Ella

by Sadie Conall

  He could see Ella’s mind working, trying to work things out. So he helped her, so she didn’t have to ask.

  “My grandfather married a woman from the Objiwa nation, although you may have heard them called Chippewa. That tribe supported the French during the Indian-French wars and when my grandfather and his friends arrived in one of their villages up near Lower Canada one winter, they ended up staying until the spring. Both my grandfather and my father met their wives in that village.”

  Ella looked surprised. “Were you born there?”

  “No, nor was my father. We were both born in the wild, wherever our camp happened to be, whatever river my grandfather and his friends were camped by, trapping beaver or otter or mink. It might sound a lonely existence for a child but in fact it was the opposite, for we lived within a large community of other fur trappers and their wives and children. So French and Objiwa were my first languages. I was about ten or eleven before I learned to speak English.”

  “So you never went to school?”

  Marrok smiled. “Not a school as you would know it. But I did have an education, except my teachers were my grandparents, my parents and all those others we lived with,” he paused, thinking back to those days.

  “My grandfather was an educated man. As an officer in the French army, he grew up with certain privileges. And he loved books. He took whatever reading material he could find on our travels. An old newspaper, a broadsheet, a book someone had discarded in some frontier town. Even if they were all out of date or old news, he devoured them. I grew up listening to his stories of life in France and the battles he fought in the army. And he had a fascination, or rather, a love affair with any story involving European folklore so I heard stories about knights and kings of old, including the French martyr Joan of Arc and the English King Arthur. It was my grandfather who insisted on calling me Marrok, after a knight who served in the court of King Arthur. Although I found out many years after his death that Marrok was the only knight known to be a werewolf. But let me assure you, I’m no werewolf!”

  Ella laughed, delighted by this story. “I think I would have liked your grandfather,” she said, before sitting back as the waiter approached with their meals. When he left them alone again, Ella looked back at Marrok. “Tell me something more about yourself.”

  Marrok smiled. “What do you want to know?”

  Ella shrugged. “How old are you? Do you have brothers and sisters? Are you’re married?” She smiled and leaned towards him. “Do you have a wife and children waiting for you in Independence?”

  Marrok laughed and shook his head. “No, to all your questions. As for my age, I was born in November 1817 which makes me almost thirty.” He paused as he watched her. “I guess that gives us something in common. Neither of us have siblings and neither of us are married, although it puzzles me as to why you aren’t married. Do you not like men?”

  Ella choked on her food. She took a gulp of water, then looked at Marrok in astonishment. “Yes, I like men!” she spluttered. “I almost married twice. Both were boys I grew up with. I went to school with them, socialized with them and their families, but realized almost too late that I didn’t really care for either one of them. Besides, I didn’t want to live with their mothers and I had no choice until we could afford to build a place of our own,” she shrugged. “Anyway, I was happy working on our ranch alongside my father and Jasper. And had Papa left the ranch to me, I might still be there. Indeed, I do believe I would still be there.”

  “So you lived your whole life on that ranch?”

  Ella nodded. “Although my mother died when I was five. By then Jasper and Violet had been living with us for two years. Violet was like a mother to me. When she died some four years later, I was inconsolable. Which is when my father wrote to Martha and invited her to come live with us. She’s my mother’s older sister but had been widowed two years before, so the arrangement suited us all. Although I barely remember Willard. I think I was about ten when he left us.”

  Marrok nodded. “And what about Jasper?” he asked softly. “What happened to his hand and his legs?”

  Ella shook her head. “We don’t know, for they were like that when he came to live with us. And if you ask him about them, as we’ve all done over the years, he’ll just say he can’t remember,” she paused for a moment, then looked across the table at Marrok. “You may think less of Papa for buying slaves, but until Jasper and Violet came to live with us, we’d never owned slaves. My mother was horrified when Papa brought them home and she insisted that Jasper and Violet be paid some sort of wage. My father couldn’t afford that of course, for even Martha never earned a cent from my parents in all the years she lived with us, but once a month my father would buy them all something in Chesterfield. It wasn’t much, but it was something,” she paused again, thinking back to those long ago days.

  “Jasper was about fifteen when he came to live with us. Violet was well into her fifties. And in all truth, I don’t think Mama would have coped without Violet’s help towards the end of her life. Nor Papa without Jasper. Which is why Papa insisted on getting Jasper’s manumission papers in order, when he knew he was dying.” Ella took a mouthful of her wine, not wanting to think of her father on his deathbed, so in an effort to stop talking of the past, she asked Marrok what lay ahead for her on the trail.

  “It can be hard, you should be prepared for that,” he said. “Everything you can imagine, will happen. So it’s better you be prepared as best you can.” He turned as the waiter approached their table and asked if they wanted dessert.

  Ella nodded, eager to stay a little longer in this lovely place with this man. And after the waiter took their orders and refilled their wine glasses, she raised her glass. “I’d like to make a toast now, if I may. To you, Marrok. For your kindness in helping me. You didn’t have to do it and I know you’re now behind in making your own deadlines, so if I can help in any way once we reach Independence, you have only to ask. And I was thinking, if you’d prefer I pay you for your services, I’ll find a way.”

  Marrok looked at her in astonishment. “I don’t expect payment, Ella. And as I was the one who asked you to come west, the very least I can do is help you out. As for helping me when we get to Independence? Well, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They finished their meal and as Marrok pulled out a leather wallet from inside his jacket to pay for it, Ella saw a thick wad of cash in there. She figured there must be several hundred dollars, if not more. Then he was pushing his chair away from the table and moving to help Ella out of her own. But as they made their way out of the restaurant and down the steps to the boardwalk, the cool spring air after the warmth of the restaurant, along with too many glasses of wine caused Ella to stumble. Marrok reached out to steady her.

  “Easy,” he said, reaching out to thread his arm through her own. Then he walked on, keeping her close, moving with an easy stride.

  And as they passed saloons and restaurants and listened to men and women talking and laughing, Ella realized she’d found what she’d been looking for on that first night in St Louis. She hadn’t realized it then, but she had gone looking for Marrok.

  Was she in love with him? She didn’t know, but as she looked up at him, Ella knew she had never met another man like him. And she was mature enough to understand that if he touched her, he would leave scars, for this man had set something afire inside her. A desire, a need for something, yet she wasn’t experienced enough to know what it was.

  When they stopped outside the boarding house Marrok gently disengaged his arm, but Ella wasn’t ready for this magical night to end.

  He smiled as he casually wished her goodnight, as though his task were done and only then did Ella remember that it had been Martha who suggested this evening, not Marrok. But she pushed that thought aside and went to thank him anyway, unaware her words now sounded a little slurred from too much wine and fatigue.

  But Marrok heard them. He smiled and made a move towards the steps. “Come on, let’s ge
t you inside. It’s late and it’s cold and we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  But as Ella turned for the steps she stumbled and as her hand reached out to stop herself from falling she grabbed at his shirt, inadvertently pulling him towards her. Marrok froze, although he thought later that he should have known better, for once that step was crossed between them, there could be no going back. But he allowed it to happen, for isn’t this what he’d wanted from the moment he’d first seen her, riding across her father’s fields in that wedding dress? So he stopped thinking whether this was right or wrong. Instead, he reached out and pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  *

  For a moment Ella didn’t respond, then she felt the heat and strength of him as he swept her up against him, his arms like iron bands leaving her no chance of escape as his lips moved on her own, claiming her, and then she lost all reason while Marrok was aware of nothing else but her taste and smell and all of him was at once hard male to Ella’s softness.

  He’d never known a kiss like it. For it was all hunger and desire and lust. And as he succumbed to it, as he pulled her closer, her body soft and yielding in his arms, folding into him, offering no defense to his passion, the sudden coarseness of a crude comment from some man passing by brought Marrok to his senses. He reared back, holding Ella at arm’s length.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, a desperate sound to his voice as he took another step back. “Forgive me, that shouldn’t have happened, for I’ll tell you now Ella I’m not the marrying kind. I take from women what I need and then I move on. I like to be alone. I’m not looking for any kind of romantic involvement, not now, not in the future. So I shouldn’t have done that for I know you’re an innocent. But know this Ella, I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

  Ella looked at him, stunned by what had just happened. He said he didn’t want to hurt her, yet he was hurting her, his words were tearing her apart because she knew now that she had feelings for him. Feelings she had never felt for another man. And as he took another step back, as if she repulsed him, Ella felt her defenses flare.

  “Don’t worry yourself too much over me, Marrok,” she said, her words hard. “And I’m not so innocent. I have kissed other men, you’re not the first.”

  Ella succeeded in making him think his dismissive words meant nothing to her, for she saw him flinch, even as she tried not to think of the fierce crush of his mouth against her own. She glanced towards the door, as though it offered her a refuge and as she stepped towards it, she looked back at Marrok.

  “Thank you for tonight, it was very special. I know I’ll remember it for the rest of my days,” she paused, her hand on the door. “I’ll see you at dawn.”

  And then she was gone, the door closing behind her. Marrok turned away, uncomfortably aware of the heat and pulse of his body in response to that kiss and the feel of her leaning up against him.

  You’re not the first.

  Those words seemed to echo through his mind, boring into him like some sharp pointed knife, twisting and turning until Marrok turned in frustration, not understanding any of this. How could a mere girl like Ella, make a man like him so weak?

  Yet he knew full well that Ella was different to any other woman he’d ever met. In the past week he’d come to understand just how strong she was, and feisty, and unafraid of a challenge. And she was honest, for Ella didn’t play games with men like some women did. And although some might say he’d just been cruel to her, Marrok knew in his heart he was in fact protecting her, for he knew from past experiences that if he encouraged her now, both would pay the price for it once they were out on the trail. And he didn’t want unnecessary gossip following either of them. And Ella certainly didn’t need gossip following her to California, not now, not after all she’d gone through to get here.

  He thought again of that kiss. And the way she’d looked at him, those lovely green hazel eyes lingering on his mouth. And just thinking on it, Marrok felt the lust rise in him again.

  Swearing softly he turned away from the boarding house and headed across town for the livery. His life had been just fine without Ella turning and twisting his insides up like this. For these feelings left him baffled. He’d kissed a lot of women, but none like that. Ella’s lips had seared him, the desire in that kiss leaving him reeling, wanting more. But he didn’t have time for romance and he certainly couldn’t afford to get involved with anyone travelling on the same wagon train as him.

  Yet the thought of her lingered and he found himself outside the saloon where he’d heard the flame-haired girl sing just over a week ago, although he hadn’t seen her since that night he and Ella helped her in the alley. He tried to think of her name yet it escaped him, even as he heard another girl singing inside. He stepped through the swinging doors, eager for a drink, anything to take his mind off Ella.

  The girl’s voice in comparison was thin and reedy and perhaps because of it, the place was almost empty. Although it was almost closing time, with only a handful of men still there, most playing their last card game before the doors closed for the night.

  Marrok ordered a glass of whisky. But as he stood at the bar, he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he turned to see a middle-aged colored woman watching him, as if she knew him. Although Marrok knew he’d never seen her before in his life.

  She looked worn, with hair grey beneath a white cap, her face showing deep lines of what Marrok would call despair, but as he met her gaze, she turned and disappeared into a back room.

  Unsettled by her interest, he suddenly had no desire to stay there and threw the liquor back, allowing it to hit the back of his throat, the burn of it hard and raw, then he turned and left the building. And as he hurried through the dark streets back to the livery, he thought of the two men he had fought earlier that week in the alley. He had barely given them a thought since that night, so presumed they’d left town. Although in truth, he barely remembered what they looked like.

  A block away from the livery, Marrok paused at a horse trough outside a dark, shuttered store. He thought on it a moment, then pulled off his jacket before rolling up his shirt sleeves and pumping the water, cupping his hands beneath the deluge and splashing his face before drinking his fill. The coldness of the water woke him up, took away the feeling of alcohol and settled his stomach. When he was done, he gathered his jacket and headed for the livery.

  But as he stepped through the side door, he paused, aware of that same feeling he’d had in the saloon, that he was being watched. He stood there in the dark for long minutes, until he was sure there was nothing out there.

  He closed the door behind him, as Jasper’s snoring came drifting down from the loft. Marrok had no care to wake the man so he went to the far wall where fresh straw had been laid earlier that afternoon, spread his jacket over it then lay down. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

  9

  The soft creak of the side door opening woke him an hour before dawn. Instantly alert, for he had lived too long in the wild not to trust his senses, Marrok reached for his pistol and knives which lay near his buckskin clothing, left behind in a folded heap when he dressed in his new clothes to take Ella to dinner last night.

  He moved into a crouch and ran to the stall nearest the door as someone stepped into the livery. Marrok cursed softly realizing too late that he’d forgotten to lock the door behind him when he came in last night.

  And then a shadow as someone stepped towards him, followed by the sound of straw being crushed beneath boot heels. And then the soft hiss of a whisper. More than one person.

  Marrok glanced up at the loft but had no time to alert Jasper as a second shadow stepped into the livery less than ten feet from where he crouched.

  But the furtive movements and whispers disturbed the horses and as they moved about their stalls, Bear whickered nervously, waking Jasper. For after twenty years of sleeping behind stables, Jasper knew well enough when horses were uneasy.

  Marrok heard the rustle
of straw in the loft above him as Jasper pushed aside his blankets and called out in a sleepy voice. “Who’s down there? That you Mr Marrok? Lordy be, you sure are home late.”

  Marrok said nothing, unwilling to reveal where he was, although Jasper would start down the ladder soon enough if Marrok didn’t answer, for he’d want to check on the horses.

  “Mr Marrok? Lord, who’s down there? I’s comin’ for you, you better be leavin’ now!” Jasper called as he began to crawl across the straw towards the ladder.

  Marrok didn’t wait any longer. He judged the distance between the first moving shadow and himself then he sprinted, his arms gripping low about the person’s hips with the intention of dragging him down and knocking him out before he dealt with the second person and any others coming behind them.

  Marrok grunted as he hit the floor, stunned when it wasn’t the hard muscle mass of a man beneath him, but the soft curves of a woman. And then she cried out in pain and fear. Startled, Marrok rolled away as Jasper came down the ladder, a piece of wood over his shoulder, ready to fight.

  “It’s me Jasper,” Marrok shouted, even as another woman’s voice cried out in the gloom.

  “We’re not carrying weapons! We’re two women! We’re not here to hurt anyone!”

  “What the hell!” Marrok cursed, before moving to strike a flint, lighting one of the candles in the lamp nearest him, allowing light to flood the livery. And as Jasper came to stand beside him wearing only his britches, holding the piece of wood like a bat ready to fight, they both saw the woman lying in the dirt as another tried to help her up.

  “Who are they, Mr Marrok? You reckon they come to steal?”