Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (5 page)

Driving into the BarChi the next day was the hardest thing he’d ever done. There had been no way to send word that they were on their way, so everybody was bound to look out to see exactly who was coming down the road. No doubt Deacon and Aren would both groan and turn away. The hands? He had no idea what they knew. Jay would be pleased. His father would be kind, but perhaps distant because Dante had brought so much misery on them all. He was tempted to turn around and go right back to the Austin ranch. The one thing that kept him headed forward was the thought of seeing Tama.

As he pulled his wagon into the courtyard, he saw Deacon coming out of the kitchen. Deacon’s jaw clenched, and he turned away without even a nod. Dante tried to pretend that didn’t hurt. Deacon ducked his head back into the kitchen, talking to somebody inside, and the next minute, Tama was running out the door, practically knocking Deacon over as she pushed past him.

Whatever reservations Dante had were eclipsed for the moment by the joy of seeing her. He jumped out of the wagon and caught her in the air as she threw her arms around his neck.

“You’re here! I was so afraid you’d never come home!”
“Didn’t exactly want to, but here I am anyway.”
“Holy Saints, I hate you so much for leaving!”
He laughed and hugged her tighter. He kissed the side of her head. Years earlier, when

their friendship had first begun, Jay had been jealous, but he’d quickly realised he needn’t be. Tama was a perfectly faithful wife, and Dante had never desired her anyway. Their relationship had always been close, but also innocent.

He wanted to say a thousand things at once, some that were true, and some that weren’t—it’s lonely, it stinks, it’s fine, it’s perfect. But what popped into his head first and foremost was how quickly he’d learned to appreciate the work the women on the BarChi did. He laughed as he let her go, but he did exactly as he’d vowed. He got down on his knees and pulled her close, although it meant bumping his head into her stomach and knocking his hat backward onto the ground. “I want you to know, I’ll never sit down to a meal again without thanking the cook. And I thank the Saints for you every time I milk the damn cows. And I think of you every single time I have to put on dirty shorts.”

She laughed and smacked playfully at the top of his head. “Well, it’s about time for that first one, and the second, but the thing about your shorts is just disturbing.”
He laughed and stood up to hug her again. It was amazing how something as simple as laughing with Tama could take away so much of the anguish he’d been living with. He hadn’t quite realised how empty he’d felt.
Jay appeared next to shake Dante’s hand, and their father was close behind. Jeremiah surprised him by pulling him into a strong bear hug. “I’m awful glad you’re home, son.”
It all felt more natural than he’d expected, and Dante sighed in relief. He’d expected to feel like an outcast, but really, it felt just as it always had. Tama’s boys were there, although only for a moment before they went back to whatever game they were playing. Some of the hands stepped in to say hello. Not all of them, of course, but a couple, like Red and Ronin, who’d been around for a while. They shook his hand or slapped his back and moved on.
Dante noticed Aren come out of the barn. The young man glanced warily at Dante, but didn’t approach him. Instead, he went straight to Cami. She’d been standing off to the side, looking lost and awkward and completely alone. Dante felt bad for having forgotten her, but Aren hadn’t. Cami smiled when she saw him. She hugged him, and he put his arm around her waist and led her away, towards the main house.
Deacon was nowhere to be seen.
“How long are you staying?” Tama asked. “Just here for a few days.”
“Just tonight and then a night on our way back. Headed to town for supplies.”
They all looked surprised at that, and he couldn’t blame them. Simon had been through less than two weeks before. “Coal got low,” he explained. “That cold snap froze the windmill solid. Just about burned through what we had.”
His father and Jay stared blankly at him, obviously confused, but Tama laughed and swatted him with the towel she had in her hand. “Now, really,” she said. “The truth this time.”
Now it was his turn to be confused. “I’m serious. That freeze had us running on reserves for one night, and on coal for two more. Still have a bit left, but not enough to last if we get another storm like that.”
Now they were more than confused. They were beginning to glance awkwardly at each other, as if asking, “
Do you know what he’s talking about
?”
“Ya’ll didn’t have a freeze here?”
“This time of year?” Tama asked.
“I sure as hell didn’t imagine it! We were walking on ice for three days! Frances started talking about some fancy boots he had back on the continent with sleigh runners on them!”
Clearly, the wrong thing to say. Now they were looking at him as if he were downright crazy. “Ask Cami!” he said at last. Except, unfortunately, Cami was already inside with Aren.
“Well,” Tama said finally, “whatever the reason, we’re glad you’re home.”
He had supper in the dining room with his family. The room seemed so much bigger now than it had before. In years past, it had held Jeremiah, his three sons, their wives, and the four boys. On occasion, Deacon had joined them, depending on his frame of mind. On Sundays, even the hands squeezed in at the table with them. But this time, there was only Dante, Jay, Jeremiah, Alissa, who sat without saying a word, Tama, and her two sons.
The two boys were begging to be allowed to work the ranch with the hands, but were recalcitrant about doing the chores they’d actually been assigned. That was ever the way of small boys on ranches. Jay talked of an elk he’d brought down while hunting two weeks before. There was gossip from town—about Daisy working at The Chalice, about some of the hands who’d been kicked out of the tavern in Milton and told to never come back, and about a man visiting from the East who was offering a ridiculously large reward for the return of his missing son. Alissa and Tama also hinted that they suspected their sister Beth was in a bad way, because Frank McAllen was desperately trying to marry her off. Jeremiah laughingly told Dante how Frank had promised everything he owned as dowry if Dante would take the girl off his hands. He was glad his dad had known well enough to turn the man down.
They talked more of the ice storm. Dante was stunned to learn that the BarChi had experienced nothing out of the ordinary.
“A bit less windy than usual,” Tama said. “But it was nice.”
“How could that be?” Dante asked. “I’m telling you, it was cold! We had ice everywhere. The windmill was frozen solid!”
But nobody had any answers.
They’d long since finished their meal and the boys were trying to hide their frequent yawns when Deacon came in. He looked as he always did—big and strong, his hat pushed low on his head and his long dark hair in a queue down his back. The room fell silent when he entered.
He looked right at Dante. “I need to talk to you.”
Everybody else stood up, whether out of respect for Deacon or because they didn’t want to witness an argument Dante didn’t know. Chairs scraped across the floor and dishes clanked together as they quickly cleared the table and headed for the door. Jeremiah stopped and said a few words to Deacon, too low for Dante to hear. Deacon shook his head and said something back. Jeremiah seemed pleased with the answer. He clapped Deacon on the back, then gave Dante what was probably supposed to be a reassuring wink.
And then they were alone.
In the past, Dante would have been thrilled to have a few moments of Deacon’s time, but not now. Not after everything Dante had done.
Deacon sat down in a chair facing Dante. He leant back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I didn’t come to cause trouble,” Dante said.
“I figured as much. Thing is, seems like trouble comes along with you more often than not.”
Dante didn’t answer that. What could he say? He looked down at his hands, clenched between his knees.
“Jeremiah says you need coal.”
“That’s right.”
“That it?”
The question confused him. “You mean, is that the only reason I’m here?”
“No, I mean is that all you need from town? Just the coal?”
“That, and whatever Cami needs—”
“Aren’s talked to Cami already. He’s got that all squared away.”
Aren. Of course Aren had it covered. Aren was always working to make Dante obsolete.
“Look, we’ll be out of your hair tomorrow—”
“Stop being defensive and listen. Aren and I were already fixing to go to town tomorrow. He’s got stuff he’s got to do with the bank and the merchants.” He waved his hand as if whatever it was Aren was doing was a bit beyond him. “Account things to settle regarding money Zed Austin owed, and something to do with a dowry that ain’t a dowry for Alissa, and the Saints know what else. Stuff he don’t trust me to do right, so he wants to go. We’re also taking about two dozen head in to sell, but Aren ain’t no help at all when it comes to driving cattle, so I have Red and Ronin set to go with us.”
Dante was surprised to hear a ghost of a smile in Deacon’s voice. When he looked up, he found Deacon had relaxed a bit. He was still leaning back in his chair, away from Dante, but he’d taken his hat off. It hung on the arm of his chair.
“With you gone, and Simon and Frances too, Red and Ronin are about the best hands I got, and you know those fools, so you know how sad a statement that is. But they got seniority, and they’re both so damn randy I’m starting to fear for my cows. If I tell them no now, I won’t hear the end of it ’til next spring. That means the only person here to watch the men is Jay.” He smiled a bit, and Dante found himself tempted to do the same. “And we both know he’s soft.”
“So what do you propose?”
“You stay here. Ride those hands. You can be a hardass better than Jay. Keep them in line for me. I’ll take your wagon. Saints know Aren can barely ride a horse to save his life, but he has learned to drive a team a bit. We’ll bring back your coal, and the things Cami needs, and you can have a few days to catch up with your kin.”
It was a generous offer for him to make. Sure, he probably had his own reasons, specifically his desire to not having Dante tagging along with he and Aren for their days away, but nonetheless, he could have been a jerk about it. Instead, he seemed to be trying to make peace.
“I’d appreciate that,” Dante said. “What about Cami?”
“She says Olsa gives her the creeps, but she’d rather stay here with you than spend four more days bumping down the road. So,” he said as he stood up, “we got a deal?”
Dante stood up too, so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to look up at Deacon. As always, he found himself a bit in awe of the man. He had to force himself to speak. “Deal.”
“Good.” Deacon picked his hat up and pushed it onto his head as he turned to go.
“Deacon?”
He stopped, turning halfway to look back over his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It was Aren’s idea.”

Simon had felt the weight of Frances’ gaze upon him for two days. Ever since Dante and Cami had left. “Why didn’t he send you?” Frances had asked.
“Because I didn’t want to go.”
Frances hadn’t asked why at the time, just as he hadn’t asked so many times before. The boy never prodded. It was one of the things Simon loved about him. It was why he’d allowed their friendship to grow. But it seemed they’d reached the point in their friendship where evasion was beginning to feel like betrayal. This was a topic Simon had avoided too emphatically and for too long. He felt he owed Frances an explanation, yet he had no idea how to go about giving one.
“Will you stop looking at me like that?” he finally snapped. It was the end of the day and they were in the barracks. The other hands were all there, but none of them were paying attention to Frances and Simon.
“Looking at you like what?” Frances asked, and Simon could tell from the boy’s expression that he didn’t realise exactly how obvious he’d been.
Simon sat down on the bed. He put his elbows on his knees and leant forward to stare at the floor. “Just ask already.”
A moment of stunned silence, and then Frances asked the question Simon had known was coming. “Why don’t you like to go to town?”
Simon put his head in his hands. Even though he’d known what the question would be, he still wasn’t sure he was ready to answer it.
“The thing is,” Frances went on, “if it were just since we’d been here, I’d get it. It’s a long trip. But you were like this at the BarChi, too, and…”
It wasn’t silent in the room, but Simon felt Frances’ silence like a weight on his back. “And…?” he prodded.
“Well…” Frances’ voice was quieter than before, pitched low so nobody else could hear. “It seems like it’s not town. It seems like it’s more about what’s in between.”
What’s in between.
The McAllen ranch. Frances had hit the bull’s-eye with that one.
Simon propped his chin on his hands and looked up at Frances. “If I asked you to drop this, would you do it?”
Frances’ cheeks turned red. Simon could read his eyes—hurt at first, as if he’d been slapped, but then thoughtfulness.
“Yes,” he said at last, turning away. “I’m sorry I asked.”
If he’d dug in his heels and pushed, Simon would have been able to be defensive, but that wasn’t Frances’ way, which was why Simon valued his friendship as much as he did. He sighed. “Come here, kid. Sit down.”
Frances did, sitting close to him on the bunk as he always did so they could talk. “I’m sorry,” Frances said again. “It’s not my place.”
“Not always easy to figure out where the line is between friendship and privacy.”
Frances took a moment to digest that. It seemed to give him confidence. “I’ve noticed how even when we’re there, you never go with any of the girls. You always share a stall with me. Of course, I never go with them either, but I’m pretty sure our reasons aren’t the same.”
Simon wasn’t looking at Frances, but he heard the tiny note of hope in the boy’s voice. “No. They’re not the same.”
“I figured.” His disappointment probably wouldn’t have been detectable by anybody who didn’t know him so well. “So then, what is it?”
It took Simon a long time to figure out how to say the words. He wasn’t a man who was used to sharing. Especially not anything so personal as this. He’d only told the story once before. That had been to Garrett, and he’d been sensationally drunk. But now, he felt the need to pick his words carefully.
Frances waited, not saying a word. That was another thing Simon had always liked about him. He was infinitely patient.
Where to begin? The answer, it seemed, was at the beginning. “There was a girl.”
Four words. How could four words hurt so much to say? If he’d had to do it again, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able, but it seemed as if now he’d begun, he had no choice but to go on.
“I was young. Only eighteen when I met her. Her father owned the mercantile in Holtshire.” He stopped short. “You know where that is?”
“On the coast, I think? South of Francshire?”
“Right. It’s a fishing town. I was fresh off the ship from Lanstead. Didn’t know a soul, but I got a job on a fishing boat. Went in the store to buy a new knife, and she was there. The minute I saw her, I said, ‘That girl’s going to be my wife.’”
He remembered it clearly—Lena’s big eyes alight in her face, and the innocently flirtatious look she’d given him when he’d asked if she had a beau. It had seemed so simple at the time.
“I courted her for several months, and we were stupid in love. But she was a good girl, wore her Saint’s medal on a chain around her neck every single day, so it was just courting. We kissed, but she never let me go no further than that.” And if at times his desire for her had seemed like more than he could bear, it had also been part of what made her so alluring.
He had to take a deep breath before he could say the next bit. “We got engaged, and I can’t tell you how happy I was. But then three weeks to the day before we were supposed to be married, she was raped.” He had to hold very still as he said the words. He had to hang onto the edge of the bunk, just to keep himself grounded. “My ship was due in, and she went down to the docks to meet me, but we were late and three dockhands got her first.”
He shook his head, remembering the helplessness and the rage he’d felt. Three men, gone before anybody found her huddled and sobbing in the alley. “My eyes were closed,” she’d said over and over, when they tried to ask who’d done it. “My eyes were closed.” Like a mantra, as if it might have protected her.
“Oh, Simon, that’s so awful!”
Simon nodded, because it was all he could do. At the time, he’d known about rape in theory, but he hadn’t realised the ruthless horror of the act or its brutality. It had never occurred to him how some men used their desire as a weapon, or how they looked at women as tools rather than people, just something to be used. He began to realise then how vulnerable women were, just living day to day. How they were dependent upon men, at their mercy, and instead of helping, some men took advantage in the worst ways. And the damage it did was more than he could ever have imagined. “That kind of thing,” he said to Frances, making himself move on, “it does something to women. They may walk away, but I think it kills something inside of them. Maybe not all of them, I guess, but it did for her. I didn’t know right away.” But he’d learned. He’d had plenty of time over the years to think about it.
“Did they ever catch them?”
Simon shook his head. “When we went to the magistrate to ask for help, he said, ‘She was on the dock. Everybody knows what kind of woman loiters by the shipyard.’”
Repeating those words made the horrible anger rise up again in his breast, as hot and strong as it had been that day. He’d flown at the man, determined to wring his flabby white neck, but his shipmates, the ones who were trying to help, had stopped him. They’d had to drag him away.
He sighed, swallowing the anger. He was heading down the wrong path, he knew, letting his rage at what had happened distract him from the real story. He rubbed his temples with his fingers, making himself move back to what mattered most.
“Her father had no idea what to do. Neither did I. It wasn’t just that she was hurt. She was embarrassed. And
ashamed
. I never understood that, but she was.”
“Did you still marry her?”
“I did. She swore she wanted to go through with it, but things were never really the same.”
Lena
had never been the same. That was the point he couldn’t quite bring himself to expound on. She was like a flower that had wilted. As if the light inside her had gone out. She turned in on herself. She’d sit, lost in her head for hours. He’d try to talk to her and realise she hadn’t heard him at all. “I’m fine,” she’d say, if he dared to ask. “My eyes were closed.”
“Simon?” Frances asked quietly, and Simon realised he’d been sitting silent for too long, lost inside his head as Lena had so often been in those days.
“I don’t know what I thought would happen. I guess I didn’t think about it much at all. I loved her, and she said she wanted to be married. I thought I’d be able to protect her after that. It sounds stupid, but it seemed so right in my head. We’d be married, and after that, everything would be fine.”
It was hard to admit how naïve he’d been. He’d honestly thought being married would fix it. He’d thought the light would come back into her eyes. He thought she’d remember how to laugh.
“Our wedding night was…” He found his hands were shaking, and he had to stop and breathe deep. She’d been stiff in his arms as he’d kissed her. He’d been so gentle, and so patient, but when he finally began to undo the buttons on the back of her gown, she’d become hysterical. She’d screamed in terror and flailed at him with her fists. “No, no, no!” she’d cried over and over again. Her blows had been weak at best. Her fear of him was what hurt.
“It was a disaster,” he said at last. “But I understood. I swore I’d be patient. That it was fine if we took our time. We moved into the house her father had bought us as our wedding present. It was tiny, but it was more than I could afford on my own. There were two bedrooms, one for us, I thought, and one for the babies we’d have. But it turned out she’d had one set up for her and the other for me. After what had happened, how could I argue? I figured, it was just a matter of time before she started to feel safe. I could be patient.”
Yes, he’d wanted to be patient, but days had turned into weeks, and weeks had turned into months, and still he’d been barred from her room every night. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the way she’d pulled even further away. It was as if she hated him for desiring her. She wouldn’t look at him. She’d barely speak to him. At supper, they’d sit at the table together, and she’d stare silently down at her plate. She rarely ate. He began to notice how her clothes hung on her frame.
In the weeks leading up to the wedding, he’d imagined comforting her, but he’d assumed he’d be allowed to touch her. Not sexually at first, but at the very least to hold her in his arms. But as the days of their marriage ticked by, she began to pull away from the simplest of touches. If he tried to kiss her, she’d get angry. Even a hand on her wrist would cause her to pull away as if stung.
“I’ll be patient,” he’d told her again and again. “I can wait.”
But waiting was easier said than done.
“The thing is,” he said, finally picking up his story, “I was barely nineteen. I know that’s a flimsy excuse, but Saints, I was getting desperate.” He thought suddenly about who he was talking to, and he almost laughed. “Hell, you’re about that age now. You know what I mean.”
“Boy, do I ever.”
Frances’ answer really did make him laugh, if only for a moment. It helped him face the truth of what came next.
“Well, there was this girl, Jin. She and Lena had been good friends before it all, but by this point, Lena didn’t really have any friends. She didn’t talk to anybody, and Jin stuck around the longest, but she didn’t know how to help any more than I did. They’d been friends since they was girls, and Jin told me how she couldn’t bear to see Lena just sitting there, like an empty shell.
“Anyway, one night, Jin came over and we talked. And then another night. And another night, too.”
“Oh,” Frances breathed. It wasn’t even a word so much as a sound of realisation. A sigh that meant, “Oh no, I see what’s coming.”
Simon went on as if he hadn’t heard, because he was near the end now. He was almost through to the other side where he’d be able to breathe again. “Well, then one night she came over with this bottle of cherry wine. We drank that, and when it was gone, we started on some whisky. And then…”
It hadn’t even been that he’d desired her. She wasn’t attractive. What had done him in was simply the fact that she was so unbelievably
willing
. After so many times of Lena pushing him back, turning away, closing the door…suddenly, there had been Jin. She could barely get her skirt up fast enough. He could remember so clearly the way she’d clutched at him, the way her legs had been wrapped tight around his hips, the way she’d panted into his ear, “Take me, Simon. Take me, take me, take me.”
And he had. And it had been glorious. That was the part he hated the most. If he could look back and say he hadn’t followed through, or that he hadn’t enjoyed it, or even that he’d had a moment of guilt before he lost himself in her flesh, it might have been different. But the truth was, he’d been nineteen, horny and frustrated as hell. Fucking Jin had been momentous. For the first time in weeks, he’d felt vital and alive. Jin hadn’t been a virgin. There was no doubt in his mind. She’d lain back, panting and crying his name as he’d fucked her, and he’d loved every single second of it.
Right up until Lena walked through the door.
“I was drunk, and I was a fool, and I wasn’t noticing how much noise we were making until Lena caught us. The way she looked at me. It was pure hatred, not just ‘cause I’d broken my marriage vow to her, but like what I was doing with Jin was the same as what those men had done to her.
“I spent the whole next day outside her door. I apologised, and then I begged. And then I got defensive and angry. I can’t even tell you all the awful things I said, telling her it was her fault I’d cheated. Calling her frigid.” He shook his head. “I’m not proud of that. Finally, I went to bed. Thing is, my boat was leaving the next morning. She’d quit working at her father’s shop, and we were barely getting by on what I made. I sure as hell couldn’t afford to miss it. So I left. It was a three-day trip, out and back, and when I finally got home, I went to her door, and I knocked. And for the first time ever, she said, ‘Come in.’” He shook his head. He’d shed his tears long ago, but it still caused his heart to ache. “She had the fever. Seeing her there, I realised how much she’d changed from that girl I’d vowed to marry so many months before. I’d known she was barely eating, but seeing her there wearing just a nightgown, I realised she was just bone.”
“It’s not your fault,” Frances said. “I know that’s what you think, but what happened with Jin has nothing to do with the fever.”
“It
was
my fault for not being a better husband. It was my fault for not realising how weak she was. It was my fault that I hurt her, and then I left, and she just lay there in her bed, wasting away of fever. If I’d done better, she might not have got sick at all.”
“She died.” It wasn’t a question.
“Two days later. I missed my next boat and lost my job, but I didn’t care. I sat there, and I apologised until my voice was gone. I begged her to stay. I begged her to get better. I promised her the world—everything I could think of. We’d leave Holtshire. I told her we could leave Oestend, that I’d take her back to the continent, because she’d always wanted to see Lanstead. And at the very end, when I realised she was never going to get out of that bed, I sobbed and I told her I’d never love another woman again.”