by Amber Stokes
The weight of that responsibility along with the lack of sleep lowered his eyelids, and he conceded defeat.
“Wake me up if you need any help,” he called over his shoulder as he walked through the storage room. Joe’s grunt reached his ears before he entered the hallway. He stared at the door across from his own. Was the girl reading? Sleeping? Best not to think too much on it. He entered his own room, closed the door behind him, and collapsed on the bed without even taking off his boots.
***
Rufus whistled as he sauntered down D Street, pausing outside of Jacob’s brothel. It was a smaller establishment, with only a handful of girls, all of whom he knew by heart. But sometimes familiarity was a comfort, and he could use the distraction of a pretty face. He hadn’t crossed paths again with the girl he’d met yesterday afternoon, but he hoped he would soon. Until then, might as well have some fun.
I can afford as much fun as I want. He grinned, pleased at the achievements he’d made in Virginia City. Rufus O’Daniel, silver baron. The town had lavished its riches upon him, and though it wasn’t his beloved South, the place suited him.
He entered the building and stood tall in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the soft light of dusk to the shadowy interior. He spotted Cassandra and winked at her, pleased when she blushed and stared, ignoring the man whose lap she occupied.
His gaze roamed over Luella and Irma, then snagged on a new girl in a bright yellow dress standing by the piano. Gladness followed on the heels of surprise. It’s her. Well, the night had just improved dramatically.
Running a hand over his perfectly styled hair, he approached the girl, staring down the two men who had been talking with her until they grumbled and went in search of other women. Rufus O’Daniel always got what he wanted.
He offered a smooth smile. “I don’t believe I’ve learned your name yet.”
She didn’t smile in response, but she didn’t shy away, either. “My name is Annabelle.”
***
Jacob finally knew her name. It was unfortunate that Rufus was the first man to get her to say the word. Annabelle. The sound on her lips was just as sweet and charming as he imagined she was behind her mask of indifference.
He leaned farther over the bar, aching to whisk her away from that man who thought he could buy anything from anyone. Rufus never had to resort to opening a brothel and running two businesses in order to make sure his living was secure. He was one of the lucky ones, with silver lining his pockets as well as every cloud that rolled toward him. The fire of ’75 that almost burned up the town was a minor menace to him, while it had terrified Jacob. Jacob knew nothing of mining, but sometimes he wished he was brave enough to chance it, if only for the possibility of finding enough silver to never have to worry about his future again.
Rufus brushed his hand over Annabelle’s bare shoulders, and Jacob bristled. He couldn’t stop his feet from leading him around the bar and over to the piano, where Dan continued to play his lively songs, unruffled by the drama unfolding around him.
“Annabelle isn’t feeling well.” A small corner of his heart still withered at the telling of every lie, just as it had when his parents found out his false tales as a boy. But he pressed on. “I told her she didn’t need to entertain anyone tonight.”
Rufus chuckled. “She appears quite healthy to me, Jacob.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Annabelle. “How are you feeling? Well enough for a dance?”
Annabelle glanced between the two of them, her blue eyes filled with more life than he’d seen up until then. He couldn’t tell whether the emotion suddenly glinting within her gaze was amusement or gratitude.
“I think I might retire to my room after all...” Her voice trailed off, as if she was waiting for something.
“Rufus O’Daniel,” the man supplied. “You may call me Rufus if you’ll join me for just one dance.”
“Perhaps another time, Mr. O’Daniel.”
A storm brewed sudden and fierce in Rufus’s hazel eyes. He turned to Jacob. “Does this girl not work for you? Shouldn’t she be doing her job? If it’s more money you’re trying to weasel out of me, I won’t be cheated.”
Jacob stepped closer to Rufus, creating a wall between the man and Annabelle. “Annabelle is new here. Give her some time to adjust.”
Rufus’s knowing stare was unnerving. “You and I both know she’s not new to this life. Her posture, her gaze—it’s obvious to me she knows what she’s about. She doesn’t need your protection. If she came to you, she’s in need of money, and that I have. But she won’t see a bit of it if she doesn’t do her job.”
Annabelle might not truly be sick, but Jacob was beginning to feel rather ill himself. “How I run this place is my own business. There are plenty of other establishments to frequent along this street if you can’t find what you’re looking for here.”
Rufus glanced behind Jacob. His gaze hardened as Jacob heard the stairs creak. “You have what I’m looking for, and I’ll get it soon.”
Jacob sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he watched Rufus leave, wincing at the slam of the door. He caught Cassandra’s pout and the lift of Irma’s brows, but he ignored them. Turning on his heel, he ascended the stairs, sure that Annabelle had retreated to her room.
He lifted his hand and swallowed, then knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Her quiet voice beckoned him, and he entered the room. She sat on the bed, fiddling with a thread on her thin sleeve.
He closed the door behind him, unsure of what to say.
“So your name’s Jacob.” She still hadn’t looked up at him.
“Yeah. And yours is Annabelle.”
Her head bobbed once. He sat next to her, and he noticed her breathing quickened.
“What do you want from me, Jacob?” She stopped playing with the strand and picked up her book instead, the one she’d brought with her. He watched her rub her hand over the cover, as if soothing a pet.
He couldn’t answer her question yet, so he chose to ask a question of his own. “Why are you here?”
“You know why. The same reason those girls below are here.”
“You just arrived in town, yet you came to seek out a brothel. You didn’t even bother to look for another means of supporting yourself, to seek help elsewhere.” He reached out to still her hands, and her whole body froze. “Why?” His whisper shivered in the space between them.
“You want the truth?”
He nodded, his hand still resting over hers on the book.
“It’s all I know. This life... I don’t have any other skills. All I have is my appearance.” She squeezed his fingers, and his heart clenched in response as she continued. “My father often visited the saloons and brothels, so my mother took to visiting them, too, and working in them, as a sort of revenge, I suppose. My father had all the women he wanted, so my mother had to prove she could have just as many men. Neither of them were ever lonely, and we never lacked for anything.” She shrugged.
Before he could force words past his tight throat, she lifted her book and opened it to a place marked by a dried and pressed flower. She picked up the stem and held it out to him on her palm. The single lavender bloom resembled an upside-down crown pointing out from a bell shape. He placed the tip of his pointer finger on it, finding the flattened flower smooth.
She smiled, awing him into further silence. Her voice brightened. “I found a patch of these outside one of the towns we lived in for a time in Wyoming Territory. They shook in the wind, and I’d imagine I could hear all those little bells ringing gloriously across the field.” She glanced at him through lashes as light as the feathers of fairy wings. “I always wished they could make real music.”
Her golden hair cascaded around her face, hiding her expression. He tucked a strand behind her ear, needing her to see he understood. “The most beautiful belle I see is you. And I have a feeling there’s a great deal of music within you waiting to be freed.”
A sigh shuddered throug
h her, and then she slipped the flower back into her book, slamming it closed. “You’re only making this more difficult for me. Just send someone in.”
He stood to leave, studying her bent head, her hair shimmering in the candlelight. He didn’t say another word as he slipped from the room and shut the door behind him, but he knew he wouldn’t let anyone else see Annabelle tonight.
***
Annabelle didn’t understand what Jacob was about. Four more nights passed in the same manner as the first two, and the days were filled with reading and the occasional visit with Jacob. Nothing more. It frightened her to realize how much she enjoyed talking with him, and how relieved she was when no one else came to see her in the dark.
But this had to be some sort of cruel trick—like smoke obscuring her view of the fire raging toward her. This reprieve would only make the return to her old habits that much more painful. Jacob Lawson was playing with her heart, and she was trapped as effectively as if he had never given her the key.
Deep inside, though, she was still an Isabella Thorpe, not a Catherine Morland. Jacob was no Henry Tilney, and their sordid secrets were no figment of her wild imaginings—they were all too true. And that’s why she needed to find a way to end Jacob’s game and stop pretending that she was something she was not. Nothing could change the facts of her past.
When the light faded from her window, she closed the shades and put on her favorite dress. It was simple, the most modest of her collection, and a soft purple color. Everything would be different after tonight, and though it was foolish, she wanted Jacob to see her wear this. The week was up, and tomorrow she would either be working somewhere else or making her living as she should in Jacob’s brothel.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, hesitating at the irritating creak. She pushed on, though, descending the stairs with her head high, unable to resist the temptation to pretend that she was entering a ball and not a den of iniquity.
Jacob looked up from pouring someone’s whiskey, and her throat filled with unspoken longings, burning as if she had taken a sip of the vile drink. She turned away from the questions in his lush green gaze and found Rufus O’Daniel watching her from the shadows.
***
Rufus took his time admiring Annabelle’s graceful form, her haughtiness only compounding his interest. She watched him from the foot of the stairs; and, when he finally walked over to join her, she didn’t move away. The low light of the room made her pale skin glow, and the purple dress gave her an added air of royalty.
He took her hand and kissed it, then leaned in and brushed his lips across her neck. “Will you dance with me, then?” His whisper ruffled a few wisps of her hair, and he smiled.
When he straightened and met her gaze, he noticed her forehead wrinkle, her glance darting once—but noticeably—in the direction of the bar. His voice turned cold. “It’s not a good idea to become involved with your employer, or hasn’t anyone warned you of such things? I’d be delighted to show you some finer establishments where you could work, with nicer furnishings, more room—”
“I believe you wanted to dance, Mr. O’Daniel.” She raised her brows.
“Rufus,” he corrected. “And yes, I do.” He pulled her up against his chest, ready for the night to begin. The music was faster than he would have liked, but that didn’t keep him from moving slow, directing Annabelle’s every step with deliberation.
After a few minutes, he was ready to take their dance upstairs. “Come.” He grabbed her hand and led her past the piano, taken aback to find Jacob blocking the steps to the second floor.
“Annabelle isn’t entertaining anyone in her room this evening.” The brothel owner’s arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze as straight and piercing as a bullet.
Rufus scoffed. “No excuses this time. Ask the girl yourself. If you and she both want to be paid, you’ll move aside.”
Jacob didn’t budge.
Annabelle pulled out of Rufus’s grasp, her features drawn in apparent uncertainty. Without a word, she squeezed past Jacob and climbed the stairs.
“What sort of business are you running, Mr. Lawson?” Rufus narrowed his gaze on the man’s annoyingly stubborn face.
“One that follows my rules, O’Daniel. Annabelle isn’t just one of the girls.”
Rufus’s eyes flicked up the stairs, where Annabelle remained at the landing, peering down at them. “Really? Do explain.”
“She’s going to be my wife.”
A gasp filtered down to them, and Rufus’s mouth parted slightly for a bewildered moment. Then he laughed. “Your wife? Surely you jest.”
But Jacob didn’t chuckle or even grin.
Rufus shook his head. “You’re a fool. Polite society will never accept her. She’ll always be locked away behind closed doors. Is that what she wants?” He shot another glance up the stairs, but he couldn’t discern Annabelle’s expression in the dim light.
Jacob’s arms dropped to his sides, and he looked up at Annabelle, too.
Seizing the opportunity, Rufus pushed Jacob back against the stair railing, ignoring Annabelle’s cry. He grabbed Jacob’s shirt collar and shoved his fist into the man’s windpipe before he could recover. “Listen well, Jacob Lawson. I am not a man to be trifled with. The next time you bring a new girl here, she’s fair game. Understand?”
Jacob’s eyes darkened, but he offered a single nod.
Rufus let go of Jacob’s shirt and stalked out of the now-silent building. He had made his point, and the situation didn’t necessitate further violence.
But heaven help the man who tried to cross him the next time.
***
Jacob rubbed his throat and grimaced, nodding at Dan to resume playing. When the music picked up and the girls regained the attention of their clients, he made his way up the stairs and stood outside Annabelle’s door, which was slightly ajar. Before he could work up the courage to knock, she pushed the door open a bit more, peeking out with eyes as wide and blue as Lake Tahoe.
“Is it true?”
He could barely hear her soft words above the din from below. His heart cracked at the fear glinting in her eyes from that hidden part of her soul. She was afraid he was lying.
“May I come in?”
She hesitated for only a moment before opening the door fully to him. When he entered, she retreated to her bed and sat, waiting. He fell on his knees beside her, and she startled. Even as she stared at him, he couldn’t find the words. He hung his head, ashamed, wishing he was a different man and Annabelle had a different life.
He would give her one, if only she would let him.
“I gave you a week.”
Her words brought his head up. “It’s not enough. I need more time.”
“Time for what?” She reached out and cupped his cheek with her palm, and he placed his hand over hers.
“Time to prove that I’ll take care of you.” He stroked her soft fingers on his bristly face, hoping his gaze conveyed his earnestness. “I didn’t say you would be my wife in order to aggravate Rufus, Annabelle. I said it because I wanted it to be true. Please, let me take care of you.”
***
Annabelle slid off the bed, to her knees and into Jacob’s arms. She felt his heart pound fiercely against her cheek before settling into the most comforting rhythm in the world.
This man saw her outward beauty, knew of the beast within, and somehow wanted to claim her as his wife, regardless. He could have taken what he wanted, but instead he protected her and asked for what she’d never known she desired to give—her heart.
“We can make this work.” His low words washed over her like a warm bath.
She knew this wasn’t a story from one of her books, that so many of their problems remained unresolved. Like whether or not he would keep the brothel, or what people would say about their marriage, or how she would manage to be a good wife when she hardly knew what that would require.
She shook the thoughts away, though, and lifted her face to meet Jac
ob’s gaze, full of life and promise. “I want to try.”
A hot tear burned as it pooled and then fell. She remained in his arms and sang an old song while he held her close.
Acknowledgements for Bellflower
One of the thrilling parts of writing a series—especially as a “pantser” (someone who writes “by the seat of their pants,” so to speak)—is getting the chance to learn more about your characters, why they are the way they are and either where they’ve gone or where they’re going. It’s immensely satisfying to see all the puzzle pieces click together. Many thanks to Meagan Davenport of The Curried Nut blog for expressing interest in the back story of the villain from Bleeding Heart, which led me to cast him as “Gaston” in this Beauty and the Beast retelling. I hope you agree that he fits the role nicely!
I also extend my sincere gratitude to...
~ Anne Elisabeth Stengl, whose “Five Glass Slippers” writing contest prompted me to write the first fairy-tale retelling for “The Heart’s Spring” series (thus inspiring me to write another one!).
~ Rachelle Rea, whose editing assistance and encouragement are invaluable.
~ Lena Goldfinch, whose book designs and generosity are beautiful.
~ Adrienne Hedlund, who gave me Northanger Abbey and a wonderful forever friendship.
Continue Reading for Another Short Story from “The Heart’s Spring” Series...
Fairy Slippers: A Retelling of Cinderella
Falk, California
Spring 1888
Margaret Richmond had thought her future bright once upon a time. Not everyone would have thought it so. Her greatest ambition had been to take care of her father after her mother’s passing. She had never expected him to die and leave her alone in a redwood lumber town, thousands of miles from home and a hundred teardrops from her childhood.
“Are you cryin’ again, girl? The men will be here soon, and you haven’t even finished the flapjacks!” The cook’s voice rose in warning.
