CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rose Small stood and stared long after the wolf had
turned and run. She knew it was the bounty hunter, Cedar Hunt.
Could tell from his eyes, could tell from the living things, trees
and such, whispering to her that he was not the animal he seemed to
be. That he was a man hidden in plain sight.
She’d never seen
anything like it, and didn’t deny it rattled her to her bones. She
knew she should go home, sneak back into her room beneath the
notice of her pa and ma, as she had so many restless nights in the
past. They ought to be asleep by now. Rose turned and took no more
than three steps down the street when she saw a group of six men,
rowdy and drunk, rambling her way.
And at the head of
them all, swigging off a bottle of whiskey he’d likely annexed, was
Henry Dunken.
Rose slipped into the
shadows, pressing her back against the blacksmith’s shop. The smell
of ash and metal calmed her, the feel of the familiar shop
soothing. She carefully, quietly dropped into her apron the bits of
metal—springs, nails, bolts—she’d been gathering. Rose Small put
her hand around her gun instead.
The men were yelling
now—arguing. Rose winced at their language. They were arguing over
which woman who worked the brothel did her job the
best.
Rose held her breath
as they drew nearer. If she was quiet, they might just walk past
her. But something, maybe just plain bad luck, turned Henry
Dunken’s gaze her way. He stopped cold in the middle of the street,
then started over toward her, his pack of friends following behind
him.
“Well, well, well,”
he said, each word slurring into the other. “Look who’s out
wandering the night without an escort. Little Rose
Small.”
Rose pushed off the
wall and started walking. The gun had one shot only. She couldn’t
take them all down. The kind of men Henry Dunken ran with wouldn’t
let one gunshot stop them. From doing most anything.
Rose went through her
options methodically, but with amazing speed. Fear did that to
her—slowed down the outside world, and gave her plenty of time to
sort options, discard, and choose. Not the blacksmith’s shop. Even
though she could turn herself around and get in there before they
caught her, and even though almost every inch of the shop was
covered in something that would make a good weapon, it was still
one against six. They’d pin her, beat her, and then they’d do
things she’d only heard whispered in the lowest tones, by people
like Sheriff Wilke.
Yelling for help
wouldn’t do anything. The sheriff and any other decent soul
wouldn’t hear her, tucked up in houses, far off on
farms.
Not running. It was
too far to run to her house—or the mercantile. They’d outpace her.
She had no horse. No chance reasoning with them.
That meant she’d have
to bluff.
Rose turned quick on
her heel and headed for the blacksmith’s back door. She knew it was
locked. Knew Mr. and Mrs. Gregor must be sleeping. But she doubted
either of them was sleeping deeply since the disappearance of
Elbert. There was a chance they might hear her.
The men behind her
laughed and picked up their pace, boots thumping the hard-packed
dirt like a ragged army on the march, aiming to run her
down.
Rose’s hands shook
and her pulse quickened. She reached the blacksmith’s door and
knocked and knocked. She was already doubting her decision. Tucked
up this tight against the house, Henry Dunken would hold her down
and do anything he could think of to her.
She’d grown up with
him. She knew what kind of mean he got when drunk.
Well, she knew where
she’d be aiming her gun first. She turned.
“I’ll say good night
to you now, Henry Dunken,” she said firmly, with no hint of fear in
her voice. “And you and your friends will be on your
way.”
“Oh, I don’t think
so, Rosie, posie, crazy Rosie.” His voice was singsong sweet. “I
think you and I are going to dance off the night.”
Rose pulled the
derringer out of her apron and pointed it straight at his head.
“You think wrong.”
One thing she could
say about the men. Even drunk, they recognized a gun when it was
pointed at them.
“That little
pepperbox ain’t gonna do you no good, little Rosie,” Henry Dunken
said. “Only got yourself one bullet there. And there’s six of
us.”
“Then I suppose I’ll
need to prioritize who, exactly, I despise the most.” Rose held the
gun level with Henry Dunken’s head. “Why, I do believe that is you,
Mr. Dunken. And once this shot goes off, Mr. Gregor will be out
here faster than your boys can run.”
“Think that old mule
can get here faster than the boys can shoot?” Henry
asked.
The door behind Rose
clacked with the heavy slide of a bolt being unfastened and a key
turning.
“Don’t think we need
to find that out, now, do we?” she said.
The door opened and
the big form of Mr. Gregor loomed up behind her.
“What’s all the
racket about?” Mr. Gregor stepped forward. Rose moved to one side
to let the big man pass her. Mr. Gregor’s hair was stuck up at odd
angles. He had on his trousers over his long johns, suspenders
snapped in place, and his boots untied, but no shirt or coat. They
must have gotten him out of bed.
Mr. Gregor carried a
shotgun. He quickly assessed the situation, noting with a grimace
the gun that Rose hastily stowed back in her apron.
“Henry Dunken,” Mr.
Gregor said. “I don’t care what fire you’re full of tonight, but
you and your boys will take your shenanigans away from my doorstep
and my property, or I will bring Sheriff Wilke into
this.”
“Why, of course, Mr.
Gregor,” Henry said with a smile. “Didn’t mean to rouse you. I was
just seeing Miss Small back to her home, like her folks told me to.
Miss Small?”
“No, thank you, Mr.
Dunken,” Rose said to his outright lie. “I’ll find my own way
home.”
“Can’t have a lady
like you out wandering.” Henry Dunken gave Mr. Gregor a tolerant
look. “You know how she gets sometimes.” He tapped his forehead.
“Poor thing.”
Rose clenched her
teeth to keep from telling Henry Dunken just what he could do with
his false pity. But Mr. Gregor saw right through Henry’s
words.
“Go on your way,” Mr.
Gregor said. “I’ll see that Miss Small gets home.”
Henry’s smile
disappeared. He looked from Mr. Gregor to Rose Small, back to Mr.
Gregor. Rose kept her hand on her gun, and her chin
high.
One of Henry’s boys
slapped him on the shoulder, breaking the tension. “Come on, now,
Henry. She’s gonna be fine.”
Henry wiped his face
with one hand and positioned his smile back into place. “I reckon
that’s true, now, isn’t it? Good night, Mr. Gregor. Good night,
Miss Small.”
He turned about and
sauntered off, the ruffians crowding around him like dogs in a
pack. Rose forced her fingers to let go of the gun, her knuckles
stiff and sore from holding on to it so tightly.
“Mr. Gregor, I’m so
sorry,” she began.
“Rose Small,” he
rumbled. “If I were your daddy, I’d give you a proper talking-to.
What in the devil got into you to be out on the street this late at
night?”
Rose normally
wouldn’t stand that kind of talk from anyone. But she reckoned Mr.
Gregor was more of a father to her than her own father had been. So
she told him the truth. “I was restless. Needed some fresh air. I
went to stand on the porch, is all. Then I noticed a bit of metal
in the street.” She dug in her apron for the proof of it, fished
out a nail. “I didn’t want to leave it to waste.”
Mr. Gregor took a
deep enough breath, his chest rose up a good six inches. When he
let it out, his words were worn down, soft. “I don’t know what gets
into that head of yours, Rose.” He started walking and Rose
followed along.
“You’re old enough to
be a man’s wife now, and yet you still do these things.” He shook
his head. “Just because people in this town think you’re wild,
doesn’t mean you should give them more reason to
talk.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, Rose
Small. You’re too old for this now. It’s time you pull your eyes
down out of the stars and start thinking about getting married,
raising a family of your own. And it’s time you stop walking out at
night alone. These streets aren’t safe. Not for a lady. Not for
anyone.” He glanced down to see if she understood.
“What if I don’t want
to raise a family? Don’t want to be married?”
They were halfway to
her house now, the moon slipping behind clouds, darkness growing
thicker.
“What else would a
woman want for?”
“To make things.
Devise things. Maybe fly an airship to China and back.” She paused,
then, “I have dreams, Mr. Gregor. Of
making a difference in this world. I can’t think of living any
other way.”
Mr. Gregor was silent
for the rest of the walk. Rose didn’t know what he was thinking,
and didn’t have the courage to ask.
Once they made it to
her doorstep, he finally spoke. “Dreams can be dangerous things,
Rose Small.”
“Reckon the whole
world is filled with dangerous things, Mr. Gregor,” she replied.
“Can’t imagine dreams should be any different. But thank you for
your kind words. They haven’t fallen on deaf ears.”
He nodded and nodded,
looking relieved she’d admitted as much.
Then Rose Small let
herself into her parents’ home, locking the door, and the night,
behind her.