Selina & Wyatt

by Annie Boone

  Wyatt looked at him with contempt, but kept his tongue.

  “Now you’re going to get up, pick up those sticks, and try again. I don’t care how long it takes you, but you’ll get that fire going so we can eat. Thomas, you’re not to say another word this evening or even look my way if you expect some of this supper. Then you’ll go to your bedroll and wait for tomorrow. If you want to make it to tomorrow, you need to rethink your strategy. Nod if you understand me.”

  Locking his jaw, Wyatt angrily tested moving his arm, only for more pain to shoot up through his shoulder. He couldn’t escape this hold no matter how he tried and grudgingly knew there was only one way out. For a minute he glared down at his other hand, still in a fist, unable to accept how helpless he was in such a sparse amount of time. Red-faced and panting, he finally nodded since he didn’t have another choice.

  “Good.” Luis pushed him away. Wyatt fell on his other arm, getting that whole side of him filthy in the dirt. Stumbling up, he tried to clean up and turned to Luis while thinking up every mean thing he could think, but remembered what he’d agreed to do. He hesitated.

  He couldn’t beat the man, he knew this was true. Swallowing, he went back to his spot to obey and tried to consider his options. But he wasn’t a liar, Wyatt told himself, and shouldn’t start now. It was one of the longest evenings of his life, trying to get the first fire going. But eventually it worked, and he ate and he went to bed.

  At night, he had the same dream all over again. A memory that had turned into a nightmare, the dream that sent the rage coursing through his body and constantly woke him. Ten years ago, his parents had gone into the bank and six men followed them in. The six men were the only ones to come out, running off with everyone’s money. And their lives.

  It hadn’t helped that Wyatt had to go live with his brother on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Luis was easier to handle than what was left of his family had been, and that was one of the reasons he’d just left them for good.

  But Wyatt was right, and he could do it. He learned to skin the animals and light the fire in record time. Luis made sure he could take a punch and give a better one back. He taught him how to fire on a moving target. While his father’s horse only lasted another year after riding all over the countryside, Wyatt Thomas worked hard to bring justice to the world and became a bounty hunter. The anger had built inside him for years and was finally used for good.

  Chapter Three

  Selina, 1883

  The shout made her jump. “Stop looking at yourself and get back to work!” Glancing behind her, she found Aunt Mary glaring from the back porch. Mary was a short woman, frumpy with too much hair piled on top her head. Flour covered her skirt and apron as she cooked. And as usual, she was in a huffy mood. “You heard me! Stop wasting your time! Don’t let the laundry get ruined.” Then she disappeared through the door.

  Sighing, Selina wished it were the other way around. Glancing at her wet raw hands, she wondered if they could possibly be any redder. Most likely not. Pursing her lips, she curled them into balls and hoped they would heal faster than they did last week.

  She gave her reflection in the river one more look before grabbing the basket of laundry. It wasn’t that she was looking at herself, but rather looking for a glimpse of her mother. Having lost her nearly fifteen years ago, Selina Carlson knew the memories of her parents were dim but she hoped that by squinting at every corner of her own reflection, she might be able to see either of her parents. Just to remember them better. It was her grandmother who’d said she was the spitting image of her mother, with her father’s eyes. But the woman had told her little else.

  This wasn’t a good idea, she knew, to dwell on dreams and one what couldn’t be. The last eight years with her aunt and uncle had taught her it was a cruel world.

  Her arms ached as she carried the wet laundry back up the hill to the house, wondering once again why the path wasn’t good and flat. She certainly walked it enough, bringing the water buckets for the house every day and for the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning. It required several trips it never grew easier.

  “Don’t hang it so crookedly! If you do it that poorly again, I’ll make you start all over!”

  The threat was a good one, and Selina had suffered those consequences before. Several times, if she remembered correctly. She no longer winced at the shouting but frowned at the job she was doing hanging the clothes on the wire. What was she talking about? After years of practice, she knew to hang the wet laundry as straight as she could.

  Just for good measure, she took the last three shirts she’d hung down, and rehung them. They were exactly the same as before, but doing the work over didn’t garner a shout from the kitchen window. Selina shrugged it off and focused on completing her task. Picking up the pile of damp hand towels, she put them on her shoulder so she wouldn’t need to keep bending over, and carefully picked out the clothespins from her apron pocket. She’d only hung one up when a tingling sensation ran up her spine. Something felt wrong.

  Biting her lip, Selina glanced about, wondering if someone was looking her way. But she couldn’t see anyone and unnerved as she felt, she turned back and hung up another towel before looking around again. The nagging sensation of being watched continued to bother her, making her hair stand up on end. She was looking around once more when someone finally spoke.

  “Your blouse is wet.”

  Jumping, she stifled a scream by clasping both hands over her mouth. There, just beyond the oak tree, was her uncle James Robinson. He was a tall man, one who had once been very strong but now spent more time eating and the softness showed. Hunched with dark brooding eyes, he looked worn down like the devil was on his back. Her heart hammered as he came over, eyeing her.

  “Excuse me? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she murmured, dropping her gaze from his uncomfortable stare. He did that often these days—the staring and watching. She should have known it was him. Since their foster son, Ben, had left to work on the railways four years ago, things had been different. Without Ben around, the shouting had grown into a daily event, and tension filled the house from dawn to dusk.

  He gestured towards her chest. “You’re wet. The towels.” Stepping closer to her, he was still staring at her. Wondering what intrigued him so much, she glanced at her blouse and saw he was right. The damp hand towels had made a damp spot on her clothes. The blouse stuck to her skin now, showing more of her curvature than any decent woman would have ever intended. Instantly she turned bright red and grabbed the towels, holding them in front of herself.

  “Ah,” she stammered finally. “I should go change and then I’ll finish the chore.”

  But he grabbed her arm before she could leave. “No, that’s all right. It’s a warm day. The sun will dry it.”

  She nodded obediently, knowing it was better to obey without question than talk back to them now. Selina waited, expecting him to leave. It was only after she turned and stared at his arm on her that her uncle finally pulled away. James stepped back a step and leaned against the tree.

  Taking a shaky breath, she realized he wasn’t about to leave. He was settling in. Self-conscious she glanced at her top again, wondering if he truly intended to… but what was she to do? For several heart beats she just stood there, dreading the moment she got back to work.

  “Selina! Get in here! I need an extra hand. Leave the laundry for now!”

  Aunt Mary didn’t need to ask her twice. The hand towels went back into the basket, and Selina wrapped her arms around herself as she ran into the house. Uncle James was left behind, standing there in the shade. The stove was a two-woman job, and the laundry was finished once Selina’s shirt was dry.

  The looks didn’t stop, but Selina tried to be more careful about her clothes. While most of her things were old and too small, she did what she could to be quieter and smaller, hiding from James’ leering. She thought she was being careful until one day, nearly a month later.

  Most days she started her mor
nings off carrying four buckets of water from the river to the house. When she returned with the first two, she found James and Mary arguing heatedly in the kitchen about running to the store for more flour. She claimed they had enough, but he was telling her it had ruined in the night. Selina thought nothing of it until she brought the next two buckets in and found Mary going out through the front door.

  “I’m off to the mercantile. James is getting ready to leave as well. Get the bread started with what flour we have left and make sure you clean up your mess. I want the floor nice and tidy when I return.” There was no chance for Selina to say anything as she watched the woman head down the road.

  She wasn’t often left alone since Mary preferred to stay home. Besides, she told herself, there was no reason to worry since James would be heading off to work as well, in the factory. Stepping inside, she set the buckets down on the table and went to put one in the sink just as she heard footsteps coming up behind her.

  He was right there as she turned, startled at the sound of creaking floorboards. James stepped up close, close enough that their hips touched even though she leaned back against the sink. Her breath caught as she met his gaze with her wide eyes, trying not to shake. Disgusted and petrified, Selina tried to think. Gripping the counter with all her strength, she found darkness in his gaze, a hunger that sent pure unadulterated fear through every nerve in her body.

  “Finally. Took us long enough to be alone,” he scowled, and grabbed her around her waist.

  “Wait, no,” she gasped, clumsily trying to pull free. The looks had been enough though she could have endured that. She’d ignored his gawking for years. But he was touching her, and the unfamiliar and greedy grips made her shudder as she tried to push him away. “Please, don’t!” Her breath strained as she felt his mouth on her bare neck and tried to squirm free.

  She yelped as he bit her ear. “Don’t think you haven’t wanted this,” he huffed, shoving her hands away. His breath was hot against her as he found her lips, pushing himself against her. Writhing, Selina frantically looked for any weak points before finally getting a hand in his face, and she kneed him in the gut.

  The man grunted, and she cried out as his teeth ripped her lip. As he clutched himself, it left her just enough space to step to the side, and run. Touching her lip, she saw the blood come away on her fingertips and glanced back. To her horror, James was leaning against the door, staggering after her. Selina turned back only to run into the laundry line.

  Crying out, she found the blanket fall over her, trapping her. Gasping for breath, she stumbled and tried to escape the folds. “Please oh please oh please,” she cried out, finally free but already she heard his heavy breathing much nearer now. She turned towards the river, hoping to dash across it, only to have her hair yanked and Selina fell backwards.

  James clumsily grabbed at her throat, his dirty nails scratching her as she kicked him hard on the shin. But he was a big man and hardly winced, barely phased. “Shut your trap,” he ordered her. “I don’t have much time.” But it only made her move more quickly, shaking as she fumbled to free his grip on her braid.

  That’s when he released her neck and walloped her hard in the stomach. It was like a boulder hitting her, and all the breath left her body. Selina doubled over in pain, clutching herself as she tried to fill her lungs once again. Before she could do so, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it. Forced to stand, she gasped and found his fist headed for her face. She ducked, but she wasn’t fast enough and he hit her on the shoulder.

  With her uninjured arm, she tried to do the same and punch him in return, but Selina knew she was weak and James sidestepped her easily, shoving her away. She nearly toppled over, but managed to stay upright. Still wheezing, but she didn’t see his kick soon enough and fell to the ground.

  “Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want,” James grumbled and kicked her.

  Selina cried out, her eyes watering. “Please! Please stop! Stop it, please.” She put up her hands in defense as he crouched over her. For a moment she clung to the hope that he’d help her up or at least walk away, but he only slapped her face. The man crouched and his knee dug into her hip. Her leg went numb and she couldn’t break free. He continued to beat her, even after she fell unconscious.

  Chapter Four

  “We need this, we need that. More sugar, more flour.” Mary mocked her husband’s grumbles on her way home, scowling at the items in her arms. It had been a ridiculous request, she decided, having her leave the house so early that morning for items they didn’t even need yet. The man knew little about keeping house, and less about the kitchen.

  It was a good home, at least, she tried to remind herself. And she had a warm bed and a roof over her head. That wasn’t something she’d had all her life, and it was a decent street to live on as well. A few homes even sat near the river. It would be a good home if her husband would ever finish painting it. Mary glared at the door, half brown bare wood and half white.

  But the last time she had told him he needed to finish his work, he had smacked her hard with her own big serving spoon. It made her hand smart at the thought of it and she shifted her hold on the bags. “Dirty man,” she scowled beneath her breath. “I don’t care if he brings home the money, he could still be neater about his work.”

  Huffing, she made her way inside and set the shopping on the kitchen table. Mary stopped there, glancing around and wondered why it was so quiet. Suspiciously looking around her, she looked for the bread the girl was supposed to have made by now, and found nothing. She sniffed the air and only smelled an empty house. “Can’t even follow the most basic orders. I knew I should haven’t left that lazy child behind.”

  Without the bread, it would ruin their evening meal and it would set all their chores behind schedule. Now there wouldn’t enough time to make the butter, and they still had to preserve the fruit before it was too ripe—and there was already a chance it was too late. Mary reminded herself for at least the tenth time she’d never take in another niece or nephew again.

  Even the laundry was still out, she could see it out the window. The bedding swayed in the breeze, tugging this way and that. Mary went to the sink with pursed lips, already planning a good scolding for Selina.

  Leaning forward to get a better look, she realized there was a bare spot between a skirt and a pair of trousers. Something was missing. Most likely a piece of clothing that would now need to be rewashed. She gritted her teeth at the thought of double work.

  Selina wouldn’t sleep that night, not if she had something to say about it. She would wash up and make the bread no matter how long it took.

  “Where is she, anyway? Well, at least she brought the water in.” She muttered lowly, glancing down at the wet droplets. But on the rim of the sink, what she thought was water, came away sticky. To her utter confusion, Mary realized it was blood. For a minute she stared.

  “James?” She called out uncertainly hoping he would answer and explain.

  But he should be off to work. Even she had heard the factory bells peal out the start of the shift. These outskirts of town, most of the folks worked in one of the three factories and they didn’t allow for slackers. He had to be at work, or he wouldn’t have a job.

  Selina wasn’t here either, at least not as far as she could tell. “Selina? Girl?” She waited, glancing around. As she stepped back, Mary looked around for more blood, finding only a small dab of a blood fingerprint against the door jamb leading down the hall to the back door.

  Following it, she found the door hung halfway open. She pursed her lips. James must have left it ajar since he had a way of slamming the doors so hard they popped back open. “I must talk to him tonight. Though we have already discussed this several times already.” Shaking her head, she frowned at her silly fleeting idea that fussing at him again would fix the problem.

  Mary had only taken two steps outside by the time she found more blood, this time wiped on a hand towel. “What on Earth!�
� She looked around frantically at what could have possibly happened while she was away. The wind moved the laundry line, and on the other side she saw something out of place and hurried over.

  Selina laid there in a collapsed heap, still and silent. At one angle, she looked as though she were sleeping. That was until Mary grew closer. She was covered in scratches from her ankles all the way up to her face, and blood was on her face. Mary’s hand flew to her mouth in horror, her stomach churning.

  At first she wondered how this could have happened, but as she fell on her knees beside the girl, Mary realized there were handprint bruises forming on young Selina’s neck. How often had she hidden her own bruises? It hit her like a pile of bricks—or more like a well-placed punch from James. She knew exactly what must have happened. Faint, Mary touched her niece, trying to see if she was still breathing.

  Her face twitched, the face that had always been so pretty with a sloping nose and hazel eyes. The girl looked like her mother, who had been the looker of the two sisters. Mary sighed in relief, realizing she was alive. But only just.

  “What have I done?” She realized only then how bad everything was, and hurriedly tried to raise the girl’s head, rolling the towel and placing it beneath her head. “Hush, hush, child, hush.” Tears spilled down her face as Mary scrambled up, and she ran off to find the doctor.

  James had a temper, something she had always known, and feared. But it was just the way of life, she thought, since she knew their parents had some issues in the past when she was a child herself. People got angry and did things, but they didn’t always mean to do them. Did they? Mary shook her head, clasping her hands together.