Ella

by Sadie Conall

  “What the hell!” the man muttered in astonishment.

  Ella knew that voice. She would know it anywhere. Startled, she looked up into the face of Marrok.

  He let her go, swinging her gently back against the vine, under the stairs. “Stay here! Don’t move!” he hissed at her, then took off down the alley.

  Ella sank into a crouch, her legs trembling beneath her when once again she heard a woman’s pitiful cry, followed by a man’s coarse language. She waited only a moment before pushing her hair back under her hat then she reached for her father’s pistol and ran after Marrok.

  5

  She knew they would follow her once she left the stage. And her only hope was to run for her life. For their intention was clear in their smug laughter. They couldn’t believe they’d found her after all this time.

  There was no use trying to get help, for no-one could help against these two men. And as she sang more songs than she was paid to do, giving herself time while she thought on what to do, she realized she had to find somewhere to hide for a few hours, before creeping back to her rooms later to pack her bags and try and get out of town.

  But she hadn’t been quick enough. For as she opened the door into the alley, she saw the other man racing towards her, a grin on his face, a look that told her they had finally won.

  She cried aloud at the hopelessness of it, even as the other man came up behind her and shoved her outside. She landed on her hands and knees and felt the first backhanded slap across her face, even as she put her hands up to protect herself. And then a kick to her ribs, not only to cause damage but to slow her down in case she got away, but the voluminous material in her dress stopped his boot breaking any bones. But she felt it. She felt every bit of its violence.

  And then the worst. The other man knelt over her and with both hands, circled her throat. She only had time to cry out before those fingers began to crush, not to kill her, but to damage her vocal cords.

  She kicked and squirmed, raking with her fingernails at his face and hands as the second man lashed out and slapped her for the second time across the face.

  But then suddenly someone else was there, pulling the men off. She heard his fists slam into their flesh and she curled into a tight ball, protecting her face and throat as the three men fought around her. Then the sound of someone shouting.

  She looked up and saw a young man about her own age standing not ten feet away, holding a pistol in his hands, yelling at the men to stand back. And then there were angry oaths, followed by running steps and then silence.

  She rolled away, her hands still in front of her face ready to deflect another punch when someone placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch gentle, asking if she was alright. But this wasn’t the voice of a male.

  She rolled over and looked up to see a girl about her own age kneeling beside her, holding a hat in her hands, allowing her long hair to tumble free.

  6

  Ella glanced at Marrok as he bent over, his hands on his knees, dry retching from a punch to his belly. Then she turned to the girl who lay curled like a child, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms covering her face.

  Ella put her father’s pistol back in her pocket then pulled off her hat before bending towards the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?” she asked.

  The girl rolled over onto her back, holding her belly as though it pained her, then looked up at Ella in astonishment.

  But Ella was equally shocked, for the girl lying beaten on the ground was the flame haired singer from the saloon.

  “Oh my,” she whispered, as she saw the ugly bruises on the left side of the girl’s face and around her throat. “Oh, you’re hurt bad, you need a doctor.”

  The girl coughed and her hands went to her throat before she shook her head and pushed herself up onto her knees. “No doctor,” she said, her voice hoarse and ragged, nothing like how she’d sounded only minutes before when singing to the crowd of men.

  And then Marrok was kneeling beside Ella, his hand on her back and the heat of him through her father’s jacket was like a brand, burning her. They helped the girl to her feet but as Ella turned to meet Marrok’s gaze, their faces only a heartbeat apart, she saw the bewilderment on his face as he looked down at her clothes.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” he asked, his voice low.

  “I wanted some fresh air,” she answered.

  “And the pistol?”

  Ella took it from her pocket. “My father’s. But it’s not loaded.”

  Marrok shook his head then closed his eyes as though too exhausted to ask anything else. Instead, he looked back at the girl, which made Ella feel even more stupid.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  Ella was astounded by the jealousy which swept through her, an emotion unknown until now.

  The girl nodded but groaned softly with pain, her hand going to her side where the man had kicked her. But as the lamp light from the saloon revealed the girl’s bruised face, it also showed the dark bruising and swelling around her throat.

  “I don’t know who you are,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper now, “but thank you for coming to help me. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  “Do you know those men? Because they seemed to know you,” Marrok said. “I saw them watching you from the back of the saloon and it looked like they meant you harm. When one of them followed you backstage and the other came out here, I knew you were in trouble. Yet why would they want to hurt you?”

  The flamed-haired girl glanced at Ella, noticing again her worn pants and shirt, although the shirt appeared far too big for her.

  And the man, dressed in buckskin.

  She frowned, bewildered by the two of them. And although grateful for their help, she didn’t want to talk to them about her problems. What she needed was to get back to her room and pack, then get out of town. She reached out her hand, first to Ella, then Marrok.

  “My name’s Ruby Daegan,” she said, her grip strong. “And I thank you again for your help tonight. Are you camped out in the fields along with all those other settlers?”

  Ella was surprised by the soft touch of the girl’s hand and realized with some shock that although she worked in a saloon, she’d never known a hard day’s work in her life. And her words were eloquent, her vowels well rounded, suggesting she had been educated well past childhood. Clearly, she had come from a privileged home.

  “No,” Ella answered. “We’re staying in a boarding house on the other side of town just until we get the wagon fitted out, then we’re leaving for Independence to join a wagon train west to California.”

  Ruby nodded, then suddenly reeled away as if to be sick. Marrok stepped forward and put a hand on her arm. “I think we’d better get you to a doctor, ma’am. Or get you home safe. Those men might still be about.”

  “No, I don’t want a doctor. I’ll be alright once I rest. And my room is just upstairs.”

  She reached up to touch the bruising on her face before touching her throat. Then she thanked them again before stepping back inside the saloon, the lock turning behind her.

  *

  Marrok looked down at Ella, his eyes lingering on her hair loose about her shoulders, before looking down at her clothes. Ella saw his puzzled look and went to explain, but without a word Marrok reached for her hat and suggested she put it on.

  “I think it best you hide your hair under this. Otherwise we’ll attract attention we don’t want.”

  When Ella finished pushing her hair up under the hat, Marrok suddenly reached out and took her hand and pulled her along the alley and up onto the boardwalk. Then he spun around to face her.

  “What the hell are you playing at Ella? Why are you out here all alone, dressed like that? That could have been you in that alley. It’s dangerous enough for a man out here alone, let alone a young woman!” He paused, as though struggling to contain his frustration, yet Ella could see his exhaustion. “You’ve jus
t seen the type of men walking around St Louis. This town isn’t like it used to be. Why didn’t you stay in your room where it’s safe?”

  “Because I didn’t want to!” Ella yelled back at him. “Why should I stay in my room! I’m not the one causing trouble. Those men are! So why don’t they stay in their rooms! And it was you who ended up throwing punches! Honestly! You’re all hard edges, Marrok. I bet if I touched you, I’d cut myself.”

  Marrok stared at her, a little wide eyed, then he took a deep breath. “You held a pistol to those men. You weren’t exactly acting like an angel. Although you saved me and that girl getting a worse beating, so I thank you for that. But the only reason I asked you to stay in your room was to protect you. If you wanted to come out and see St Louis at night, you had only to ask and I would gladly have escorted you.”

  He paused as a group of men came towards them. Once they’d passed, Marrok took Ella’s arm then gently pulled her along the boardwalk, back towards the boarding house. Ella could feel him trembling beside her but knew it was fatigue, along with having a few punches thrown at him, rather than the shock of seeing her out here. So she said nothing more, but as Marrok hurried through town, his big callused hand slipped down her arm to hold her own hand as he pulled her along behind him, all the way back to the boarding house. It crossed her mind that she probably wouldn’t get away from him if she tried and for the first time understood her vulnerability. It was his strength against her own. His hard, male body against her own soft female one.

  And as she was dragged home, Ella had a feeling that if she stopped and pulled back, Marrok would simply lift her over his shoulder and carry her home and there wasn’t a darn thing she could do about it. Scream and cry and shout and make a fuss, but he would win because he was bigger, stronger and a male looking out for her. Other men would applaud him for it.

  Although Ella decided he was like an ox, all brawn, ready to push aside anyone who got in his way. And she was damned if she would apologize for leaving the safety of her bedroom. She wasn’t a prisoner!

  A block away from the boarding house, she decided she’d had enough so shook her hand free, not without some violence. He let her go, surprised by it, yet smart enough to recognize the frustration on her face.

  “Can we just let up for a moment,” she said, a little breathlessly, her hands on her hips, looking around the town. It was late now, the restaurants and eating houses closing and even the sounds of pianos becoming less frequent in the cool night air, along with the raucous laughter and shouts of men. “I need to take a breath,” she said. “I haven’t got your long legs.”

  He looked down at her legs and as his gaze lingered on them, barely concealed beneath the worn linen fabric, Ella felt the heat rise in her face.

  “They look just fine to me,” he said and Ella wanted to stamp in frustration.

  She moved on past him, holding her hands in tight fists as she walked on ahead. She never saw the smile that broke across Marrok’s face as he watched her walk off. He admired her spunk and yes, he could understand her frustration. She was young. She wanted some excitement. And as he followed her, an idea began to form. Perhaps he could take her out for a meal before they left, to one of those fancy French restaurants he had seen her peering into through the open windows. Yet how did he find the time!

  Ella stopped outside the door of the boarding house and turned back to look at him. He walked nice, she had to give him that. Although everything about him was nice. Yet he didn’t seem too bothered about how he looked, or what he said or what people thought of him. And she liked that about him. He stepped up to knock on the door, but Ella stopped him.

  “You’ll wake everyone if you do that,” she said, scolding him, even as she reached for the door knob. “I left it on the latch,” she said, as the door opened beneath her touch.

  Marrok took a breath, knowing how foolish it was to leave the door unlocked in these times, yet Ella seemed unaware of it. But he said nothing, even as she turned back to him. She was thinking of the consequences of tonight if Martha found out.

  “Look, can we keep this between ourselves? You know Martha will only worry if she finds out. She doesn’t need to know about any of this.”

  Marrok nodded. “I won’t say a word. But try and get some sleep, Ella. We’ve all got another big day tomorrow.”

  He watched as she pushed open the door, stepped inside and locked the door behind her. He waited for a moment, then confident she had at last gone to her bed, he turned and made his way back to the livery, feeling his own bruises where one of the men had landed a couple of good punches. But it was nothing he wasn’t used to.

  He hurried on, feeling the chill as the night deepened towards midnight but as his own fatigue began to claim him and the hunger rolled in his belly, Marrok decided to take a detour home, back past the saloon, just to make sure that flame haired girl was alright.

  7

  Ruby sat fully dressed in the plain homespun dress as she peered out from behind the worn lace curtains in a bedroom that wasn’t her own. She tried to stay calm, desperate to keep her hideaway a secret, until the morning at least.

  She didn’t think it possible to sleep, for the adrenaline and fear still raced through her body which had started the moment she saw those two men step into the saloon. And they had known she had seen them, they had known she knew there was nowhere to go and they had enjoyed watching her panic.

  Her escape into the alley had failed miserably and had that young couple not stepped in to help, Ruby would be on a boat right now, heading downriver to New Orleans and then on a ship back to New York.

  She shuddered as she looked around the empty bedroom. She had come here after packing up her few belongings and creeping along the hallway to this temporary sanctuary, giving herself a few precious hours to think and plan.

  But she had been sitting here in the dark for over an hour and still hadn’t come up with any ideas, even as she watched the streets below, keeping an eye out for those two men although it seemed they had gone to lay low for now, no doubt to lick their wounds.

  Her face throbbed where they had hit her, and her ribs were bruised but thankfully not broken. She touched her throat, her voice nothing more than a whisper now, but Ruby didn’t think they’d had time to damage her vocal cords. Although they would have. And if that young couple hadn’t come, her father would have won. After all this time, he would finally have won.

  Her hands twisted anxiously within the fabric of the worn dress, which she had traded many months ago for the last of her own silks. The trade hadn’t been a fair one, but at the time Ruby had placed more value on the plain homespun dress than her own expensive creation.

  She wondered again who the young couple were who had come to her aid. The man had been dressed in buckskin, which suggested he was a woodsman or mountain man. But the girl had worn pants and a shirt, as though she had come off a ranch, or hill country, far from St Louis. Although they weren’t simple folk. Ruby could tell that by the way they spoke. She also envied them, for they had each other and she was alone.

  She moved away from the window and began to pace the room, mindful to stay on the square patch of threadbare carpet so her boots didn’t echo on the wooden floorboards and wake anyone, for it was almost midnight now and she could feel the silence in the big old building where fifteen other people slept.

  She was frightened. For despite all her best efforts, they had found her.

  She had fled New York more than four years ago, finding sanctuary in towns and cities along the east coast, but moving continuously, never staying for long in any one place, even though she’d come close to being caught twice before. And now after all these years, they’d caught up with her. And in St Louis of all places, where she’d been for less than two months.

  Although Ruby had a sickening feeling she knew how they’d found her. She had worked for almost six months singing in an exclusive brothel in New Orleans, where she’d made good money, especially in tips, singing t
o wealthy men. But one of the customers had known her father. As soon as he entered the room Ruby had recognized him, just as he recognized her. She had seen him many times at home in New York, where he’d come to do deals with her father. And like her father, he was as mean and dirty as they came. She had left the brothel that night and hurried through the streets of New Orleans in the dark, until she found a room in a hovel way on the other side of town. The next day she had caught a steam boat up the Mississippi River to St Louis, but in hindsight, she should have gone back east, back to the big cities on the eastern seaboard where it was easier to hide.

  Ruby put her face in her hands, feeling the pain of the bruises, knowing she was fooling herself if she ever thought she could be free of him. Because he would never give up, not until she were back in New York. Not until he could punish her for running away. And she didn’t doubt that the beating he gave her would probably kill her. Some might call it an honor killing.

  She looked over at her few belongings packed away in a small travel bag, knowing she had to leave tonight. She couldn’t stay here until morning, it was too dangerous now. And although her boss would find her room empty tomorrow and be upset, for her singing had brought in the customers, he would take one look at her bruised face and tell her to get lost for she had seen him do the same to another girl who had fallen down the stairs.

  “Do you think this is a charity house?” he had yelled at the desperate girl, in front of all the other staff. “Because I ain’t running one, and I can’t have you mixing with my customers looking like you got on the wrong side of someone’s fist, just like I can’t have you lying upstairs for two weeks while you heal, without making me any money.”

  Ruby didn’t know where the girl had gone. And it never crossed her mind that she might have needed help. But girls who lived this life were hard, well used to looking after themselves. And it had probably never occurred to the girl to ask anyone for help. Anyway, she had been replaced easily enough, for there were girls arriving in St Louis every day looking to sing or entertain in saloons for it was good money.