. I could feel the fit of the dress growing tighter around my chest, and knew vaguely that my position was anything but modest. And I didn’t feel nearly half as bad about it as I ought to have. I made no move to smooth myself over and regain my respectability.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
Baron’s eyes on me felt like hot pokers pressed against me. But he made no move toward me. I silently dared him to. But in spite of my silent desire, he did not. I let out a long breath and tried to quiet the voice inside me that begged for a second attempt at wooing him.
“You are forgiven,” he answered. His teeth grit together. Looking down at him he seemed all coiled up like a spring, every part of his body held tight. As if, any moment, he might come unwound and decide that he would give me, after all, what I so desperately wanted from him.
He turned away.
“Come with me. We’ll eat in the common room, wife.”
Even the word itself made me shiver. I couldn’t convince myself that he would change his mind, but I could hope. And whether I let myself hope or not, whether he changed his mind or not, I couldn’t stop my mind from imagining what it did. Where things might have gone if he hadn’t stopped.
I pushed myself up from the bed. He waited in the door, that coiled-spring look still covering him from head to toe. He pulled off his belt as I did, and set it down, along with the pistol in its holster, on a bedside table. The pistol itself, he pulled loose and set on the table.
Then he started toward the door without looking back to make sure that I was following. As if it were simply presumed that I would follow. And I did.
He moved stiffly. Everything I had ever seen from him suggested that he was a man at home with his body. A man who was capable of moving very easily and very quickly. The stiffness, even in spite of the long days of riding, was immediately obvious. I let myself imagine for a moment that it was for my sake that he was walking like that. And then I put it out of my mind.
“Wait for me,” I said. He held up a step and turned. My shoulder brushed against his and he visibly flinched away. His hands balled up into fists, and then he started down the stairs again. I held my breath and followed after.
At some point, I hoped, I would be able to either have my wishes granted, or better yet, I would stop wishing for it. But I wasn’t there yet. Not prepared for what life had in store for me. Like most people, I wouldn’t be prepared until the opportunity presented itself to me. I let out a long, low breath.
There was a restaurant in the front of the house. Across the room, a group of men played cards with their heads down, looking at their hands. I was vaguely aware that men gambled. I had no reason to ever know of it, though. Jodie hadn’t enough money to offer to gamble any of it away, and there was no other man in my life to make the demonstration.
For a moment, the gaze that Baron gave to the group had me convinced that he was considering going over to join them. And then he seemed to make some decision in his mind, and his posture relaxed, only slightly. He caught me watching him and his shoulders grew stiff once more.
He pulled out a seat for me. I took it. Then he seated himself and looked around. The meal was silent. My captor—my husband, as far as everyone here would know—barely looked at me. As he ate, and as he avoided my gaze, his posture relaxed again.
He pressed a piece of bread against the plate to sop up the last bits of steak juice, and then ate it. I had long-since finished my own food, but then my portion had been smaller than his.
“To bed now,” he said. “We’ve got an early morning ahead of us.”
“No time for even a bath?”
He let out a breath and for an instant he stiffened again. Then he forced himself to relax and looked over at me.
“In the morning. It would be nice to relax, even if it were just a little bit.”
“Thank you,” I said. I meant it. I couldn’t explain what I had to thank him for, but I couldn’t deny that I was thankful to him. I was afraid of him. Afraid of what he could do. But at the same time, he’d been the impetus that finally rescued me from a fate that had seemed inescapable. He’d taken me away from a life that would never go anywhere. I just had to hope that he didn’t take me to a life that wouldn’t go any further than the first.
“Don’t mention it. Come on.”
He started back up the stairs without waiting for me. I followed after. He was hard to get a read on, I thought. Nearly impossible. He seemed angry with me, and at the same time, he seemed to be perfectly satisfied to leave me to my own business at times, as well. I pushed the thoughts from my mind.
He fit the key into the lock; the bolt rasped, and the knob turned in his hand, and he pushed the door open. The room was the same as we had left it before. He picked the pistol up from the side table.
“You’ll want to get those clothes off. I won’t look.”
Then he settled into a chair and turned toward the wall. For a moment I watched him. Uncertain if I could trust a man like Baron Euler. Uncertain if I cared whether or not I could trust him. I wasn’t sure that I didn’t want him looking.
I stripped my clothes off quickly, then, and slid into bed. What did it matter if he looked or not, if he was going to slide into the bed right beside me.
“Are you finished?”
“I’m covered,” I said.
Euler turned and faced towards the room again. My dress was folded over the foot of the bed. I retained some small amount of my dignity, with my slip still on. He looked over at me, and a wild part of me thought about uncovering myself.
“I’ll take the floor,” he said. “You can have the bed to yourself.”
“Yessir,” I said. He stood and leaned over the lamp, and blew the lights out.
I tried not to think about anything at all. Tried not to think that I was afraid of what was going to happen next. Tried not to think about where we were going to go. Tried not to think about the fact that I might just have brought more trouble down on us both.
And more than anything, I tried not to think about whether or not I was glad he didn’t climb into that bed with me.
Nine
I didn’t know what to expect from bath-time. Whatever I had in my imagination, it wasn’t what happened. We were both taken to separate rooms, and I lowered myself into the water. The heat was scalding and at the same time, I barely felt it on my skin. I was thinking too much about everything else.
I could leave. Nothing was going to stop me. Not if I really wanted to be gone. And there had been no indication that Baron really intended to physically prevent me. If anything, he’d given me ample opportunities to go. The fact that I was still there should have told him something. It should have told me something.
I frowned. There were thoughts swirling in my head. I tried to figure what I was supposed to be thinking. More than that, I tried to figure what it was that I thought about Baron Euler. Which was the rub.
I thought that he was a criminal. I was never going to have any kind of future
with a man like him, and I knew it. But there was something else in my feelings about him, too. Something that I should have scourged out of my heart from the first minute. I wanted him. And I wanted him to be something he wasn’t.
I wanted him to be good. But he was a killer, and my bottom still hurt from the paddling that I’d taken. I sunk lower in the water, and let the water scald my skin. Then I reached out of the tub, grabbed the big sponge, and doused it in the bathwater.
I took extra care in scrubbing my skin. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, in a logical way. Of course there was nothing connecting my skin to the feelings in my chest. I wanted them gone. And the first thing that I needed was to be clean. Cleanliness, after all, is next to Godliness. And I needed to be quite a bit closer.
When I was done I pushed myself out of the water. I enjoyed the feeling of soaking; everyone does. But I had gotten used to being quick in the bath, nearly alone in the house with my brother. And I wasn’t going to allow myself any creature comforts while I was busy thinking sinful thoughts.
I pulled on my clothes and walked back to the bedroom. Then I settled into a chair and closed my eyes. I looked for the feeling of God in my heart. It took me longer than usual to find it. But eventually, I managed it, and then I took to prayer.
I hoped that it was going to help me find peace. I hoped in my heart that I was going to figure out how to get out of this mess. How to change Baron, or how to change myself. How to convince myself to leave. But there was nothing. Nothing but a vague sense that nothing was the way that I wanted it to be, and that things were going to get worse before they got better.
I picked up my shawl from on top of the dresser and wrapped it tight around my shoulders, and went back. If that was the result, then I had a lot more praying to do. First, because I was going to need strength to get through the tough times I knew were going to come. Second, because I wanted to give God a second chance to rescue me from my own bad intentions.
God would have answered, in time. He always does. But I didn’t give him the time to answer my prayers. Something came up, and I was in the middle of saying my prayers again when a knock came at the door. I pushed myself up from the chair. Baron wouldn’t have knocked. He had a key, and he’d proved more than once that he was unafraid to use it. For that matter, the door was unlocked as far as I knew.
My eyes flicked down to the lock on the door as I walked up. It was, indeed, unlocked. Whoever wanted in could have simply opened the door. Which meant that whoever it was they had decided to be polite by allowing me the courtesy of opening the door for them.
I did. The door opened. I pulled the shawl tighter. The man standing in front of me wore a suit. It wasn’t as nice as the one the man downstairs wore. He looked like he slept in it, and it looked road-worn. He had a hat in his hands.
“Ma’am?”
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“Is your husband in?”
I raised my eyebrow. “Husband?”
“According to the owner downstairs, you’re here with your husband?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “There must be some mistake.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not married,” I told him. I showed him my bare left hand. He looked at it a moment.
“So you’re not Missus Thomas Reede?” My lack of recognition must have showed on my face. I couldn’t decide whether or not I was angry with Baron for not mentioning the false name he’d given. It made for a good cover, though.
“I’ve never heard the name before in my life.”
Something in my gut told me that if he was looking for my husband, it wasn’t because he wanted a man named Thom Reede. He probably had some idea who he was looking for. I could tell because his hand kept adjusting itself on the hat, and then reaching to touch his hip. Like he wasn’t thinking about it, but he was very nervous.
“And you’re not here with your husband?”
“I’m afraid that you’ve wasted your time, Mister…”
“Krick. Detective Krick. I was sent here to find a Miss Marion Young, kidnapped by a… terrible fiend. But I suppose, if that’s not you…”
“No, sir,” I lied. I hoped that he didn’t see the lie in my eyes. I’d always had trouble deceiving people. But I did my best. And Detective Krick made me nervous, in spite of everything.
He looked at me hard. “You’re certain?”
“I would know, I think, if I was kidnapped, shouldn’t you think?” The laughter in my voice wasn’t forced. It was a silly notion, that someone might be uncertain that they were kidnapped or not.
He leaned into the room slightly, and his voice dropped very low.
“If you’re worried about any danger, ma’am…”
I also didn’t have to force the annoyance in my response. “I am not, sir. Thank you for your concern. Now. Please leave me in peace.”
He looked at me a long moment. I wanted him to go. He got the message, eventually, though it took him longer than I would have liked.
“Yes ma’am,” the Detective said finally. And then he stepped back and a moment later he was gone.
Ten
I didn’t realize the stillness in the hallway at first. It seemed perfectly natural, like I would have expected. It wasn’t until I heard the sound of something metallic clicking that I turned and looked down. The sun streamed through the hall, positioned carefully to outline the shape of a man stepping out through a door.
Baron Euler hadn’t dressed. When he stepped closer I could see the lines of his body, muscles only slightly hidden by the thinnest layer of softness. His shoulders were broad, and the only thing that protected his modesty was a pistol hanging in his left hand. He made no move to cover himself.
My eyes transfixed themselves on the part of him that marked him a man. He wasn’t Jewish, I thought to myself. I blinked. Tried to tear my eyes away. My body rebelled and continued to look. And in spite of myself I stopped fighting.
“Who was that?”
I heard the words in the back of my mind, but they meant nothing to me. I didn’t even think to try to answer. It wasn’t until he repeated himself that I shook myself out of my transfixed stupor.
“Who was who?”
“The man?”
“Detective,” I said. “He’s looking for you.”
Baron said an oath and stepped through the door past me. I tried not to think about the fact that his manhood brushed me. My blood surged and I closed the door.
“Are you going to put something on?”
He was already pulling a shirt on over his head.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Baron growled. He reached over and grabbed a pair of long underwear and started pulling it up his legs.
“I’m sorry,” I offered.
“Don’t be sorry. We’ve just got to leave. What did you tell him?”
I didn’t let myself believe for a second that he could have possibly missed the conversation. But I wasn’t going to question. It was a dangerous idea, and not one that I planned on indulging. Not even for a moment. Not if I could help it.
“I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Nothing at all?”
“He asked after a… Thomas Reede.”
“And?”
“And I told him the truth: I’d never heard that name before in my entire life.”
“Good girl,” Euler said. He shoved the pistol into its holster and pulled the belt around his blue jeans, not bothering with the belt loops. As he did he took two steps towards me, leaned in, and pressed a kiss against my forehead.
I blushed and tried not to think anything of it. It was disgusting behavior. It had to be, because Baron Euler was a criminal, and I wasn’t that type of girl. But dear God did I want to be. For a man like that, even a good girl would turn bad.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Take this.”
He stuffed a fistful of dollars into my hand. I took them without knowing what they
were for.
“Go to the hostler, get my horse, and buy yourself a mare.”
“What?”
“You heard what I said, didn’t you? Go on, and do it.”
I started down the stairs before I realized that there was something disturbing about the idea. Where had he gotten this money? Was this the money that he’d taken from the bank? The bank that he’d killed a man robbing?
I shuddered, straightened the bills, and folded them in half. Then I palmed them and walked, hoping that nobody would notice me.
Someone did, but I didn’t notice at first. I stepped out into the street, looked left and right. Shops lined the street, each one with a big sign that said what they did in big, hand-carved letters and painted with bright reds and blues and yellows.
I waited until I found one with a big picture of a horse carved into it, painted yellow around the outline. The text was bright red, and read stable in all-capital letters.
I walked over to it. It was a few hundred yards; I stayed on the boardwalk until I had to step off to cross the street. Behind me, unnoticed, a man in a shabby, worn suit followed at a comfortable distance. I walked up to the man sitting outside.
He was chewing on a wheat stalk and watched me walk up. He seemed to be judging my appearance, and I was fairly confident that he was finding it very satisfactory. I wasn’t in a position to make him stop looking.
“C’n I help you?”
I pulled a smile. “I’m looking to buy a horse, and to pick up my husband’s horse.”
“What’s your husband’s name?”
I hated lying. I’m bad at it. I wasn’t any better this time. “Um,” I started. “Thomas Reede.”
He nodded as if the name fit. “What horse you want to buy?”
“I don’t know,” I said. It was the truth, and at the same time, it was the wrong thing to say, I knew. I ought to have sounded like I knew everything there was to know about horses. But I wouldn’t have been able to keep up the charade for long. “The mare on my mother’s farm was big and old.”
He looked at me a minute, shrugged, and then stepped back into the place. A hand clapped down on my shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t going to be ignored, no matter what I wanted from it. It pulled, not hard.
