"Come, Lucy," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I'll take you home."
Gerald wrapped his coat over her shoulders to cover her torn dress. As they turned to leave, she almost stumbled on the dead body, and he steadied her.
"I'd better help you stay on your feet." He smiled, putting his arm around her.
And that was how they came to Lucy's home. They found the household in a panic, Aunt Cathy swooning on the parlor sofa, and Uncle Will furious on the doorstep.
"Shut up," Gerald Steel said, and his voice was trembling with that dangerous fury again. "The girl is safe, but no thanks to you. As I told you before, Will, I protect this town. Take better care of your family, or I'll come visit you again."
And then Lucy was locked up in her room again, this time for good. The next day, she watched from the window as her torn and bloodied lilac dress was burned in the back yard. The dress had been ruined, but she felt sorry for it. She did not even think of the attacker tearing it. He was dead. He did not matter anymore. She thought of Gerald Steel holding her, his hand sliding gently down her spine as he was kissing her, him wrapping his own coat round her bare shoulders gently and protectively.
Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy often had disagreements. But after that night, they both agreed that measures had to be taken.
The measures presented themselves in the form of Mr. Robert Nash. Mr. Robert Nash was Aunt Cathy's cousin twice removed, a slightly stout, middle-aged gentleman of some means. He was in construction business, and he had built the Way's End Town Hall before moving to more promising prospects in Albuquerque. He owned some property half a day’s ride away from Way's End, and when he got Aunt Cathy's letter, he was able to come on a visit. Lucy had rejected his marriage proposal a year ago, but that clearly did not discourage him.
Aunt Cathy always said what a perfect gentleman Mr. Robert Nash was. He was indeed polite and good-mannered, with none of Uncle Will's drinking problem. His looks were not unpleasant, too. What was more, he was willing to overlook Lucy's scandalous reputation. As he told Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy, he regarded it his duty as a man, a relative, and a Christian to help save an innocent soul from the depravity that threatened her. As he told Lucy, he could never forget her, and he hoped that in time she would learn to love him as he would do everything in his power for the sake of her happiness.
Lucy hated him.
She told him she would never marry him, and reminded him she had said so before. She told him that, for the sake of her happiness, she hoped he would get on the next train to Albuquerque. She also told him that she loved another, and therefore could never love him. Mr. Nash listened to her with a crestfallen look, and he smiled sadly and kissed her hand and thanked her for being so sincere.
But he did not get on that train. Instead, he moved into the only hotel in Way's End, and continued to pay regular visits. Lucy refused to see him, so he spent much time talking to Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy instead.
It was Aunt Cathy that finally told her that the marriage was going through, whether she wished it or not.
"You can't do that!" Lucy stormed, horrified and in despair.
"We most certainly can," Aunt Cathy assured her. "You are not of age yet, young lady, and ‘til such time your uncle is your legal guardian and is in his perfect right to make important decisions concerning your fate. Heaven knows you have proven yourself to be an ungrateful spoilt brat, but this is all for your own good."
"I will not marry him!" Lucy wanted to shout, but her voice betrayed her and came out quiet, almost broken. Her lips were white. The thought of it was almost unbearable, repulsive and ugly, like that drunken man's hands on her body. It is really just the same thing, she thought with a sudden cold feeling of dread. It is proper and by the rules, but it comes to the same.
"This is sanctioned rape," she told her aunt.
Aunt Cathy screamed at her and slapped her, and then she turned the key in the lock on her again. Lucy was a prisoner in her own home, helpless and caught in a trap, destined to be sold to a stranger she despised.
As she cried herself to sleep that night, she thought of Gerald again. She swore to herself she would never stop loving him, whatever they tried to do to her. Her aunt and uncle said horrible things about him, but she did not care. Gerald had saved her and kissed her and held her in his arms, and she was his. It was not by the law, but she cared nothing about the law. The only law that mattered was the law of her own heart. They were trying to pull them apart, Aunt Cathy and Uncle Will and Mr. Robert Nash and Way's End and everyone, just like society pulled apart Heathcliff and Catherine in Wuthering Heights.
But Lucy was not like Catherine. She would not betray her love to a life of regret, to become a disconsolate ghost when that life was finally over. She would die before she let them do that to her. They might make her Mr. Nash's wife by their law, but he would never have her. She would kill herself or kill him before she let him do it. That thought brought a measure of despairing comfort to her fevered thoughts, and she finally fell asleep, her sobs quieted. But the next morning, she managed to hide a silver knife from the breakfast table in her sleeve.
That day was a Saturday. The next day, Lucy knew, they would all go to the Sunday service, Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy and Mr. Robert Nash. She would have to go with them, of course. This was her only chance.
She had never told Gerald she loved him, she realized. She wanted to, the night she sneaked out to the saloon, but then that man attacked her and Gerald saved her and then he was kissing her and she’d never had the time to tell him, besides having forgotten all the words. But she had to tell him. Even if he was a villain and a murderer and an outlaw, even if he did not love her back and just wanted to ruin her for his pleasure, like Aunt Cathy said. Lucy did not believe those things, or at least not all of them. She had seen him kill that man, the violence and danger burning in his eyes. She had sensed that darkness in him and known it to be true. But she had also sensed his concern for her. She had seen his dark eyes grow warm at the sight of her, the hard, cruel line of his mouth turning into a smile at her words. And if it was only lust he was after, he could have had her, easily … but he did not. He did not take advantage of her. It was true he had not told her anything of love, not in so many words. But she had seen that love in his eyes.
And she loved him.
So this time, she stole that dollar from Aunt Cathy's saving box. She gave it to Joe, their old servant's boy who had been sweet on her for as long as she remembered. She also gave him a note she had penned hastily, to take to Gerald Steel's ranch. Joe looked at her with mournful and wide eyes, but promised to ride as fast as he could. She knew he would probably get flogged for that. It made her feel guilty, but only a little. She had no other choice.
Then, the only thing left to do was wait.
That night, Lucy could not sleep at all. It had always been her belief that people in love had a special connection, a connection that defied distance and time, and bound two souls together. She believed that when she dreamed of Gerald, it was her soul meeting him, free from the shackles of reality. She wondered, for the thousandth time, if he dreamed of her. She hoped that he did. But she had no way of knowing. She wanted to fall asleep and be lost in those dreams of him once more, reach out to him and touch his very soul. But though she felt very tired and her eyes closed of their own accord, sleep continued to evade her.
So there she was, lying under her bedcovers in the still sultry southern night, tormented between sleep and waking, reality and dreams. She listened to the night sounds subside through her half-open window, she watched the darkness in the room give way to the predawn grey, and she held him close in her thoughts. When morning finally came and the birds started singing, she rose and started dressing for church.
The beautiful lilac Sunday dress had been ruined and destroyed, so she wore her plain silvery-grey cotton one. She wished she could wear something more beautiful, but she did not own many clothes. Aunt Cathy had always told her economy was a woman'
s virtue, but she owned far more dresses than Lucy did. She had also said Lucy would own many fine things as Mrs. Robert Nash.
None of it mattered to Lucy. The thin metal of the silver table knife was cold next to her skin inside the sleeve.
Lucy was quiet as they set off to church. Aunt Cathy seemed to be pleased, and Uncle Will was in a good humor, too. The days before, Lucy had not been quiet, breaking some of her aunt's favorite porcelain and attempting to escape out the window. Now they took her sudden calmness for admission of defeat and being resigned to her fate.
They know me so little, Lucy thought. How can those that claim to be my family know me so little, and wish to hurt me so much?
When they met Mr. Robert Nash by the church entrance, he bowed to Lucy politely. Lucy slightly nodded and lowered her eyelashes in recognition. She did not want to look at Mr. Robert Nash.
The service was its usual routine. Lucy often wondered if her father was anything like the Way's End elderly parson, a little round man leading his congregation in a calm matter-of-fact way. She did not mind those Sunday services, however. They let her mind wander in the free places of her world, and she liked it when they were singing the hymns. Today, however, she was restless and on edge. She could feel her hands perspiring in her gloves. She felt dizzy and faint and tired, her lack of sleep making itself known, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. So when the parson got to the sermon, as accurate in his timing as a watch, her fainting was only half-pretense. Aunt Cathy ushered her to the side door to get some air, and resumed her seat with a suspicious glance in Lucy's direction. Uncle Will frowned, but did not say anything. After all, Lucy was only going to have a breath of air in the churchyard. The churchyard was encircled by a stone wall and did not connect to the street.
The morning sun, already hot, shone on the gravestones and the wooden crosses as Lucy closed the heavy church door carefully behind her. The gravestones belonged to the town founders, she knew, and there were only four of them.
He was sitting on one, smoking a cigar. All the despair and exhaustion of the last few days seemed to leave her as she saw him there, tenderness flooding her. He must have scaled that wall, she thought, smiling. He came to me.
She made a step forward, and her dress rustled in the wind. He turned to her in an instant, his instincts alert. The cigar dropped from his fingers on the town founder's grave.
"Lucy," he breathed out. How she had missed the sound of his voice, him saying her name like that. "I got your note. It was unclear, but I figured you're in trouble again. I've been busy at the ranch these past few days…"
"Gerald … oh, Gerald." Her voice caught as he took her in his arms once again. He was smiling that almost arrogant half-smile he had, the smile she had come to love so much. She reached out and touched his face with trembling fingers, tracing those thin wrinkles in the corners of his eyes which she thought so beautiful, brushing away a soft silvery-grey curl of hair. He was frowning now, no longer smiling and looking at her with concern.
"You're not well. You've been crying and losing sleep. What's the matter, Lucy?"
She could hold back no longer. The concern in his voice and eyes broke through the walls she had been building to protect herself, and the treacherous tears came, though she despised herself for crying in front of him like that.
"I love you, Gerald," she blurted out, her face burning with tears and shame and the sweet, sweet sensation of him holding her again. "I love you and I'll always love you, but they say they'll never let me shame the family like that. They call you a murderer and a villain and they call me a whore, but I don't care, I don't care the tiniest bit—"
"Lucy, calm down, my little girl." His voice was warm and deep and soothing, and he pulled her closer to him. She lifted her tearstained face to him, and saw that smile back on his face, and his dark eyes shining brightly. "Oh Lucy, what shall I do with you? You are such a fearless little thing. And if you had any idea how your words make me feel … how all these times I've wanted to put you on a horse and carry you off… No one in this town would stop me. But, Lucy, I've come to … care for you too much. You have no idea of the life you'd be choosing with me, a rogue old enough to be your father with some things in his past darker than the books you read."
"Don't you understand?" She pulled back from him. What was he saying? She knew he cared for her and was trying to protect her again, probably from himself this time—but it still felt like he was rejecting her, pushing her away, when she had just opened her heart to him. "They are going to marry me off! And I don't want it. I don't care about the sort of life I'm going to have, because I'd rather kill myself than be forced to marry!"
The blood drained from his face. His eyes widened for a moment, and then became narrow, something hard glinting in them.
"What is it you're saying? Your uncle plans to marry you off, does he? Who to?" His voice was hoarse.
"His name is Mr. Robert Nash. He is a family cousin, from Albuquerque, but he has a some property not far from here. I hate him. I hate them all. Help me, Gerald … save me," she whispered, looking at him, watching his dear handsome face set in hard lines. And then suddenly she felt so ashamed and weak and worthless, clinging to a man like that, making a tearful scene and practically throwing herself at him when he was acting so nobly.
"Let go of me, Gerald, please." Her cheeks were burning as she pulled back from his embrace. Suddenly she felt so ashamed she could not meet his eyes, but she made herself look up at him. He was pale, and his mouth was a hard, thin line. There was that dark anger in his eyes again, smoldering just beneath the surface. It made her cower inwardly. He must be angry with her, and he had every reason to be. She could not stand it, him looking like that, and knowing that she was the cause of his anger.
"I'm sorry, Gerald," she whispered, feeling like a stupid little girl. "I … I must get back to the church."
He made a move to stop her, almost catching her hand in his, but this time, she was quicker. She turned her back on him, feeling those angry eyes looking at her, and sped back into the church, blinking back tears.
****
Someone must have seen them together that day, and told on her. Because Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy suddenly decided that the marriage would take place in just two days. After the ceremony, they would all depart for Mr. Robert Nash's property, and then Lucy and her newlywed husband would go on to Albuquerque.
Lucy refused to talk to any of her family during the days prior to the wedding. She refused to see Mr. Robert Nash as well. She ate practically nothing, and spent her hours looking out the window at the scant buildings of Way's End and the prairie beyond. She had tried to appeal to the parson when he came to visit her on Aunt Cathy's insistence, but the little elderly man was stern with her and told her that her uncle and aunt were only trying to do her good in saving her from sin. He told her that marriage to a respectable and worthy man was all a young orphan girl could wish for, and he also told her that unrepentant women who sinned in thought and deed were going to burn in hell. She told him she hoped he would burn in hell. After that the parson left, and she did not speak to anyone again.
The periods of despair and tears and rage changed to a period of strange, dull numbness in all her faculties. She tried to read, but the words that had once brought magic into her thoughts failed to form any meaning now. Hour after hour, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and the shadows crawling over it. Once or twice, she fingered that knife she had stolen with a strange detached interest. She brought the edge of the blade over the smooth white skin of her forearm in two parallel thin lines. She watched as the blood welled over them, and with that same strange detached interest she thought that if she made the cuts deeper and lower, at her wrist, she could end it all. But she put the knife away.
She thought of Gerald, too. Her love for him was as strong as ever, but now it was colored with the strong emotions of shame and loss, and with a wild, despairing hope, too. She had asked him to save her. He could do i
t, she knew. He could do anything.
But why would he do it? She had made him angry. She had behaved shamefully, like one of these women who throw themselves at men. He was the sort of man who could have any woman he wanted. Why would he choose her, a silly little girl young enough to be his daughter, who had no idea of the life he had? When she thought of that, that wild, despairing hope changed into the black, dull numbness once again.
The night before the wedding was to take place, that dull empty feeling grew so unbearable she contemplated the knife again. But then, she took out the perfume bottle he had given her instead. She clutched it in her hand, and sat holding it on her bed, hugging her knees and watching the grey dawn fill her room slowly. She felt as if the little perfume bottle was almost alive, a rose-smelling little glass bird snuggled in her palm.
The day came. Aunt Cathy put a lacy white dress on her. It was the same one she had worn when she was married to Uncle Will. Perhaps that was why it was too tight across Lucy's breasts and a little too loose in the waist. As her aunt was fussing over her, pinning white flowers to her hair and fastening the family heirloom of a little diamond necklace round her throat, Lucy considered tearing the dress off her. It was making her skin crawl. It was making her think of all these sacrifices people had made in the old times in the Bible, with all those rules about how it must be done properly. But then, she knew that tearing the dress would accomplish nothing, and in the end, she went for it. She was satisfied to know that the dress had nice long sleeves. The sleeve hid the scars on her forearm, and it hid the little knife, too.
As they went up to the church, Lucy was hoping, hoping against hope that Gerald would be there again and stop it and save her. But he was not there, and her hopes died. Mr. Robert Nash was looking very pleased and smug in his best suit, and she even acknowledged his beaming bow with a semblance of a smile that never touched her eyes. It did not matter if she smiled or screamed. Nothing mattered anymore, for Gerald was not there. Gerald did not want her.
Villain's Woman Page 3
