DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of the television program "Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years" are the creations of Rysher Television, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is not to be published on any ftp site, newsgroup, mailing list, fanzine or elsewhere without the express permission of the author.
"Maria" and "Mrs. Ashby" and all original material included in this story are the creations Darcie D. Daniels.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Well, it's taken me awhile, but I've finally finished my third episode in my cycle. These things keep getting longer and longer. I'll probably be writing a novella by the time I ever end this!! :|
This episode is a departure from my other two episodes. This one is far more violent and graphic, so be warned. I've got a body count!!
I have some flashbacks, denoted by [ ].
I hope you enjoy.
This is rated PG-13 by me due to the violent and graphic nature.
Setting: Early September. Curtis Wells, Montana Territory 1880
Maria smiled to herself when she saw Mr. Call lounging on his bench outside of Mr. Creel's general store. He would be perfect. Her uncle Josiah left the newspaper office earlier that morning, so he could not help her. Her cousin Austin, most likely, was in Sweetwater, sleeping off one of his numerous hangovers. Besides, Austin did not like Maria, so she did not expect the least common courtesy from him. Yes, Mr. Call would do nicely. He never appeared to have anything to do.
Maria wondered if Mr. Call, her cousin-in-law, was truly asleep under his hat. She would find out, she laughed to herself.
Maria unfastened the pin in her bun, shaking loose her thick, light brown hair. She began to hum a vocal exercise that her aunt Elinor forced her to practice years ago, gracefully sweeping her way over to Mr. Call's bench. When she reached the store, she weaved between its supporting columns, watching Mr. Call. He did nothing, but Maria detected an ever so slight tightening in his form. So, he did not want to be disturbed. Poor baby, Maria grinned. She twirled around the column, innocently hitting a piercing, operatic high note, sustaining it for all its glory. She chuckled in satisfaction when Mr. Call flinched. Maria felt a little sorry when the horses across the street began to fret.
"Hell, Maria, you could wake the dead," Mr. Call remarked, lifting his hat off his eyes in annoyance.
"Nonsense, Mr. Call," Maria returned, already smiling inwardly about her plans to detain him. "You are, by no means, in that sorry of state. You appear to be a strapping young man -- vital and strong. How old are you, anyway?"
Mr. Call's eyes looked over her as if she was a pesky little mutt, then stared forward. "Older than you," he replied, his mouth twisting wryly.
Maria suspected that was true, but she was not going to admit it. "Oh, don't be silly," she reprimanded. "Say, Mr. Call," she began to change the subject. "What are your plans for this morning?"
"I'm busy."
Maria lifted her eyebrow as she watched him move to get more comfortable on his bench. She had to stop herself from laughing. "Yes, I can see that."
Mr. Call said nothing and replaced his hat over his face.
So, he thought he could just end the conversation. Maria smiled. She swiped his hat and began to toss it up and down in the air. Unfortunately, she got a whiff from it.
"Mr. Call!" she reprimanded. "You need to wash your hair!"
"Give me that," he snapped as he jumped up to grab it from her. He regained all his aloofness as he placed his hat smoothly on his head, spying a rock across the street. "Now," he told her, exuding great patience, "go find someone else to irritate."
Maria hid her chuckle as she reached up to pat him on the cheek. He looked incredulous. "Oh, Mr. Call, you are a treasure." As if an afterthought, she added, "You need a shave, too."
She started to return to the newspaper office, when she turned back to face him, gesturing for him to follow. He looked at her as if she was crazy. "Well, don't just stand there," she ignored his look. "Come with me."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mr. Call protested.
Maria put on her most impatient look. "You are going to help me, Mr. Call. I thought we agreed on that just now."
Mr. Call nodded his head, confirming his own suspicions of her insanity. "Well, that may be for you, but I said nothing of the sort." He stared across the street, his stance resolute.
Maria truly liked Mr. Call. She knew he appeared aloof to mask the deep inner torment haunting him since his wife's death two years ago. Maria understood his pain - he felt as guilty over her late cousin Hannah as Maria once felt for her mother, father, and little brother's deaths. Maria no longer felt guilty for living, however. She had to coax her cousin-in-law out of his shell, just as her aunt Elinor had done for her. Indeed, it was beginning to work, too. Anytime Mr. Call did not walk away from her, Maria considered it a victory. She would sister him, even if she had to kill him to do it.
"Oh, you silly man," she remarked. "We don't need to be arguing when there is work for you to do."
Mr. Call wiped his mouth, his irritation at her showing plainly on his face. "Where's Josiah, then? Have him help you."
Maria did not know, and that bothered her. She tried to keep the uncertainty out of her voice as she answered, "I'm not sure. Ever since Mr. Mosby has been out of town, Uncle Josiah doesn't even bother eating breakfast with me in the mornings. At least with Mr. Mosby here, he does try to keep up regular appearances, being mayor and all."
Mr. Call watched her for a moment, looked as if he was about to say something, then glanced away. "It's no concern of mine, I figure," he shrugged, his voice drained of all emotion.
Maria felt a little hurt that he would distance himself from her, but she dismissed it, for she knew success with him depended on her being strong and confident. She would not let him retreat, and she knew how to draw him back into her world. Maria chose to concentrate on matters at hand. "Oh, yes, it most certainly is your concern, Mr. Call," she announced, her determination lifting her spirits. Already, she felt better. Maria knew she could get Mr. Call to do almost anything. The trick to it was that Mr. Call should never be allowed time to think. "You are perfect for the job."
"What job?" he demanded, impatience setting in his features. "I swear, I don't know half the time what you are talking about, you fool woman. You ain't got enough money to hire me, anyhow."
"Yes, that certainly is true," Maria hid her laugh. "And I have no intention of paying you, either. You agreed to help me beforehand, as I seem to recall, out of the goodness of your heart."
Mr. Call's face twisted in confusion for the briefest of moments, then it was replaced with blank stare.
"Really, Mr. Call. You must keep up. Remember our conversation? First, we established that you are a vital young man. You are a man, are you not?"
Mr. Call looked as if he wanted to bat her like a mosquito.
"And then you stood up in agreement to help me," Maria continued, smiling to herself. "Well, hurry up, Mr. Call," she said, tapping her foot. "I don't have all day, you know. I'm leaving on the stage coach very shortly."
"Thank God," Mr. Call muttered, shaking his head in surrender as he followed her.
"Don't worry," she laughed. "I'll be back in about a week."
"Pity," he said underneath his breath. Maria chuckled.
"How many damn clothes do you need?" Mr. Call demanded as she gave him another bag to carry to the stage coach.
"Oh, those bags are not for me. I have some items I need to purchase for Uncle Josiah in Miles City. Of course, he doesn't know it yet. You won't say anything to him, will you, Mr. Call?"
Mr. Call's mouth squeezed in a very tight line as Maria piled more bags in his arms to carry.
"No," Maria laughed. "Of course, you won't."
As he began to stagger from the newspaper office to the stagecoach, Maria followed him, tugging on her ill-fitting traveling gloves. Maria despised gloves, but her aunt Elinor always insisted that a lady should never travel without them.
Mr. Call stopped in mid-step. "You know," he told her. "You could help me."
"All right," Maria teased, swiping his hat, placing it on her head. She skipped in front of him. "That should lighten your load."
He muttered something about shooting her as he finally reached her side, indecorously throwing her bags to the top of the coach. Maria chuckled, placing a small item in his hat before giving it back to him. Unsuspectingly, he grabbed the hat from her, and whipped it back onto his head. He felt something hit him from inside his hat.
"What is this?" Mr. Call uttered in confusion when he withdrew a small white shell that fit into the palm of his hand.
"It's a conch shell, Mr. Call," Maria replied, hoping he was not going to give it back to her. She rocked back and forth proudly. "You can hear the ocean when you put it up to your ear."
His blue eyes mirrored his disbelief, then looked back down at the shell. It lay delicately in his hand. He quietly wondered, "What are you giving this to me for?"
Maria had to be very careful in her next statements if Mr. Call was going to accept her gift. No one had given him anything since her cousin Hannah, Maria thought sadly. Now it seemed to him like charity. Maria understood that, because at one time she was too proud to accept gifts herself. It was not until her aunt Elinor rescued her from the orphanage that she appreciated a gift for the meaning in which it was intended - for love and affection. She was fifteen at the time. Now at twenty-three, Maria decided that it was full time that Mr. Call understood the meaning of a gift again. She proceeded carefully, not wanting to stomp on his pride. "I'm not giving you anything," she told him. "You are going to keep this for me."
"Why's that?" Mr. Call asked, his suspicions rising.
"It's my good luck shell. I've had it ever since I left Maine. It has seen me all the way here. Now that I'm in Montana, I'll not be needing it. I thought that you could use it."
Mr. Call started to give it back, and Maria had to think quickly. "Mr. Call," she refused him. She used her most reprimanding voice. "You know as well as I do that you get into far more trouble than I ever could."
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her, looking her up and down. "I don't hardly think so," Mr. Call argued.
She smiled. "Well, at least I don't have anyone and everyone shooting at me every time I turn around. Why is that, Mr. Call?" she asked, wondering why people felt the need to shoot at the bounty hunter.
"Just wait," he said, deliberately misunderstanding her last question. "You'll be irritating somebody soon enough. Someone's bound to shoot you."
Maria laughed. "Oh, you are a silly goose."
Mr. Call looked terribly disgruntled at her last comment.
Maria chuckled. "Well, that's settled." She turned quickly to enter the coach, not giving him time for further debate about the shell. When she settled down in the seat, her eyes searched for her uncle. She did not see him. Maria lived with her uncle for months now, and Josiah apparently did not even deem her worthy enough to wish her luck on her short trip. Disconcerted, Maria's eyes shifted back down to Mr. Call. "Well, Mr. Call," she called out as brightly as she could, trying to mask her hurt of Josiah's absence. "Thank you for helping me with my bags."
Mr. Call looked at her, uncertainty briefly lighting his features. "Here," he said gruffly, gesturing for her to take the shell. His light blue eyes focused ahead in the distance. "You might be needing this."
Maria was touched. Mr. Call did care. "No, Mr. Call," she gently denied him. "You need it more than I do."
Mr. Call could only shrug as the coach drove away. The last thing Maria saw as the coach pulled out of Curtis Wells was Mr. Call, sauntering back to his bench, with the shell placed up to his ear.
Setting: One week later, in the "badlands," between Miles City and Curtis Wells. Montana Territory.
Maria began to regret giving Mr. Call her conch shell as she watched an irritated Mr. Mosby settle across from her in the stage coach. Minutes earlier, Maria was surprised when the coach stopped in the middle of the road. She was even more surprised to find that it stopped for Mr. Mosby. From the conversation she overheard, his horse had broken a leg and had to be killed. Mr. Mosby hauled his saddle quite some distance before he came upon the road. Apparently, he also had to wait some great time before a coach even appeared.
Mr. Mosby, too, was startled by the coincidence when he recognized Maria sitting across from him. Mr. Mosby smiled briefly at her.
"Miss Bennett," he nodded as the stage coach pulled away.
"Mr. Mosby," Maria acknowledged, noting his appearance. Despite his previous troubles, Mr. Mosby still looked radiant in his black frock coat and trousers. Maria groaned inwardly as she hid her hands. She developed a hole in one of her gloves. Deeply mortified, Maria vowed to take them off as soon a chance appeared. If anything was worse than gloves, it was gloves with holes in them.
"I'm sorry to hear about your horse, Mr. Mosby," Maria sympathized, hoping he had not noticed her movements. "It must be difficult to kill such a splendid animal." Maria remembered watching Mr. Mosby descend from his horse several times at the livery stable in Curtis Wells. She derived just as much pleasure looking at the dark animal as she did watching its handsome owner. Maria frowned. Even though he looked fatigued, she wondered how Mr. Mosby always managed to look prettier than she did. It was not fair.
Mr. Mosby leaned his head back against the coach, shutting his tired eyes. "Yes, Miss Bennett. It is always difficult killing a horse." Then he sighed, as if to ward off some annoying memory. He opened his eyes, then smiled at her. "This time I have the good fortune of coming upon a stage coach instead of a cursed bandwagon."
Noting Maria's confusion, Mr. Mosby shook his head. "Never mind. It just goes to say that the rest of the journey should be uneventful." His light brown eyes rolled up to the heavens. "Praise the saints."
Still confused, Maria nodded, not knowing what to say. She felt awkward. They were still days away from Curtis Wells, and Maria had very little in common with Mr. Mosby, except his connection with her family. Mr. Mosby appointed her uncle Josiah as mayor and cleaned her cousin Austin enough to become sheriff. He also had Austin removed from his position. Maria never knew the reason behind it, but if Austin behaved as crudely and looked as slovenly as he did now, she could understand Mr. Mosby's reasons. And as for her cousin-in-law, Mr. Call, Maria was told that these two men despised each other. Maria remembered her attempt to ask Mr. Call about his hatred for Mr. Mosby. He just snapped at her to mind her own business and stalked away in a huff. Mr. Call's hatred for Mr. Mosby could not be healthy. She wondered if Mr. Mosby would be as irritable. Maria had to help Mr. Call, and if she had to suffer a few miserable days with Mr. Mosby to get to the bottom of the issue, so be it.
Maria wondered how to broach the topic. She glanced at Mr. Mosby. He looked fatigued and uncommunicative. She bit her lip.
"I bought some philosophy books for Uncle Josiah while I was in Miles City," she began. "I hear that he was quite the scholar at one time." Apparently, her uncle Josiah was significantly different before her cousin Hannah's death. His wife Sarah died in 1876, and his daughter's death in 1878 had to be the final blow on Josiah's grasp on reality. "My cousin's death affected him very much, I'm afraid."
Mr. Mosby's face looked blank for a moment, then he nodded. His eyes drifted outside the window.
Maria was unsure on whether he was being rude, or whether he was truly remorseful. Regardless, Maria did not let that deter her. "I wasn't sure what to get Cousin Austin, though." She added regretfully, "I'm afraid I don't know him very well." Indeed, that was true. Austin would angrily confront Maria every time he came into contact with her. He believed that Maria was trying to take advantage of his father. Maria tried to tell him that she was only trying to help, but Austin did not trust her. Austin and Maria were not on good terms.
Mr. Mosby sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Josiah and Austin are not worth your effort, Miss Bennett. Find something else to occupy your time."
Maria face contorted in anger, but she regained her control in moments. Mr. Mosby could not possibly understand how much her family meant to her. After her aunt Elinor's death in 1877, Maria had no one left in the world. She had no one except Josiah, Austin, and Mr. Call. She could not just abandon them, as Mr. Mosby so callously suggested. Just as her aunt Elinor helped Maria, Maria had to help her family. And Mr. Call, right now, was foremost on her mind.
"And I bought a new hat for Mr. Call," Maria deliberately baited him, hoping to provoke some kind of response.
Mr. Mosby's butternut eyes shifted back towards her and narrowed. He knew a taunt when he heard one. "You know Call's hat size, do you?" His tone was accusatory.
It was a loaded remark, Maria thought. He made it sound imprudent that she should know that kind of information. Maria would rather spit in public before she would explain how she tried on Mr. Call's hat days ago. It was none of Mr. Mosby's concern.
Her dark blue eyes coldly assessed Mr. Mosby's forehead. "Well," she said innocently, "Mr. Call could not possibly have a bigger head than you, I dare say."
Mr. Mosby watched her in hard silence, then smiled humorlessly. "My, my. Aren't you the little terrier, Miss Bennett? Loyal and nippy. As good as qualities as any, I imagine."
He could freeze anyone with one look of his golden eyes, Maria thought. Good thing she was born in a cold New England climate. Though she felt uncomfortable, she could still tolerate his gaze.
"And persistent, Mr. Mosby. You forget to mention that I am persistent. My bite can be pretty vicious, too."
Mr. Mosby laughed underneath his breath in disbelief. His golden eyes drifted onto her mouth. His voice lowered in a husky drawl, "I'll just have to find a way to muzzle you, I suppose."
Maria's midnight blue eyes widened in shock at the impropriety of the suggestion, and then she blushed. Mr. Mosby smiled in victory, and that made Maria furious.
"Why does Mr. Call hate you so much, Mr. Mosby?" she demanded, knowing full well that he did not want to talk about Mr. Call. "Your insolence I can fully understand, but there has to be some other reason."
Mr. Mosby apparently could not believe that she would continue the course of the conversation, as expressed by the look on his face. "Miss Bennett, you begin to try my patience. These matters do not concern you. Pry your little nose into someone else's affairs before someone puts it out of joint," he ordered.
Maria crossed her arms, daring him. "I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Mosby, anymore than I'm afraid of Mr. Call. I'll get to the bottom of this, even if it kills me. Or you." She smiled and laughed. "Or Mr. Call, for that matter. I'll not be deterred. We can either do this pleasantly, or all three of us can go down in a bloody heap. 'No' is not an option."
Mr. Mosby chuckled, genuinely amused by the last image she inspired. "Don't let me forget to add 'wiry' to your list of attributes, Miss Bennett. You are an odd woman, but you are infinitely entertaining."
Maria's eyes narrowed, but then widened in alarm when she heard the fire of gun shots. She looked at Mr. Mosby. He apparently felt the same, already reaching for his revolver. They were both tossed roughly as the coach sped to outrun whatever danger lay outside.
"Get down!" Mr. Mosby shouted at her, shoving her to the coach floor.
Maria could hear bullets thud into the coach. She tried to still the panic in her heart as she heard shooting and the galloping of horses outside the stage. Mr. Mosby, growling with the ferocity of a beast, took aim and fired outside the window. Someone screamed in agony, and Maria knew that Mr. Mosby had killed one of the outlaws trying to rob the coach.
A bullet almost hit Mr. Mosby as he dodged away from the window. He took aim and fired again, but the rollicking of the coach caused him to miss his target. Mr. Mosby cursed. Maria hit her head on the coach wall as the stage veered precariously on its edge. Both Maria and Mr. Mosby scampered to other side to correct the coach, just as a bullet hit the place where Maria had previously crouched to protect herself. Maria fought to control her fear.
Someone was shooting at the outlaws from on top of the coach, Maria realized. It was the man accompanying the driver. The outlaws raced their horses along both sides of the coach now, shooting at both the passengers and the drivers of the stage. Maria heard a loud groan from on top of the coach, and her mind filled with sickening horror as she felt the coach run over the top of a man's body. Mr. Mosby tried to steady his aim as the coach jumped and jarred.
Maria felt the coach coming to a stop as she heard the driver shout at his horses. Bullets miraculously missed Maria and Mr. Mosby both. Mr. Mosby, determined, fired his gun outside the window again. He killed another outlaw.
The stage stopped, but Maria could hardly tell by the steady thudding of her heart. Maria could hear the driver being dragged off the top of the stage, and then being beat viciously. Mr. Mosby motioned for her to crouch away from the window as he braced himself for an attack. She could hear the outlaws stealthily approach the stage from both sides. Maria wished there was something she could do to help Mr. Mosby as she watched a plan formulate on his face. He gestured to her of his intentions. He would kick at one of the stage coach doors just as the outlaw approached, where she would make some kind of escape, while he would rise and shoot outside the other door. Maria did not like the thought of leaving him, but perhaps she could find a gun outside and help Mr. Mosby. She positioned herself to help Mr. Mosby kick at the door.
The moment came. Both Maria and Mr. Mosby kicked at the door and the outlaw behind it. The outlaw fell, and Maria scurried out of the coach. She heard Mr. Mosby shoot another outlaw as she searched frantically for something to arm herself. Maria dove for the gun on the fallen outlaw. He grabbed her before she could reach it and threw her against the wheel of the coach, knocking all the breath out of her. She fell to the ground, and the man began to kick her. As she huddled in pain, Maria wondered whether her ribs were cracking or whether she had heard the crack of another shot being fired. With sickening dread, Maria hoped Mr. Mosby had not been killed as she tried to crawl away from the outlaw. He grabbed her, and yanked her over to the other side of the stage. Maria watched in horror as she saw Mr. Mosby fighting off two men. Mr. Mosby was able to fire another shot, killing one, before the other was able to hit him on the head with the butt of his gun. Mr. Mosby's grip on his revolver loosened as he grunted in pain. The man looked at Mr. Mosby with absolutely hatred and grabbed Mr. Mosby's revolver. He was about to shoot Mr. Mosby, when Maria noticed the stage coach driver, previously forgotten, trying to run away. Instead of shooting Mr. Mosby, he shot the driver in the back with Mr. Mosby's gun. He turned to face Mr. Mosby, who had been able to rise to face his attacker.
Maria struggled against the outlaw holding her as she watched the man aim at the defenseless Mr. Mosby. Mr. Mosby stood defiantly, like a fallen angel receiving his penance, without one thought to fear or pain. Maria had never seen anything that looked so beautiful. And she was helpless to stop it. "No!" she cried out, begging God to spare Mr. Mosby's life.
The man heard her and began to laugh. Quick as lightning, he viciously hit Mr. Mosby with the butt of the revolver. Mr. Mosby had no time to react, and he sank down, unconscious. "He's gonna pay for killing all my men," the man snarled, looking at all the dead corpses around him. Maria felt sick. Now the leader of the outlaws was going to torture Mr. Mosby. And it was all her fault.
The leader kicked the unconscious Mr. Mosby, then turned back towards her. "Give her to me," he commanded the outlaw holding Maria. Maria's knees gave out on her as she was pushed towards the ground.
Maria had no time to react as he rolled her over and pinned her to the ground. "Now I'm gonna have a little fun," the leader snickered as he held Mr. Mosby's gun on Maria. "What are you willing to give me to save your life, you little whore?" he demanded of her, thrusting the barrel of the revolver into her mouth, ignoring her struggles.
Maria gagged on the hot steel and acrid taste of gunpowder as she struggled beneath him. The man began to grope her. She would not cry, she told herself. =He's not really touching me. I'm not really here. I'm not going to cry.=
Then she heard the click of the revolver.
"God damn it," the leader shouted, pulling the revolver out of her mouth. This ought to be over, Maria thought. =Maybe it is over. Maybe I'm in hell.=
The leader pulled out a knife and held it up to her neck. She felt it cutting into her. Death would come soon. But she did not cry. She would not cry. They would not get that satisfaction.
"Wait!" she heard a deep voice command. It was the outlaw who had originally held her. He had to be over six feet tall. The leader stopped what he was doing. "She looks to me like Mama," the deep voice told him.
The leader dropped his knife and looked at Maria. "That's a shame," he told her, dragging her back to her feet. "You'd rather I just killed you." He began to laugh hysterically. "Now you're really in for it, bitch."
He threw her over to the big man. The big man's hands encircled her shoulders. "Mama," he cried, looking at her face, his grip biting into her skin. The big man was demented. "You're so lovely," he said, as his rough hand grazed her cheek. If Maria said nothing, she would feel nothing. She remained silent. Absent-mindedly, Maria wondered why her heart beat so rapidly.
"Why'd you have to do it?" the big man shouted at her. "Mama, why?" His heavy fist hit her squarely on the cheek. Maria felt like her eye would explode from its socket as she fell down. Blackness was coming. It would be over soon.
"Damn, you hit her a little hard, didn't you?" was the last thing she heard before unconsciousness overwhelmed her.
[It was some kind of living night terror. Maria could not move. Mrs. Harner had put her in the cellar again. Maria hated it when Mrs. Harner put her there. It was dark and cold. She could hear the murmurs, the sometimes screams, of the other girls in the orphanage in that wet basement. And her backside was always sore when Mrs. Harner tossed her inside the pit. And there were spiders. Maria hated spiders. They could crawl over her so quickly she was not sure if they were real or her imagination. And she could hear rats. Their little scurrying - their little noises as they ran along in the dark - made her crouch protectively, ready to hit them if they came too close. Rats were deadly. She hated rats.
But the worst thing about the orphanage was the little light that streamed on the opposite end of the cellar. It was taunting. It wanted her to cross the spiders and the rats and the dark and the wet. She could not move. Fear paralyzed her. The little light promised an end to the humiliation, to the terror, and to the pain. Just seeing it brought Maria hope. The little light was so beautiful, but Maria could never make it. It was too far away. She could not move. That pain was worse than anything Mrs. Harner could do to her. The light was out of her reach. When she cried, she cried because of this.
But Maria would never cry in front of Mrs. Harner, though. It gave the old bat too much satisfaction to watch the tears fall. Mrs. Harner was crazy. She enjoyed the squeals and screams. Maria never gave her anything. It was safer not to say a word, not to scream, not to do anything but take the punishment. The end would come quicker. The pain would end, and the cellar would come. ]
Maria could not move. She was no longer a child in New York, but an adult, somewhere in Montana. Her glasses were gone. She could not remember where she had lost them. Memories came back to her. Maria probably lost her glasses somewhere outside of the stage. It was dark and cold. And she could not move.
Maria was tied up, and her legs, arms, and shoulders ached intensively. Her hands were tied in front of her, with her arms wrapped around her knees, and a branch straddled between her elbows and the back of her knees so that movement was impossible. Her feet were tied up, too. The branch was too thick to break and too long to dislodge, if Maria could find anything to dislodge it against. Not that she could move, anyway.
The stage was gone. Either the horses ran away with the coach, or she had been taken somewhere else in this wilderness - she and Mr. Mosby.
Maria heard him being kicked. Though she could not see him clearly, Mr. Mosby was tied exactly as she. Mr. Mosby grunted in pain, but he did nothing else. He could do nothing else. Even without her glasses, Maria could see the absolute hatred on his face. It gave her hope that he could feel that way. Mr. Mosby must have felt there was a way out of this, if revenge was so clearly written on his face. Dead men cannot exact revenge.
"You don't like that, Reb?" the leader yelled at Mr. Mosby, taking another swig of a bottle. All Maria could discern was that the leader looked dirty and grubby. She recognized the hat he was wearing. It was Mr. Call's hat that she bought in Miles City. If she ever got out of this mess, Maria would make him pay for that.
"How do you think my men felt when you killed them today?" He kicked Mr. Mosby in the back. "There's only two of us left, you bastard!" He had a gun in his hand and clumsily fired at Mr. Mosby. He was so drunk that he missed. Mr. Mosby blinked, but he did not flinch. He was beautiful.
The leader walked over to a saddle on the ground. Maria saw the big man who had hit her lying passed out next to it. Maria hoped he would stay that way.
The leader leaned down and searched through the saddle bags and found money. "This yours, Reb?" he smirked at Mr. Mosby. Mr. Mosby growled, but said nothing.
"Thanks, Reb. It'll buy me a couple whores in Curtis Wells."
"Go to hell, you son of a bitch," Mr. Mosby spitted out at the man, hatred marring his features.
[No one in the orphanage ever dared to talk back to Mrs. Harner. It welcomed instant pain. Maria remembered the first time she dared to say anything to Mrs. Harner. She was five. Mrs. Harner took her doll. Her mother made that doll. She wanted it back. Mrs. Harner backhanded her in the face. At five years old, she could hardly defend herself. The only way to make it stop, or least make the punishment stop sooner, was not to give Mrs. Harner the satisfaction. No crying. No words. No matter what the humiliation. No matter what the hurt. It even began to work. If you said nothing, you would feel nothing - that became Maria's policy. Dead silence was the way the only means of defense. Dead silence. Silence could be louder and harder than anything Mrs. Harner could ever deliver. Silence was wonderful, until that night Maria woke up screaming. ]
Maria cried out, sweat pouring down her face, trying to shut out her painful memories. She did not need them now. She had to think about something else.
Hearing her, the leader kicking Mr. Mosby began to laugh. "Well, look-ee here," he taunted, his gaze roaming over Maria. "The bitch is up."
He kicked the big man. "Get up. Little mama is awake!"
The big man slowly rose, fighting off the effects of the alcohol. He grinned at Maria. "Mama," he called out to her as he fell on his knees in front of her.
The big man's breath made her eyes sting. His coarse hands touched her face. Maria could feel them scratching her, but she said nothing. He began to touch her hair. "Can I feel your hair, please?" Her hair fell out of place as his fingers painfully combed down its length. He smelled like something wild. He smelled like something dirty. Maria was repulsed, but she remained silent.
"Let her go, damn you. It's me you want," she heard Mr. Mosby demand. Maria felt it odd that all she could think about was the dark hair that fell into Mr. Mosby's eyes. It was somehow easier to focus on him than think about the terror building up inside her. Just seeing him there was reassuring. One of Mr. Mosby's eyes was already beginning to blacken. It was a shame. He was too beautiful to be in this dark hell. Yes, it was much easier looking at him than to think about what could happen.
The big man's fingers threaded down her hair. He brought her light brown hair to his nose to smell it and to kiss it. "You used to let me comb your hair, Mama," he whispered to her. The man was pathetic.
The man was dangerous. Maria felt an explosive pain as her head yanked backward. She grunted in pure agony - her head reflexively falling forward as a stream of warm blood trickled down her forehead. Physical pain brought tears to her eyes, but they did not fall. Maria would not let them. In shock, she struggled to look up. The big man stared down in his hands - a large tuft of her long hair lay in his grasp. "You had such beautiful hair. Oh, Mama, why? Why?"
The big man grabbed at her shoulders, shaking her.
"Dear God," Mr. Mosby muttered in horror and compassion. "Let her go!" Mr. Mosby ordered fruitlessly at the big man. The leader kicked him for his efforts.
The big man yanked another handful of her hair, snapping Maria's head back so viciously that she felt sick. But it did not hurt as much this time. It just felt like her head was throbbing. It was. It was throbbing blood.
"Hey, careful there. You're getting her hair all bloody. We might be able to sell it, you know. Here, use this."
The leader tossed the big man a knife. "You're so sweet," the big man told her, gently placing the cold blade against her scalp. "Oh, Mama, I love you so much." He kissed her cheek. His kiss was slimy and heavy. His mouth stank of tobacco, too. Maria felt ill.
"I want your hair. At least you can give that to me, Mama." The big man grabbed a handful of her hair and cut it off with the knife. It felt like he was ripping one strand out at a time. She did not utter a sound. They would hear nothing from her, not if she could help it.
It was humiliating. Her hair lay in piles all around her. It had taken her nine years for her hair to grow back. At least this time, it was not as painful. But it did hurt. It hurt very much. Maria felt like her head was going to explode. Maria kept telling herself that this was not as bad as the last time she lost her hair. She screamed then. She did not this time. Thank God for miracles.
At least Mr. Mosby did not have to suffer her humiliation. Maria thought about his dark, beautiful hair, how lovely it framed his face. She would kill them if they touched his hair. He was the only thing beautiful in this never-ending hell. He was the only thing beautiful. She wished he were closer to her, so she could see him more clearly. He was like a ray of light in the darkness, only he was too far away. Maria felt like crying. It was too much like the orphanage.
The leader sighed impatiently. "You done with her, yet?" he yelled at the big man. The big man shrugged, then hit Maria with the back of his hand. Maria felt dazed. "She don't look like Mama no more. Have her, if you want." He returned back to his drink, fell down on the ground, and passed out.
The leader laughed. "You're lucky, bitch. Now you're gonna get me."
He was so close to her that Maria could see his intentions. Her eyes widened in fright and dread. =Oh, God. I don't know if I can handle that. Don't let him touch me. Please, God.=
"Now we're gonna have a little fun, you and me, you little whore." He ripped out the branch straddling her arms and legs.
"Oh my God," Mr. Mosby whispered in disbelief and disgust. He also knew what the leader was going to do to her. A haunted memory etched his face. It was like he was in a nightmare of guilt, helplessness, and self-hatred. Maria did not want to think of why. She had to escape.
Her legs were cramped, and her feet and hands were still tied, but she could move. She had to get away. She tried to crawl on the ground, but the leader would not let her. He dragged her in front of Mr. Mosby.
"Reb doesn't like that. Well, we'll have to show him, won't we?"
He straddled her, struggling with her arms and body. "Have a little fight left in you, huh?" Maria fought the fear. He hit her. He forced her head to face Mr. Mosby.
Mr. Mosby looked helpless. He could not do that to her now, Maria thought. Seeing him strong and resolute was the only thing giving her hope throughout this whole ordeal. He could not do this to her. He could not look helpless. Her heart pounded in panic. =Why? Why?=
"Look at him, bitch. He's enjoying this. Well, I'm feeling generous. Maybe I'll let him have a turn at you, too." He laughed, as he sloppily kissed her face and neck.
Mr. Mosby was horrified. =No. No. Don't do this to me. I need you. Please don't leave me.=
The leader began to grope her, and Maria shut her eyes in agony. He touched places no one had ever touched her before. His hands were painful on her - they were squeezing, rough, and horrible. Tears stung at her eyes. This could not be happening to her. He was violating her. He was hurting her.
=Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't show him anything. If you don't say anything, you won't feel anything.=
She fought him as best she could. "Damn you!" the leader yelled at her. He hit her again, almost knocking her unconscious, and his knee tried to force her legs apart. Her legs and hands were still tied. In disgust, the leader got up, kicking her in the stomach, before he got up and looked for his knife. She had no breath. She could not move. She was helpless.
[She was helpless that awful night that Mrs. Harner stood over her. Maria had fallen asleep. It was something she did not normally do in the cellar. But she was so tired, and the pain left her when she dreamed. She never was a heavy sleeper, not that you could be in that orphanage, and Maria's eyes snapped open when she felt something damp on her back. She heard a noise and looked towards the sound. She saw Mrs. Harner hunched over her, a malicious and terrifying light in the old bat's eyes. She threw something at Maria. It was too late to move. Maria began to scream.
And the little light was still there. She could not get to it - not even then. ]
She searched for Mr. Mosby now. She could see him clearly. Seeing him was the only thing giving her hope. He was so beautiful. And he was so close. And she could not move. She could not get to him. There was no way out of this darkness. And he was so close. And she could not move. Perhaps he could get to her. Perhaps he could move.
"Oh, help me. Please help me," Maria begged him, whimpering, lost somewhere between the hell of her past and the horror of her present.
It was as if her voice woke Mr. Mosby from his past guilt. His eyes filled with pity and compassion for her. She could not even see that he was tied and bound. She was too terrified. "I can't," he whispered to her. His voice became very tender and reassuring. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But you'll get through this, I promise you, Maria."
Tears fell from her eyes because she did not believe him. He could do nothing. And she could not move.
But she would not scream, she vowed, not this time, no matter how much it hurt.
The leader came back, rolled her over, shoving her hands above her head. He placed something heavy on top of them so she could not move. "Now you won't be squirming no more, will you, bitch?"
He had a knife in his fist. It glinted as cruelly as his eyes. He was something cold, something brutal. The leader taunted Maria with the knife. The knife slowly and raggedly ripped down her bodice. Maria could feel the steel cut into her skin in places. He laughed as he moved to slash at her dress and petticoat. He jumped up, pleased with himself.
Maria felt humiliated and ashamed as the leader's eyes raked over her nakedness. She wanted to die as his eyes roamed up and down her. She turned her head away.
"Don't you like me looking at you?" the leader sneered.
"For God's sake, leave her alone," Mr. Mosby muttered. The leader ignored him. He returned to crouch over Maria.
"You want me to touch you, don't you? Admit it. Admit it."
He was some kind of monster. The thought of him touching her again, especially her bare skin, sickened and repulsed her. She could almost feel him touching her, by the way his vicious eyes gawked at her before. Bile rose to her lips, and she vomited. Maria almost choked on her own sickness.
"You little bitch," he yelled in outrage as he fell on top of her, punching her in the face. "Well, let's see how you like this."
His body painfully and cruelly ground into hers. He had her pinned, and she could not even move. Maria prayed to die.
"You bastard. You God-damned bastard," Mr. Mosby mumbled in helplessness.
"Mmm, you're really gonna like this," he snickered at Maria, his knee trying to pry her legs apart. "Damn," he yelled, realizing her legs were still tied. He got off from her, and cut through the bindings. He undid the fastenings to his pants, exposing himself to her. "Say hello to papa," he laughed.
Maria was horrified. He was terrifying.
"Dear God," Mr. Mosby whispered in disgust.
The leader edged closer to her. "Ready for me, bitch?"
"Leave her alone, you God-damned coward!" Mr. Mosby yelled, trying to provoke the leader away from Maria. The leader ignored him.
Maria yelped in terror.
The leader fell on his knees, crawling towards her.
"Sweet Jesus," Mr. Mosby prayed to have mercy on her, knowing what would happen to her next.
With the fright of an animal, Maria struck out at the leader.
She kicked him squarely between his legs. He fell back in pain. Suddenly her hands were free. Maria did not think how. They were bloody raw. And somehow her gloves were gone.
And she was free, she realized. She was free. She felt something come alive inside to rejuvenate her. It was an all-consuming rage. She was enraged at being helpless, enraged at feeling fear, and enraged that she had to suffer. It felt good to feel that way. It felt good to feel the release. She harbored too much pain all these years. And by God, she was not going to do it any longer. Someone was going to pay for it. That miserable little animal huddling in pain was going to pay for it, if she had anything to do about it.
Maria smelled blood. Too many people had to suffer because of that man and Mrs. Harner. They were going to pay. Driven, she searched for something to deliver her rage. Unthinking, she grabbed at the nearest thing - the branch that straddled Mr. Mosby's arms and legs. She yielded it like a bat, ready to strike at the leader. He was able to rise to his feet, with the knife in his fist, intent on stabbing her. She swung with all her power, no longer caring whether she lived or died. She wanted blood.
She got it. Blood splattered her as she broke the leader's nose. He grunted in pain as the hat he had been wearing flew off into the camp. Maria felt new rage. He had stolen Mr. Call's hat. Mrs. Harner had taken too many things away from her. That hat was hers to give. By God, no one was going to take anything away from her again. She swung at him again. Maria felt satisfied when he staggered, dazed from the blow to his head. All her pain, all her suffering, all her humiliation had to stop. The leader and Mrs. Harner had to be stopped. She clubbed at him again and marveled at hearing him groan. They would never hurt anyone ever again. The leader was on the ground now, his face a bloody mess. He had something in his hands. He was pointing it at her. It did not matter. Ignoring the leader, she lifted the branch over her head, ready to smite him to the ground. She did not get her chance. Someone tackled the leader. Someone was in her way.
It was Mr. Mosby. How did he get free? It did not matter. She had to stop the leader and Mrs. Harner, and Mr. Mosby was struggling with that filthy beast. Mr. Mosby was in the way. She would deal with him, too. The pain had to stop.
She lifted the branch above her head. A loud noise cracked the air. She heard a moan. Someone fell on the ground behind her. The big man fell dead. That did not matter, either. The pain had to stop. She hurled the branch down, tasting blood.
"Jesus Christ," Mr. Mosby said when he saw her. He shifted himself out of the way from the descending branch. The leader took advantage of the distraction and rolled on top of Mr. Mosby.
When Maria heard Mr. Mosby's voice, she blinked like she had been hit. What had she done? She had a bloody branch in her hands. She was going to kill Mr. Mosby. She was actually going to kill him. =Oh my God.=
The branch slipped from her hands as she stood staring at the two struggling men. This was not real. This could not be happening. When the gun went off again, she could only blink. She was actually going to kill Mr. Mosby. =Dear God. Dear God.=
"For God's sake, Maria!" Mr. Mosby yelled, wrestling with the leader over the gun. "Get down, before you get killed!"
What had he said? What did it matter? This whole night had been one horrible nightmare, and she had tried to kill him. =Oh Dear God. Forgive me. Forgive me.=
A loud shot startled her thoughts. Her shoulder hurt, like it had been bitten. She deserved this pain for what she did to Mr. Mosby, Maria supposed. When would the pain ever end?
She sank on her knees. This was too much. She would never forgive herself. Mr. Mosby was like a light in the darkness - the only thing giving her hope throughout this whole nightmare - and she tried to kill him. How could she do this? How could she treat him this way? What if the light had left her in the orphanage? Where would she be now?
The pain in her shoulder throbbed in time with her pounding heart.
Another shot cracked the air. Maria heard someone groan. The silence that followed was cut only by a man's exerted breathing. Then she heard a grunt.
She looked to the sound. Mr. Mosby was pushing a dead man - the leader - off from him. Mr. Mosby's hands and legs were still bound. He must have had a horrible struggle, being tied like that. His wrists were bloody raw from the rope burns, too.
Maria had to help him. It was the least she could do after trying to kill him. There was a knife around here somewhere - the knife that cut her hair, the knife that cut her dress. No, no - she could not think of that. She had to shut those awful thoughts out of her mind. She had to help Mr. Mosby get free. Maybe it would help end this horror.
She struggled to stand. Maria felt hot and dizzy, and the pain in her shoulder burned like fire.
Where was the knife? She saw it. Mr. Mosby had it now, and he cut through his own bonds. That was good. Maria felt nauseous and weak. It was an effort to stand at all.
She fell, and Mr. Mosby barely caught her.
"Hold on, Maria," he said, trying to reassure her, gently lowering her to the ground. "You've been shot."
Maria did not hear him. She could barely hold a coherent thought.
"Good God, you're as cold as ice," Mr. Mosby commented, gripping her bare shoulders. "Hold still. I need to look at your wound." His hand felt for her gunshot. Her warm blood flowed freely.
She cried out in pain as he touched the gunshot wound on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Maria. I know it's painful," he told her gently. "Just let me look at your back now, because I need to see if there is an exit wound. It'll be over soon, I promise you."
What did he say? She stared up into the trees. The moon was out. She had not even noticed before just now. It must have been out all night. Did she ever feel dizzy.
His hand felt along her back.
The back of her shoulder burned in throbbing pain. When was this ever going to end?
"Well, that's good, at least," Mr. Mosby said. "It was a clean shot. We need to stop the bleeding, though. We need to get you well enough to travel until we can get you to Dr. Cleese."
The back of her shoulder felt like fire. It was like that before when Mrs. Harner - no, she could not think those thoughts. When was this ever going to end? Dizziness overwhelmed her. At least the moon was still there.
"Look," she whispered to Mr. Mosby, staring at the moon. "There's a little light."
Maria could think of nothing else but the light. Then she passed out.
[Maria crept out of the orphanage right after dinner. She heard something that day, something so unreal, that she had to hear it again. She heard it almost by accident, she remembered. Earlier that day, the street boys would not allow her to play baseball with them. They claimed she was too small. Right, she thought sarcastically. At fourteen, she was already taller than most of the boys on the team. They just did not want her because she was a girl. It did not matter. She would wait every day until they would let her play. She had patience.
Maria sat in an alley, watching the game. Then she heard an odd sound. She was by a theater. Someone was singing, but it was unlike anything she had ever heard before. She crept to the back door to have a better listen. It was a woman, with a high voice, singing in an almost unearthly way. Her high, piercing, vocalizations were followed by an overbearing fanfare of horns from the orchestration pit. Maria never heard anything so powerful.
A man opened the back stage door, startling Maria.
"Get out of here, kid," he yelled at her. He picked up a rock and threw it at her. She tripped and fell, but she jumped right back up, proudly holding her head.
People treated her like that before, but it did not matter. She would come back later. She had as much right to listen as the next person.
So, right after dinner, Maria slipped out onto the tree beside the orphanage. The other girls thought it was dangerous, but Maria never minded the height. Climbing that tree was second nature to her. It was her only way out from the orphanage. It also allowed her to sneak inside without getting caught. Maria always supposed it was better to remain at the orphanage with the crazy Mrs. Harner than to get thrown in jail. Or worse. New York could be very dangerous. Yes, it was better to remain at the orphanage, she supposed. Maria could tolerate a few beatings, now and then. She just hated being put in the cellar.
The music was unlike anything she had ever suspected. She sat mesmerized by the sound of it - the woman's high pitch, the orchestra, the melody. It was unearthly, yet a little frightening, too. Maria could not leave until it was over. It was dark by the time she decided to head back to the orphanage. She had never been out this late.
When Maria returned to the orphanage, she was horrified. The tree had been cut down, and the old bat had been waiting for her. She did not say a word as Mrs. Harner dragged her inside and gave her the beating of her life. She did not cry, either, for that was what Mrs. Harner wanted. It was hard not to, when Mrs. Harner kept beating at her, but Maria managed it. Mrs. Harner threw her in the cellar, cursing at her.
Maria hated that cellar. When she was a little girl, she would be so frightened by the spiders and the rats that the fear paralyzed her. Maria did not like it now, either, but at least the light at the opposite end of the cellar was comforting. It did not bother her as much as it used to when she could not reach the light. Then, she was too frightened. Now, she was too big. The cellar was too cramped. It did not matter. Looking at the light was better than focusing on her pain.
Maria could not remember falling asleep. She was so tired, and the pain went away while she dreamed. Her eyes snapped open when she felt something damp on her back. Something smelled like kerosene. She heard a noise. Her head turned towards it. Mrs. Harner stood, hunched over her. A lit match was in her hands, and the shadows danced primitively on her face, giving Mrs. Harner a malicious, evil glow. She threw the match at Maria. Maria had no time to move as her back caught on fire. She screamed. Her parents and little brother died that way - in a fire. She had to put it out. Her back and her hair were on fire. She rolled on the ground to get it out. She had to put it out. It hurt so much. She did not want to die that way.
And the little light was still there, streaming from the opposite end of the cellar. She could not get to it - not even then. ]
Maria screamed. Her back was on fire. She had to put it out. The pain - the pain was dreadful - it had to end. It was horrible watching her parents and little brother dying that way. She did not want to die. She did not want to experience the pain that made them scream in such blood-curdling terror. Oh, it hurt. She had to put it out. She writhed on the ground, but the pain just got worse.
"Maria, stop!" she heard a man's voice tell her. "You're going to open up your wounds."
"Mama! Papa! Jemmy! No!" she screamed as she felt two firm arms wrap around her, keeping her from moving.
"Ssh. Hold still, Maria."
"Mrs. Harner - stop! Put it out! Put it out!" she shrieked in torture, feeling the fire burn her upper back. She tried to wriggle free. She had to put out the fire. Then two hands gently rubbed her back in long, tender strokes. It soothed her. It felt so much better.
"That's it. Hush now. Hush," she heard the voice say. Someone was rocking her. "It'll be all right. Sssh. It'll be all right."
Aunt Elinor always used to tell her that. Aunt Elinor always used to hold her like that. It felt so good to be comforted, to be held. Maria wept for the pure wonder of it - it felt so odd. It felt wonderful to feel strength and safety around her. She sobbed because it had been such a long time since she last felt it. The beauty of it made her cry.
She thanked God for Aunt Elinor. Aunt Elinor was an angel. She descended into Maria's darkness and bathed her in light.
"Hush now. Hush. Sshh." The arms were wrapped securely and reassuringly about her. It felt so wonderful. "It's over. It's all over. No one's ever going to hurt you again."
Maria sniffed, her tears lost in a wall of warm comfort. Maria fell asleep in the two strong arms. Yes. It was over. When she would awake, it would be morning. Light always follows the darkness, as dawn always follows the night.
It annoyed Maria when a cool wind chilled her face. She felt so warm and comfortable, and the wind tried to awaken her.
She buried her nose into the comfort, trying to go back to the warm place she was before. Then she smelled something reminiscent of cigars. Her eyes snapped open.
Someone was holding her.
"Hold still, Maria," she heard Mr. Mosby mutter in fatigue, his arms shifting to keep her from bolting. "Stop squirming, or you are going to re-open your wounds."
Wounds? Memories from last night raced into Maria's head. Her hair was ripped out of her scalp, she was nearly raped, and she almost killed Mr. Mosby. Shame and guilt overwhelmed her. But she did not remember being wounded. And she certainly did not understand why Mr. Mosby was holding her.
"What is happening?" she asked, not quite sure if she was still dreaming.
"Good. It's nice to see you coherent this morning, Maria."
"But what is going on?" Maria repeated, struggling to recall what happened to her to make him hold her this way.
"You were shot in the shoulder last night," Mr. Mosby explained gently, seeing her confusion. "You had horrible nightmares. You kept thrashing, so I had to hold you to keep your from hurting yourself."
He released her when he saw that she was not about to make any sudden movements, carefully helping her on her back.
Nightmares, he had said. Maria remembered having those. It had been such a long time since she last had them, too. The pain in her shoulder and the awful things last night must have brought those torturous thoughts back to her. Maria thought she was over them.
When she first lived with Aunt Elinor, Maria had those nightmares. Aunt Elinor told her that she would scream and thrash about, and only holding Maria would calm her. Aunt Elinor would never ask about her dreams. Maria never told her, not wanting to hurt her aunt with her painful memories. Aunt Elinor would just hold her and rock her until Maria would sleep.
It felt wonderful and safe to have Aunt Elinor hold her. Maria cried when she first felt Aunt Elinor's embrace. She felt that way last night too, Maria remembered.
But it could not have been her aunt. Aunt Elinor died 3 years ago. Then Maria realized that Mr. Mosby was the one comforting her last night, not the remembrance of her aunt. She felt grateful to him, eternally so, because she needed safety and strength desperately last night. But Maria also felt somewhat shamed that Mr. Mosby witnessed yet another of her humiliations. She used him last night, even though she did not intend to, and that left Maria even more guilty. After all, she did try to kill him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mosby," she whispered, her face reddening in guilt. "I imposed upon you last night. I won't do it again, I promise."
"Impose?" Mr. Mosby's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"My nightmares." Maria told him. How could she explain? "I only get those dreams when I - " her voice dropped, as if not wanting to admit it, " - well, when something reminds me of - " Maria could not admit to Mrs. Harner's burning of her. It was something she did not even discuss with her aunt Elinor, let alone Mr. Mosby. Maria said more firmly, "I'm sorry you had to see my nightmares, Mr. Mosby. Truly, I am sorry. Please forgive me for imposing on you last night. You really didn't need to see that."
Mr. Mosby shook his head. "There's no need for apologies." His voice lowered in disgust, "It was the least I could do after what those pigs - " he stopped, seeing her turn away in distress. "I'm sorry," he told her softly. They both were silent, the moment too awkward to discuss openly. He cleared his throat, returning to their former topic. "Yes, well, it was a hard thing hearing you scream after you had been so quiet."
Maria thought about her attack, remembering just how quiet she tried to be. She had not been quiet at all. She felt too many feelings - too many emotions. Silence had not worked for Maria as well as it used to.
But Maria absolutely knew when she had been deadly quiet - her furious violence after her near rape. Rage consumed her, she remembered, and it was directed at the leader and Mrs. Harner, a woman Maria had not seen in 8 years. Mr. Mosby got in her way, and Maria remembered trying to club him to death. She shut her eyes and leaned back.
"Can you ever forgive me?" Maria pleaded with Mr. Mosby.
"I told you that you needn't worry about your nightmares, Maria. It's all right, I promise you," he explained to her.
"No, I mean - " she stuttered. " - I mean for what else I did last night." She meant her attempted murder of him. The guilt of it all oppressed her. "I tried to kill you. I tried to murder you."
Mr. Mosby remained silent for a moment, then sighed in fatigue. "You weren't thinking clearly at the moment, Maria. For all that happened, you had every right to feel as furious and angry as you did."
Perhaps she had a right to feel rage at the leader, but not at Mr. Mosby. All he did was get in the middle.
Then it stung Maria like a slap. Mr. Mosby was in the middle last night because the leader was pointing something at her - a gun, Maria finally recalled. Mr. Mosby tackled the leader to save her life. And she tried to kill Mr. Mosby for it.
"Oh my God," Maria prayed for forgiveness, all color draining from her face. "Please, Mr. Mosby, please, forgive me. You were only trying to save my life, and I couldn't even see that." It was a sickening truth she had to face. "You were going to pay for crimes that weren't even yours, just because I was so caught up in the pain I felt. You can never know how awful that makes me feel. You were so innocent, so good to me throughout that - " she stopped, not wanting to think about her near rape, " - that whole ordeal, and I tried to kill you for it." She bowed her head in shame, feeling wretched. She pleaded, "Please, I beg of you, please forgive me."
Maria did not know how to interpret his silence. After a moment, Mr. Mosby's voice ordered with raw edginess, "Don't worry about it, Maria. It does not matter. You only did what you had to do. Forget it - it's over."
"No, it's not over," Maria argued with him, guilt overwhelming her. "It's never over. You were innocent, and I was going to kill you for something you did not even do. I can never take that back. How can you possibly understand how I feel?"
Mr. Mosby's face darkened, as if remembering a past guilt, then quickly hardened over in control in a matter of moments. That vague look in his eyes was so brief that Maria was unsure that she even saw it. Maria meant her question rhetorically, but perhaps Mr. Mosby had done something in his past similar to Maria's actions last night. Did Mr. Mosby make someone pay for crimes that were not even his? Did he feel as wretched as she?
"You do understand, don't you?" Maria whispered.
The silence that followed was not as hard as Mr. Mosby's voice. "Nothing happened," Mr. Mosby told her, his voice steely. "You did not hurt me. You did not even touch me. That is the point here. Nothing happened, and you only did what you had to do. No, you can't take it back, but I'm not going to harbor it against you, either, so let it be. It's over. Now, let it go."
Maria was unconvinced. "But will you forgive me? That is my point."
He sighed, frustrated. "Of course I will, Maria." He ran a hand through his hair, repeating quietly, "Of course I will."
Gratefully, Maria nodded. Uneasily, Maria wondered who was in the middle of Mr. Mosby's own driven justice. Maria would not want to see him that furious, not for any reason.
"Now, you'd better let me have a look at your wounds," he said, fatigued. "You've had enough rest."
Maria looked down at her shoulder only to discover that she was wearing Mr. Mosby's buttoned-up black coat. He must have placed it on her last night, Maria thought. She knew he had seen her skin exposed yesterday. Shame sickened her. He probably saw her back last night, too, if he had tended to her wounds. She had scars back there from the time Mrs. Harner burned off all her hair. He had seen her scars. He had seen so much of her already. Why did Mr. Mosby have to know every humiliation she ever felt?
Mr. Mosby helped her sit up. His hands reached up to unbutton the top of the coat. Her hands stopped his.
"You've seen my back, haven't you?" Her voice was dead, but her dark blue eyes were very much alive in dread.
Mr. Mosby's golden eyes looked at her, and he nodded briefly. She knew it. He knew almost every humiliation she had ever suffered in her life. Her face reddened in embarrassment and shame.
He unbuttoned the top of the coat. She knew Mr. Mosby was curious about her scars, but said nothing out of gentlemanly courtesy. For that she was grateful. But she also felt uneasy. She desperately wanted to slap his hands as they unfolded the coat, and she had used all of her faith and trust just let him near her. He had to look at her wounds, Maria knew. She could not deny him that. Her eyes stared anywhere but at him. He gently touched her shoulder wound. Maria winced.
"Is it that bad?" Mr. Mosby asked quietly about her pain.
She shook her head, still feeling a bit of discomfort, but she could tolerate it.
"Good. It looks better from last night. The swelling is down, and you're not bleeding any longer. Here -" he said softly, moving around her. "I need to see your back now."
Maria lowered her head, biting her lip. She took at deep breath, and proudly held up her head, nodding for him to examine her. She flinched when he touched her.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No." She steadied herself, cursing herself for jumping when he touched her scars.
His hand carefully pressed onto her exit wound. It did not hurt as badly as her entry wound.
"You'll probably be well enough to travel in a couple of hours, Maria. Your wounds do not look as bad as last night."
"Thank you, Mr. Mosby," Maria said, grateful that he had not said anything to her about her scars. He had done so much for her - saving her life, comforting her, tending to her wounds, being so kind and courteous. "Thank you for everything." Then an idea struck her odd. She could not keep herself from adding, "Mr. Call could not possibly have a reason on earth to think ill of you."
Mr. Mosby stared at her for a moment, then smiled sardonically. "Even if the reason no longer exists, Mr. Call will find one, even if he has to search hell first. Which, it seems, Mr. Call already has." Seeing Maria frown, Mr. Mosby turned the subject, his face widening in a charming grin, "Besides, I thought you found me insolent."
"I do," Maria returned, uneasy about Mr. Mosby's opinion of Mr. Call. "But that's no reason not to like you."
Mr. Mosby chuckled, leaning against a rock. His voice lowered huskily, "Well, I'll have to be insolent more often."
Maria grinned and blushed, thinking he did not have to, because she liked him as he was.
"You know, it may help if you talk about it."
Maria did not hear Mr. Mosby. She sat upright, her face averted from the camp fire. She did not know whether to sleep facing the fire or with her back against it. Seeing the fire brought back too many painful memories, yet knowing the fire might burn her back again frightened her beyond reason. She had to think about something else.
"Today has been a long day," Maria commented, remembering the course of the day's events. "I'm rather sore." Maria was no horsewoman, though she admired the magnificent animals. God intended for her to walk, she knew, otherwise He would not have made her so tall.
"You're not used to riding," Mr. Mosby stated, his voice fatigued, lying on the other side of the fire. "I'm afraid it won't be any much better tomorrow."
"I know." If she was stiff now, then tomorrow morning she would be in a lot of pain. At least she had Mr. Mosby to support her while she was riding. There was only one horse. Mr. Mosby told her that the other horses had been frightened away during the struggle for the gun the previous night. Maria sat behind him, because it was much less painful leaning forward than leaning back. It was much easier to sleep that way, too.
Mr. Mosby was a surprise to her the entire day. She insisted that he fetch Mr. Call's stolen hat. He gave her a disgruntled glance, but did her bidding, placing the hat lopsidedly on her head. Maria was glad because it hid her raggedly cut hair. Maria also noticed that Mr. Mosby buried the two outlaws in rock graves just outside the perimeter of the morning camp. He buried them so she would not have to see their faces when she woke up, Maria knew. She was grateful, but she told him that a handful of dirt would have been sufficient for scoundrels like them. Mr. Mosby agreed, but he said the sight of carrion birds was too unpleasant a thought to wake up to. Again, Maria was surprised and grateful.
It was awkward when Maria wanted to wash when they came upon a stream. Maria would be glad when she could move on her own without pain. It was too embarrassing. He gently helped her out of his coat, conscious of her modesty, letting her wash while he remained within hearing distance. He helped her back into the coat. She asked him why her wound was reddish-brown and charred. He told her that he cauterized the gunshot while she was passed out. Maria thanked God she was not awake for that. Fire kept circling her like some malicious animal of prey.
They ate Mr. Mosby's provisions in his saddlebag for dinner. The whole trip was not a total loss. Mr. Mosby recovered his saddle, all his money within, and his revolver. Maria did not tell him about the leader forcing the revolver into her mouth, for the little she thought of that, the better. The only thing Maria recovered was Mr. Call's stolen hat.
"Where do you suppose the stage coach is right now?" Maria asked Mr. Mosby, her thoughts returning to the present. She wished it could be found. Most of her clothes and all her gifts were on that coach.
"The horses are either heading back to Miles City or wandering around until they find a place familiar to them," Mr. Mosby answered.
"Do you think they might make it to Curtis Wells?"
"It's possible."
"I hope so. I'd hate to sew up more clothes for myself."
"Well," Mr. Mosby's voice lowered warmly, "when we get back to Curtis Wells, you can have all the material you want, courtesy of me."
Maria blushed at his charming smile. She still did not understand how he could look so pretty out in the wilderness in a just a shirt, suspenders, and trousers. With all of her hair hacked off, Maria found it even more unfair that he should look so beautiful. She felt like pouting. Instead, she focused on his offer. "That's very generous of you, and I thank you. But I just don't like to sew. I've done more of that than I care to admit."
Mr. Mosby raised an eyebrow.
" 'Mrs. Harner's Woman's Apparel,' " Maria answered. Seeing his confusion, Maria added, "Mrs. Harner ran the orphanage where I lived. Every now and then we girls would have to sew some items for money-raising purposes."
"I'd forgotten that you were in an orphanage," Mr. Mosby said quietly.
"Yes, well," Maria cleared her throat. "I don't talk about it very often." Maria did not want to burden her uncle Josiah, for he was unstable as it was without her adding any additional pain. As for her cousin Austin, Maria was sure Mr. Mosby heard about the orphanage indirectly from him in the first place. Austin would, more than likely, use any additional personal information against her. Maria could not trust him. And as for Mr. Call, he wanted to remain uninvolved and impersonal with everyone in Curtis Wells. He was not ready for deep discussion with her. Besides, Maria did not talk about it much to Aunt Elinor. She could hardly discuss it frankly with anyone in Curtis Wells.
"I suppose it's not exactly light dinner conversation," Mr. Mosby commented, a distant, haunted memory on his face.
Mr. Mosby apparently had known some pain in his life, too. "Yes," Maria nodded, knowing he understood. "There are just some things you do not discuss over tea." She smiled, remembering her aunt. "But I shouldn't say that aloud," Maria whispered to him. "Aunt Elinor might hear me. She was a firm believer of tea time. She always told me, 'Maria, God intended for men to be civilized, otherwise God would not have invented the cup and saucer.' " Maria laughed. "Oh, I loved that woman. I owe her everything."
"Your aunt sounds like a very intriguing woman," Mr. Mosby smiled widely at her.
"Yes, and I loved her dearly. She was like a light in the darkness, Mr. Mosby." Maria became very quiet, her voice almost inaudible, confessing something very awkward for her. She did not know why she even felt compelled to say it. "Have you ever been in a place so awful that the only way to stay sane was to focus on something more beautiful than the hell around you?"
Maria thought about the light in the orphanage and how Mr. Mosby was there for her the previous night. She watched Mr. Mosby. He was in pain, Maria realized. He did know that kind of hell. Maria felt sorry that he had to experience that. She wanted to say something to him, but she did not know what.
"I had only the memory of my family to think about," Maria continued softly, for him as well as for her, remembering her parents and little brother. "After awhile it became more difficult to remember them. I would focus on a little light instead. I suppose I equated it with the love I felt for them and from them. The light gave me hope and knowledge that there was something better out there, and it would come when you least expected it. When Aunt Elinor came for me, she affirmed that. I had no idea that she even existed. My Aunt Elinor proves there is a God. There is a light in the darkness."
Mr. Mosby said nothing, his face a living torment.
Maria felt compelled to ask Mr. Mosby, hoping it would help him, not hurt him, "Did you have a light, too, Mr. Mosby?"
Mr. Mosby looked sharply at her, then laughed derisively. "I don't ever recall any light in a Yankee prison camp."
Maria gasped. She had no idea he was even a soldier, let alone a prisoner of war. How awful for him. Maria had seen pictures of the bone-thin men from Andersonville. The Northern camps could not have been any better. Perhaps he had literally meant there had been no light at all. Maria could not even imagine it.
"Yes, Maria," Mr. Mosby sighed, his face contorting in a deep frown. "I had memories to focus on. But they're dead. My light is gone, and it won't come back." He smiled sardonically at her, "God only shined once or twice in my life, and He has made it a point to keep eluding me ever since."
Her heart contracted in pity for him. "That's nonsense," Maria reprimanded him. "You're not an evil man. God hasn't forsaken you. The light is always there. It's just hard to see sometimes, that's all."
Mr. Mosby smiled at her, as if indulging a small child, and turned on his side.
"Good night, Mr. Mosby," she said, thinking that she had more in common with Mr. Mosby than she realized.
"Good night, Maria."
She was still unsure on which side she was going to sleep. She sighed and closed her eyes, falling into dreams of Mr. Mosby and her aunt Elinor, trying not to think of the fire that was before her.
She bolted upright, sweat rolling down her face. Maria instantly groaned in pain. She accidentally wrenched her shoulder.
Mr. Mosby awoke in an instant. "What is it?" he asked.
Maria tried to get control her pacing heart, her face averted away from the dying camp fire. "Nothing," she tried to reassure him, slowly catching her breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"You had another nightmare, didn't you," Mr. Mosby stated, rather than questioned.
Maria nodded, not daring to look at him. At least she did not scream this time.
"You'd better talk about it," Mr. Mosby advised her, stretching to wake himself. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up."
"I can't," Maria told him, trying to forget the memories of Mrs. Harner and the tortures of her family's death. This was different from telling Mr. Mosby about the light. He was part of that somehow. This was different. The scars and the memories were something she had never told anyone about.
"Why not?"
Maria sighed, rubbing her eyes. "It would be like betraying my aunt. I never even told her. She had a right to know above anyone. I can't tell you, even if I wanted to," she said quietly. "I just can't."
"You don't need to tell me anything. But you should tell your aunt. Go ahead and tell her right now. You need to let this go, or it will consume you, believe me."
Maria shook her head in wonder. Earlier that night, this was the same man who claimed that God had abandoned him, yet Mr. Mosby apparently also believed that spirits of the dead watched over the living. He believed in the light, too, Maria smiled, but he just did not know it yet. Maria wondered just what it was that kept him going in the present.
"I sort of told her already," Maria confessed, blushing. "But I'm not sure that what I said counts."
"What did you tell her?" Mr. Mosby asked softly, his face narrowing in confusion over her odd smile.
"I told her that I hated Wagner," Maria said quietly, emphasizing the German composer's name.
Now he looked really confused. "Wagner?" he repeated, when she did not elaborate.
"Richard Wagner. I hate his Ring operas to this day." She bit her lip, not sure whether she ought to be telling him. "I sneaked out of the orphanage one night to listen to something so unreal I had to hear it again. It was only later that I found out it was a Richard Wagner opera. I hold him responsible for my getting caught that night."
Maria feared she said too much. She quickly tried to change the subject. "It took years for my aunt to convince me that opera wasn't evil. She loved Verdi, and after awhile, I loved Rossini. Do you like the _Barber of Seville_, Mr. Mosby?"
Mr. Mosby nodded his head impatiently. He commented, wryly, "Yes, and I'm probably the only one in Curtis Wells who appreciates your singing of 'Una Voce Poca Fa,' every time you pass the barbershop." He returned to the former topic. "You were saying that you were caught that night. What night? What happened?"
Maria did not want to tell him.
"Your aunt probably had a good idea what happened to you, Maria," he told her when she remained silent.
"What are you talking about?" Maria asked him, looking at him sharply.
"You screamed for your parents and someone named 'Jemmy' last night - "
"My little brother Jeremy," Maria whispered, her face lost in a nightmare. "I couldn't say his name when I was a little girl."
Mr. Mosby nodded. He continued, softly, "I know they died in fire, according to Josiah. Your aunt Elinor had to know that. I know this hurts you, but she probably knew that your scars resulted from that fire. She had to know something was wrong by the way you writhed about. Maria, you screamed, 'Put it out,' for God's sake. She had to know."
Maria looked down, embarrassed that he reasoned so much about her from just last night. She still could not tell him about Mrs. Harner. She would let him live under the impression that her scars resulted from the fire that took her family's lives. She hoped that Aunt Elinor had only deduced this much. If Aunt Elinor knew about Mrs. Harner, then Maria knew her aunt would have felt more guilty for not rescuing Maria sooner.
"You also screamed for Mrs. Harner to stop. Did she 'catch you' that night you spoke of? What did she do to you?"
Maria moaned, shutting her eyes. If Mr. Mosby had deduced this much, her Aunt Elinor surely had to know the whole truth, for she knew Maria better than Mr. Mosby. Why didn't her aunt ever ask her about her nightmares? Maria felt sickened, knowing why. Aunt Elinor reasoned that Maria would tell her when Maria felt enough trust for her. It was not a matter of trust. It never was.
"I didn't want to hurt my aunt, Mr. Mosby." The thought alone made Maria almost panic. "My aunt was hurting enough as it was, without me adding to her pain about my past. You see, she lost all her boys in the War. I was the only one she had left. I couldn't just tell her. She couldn't know that Mrs. Harner was vicious, evil old bat. She would have felt so guilty knowing that Mrs. Harner burned off all my hair and my back and - " Maria stopped, tears welling in her eyes. The thought of hurting Aunt Elinor bothered Maria immensely.
"Dear God," Mr. Mosby muttered in compassion. "You've harbored this for all these years?"
Maria forgot he was here. She did not want him to pity her. "Really, it wasn't that bad. I could have been burned very badly if the cellar hadn't been so damp. It was a good thing, that cellar, I guess. I still remember the little light on the opposite end of the cellar."
"Oh, Maria," he frowned at her, pity obvious in his eyes.
"Don't you feel sorry for me," Maria told him angrily. "Those things made me what I am, bad and all, and it's taken me a long time to accept that. That is one thing Aunt Elinor taught me. You have to go through life thinking that it is - that you are - worth something. Bad things happen, but you have to keep fighting. You must never give up. Never."
Mr. Mosby stared at her at length, then looked as if he was pleased. "Your uncle and cousin do not realize your true worth."
Maria was aware that everyone in Curtis Wells knew that she was having a difficult time with her family. "No, they don't," Maria admitted, smiling crookedly. "But, so help them, they are going to know it, even if it takes me ten years to do it."
Mr. Mosby chuckled, then smiled broadly at her.
"Of course, you cannot forget Mr. Call," Maria reminded Mr. Mosby of her cousin-in-law. "He's not as bull-headed as my uncle or cousin. He appreciates me. Mr. Call really adores me, but he just doesn't know it yet. He's coming along quite nicely, I think."
Mr. Mosby frowned and then nodded, as if it were ironic. "All the best Peales appear to be taken with Newt Call."
"Pardon me?" Maria barely heard him.
"I said you appear to be quite taken with Mr. Call."
"Who wouldn't be? He's all sweetness and gentility." Mr. Call was, sort of. Maria thought Mr. Call had the potential to be an upstanding individual.
Mr. Mosby looked at her as if she was insane. "All the Peales are suffering from delusions, as well."
Maria chuckled. "Aren't we all?"
Mr. Mosby raised an eyebrow, watching her settle down to sleep. "Aren't we all, indeed."
Maria would have kissed the ground if she had not been riding behind Mr. Mosby. Maria thought she would never see Curtis Wells again, and it startled her that she became so attached to it. She could tell Mr. Mosby was glad, too, because she felt the horse increase its speed when they could see the perimeter of the town.
It was night when they reached the livery stable. Mr. Mosby dismounted, then quickly turned, his revolver ready, when he heard a noise. Maria moaned on top of the horse. Not again.
It was Austin. Maria sighed in relief, even though she did not feel like an encounter with her cousin. Mr. Mosby holstered his revolver in irritation. He turned back to help Maria off the horse.
"What happened to you?" Austin nonchalantly asked Maria, noting her disheveled appearance with a disinterested gaze. He leaned against one of the livery columns.
"Austin, go back to Sweetwater, or whatever rock you sleep under at night," Mr. Mosby ordered him indifferently, supporting Maria by her elbow. "I don't have time for drunken fools."
Austin's dark eyes narrowed as he stepped into the light. For once, he appeared clean and sober. "Let her go, Mosby. I'll take care of her."
Maria could not believe it. Austin never looked anything but slovenly. He also never showed any kindness to her in the past. Why this sudden change? He had to have an ulterior motive.
Mr. Mosby disregarded at him as if he was a pest. "Austin, go away."
"Please," Maria whispered, not in the mood for any more incidents. "It's late, and I just want to go home."
"No, Maria," Mr. Mosby denied her. "You're going to see Dr. Cleese immediately, even if I have to drag you up to his office myself."
"Yeah, you look like you need a doctor," Austin agreed, ignoring Mr. Mosby, seeing her lack of color.
Maria could not understand Austin's behavior tonight. She was too fatigued to think about it. She nodded her assent to Mr. Mosby. Maria could swear Austin looked almost relieved when she decided to go to see Dr. Cleese.
Mr. Mosby helped her up the stairs to the doctor's office. Austin did not follow.
Before Mr. Mosby knocked on the door, Maria whispered to him, almost hesitantly, "Do you think Dr. Cleese has to see my back?"
Mr. Mosby smiled reassuringly at her. "The good doctor has seen gunshot wounds, stabbings, beatings, and all other evidences of death and destruction. Your scars are not going to bother him, believe me. I promise you, he won't say a word about them to anyone. Dr. Cleese is always discreet about such matters."
She felt compelled to ask, yet knowing his answer beforehand, "You won't tell anyone about my scars, will you?"
"Of course not," Mr. Mosby promised her, looking slightly insulted.
Maria felt relieved and reassured. "Thank you, Mr. Mosby." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for everything."
He seemed a bit surprised, then smiled warmly at her. "You're welcome."
A silent communication passed between them. They both knew their relationship would be different now that they were back in Curtis Wells. Mr. Mosby hesitated, almost as if he did not want acknowledge the fact. "If there is anything you need, Miss Bennett, please let me know." His hand wrapped warmly around hers.
Maria nodded, smiling awkwardly at him. She felt sorry that it had to happen, too.
Mr. Mosby saw her inside Dr. Cleese's office, then left her in the doctor's capable hands for the remainder of the night. Maria was glad to sleep in an actual bed. Tomorrow she would have to face the scrutiny of Curtis Wells. Maria still felt too vulnerable to explain what happened to her to the entire town. Maybe she would feel strength tomorrow.
Maria did not know how to handle it the next day. She slept late, and she had been unwilling to have Dr. Cleese disturb her uncle last night for a fresh change of clothes. She intended to wake early to so she could get them without being seen by the entire town, but the bed proved to be so comfortable that she overslept. Maria had no choice but to venture out into the broad daylight in her torn clothes. At least she still had Mr. Mosby's coat and Mr. Call's hat to protect at least some of her disheveled appearance. She knew she looked terrible from all the bruises.
She sneaked down the stairs without Dr. Cleese's approval. The doctor told her she should rest for the remainder of the day, but Maria did not agree. The sooner she was up, the sooner she could go on with her life.
When she ventured out into the street, the people of the town reacted as Maria suspected. They stared at her in shock, quickly glanced away, and then whispered amongst themselves. Maria would have felt less vulnerable if they would just ask her what happened. Maria proudly held up her head and marched toward the newspaper office.
Maria could hear Mrs. Tarbell and Mrs. Ashby before she could squint to see them. Mrs. Tarbell, perhaps Curtis Wells' most self-righteous citizen, and Mrs. Ashby, the town's most notorious gossip, suited each other well, Maria thought. Supercilious behavior and gossip seem to go hand in hand. Maria groaned inwardly. She had negative encounters with both of them in the past. They would not be as "forgiving" to her as their usual targets. She could hear their not-so-hushed whispers 20 feet away. Maria might be near-sighted, but she was not deaf.
"You should see her, Mrs. Tarbell," Mrs. Ashby commented, pulling her confidant to her side. "Her hair all cut up like that, dress ripped. She was attacked and taken advantage of, I say. Mr. Mosby found her. I hear she was screaming like the devil when all the men raped her."
"No, Mrs. Ashby. That's not what happened, believe me. 'Miss' Bennett has always been loose on morals. She even talks to - " Mrs. Tarbell cleared her throat, " - 'fallen women,' if you catch my drift. I've always suspected she was one of them all along. I think some of her, pardon the expression - 'solicitors' - did not like what they received, and made her pay for it. It's about time, too. She spends way too much time out in the woods. I don't think she spends it alone, if you understand my meaning."
Maria stopped mid-step. She always read her books when she went alone in the woods outside Curtis Wells. Vicious. Vicious. Normally their talk would not bother her, but these past few days had really taken a toll on Maria. Maria felt like she had been whipped, but she could not let them defeat her. She proudly held up her head and tried to continue to the newspaper office. They were not worth the effort, Maria told herself.
"That's not all she does in the woods, Mrs. Tarbell. I hear she - " Mrs. Ashby stopped herself when she saw Maria was within 2 feet of them. "Good morning, Miss Bennett."
"Yes. Good morning, Miss Bennett," Mrs. Tarbell repeated, a false smile on her face.
Maria could hardly muster a word. "Good morning, ladies," Maria said, almost inaudibly. She wanted to leave before they trapped her into "polite" conversation.
It was too late. "Miss Bennett," Mrs. Tarbell stopped her. She continued, "My, my. You do look worse for wear this morning. Did you have an 'accident' in the woods?" The meaning was not lost on Maria. Mrs. Tarbell, a woman with a pinched, haughty face, was alluding to Maria's supposed "customers" attacking her when they did not approve of the "goods." Vicious. Vicious.
"It was not an 'accident,' " Maria replied, already growing fatigued. "I was attacked. Mr. Mosby saved my life," Maria said firmly. That was all the explanation Maria felt was necessary.
"What is your relationship with Mr. Mosby these days, Miss Bennett?" Mrs. Ashby, the widowed gossip, asked. Maria knew what Mrs. Ashby was hinting. Mrs. Ashby instantly concluded that any woman being friends with a man was automatically having an intimate relationship with him. Mrs. Ashby probably had Maria in intimate relations with half the men in town, simply because Maria greeted them "hello."
Maria was helpless, and she knew it. "He's my friend, Mrs. Ashby. That's all. I'm very grateful to him for saving my life." Maria curtsied, intending to go.
"I know you are tired, Miss Bennett, but you really must tell us what happened," Mrs. Tarbell insisted, her face widening slyly as she circled around Maria. "You must tell us about the horrid men that attacked you."
"No, I - "
"Yes," Mrs. Ashby agreed, pulling Maria towards her. "Tell us. You'll feel much better when you get it off your chest, dear."
"Maria, I need to talk with you," a man's voice interrupted the two conspiring women.
Never had Maria been more grateful to see her cousin Austin. He still appeared clean shaven and sober, and he offered his arm to support her.
"Mr. Peale, we were just talking with your cousin. It was something that women discuss privately. Your - " Mrs. Tarbell's face roamed contemptuously over him, " - presence is not needed." Austin was not well received in town because of his drunken behavior.
"My cousin is sick," Austin told her, stone-faced. "She's not well enough to be talking to anybody. Come on, Maria." Austin again offered his arm, which Maria graciously accepted.
When they were out of hearing distance, Maria expressed her gratitude, "Thank you, Cousin Austin. I don't think I could have handled them today."
"I didn't do it for you," he stated simply. "Father doesn't need to hear any gossip about this."
Maria sighed. Austin just did not like her. "How is Uncle Josiah? I didn't even get to see him before I left for Miles City." She hoped she could talk to Josiah before he heard what happened to her from the town. She would talk with him as soon as she changed.
"Maria, you can't go back to the newspaper office," Austin implored her, holding her shoulders, preventing her from leaving.
Alarmed, she demanded, "Why not?"
Austin looked resigned. "He's had another spell."
Maria and Austin were both silent, knowing the state Josiah could work himself into.
"Hannah?" Maria asked. It was usually thoughts of his deceased daughter that drove Josiah into these fits.
Austin nodded. Between drunken jovial episodes, Josiah would be almost catatonic, cradling his picture of Hannah like a newborn child. It was quite pathetic.
"Then I need to go to him," Maria insisted, trying to wriggle from Austin's grip.
"No!" Austin snapped. "I've been taking care of him."
So that was why Austin was clean and sober, Maria thought. "But we both can help him," Maria persisted.
"No," her cousin denied her, almost desperately. "Do you realize what would happen if he saw you?" Austin's eyes darted quickly over Maria's broken body. "For God's sake, you look like a ghost."
Austin had a point. If Josiah was already unstable, he did not need any additional burden. "But Uncle Josiah might see me anyway. Don't you think it's better if I tell him what happened?"
"He doesn't recognize anyone when he's like this. He won't know it's you. Father barely even knows I exist." Austin's dark eyes briefly looked anguished. Determination then hardened his face. "Look, I'm taking care of him now, and I don't want him hurt. Just stay away from him until he's out of this."
That might be forever, Maria thought. She sighed. "All right," Maria agreed, thinking she would at least visit Josiah in a couple of days when her bruises left her face. "But since my stagecoach never re-appeared here, I have nothing to wear. Please, get me a change of clothes." She bit her lip, and then hesitantly told him where she kept her spending money. "I'll need to check into the hotel for the time being."
Austin nodded, then was about to go away when Maria stopped him. "What will you say to Uncle Josiah if he asks about me?"
"He doesn't."
That probably was true. "Austin, please." It was closest Maria ever came to begging her cousin.
"What happened to you then?" Austin asked, almost disinterestedly.
"The stage was attacked. Mr. Mosby and I were - "
"Mosby's a part of this?" Austin looked almost angry.
If Austin meant that Mr. Mosby was somehow responsible for her wounds, then her cousin was wrong. "No, he didn't do anything but save my life. Why would you think he would do otherwise?"
"He's fool enough to do anything when he's crazy." Maria could see the bitter warning in Austin's eyes. What could he mean?
"You're all right, then?" Austin interrupted her thoughts.
Maria nodded, still wondering what her cousin could have meant about Mr. Mosby.
"Good. That's all Father needs to know." Austin walked off to get her the requested items.
After Austin gave her the clothing and money, Maria checked in a room at the Lonesome Dove Hotel, still thinking over what her cousin has said about Mr. Mosby. Maria knew Austin had been dreadfully bitter since Mr. Mosby dismissed him from the sheriff position. She never understood the reason. What had Austin said - he's fool enough to do anything when he's crazy. When he was crazy - Maria did not want to imagine that Mr. Mosby upset, not for any reason. Then it came to her. Maria remembered feeling that way when Mr. Mosby and she were alone in the woods. She remembered the look in his eyes when she asked him if he understood how it felt to make someone innocent pay for crimes that were not his. Dear God, Maria thought. Austin was the one in the middle of Mr. Mosby's driven justice. You only did what you had to do, Mr. Mosby had told her, only he had been talking about himself. Nothing happened, Mr. Mosby had said. It doesn't matter, Mr. Mosby had insisted.
It did matter. It did matter very much. Her cousin suffered because Mr. Mosby's quest for justice pinned Austin in the middle. And Austin had been a drunken, pathetic slob ever since. Mr. Mosby was just as responsible over Austin as Maria was responsible over Mr. Mosby. Yet, Austin had never forgiven Mr. Mosby. Maria had to know why.
Maria washed quickly in a basin before changing into some fresh clothes, intent on talking with Mr. Mosby immediately. Austin forgot to bring her a bonnet. She would still have to wear Mr. Call's hat.
She had to find Mr. Mosby. He had to tell her what happened between himself and her cousin. Maria frowned. She knew Mr. Mosby would, more than likely, be at his Ambrosia Club, Curtis Wells' gambling house and finest drinking establishment. Maria never ventured foot into places like those. Maria sighed, resigned. There was a first time for everything.
She marched down the street, her resolve strengthening with every step. She stopped, distracted, when she noticed Mr. Call walking up to greet her.
"What the hell happened to you?" Mr. Call asked.
Maria smiled. Thank heaven for direct people. "I haven't had a good week, Mr. Call."
Mr. Call raised an eyebrow at her, noting the bruises on her face, then stared off. He looked different somehow. She could see his ears.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Call. I didn't notice you had a haircut."
His light blue eyes looked at her directly. He wryly commented, slightly nodding at her hair, "Apparently, so did you."
That hurt more than Maria thought it would. It took so long to grow her hair from last time. It was just beginning to look pretty, too. Now it looked awful, and it would look awful for months. Maria refused to use a hot iron on her hair, like some women did to make it curl, because she did not want anything that could burn her scalp. Maria would have to remain ugly. She was odd looking anyway, Maria knew. Why should this make her feel any different?
"I'll have to get a new bonnet," was the only thing Maria could think to say. Then she remembered the hat she was wearing. "Here," she said, quickly removing the hat as if to hasten a tearful goodbye. "I bought you something in Miles City. It's the only thing I have left from the whole trip."
"You got me something?" Mr. Call seemed surprised.
"Take the hat, Mr. Call. Please. I feel stupid standing here like this. I need to buy me a bonnet as soon as possible."
"You were hurt," Mr. Call muttered, almost inaudibly. His eyes were focused on his boot. "I shouldn't have taken that damn shell."
Her good luck shell - he could not possibly think that what happened was a result of his taking that shell. Or could he? "I'm perfectly fine," Maria reassured him. "I have just a couple of bruises, that's all. It's nothing to get alarmed about." Maria thought she had better not tell him about her gunshot wound. She remembered him telling her, in his own wry manner, that someone would shoot her eventually. The irony of it was not lost on her.
"Just take the hat," Maria insisted.
"No." Mr. Call seemed to regain all his former aloofness. "You need it worse than I do."
"My hair," Maria moaned, thinking Mr. Call could only have one meaning. She gingerly touched her shorn tufts.
"Yeah," Mr. Call quietly commented. "That too."
Maria placed the hat back on her head, watching him saunter back to his bench. Mr. Call did care, Maria smiled.
"I need to see Mr. Mosby, Mr. - " Maria did not think she even knew his last name, " - Ike. Where can I find him?"
Ike was apparently still surprised to see her in the Ambrosia Club, because he kept staring blankly at her. That, or she really was a sight to be seen. Maria groaned inwardly. Though it was an indecent pose, Maria wished she could look like the woman in the picture behind the bar. Her back was as smooth as baby's skin, Maria reflected, turning away from the picture, blushing in embarrassment.
"Where can I find him?" Maria repeated, sighing.
Ike pointed, still looking as if it was unnatural for her to be in the building, towards the staircase. "His office is the last door down the hall."
Maria thanked him and weaved her way through the tables and some rough-looking men, who rudely gawked at her while she passed. People would drink and gamble and engage in licentious behavior during any time of the day, Maria thought. No wonder Mr. Mosby was a rich man.
It took some effort climbing the stairs, but eventually Maria made it to the landing. She reached the door Ike had indicated, ignoring the stares of some of the men below. There was a good reason why she never ventured into places like these, Maria reminded herself.
Maria drew a deep breath, then knocked. She was determined to talk with Mr. Mosby about Austin, but she was not going to forsake the proprieties her aunt had taught her just because she was uncomfortable.
"Come in," she heard Mr. Mosby's annoyed voice order behind the door.
Maria bit her lip and sighed, resolve straightening her posture. She gracefully opened the door and closed it behind her.
Mr. Mosby looked up from his desk, wonder widening his golden eyes. He stood, putting aside his paperwork. "Why, Miss Bennett, this is a nice surprise. Please, sit down." He indicated a chair opposite his desk.
Maria decided it might be a good idea to proceed with this discussion as pleasantly as possible, since she had the uneasy feeling this could be a very difficult conversation. Mr. Mosby courteously helped her sit in the chair.
"You are looking much better this morning," he said when he sat back down, his eyes smiling in a charming glint. "Though, it may be a little too soon for you to be up and about."
"I'm perfectly fine," Maria lied. She did feel a little weak from the climb.
"Of course," Mr. Mosby commented, a disbelieving smile on his face.
Maria looked around his office. It was the office of a well-bred man, she could tell, with books and papers organized to ease the man before her. This was Mr. Mosby's domain. Maria wondered whether she should have waited until they could have met on the street. She sighed. She was here, and she might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.
"What can I do for you, Miss Bennett?" he inquired before she could begin.
She cleared her throat. He did ask. "It's Austin. I need to talk with you about Austin."
Mr. Mosby lit a cigar, annoyance on his features. "What did he do? Take candy from babies?"
"No." Maria drew a deep breath, calming herself. She might as well be direct. "What exactly happened between you and my cousin Austin, Mr. Mosby?" she demanded.
Maria heard a clock ticking, it was so silent. Mr. Mosby lowered his cigar, his butternut eyes narrowing, "To what are you referring, Miss Bennett?"
Mr. Mosby was not going to make this easy. "He was in the middle, wasn't he?" Maria's dark blue eyes questioned him. "Austin got in your way, and you took the sheriff's position away from him."
Mr. Mosby leaned forward, as if calling a bluff. "Is that what Austin told you?"
"Mr. Mosby," Maria sighed, reprimanding him. "You know very well Austin doesn't tell me anything. This is something I just know. I saw it in your eyes when we were alone together. You understood what it felt like to make someone else pay for another person's crimes. I saw it," Maria repeated passionately. "Then Austin said something to me today that reminded me of - " The thought of Mr. Mosby unfairly punishing Austin sickened her. "It was Austin, wasn't it? Please tell me. I have to know."
Mr. Mosby sighed angrily. He clearly emphasized his next words, as if he were explaining something to a small child. "Nothing happened. Nothing. Now let it go."
It was same argument that he gave her when they were alone. Mr. Mosby only confirmed her suspicions. Something did happen with Austin. Mr. Mosby could tell himself that nothing happened, but that definitely was not true.
"How can you say that?" Maria demanded. "My cousin is a filthy, drunken slob today. I hear that at least at one time he was somewhat respectable. And that was when he was sheriff." Seeing Mr. Mosby scoff, Maria tried a different tactic, "Look. I don't care why you did what you did. You probably had your reasons, and I can understand that, believe me. And I don't know if you removed Austin because of that or some other reason. That doesn't matter, either. But what does matter here is that Austin was in the middle somehow, just like you were in the middle when I tried to kill you. You were man enough to forgive me, but Austin is not as strong as you. For whatever you did, Austin has not forgiven you yet. Don't you see that this is part of Austin's problem?"
"Austin is a pathetic, drunken ingrate. He deserved what happened to him."
"And you are insolent. But that doesn't mean that you needed to be clubbed to death for it."
"How very reassuring that you feel that way," Mr. Mosby nodded wryly. Then he demanded, "What would you have me do, Miss Bennett? Turn back the clock? Austin made his bed. He can lie in it."
Maria stomped her foot in frustration. This was going nowhere. "Austin needs to forgive you. You are at fault if you put Austin in the middle. Whether you like it or not, you have to make amends."
Mr. Mosby laughed outright. "This is absurd. You expect me to apologize to that pig you call your cousin? He betrayed me, for Christ's sake. He sold me out for a hundred dollars."
"What?" Maria could hardly believe it.
"Well, apparently you haven't heard," Mr. Mosby nodded, his voice lowering, as if confessing something very dirty to her. "Your cousin was taking bribes. He was corrupt. He deserved to be thrown out on his - " Mr. Mosby cleared his throat, remembering who he was talking to. "He deserved to be removed, Miss Bennett. I don't need corrupt sheriffs in this town."
That was nonsense, and she knew it. Mr. Mosby had corrupt deputies working for him all the time, Maria knew. Maria was disappointed that Austin was probably one of them at one point. But that still did not mean that Austin deserved to caught in the middle of Mr. Mosby's quest for justice.
"It does not matter," Maria said, her voice dead. "Austin was caught in your cross-fire. You still need to apologize."
"Miss Bennett, go home and rest. This has obviously taken a toll on your mind."
Maria ignored him. "Mr. Mosby, you should apologize to Austin."
"Listen to me," Mr. Mosby said very patiently. "I am only going to say this once. I will have nothing to do with your cousin. Not now. Not ever. Go on home, Miss Bennett. I have better things to do with my time than talking about this." His eyes returned to his paperwork.
"Very well," Maria muttered, giving up the battle, but not the war. Maria had patience. She would get Mr. Mosby to apologize to Austin eventually. She stood up slowly, making her way to the door. Before she opened it, she added softly, "You will feel better when you apologize, Mr. Mosby."
Mr. Mosby sighed in frustration, his hand fingering through his dark hair. "You are like a dog with a bone, aren't you?"
Maria laughed. "This should teach you to quit comparing me to a dog, Mr. Mosby. One day you will learn that I don't roll over and play dead."
"I'm beginning to find that out," he nodded in frustration. Then his eyes glinted wickedly. "Perhaps I ought to pat you on the head instead. Will you jump on me and lick my face in deep affection, Miss Bennett?"
Her face reddened in shock at the impropriety of the suggestion. Mr. Mosby smiled victoriously.
"You are insolent," Maria told him.
She heard Mr. Mosby laughing as she closed the door. He was stubborn and proud, Maria thought. But she did like him. She liked him a lot. But, so help him, he would do as she asked, even if killed her to do it.
END June 1997
Darcie Daniels
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