Tenuous Bonds (Closed for Alice2015)

[Alice2015]

Alice was desperate to see Marie's reaction to seeing her naked … but she didn't look back to the ranch hand. She couldn't; Alice's heart was pounding with excitement over what she'd just done, and part of that excitement came from fearing she'd done the wrong thing.

She'd just bared herself to another woman … for reasons she didn't quite understand. And not just another woman; her hand, a woman living in the barn who often ate meals with her and -- unfortunately quite often enough for Alice's pleasure -- took baths in this very tub. What have I done? chastised herself. If she was watching you … what is she going to think of you?

Alice's innocent, naïve mind was grasping for answers, to why she'd just shown her naked form to Marie and to how she expected Marie to respond. Alice believed she knew the answer to the first question: she desired to be desired. But again, Marie was a woman, not a man. Was Alice expecting -- hoping even! -- that the answer to the second question was that she hoped Marie would react the same way John would have … or any other man would have … with their own desire?

“...better?” Marie inquired.

Alice flinched at the unexpected, single word. Marie had seen her strip and step into the tub. Or … had she only looked in time to see Alice after the water level was just high enough on her torso to hide her still swollen nipples? Again, Alice needed answers: had Marie seen her naked … and … did she prefer that Marie had or hadn't? Had!

"Yes," Alice answered simply, still wanting to look back but keeping her nervous gaze set upon the tub's far side. She could hear movement and metal pots and ceramic cups. "May I have a cup of coffee, Marie … if there is enough. Did you have to make a pot? There was some, I think … but … it was from this morning … still warm, though..."

Alice went quiet, realizing that she was rambling, her words trailing off to such a low volume that even she had had a hard time hearing herself. She cleared her throat, but had nothing more to say.

Then, "What happened in Montana. I mean … if I may ask."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Marie makes no move to pour a second cup of coffee, let alone bring one over to the bathing woman. This should strike Alice as odd-no matter what the request, Marie complied. Even down to going to church-something she hadn’t complained about, but had clearly done only at her employer’s...friend’s behest.

She sets her own down. No, that’d be a step too far.

”What happened in Montana?”

“A girl.” Marie says flatly, almost immediately. There was no pause, no hesitation, no time to reconsider the confession. Alice didn’t know, and Marie now decides she should. Whatever the consequence or if it would mortify or appall the widow, it was only right she should know. Alice had gotten too comfortable, comfort Marie was equally responsible for. She was unknowingly sharing a life and a tub and offering a cot in her single room house to a woman more interested in the swing of a woman’s hips than the flexing arms and shoulders of men.

The fox in the henhouse. This was her fault. She should have kept everything more firmly professional and decent. She hadn’t asked for this either, but she could have acted appropriately to prevent predation, if that’s even what it was.

“I worked on her father’s ranch with mine for a few years, before he died. Kept working there alongside the men, after. Her father wasn’t involved enough to notice, had an overseer to run things-and I worked hard, earned my share. The other hands were friends of my father, they didn’t complain.”

“She felt bad for me, or was maybe curious about our differences, our lifestyles. I don’t know. Service turned to friendship turned to love. Secret trysts, letters, flowers. We were sixteen. We had the world.” There’s no emotion as Marie says any of this. It’s all delivered in that familiar flat direct way, calm and centered-but somehow three steps beyond worse. It’s a void in the woman.

“Life...society…people-they get in the way.” Marie continued as she stared down at the black surface of the coffee. The after taste was somehow that much more bitter. “Her father had no male heir, just one beautiful daughter. Suitors came to dinner. He was a very wealthy man, a cattle baron to end all cattle barons-there was no shortage of young bachelors, sons of other cattle barons, bankers, railroad magnates. I began to see her less and less. I watched as she traded in her split skirts for hooped dresses. Gave up riding and shooting for the prim and proper running of a house and attending galas she had never before liked. We were nineteen. She was to be a proper lady, now.”

“When she became engaged, I didn’t blame her. She had her future to consider, things to lose. I didn’t, and I had nothing tangible to offer her. She told me it wouldn’t be so bad, her being married. She said she’d think of me. She said we might even be together, every once in a while, before her children were born.”

Marie’s attention finally drifts away from the coffee and to the wall she was facing, briefly in the past. She delivered everything so flat, claimed to understand-but that wasn’t the entire truth. She had understood, alright-understood exactly how little what she had had to offer had truly mattered, in the end. Marie would have taken care of her. They wouldn’t have been cold or hungry or lost. She would have made it work, just as she had done for herself ever since her father had died. Love and loyalty, things that couldn’t apparently compete with a man she had admitted to finding repulsive, planned to swear an oath before God and all assembled around the altar of matrimony-and then make him a cuckold.

Marie can’t deny how she had hoped, even dreamed she’d change her mind. That she wouldn’t go through with it, that they’d run away or she’d risk her father’s disappointed befuddlement-she was a spoiled child, he would have denied her nothing.

A hope she would not have admitted even with a gun to her head. She drained the last of the bitter coffee and set it down with a clink.

“I left and never looked back, morning after the wedding. And -that’s- what happened in Montana."

The silence that followed was deafening, oppressive and somehow intimidating. It's the most Marie has ever spoken about anything, ever in a sequence, and it blew just about anything that could be said away. Marie doesn’t wait to hear anything Alice had to say. She just turns and walks out of the house, snagging her boots and hat on the porch without pausing to even put them on.

Walks through the freezing rain and into the barn, heading for her horse, a dry pair of socks and her saddle. It doesn’t even matter, the rain. She wants...needs a drink.

~*~

The next two days were tense, to say the least. Marie could not be found anywhere, and when she was in view, her surly expression and feeling of irritation was plenty dissuasive. She didn’t want to talk. Everything was fine, she was just busy. No, she’s not hungry, thank you.

It wasn’t even clear if Marie was staying in the barn or not, those two nights. If she was even sleeping at all. The vaquera was a walled off, standoffish mystery.

But then Sunday morning, bright and early as usual-she was sitting in the buckboard waiting out front for them to go to church. She was wearing that dark brown, button up shirt with the pearl buttons, and she was cleaned up and looking something of a proper woman, were it not for the pants.

She offered a hand down and helped pull Alice up onto the seat beside her, giving a flick of the reins. “Going to shingle both those roofs, next few days.” She says in her more normal, conversational matter of fact way. She seemed more like herself again.

 

[Alice2015]

”What happened in Montana?”

“A girl.”

Alice didn't understand Marie's response, just another result of her naiveté. But then, “Service turned to friendship turned to love. Secret trysts, letters, flowers. We were sixteen. We had the world.”

Marie's use of the word love caught Alice's attention, but the bells didn't go off until the slightly older woman said trysts...? And her heart skipped a beat as she realized that Marie was saying … she was … Oh, Lord … they … they...

Alice could barely even finish the thought. Marie was saying that she and this other girl … that they'd … been lovers.

“Life...society…people-they get in the way.”

Alice's heart was once again beating with excitement. Even though she had never once in her life imagined two women interacting in such a way, Alice was somehow very easily imagining Marie in a loving embrace with this other girl … their lips pressing together in a soft kiss … their bodies against one another in the dark, away from others who would condemn such intimacy.

Were they naked together? she found herself wondering, her face exploding in a blush so deep that she could feel it despite the hot water surrounding her warming body. Yes, she thought to herself. She imagined what that would look like … then realized that she wanted them to have been naked together.

Why?

Well, that was becoming very clear to Alice as Marie continued: because as she imagined Marie together with this other girl, Alice realized beyond doubt … that she wanted to be together with Marie … naked!

“I left and never looked back, morning after the wedding. And -that’s- what happened in Montana."

Silence filled the room, and -- for the first time since she'd stripped to enter the tub -- Alice turned her head to gaze upon Marie. The thoughts about Marie and this long lost love of her hers faded had been replaced with thoughts about Marie with Alice … but … these thoughts were quickly replaced as well, with sympathy for her ranch hand over what had to be a great despair.

Alice wanted to say something … anything that would comfort Marie. But what? What was there to say? What could she say? In the back of her mind a thought was struggling to push forward and guide Alice's next move: If this girl had not done you this way … I wouldn't have you now.

Suddenly, Marie turned and was gone, out the door and into the darkness of the still raging storm. Alice simply sat there staring at the one window on the front of the house, as if expecting Marie to reappear, knock, and return. Her mind was spinning, so many thoughts competing for her undivided attention. One, though, dominated Alice's consciousness: Do I have you now?

Marie's confession had been entirely unexpected. She loved another girl … she MADE LOVE to another girl. How did that work? Was that even possible? What did they do with one another? Neither of them had a … well … one of those. Did they just kiss? Maybe caress one another's bodies; grope one another's breasts?

Alice's body had always been very sensitive to her husband's touch, particular her nipples, which he had often suckled. But -- love her as much as he had -- John had never shown much interest in Alice's pleasure. He'd reached his hand in between Alice's thighs on occasion, to probe her womanhood and make her wet for his entrance into her. But that had been the extent of their sex life's diversity.

~*~

Sunday arrived, and Alice bathed yet again. As she sat there in the warm, soapy water, her mind went back to the last time Marie had been inside the cabin. It had been a very depressing two days: the ranch hand was always busy on a project, which of course was her reason for being here on the ranch; and the ranch's owner was entirely overwhelmed with confusion about what she was supposed to say to Marie about what had happened that evening.

Alice had made meals -- morning, noon, and evening -- hoping the hand would come inside. Nothing. A couple of times, she took platters of food out to the barn or work site, hoping that something -- anything -- would cause one or the other of them to talk, to break the silence. Sometimes, when she went back out to retrieve the tray or metal stew bowl or skewer upon which she'd charred a treat, Alice would find the food had been devoured. Other times … it looked untouched.

When she headed out of the house to link the horse and wagon together for the ride to church, Alice's eyes widened at the unexpected sight of Marie sitting atop the buckboard, waiting for her. The hand offered a hand out, and Alice hesitated, looking at it before looking up to the beauty to which it belonged.

The last time that hand touched me... Alice thought as she reached out to take it. Her body tingled, remembering being naked before Marie … remembering the workers confession … or reminiscing, was that more appropriate? Confession sounded so … well, as if it should be accompanied by a bucket full of guilt. Marie hadn't sounded guilty that night.

As she slapped the reins to send the buckboard forward, Marie announced, “Going to shingle both those roofs, next few days.”

Alice smiled. Looking Marie's way, she was so tickled to hear the other woman talking to her, even if it was only just about work. She looked forward again, to the dirt road that had dried following the storm and had few puddles to muss up them or the horse.

"We will be making cheese out there soon," Alice said with excitement. "A few months -- God willing with the goats and weather -- and we may be able to sell our first samples at the dry goods store … pique interest..."

Alice used we and our intentionally, as opposed to I and my. She couldn't have gotten the construction done without Marie's help, of course; and all along, she'd been telling the hand that she had as much to gain from all this work as did Alice.

"...though, I did promise Agnes our first block," Alice continued, going on about how Mrs. Olsen -- not Alice's own mother -- had taught her how to make cheese in the first place. After a bit of a pause she added, "It'll be a while before the profit pays for the construction and supplies, but … I'm confident of our venture."

Alice turned her attention to the countryside for a moment, then looked to Marie again and studied her for a moment as well. She'd been working up what to say to the hand about her confession -- her reminiscing -- that night, and even if she should say anything at all. Alice had contemplating never bringing it up again; it was such a personal part of Marie's life, after all.

But Marie had talked about it. She hadn't had to; she could have kept quiet, or even made up some lie. A man broke my heart in Montana, and I left... or My family died of the plague there, and I couldn't bear remaining... or I'm a quick draw and I killed a dozen deputies in a high noon shootout, and with my name plastered all over Jail house walls...

Alice had begun fantasizing about what it would be like to … embrace Marie in the way she believed the hand had with her friend of years earlier. But … was that something Marie wanted? Was that something Marie wanted not just with Alice but with any woman ever again? Alice didn't know; she couldn't know. Not if Marie didn't talk about it with her.

"I'm happy you found love with someone, and … I'm sorry that love was lost," Alice said with a sincere tone. She looked back to the road, unable to hold her gaze; her heart was beating in her ears again. She finished, "You will find love again, Marie Hernandez. Maybe where you least expect it."

Alice turned her head to gaze out upon the countryside again, not wanting the dark skinned beauty to see her own fair skin exploding in yet another fiery blush...

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Something about Marie relaxes ever so slightly-hardly detectable in the stoic woman, but there as Alice chatters on excitedly about her plans. She speaks much the same as she always did, lumping her ranch hand in with her as if they were business partners rather than mistress and ranch hand. Collusion.

“You’ll do her proud.” Marie comments about Mrs. Olsen, approving of the plan. The older woman was overly full of praise about everything-but it was so earnestly genuine Marie never took them for empty words, ever.

She relaxes even further just thinking about the day and days to come. She hadn’t been sure what to expect. She doubted Alice would have expelled her from the ranch, fired her at once-but she had been grimly aware it might change everything, that the proper arms length the widow should have kept the whole time would snap into place, the easy, kind friendship rescinded. And they are friends. Marie’s not sure when or where it happened or why she allowed it, but they were.

"I'm happy you found love with someone, and … I'm sorry that love was lost,"

Marie stiffens and her jaw sets. Happy she had found love? That made one of them. But she doesn’t say that. She doesn’t say anything. Alice was earnest in everything she said and did. She’s sure she is sorry things hadn’t worked out. She’s also sure the little widow wasn’t judging her for preferring feminine company and shirking the expectations and ‘right’ way of doing things.

Hell, they’re on their way to church right now, weren’t they?

"You will find love again, Marie Hernandez. Maybe where you least expect it."

She doesn’t want to talk about this. Miss Alice might have dreams of a future prince or dashing banker husband or something, a minister or some faithful church going man-but Marie had no such dreams or desires. She just wants work to do, problems she can solve with her own two hands. Problems that made sense. Problems that didn’t depend on anything but her own skill and knowledge.

“When a dog bites somebody, that somebody isn’t like to poke him a second time.” Marie finally says, having kept her those opaque dark eyes straight ahead and her body language closed off. “I have enough things to fill my time, and that’s the way I like it. We’ll leave it alone. I just thought...I just thought it was only fair you knew.”

And with that, Marie was silent all the way until the return trip, where Alice talked about the sermon and the reading and the hymns sung during service-and Marie softened back to the way she’d always been before.

~*~

Marie was pleased to say their winter preparations were about as complete as could be. Most of her work over the past week just involved caring for the livestock, and that was going to be most of her workload until the thaw. It hadn’t quite started snowing yet, but it was coming-and she’d set herself on a few projects in the barn. She was thinking bee houses for the spring, and while not the prettiest thing in existence-the first one was taking shape and she’d moved on to the box frames the bees would build their honeycomb in.

Alice might want to make candles on top of the honey it’d bring in. Marie doesn’t know.

The ranch hand hadn’t slept in the cabin since the night of the storm, nevermind the dropping temperatures. She was comfortable enough in the little corner-and respecting the fact Alice was a lady and she was outed. Mostly...she hadn’t wanted to give Alice a reason to ask her not to sleep in the house.

Marie’s not sure why.

On Tuesday she found a campfire on the corner of the property, near a patch of woods. She’d searched a little further but didn’t turn up anything else-probably someone passing by off road. Still, she should probably ask Alice what she wanted done with trespassers found. Knowing her, she’d probably allow it so long as passerby didn’t turn into squatters. Maybe not even then-but Marie would be sure to dissuade her from it. They don’t need to court amateur rustlers, after all.

 

[Alice2015]

"Why?"

Alice had come out to the barn where Marie was working, then waited until the ranch hand made eye contact with her to make her extremely vague inquiry. She clarified, "Why did you think it was only fair that I know?"

It had been over a month now since Marie had confessed -- Grr, that word again! -- had explained to Alice about her … her what ever it was with that other girl. (Alice had no words for it except love affair, which still perplexed her as it had been a love between two women … two girls ... an intimate love … an affair … which intrigued and yet amazed young, naïve Alice.)

And it had been a week since the hand and her boss had once again been speaking to one another after that awkward moment in the buckboard when Alice suggested that Marie might find love again where you least expect it.

Alice had, of course, meant here … with me. It had been a very bold suggestion. And perhaps a too-vague one, for Marie hadn't responded in any way to it. Not with action; not with words ... except to imply that she would never let herself fall in love again, which Alice had found sad and was finding more sad -- for them both -- with each passing day.

But then, Alice had begun to realize that Marie might not have understood what Alice wanted from her. After all, Alice didn't know what she wanted from Marie! Alice yearned for something from the woman and always had, from that first night when she'd secretly spied upon Marie as she stepped into the bath that first time.

But what? Oh, Alice knew, of course; she knew, but -- even if she had been bold enough to think the thought -- she could never verbalize it to the beautiful, dark featured woman. Alice wanted … she wanted to … she wanted to be that girl from Marie's youth … the girl with whom she'd found love ... emotional love ... and ... and physical love.

It was so wrong ... and it was so wicked ... taboo, wasn't that the word her mother had used once when Alice was young, describing ... oh, Alice couldn't even remember that which her mother had been discussing, only that it had been taboo.

Girls weren't supposed to love other girls ... and girls weren't supposed to ... touch other girls ... in that way. And yet Marie had! And now ... oh, Lord now ... Alice wanted Marie to touch her that way. And even though she doubted she could ever muster the courage to do so, Alice wanted to touch Marie in that way, too! Taboo!

But, that wasn't going to happen, of course, because Alice didn't know how to move toward that end ... and Marie apparently wasn't going to even if she did know how.

Alice expanded her question further, "Why did you think it was only fair that I know ... about you and ... your friend? Why me? Why did you think ... why did I need to know?"

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Marie was painting the outside of the bee house, easy, measured strokes with a wide bristled brush. She needs to ask Alice if there was some design, some brand she’d like to mark her products in. The cattle just had notches in their ears, no brands, she’d noticed. Maybe that husband of hers just hadn’t gotten around to it, was content to keep to plain livestock rather than artisan goods.

Alice comes through the open side door of the barn and Marie glances up-noting she was wearing that cream apron again, the one with the yellow embroidered flower over the pocket.

”Why?”

Marie blinks, a flicker of a frown as her eyes drop back down and survey the half painted beehouse. It was a blue grey sort of color, the same paint she’d mixed for the porch last week, matter of fact. She hadn’t figured on Alice caring one way or another.

“Because that’s the paint we got.” She says with a bit of a dry amusement, delivered the same flat way as everything she says-but Alice might have learned to catch that slight twitch to the woman’s lips, the brief bit of warmth in those dark eyes.

And then Alice clarifies and her amusement sours, heavy walls returning with a near audible thud, eyes opaque once more as they shift back to the beehouse. The little woman just wouldn’t leave it alone. Marie can’t quite find it in her to be angry with the widow, but the question has her feeling a bit incredulous.

It’s so earnest though, everything Alice says and does is earnest, Marie can’t even be annoyed with it. But...really? She can’t put that together? Actually...no, it fits with everything else she knows about the younger woman. Marie draws in and exhales a long sigh, dropping the paintbrush into its bucket and removing her work gloves.

“Miss Alice.” Marie begins after a moment, slowly. She feels awkward. She doesn’t want to talk about this. Particularly not with the imagery it was inspiring, reminding her of. The sight of the petite young woman’s back in that painted on, soaked shift, the still later image of her pulling that shift over her head, walking over to the tub without so much as a glance of worry or trepidation, pale and gleaming and small like some kind of fairy or nymph out of a story book.

An innocent. Barely more than a girl. Married once, full grown now, but still-naive, kind, and unsullied by the dirtier parts of the world-and life in general.

Down to calling her former lover ‘her friend’. Some part of her almost finds that funny-and another wistful.

Marie finally speaks after a long silence.

“I-because you didn’t know. You didn’t know, and I thought you ought to know, because while I’m not a man-I think like one, to a point.” She’s not sure how better to describe it. She’s not sure why she can’t entirely explain the confession. It’d been the thing to do. She’d stripped down to her skin and waltzed over to the tub, clueless to the fact Marie might just...what? Enjoy the show?

Even just thinking about it makes her feel a little sick with guilt. Not because she felt bad for being the way she was-but because Alice had trusted there was no sexual anything to be had there, just her female-and presumably uninterested-trusted friend. And Marie felt she had betrayed that trust, turned an innocent thing-a freezing woman moving to a warm bath-into something lustful or alluring.

Alice wouldn’t have done that had she known. She wouldn’t have done that in front of a man. Without meaning to, Marie had slipped under those maidenly defenses. But what was she supposed to do? Leave her to freeze?

“We made the best of a situation so you wouldn’t freeze to death or catch pneumonia, but...I could have...should have probably conducted myself more appropriately. Warned you. You wouldn’t strip down to nothing in front of a man. My being a woman was...well, preferring the things I do-” She can’t find words to it, not in front of her naive employer. Christ. “Like a fox in a hen house.” She finally half blurts, a trace of an accent there.

There’s color to the Mexican woman’s face, and she won’t meet Alice’s gaze, but when she picks up the brush next, her strokes are no longer calm and measured-but messy and splattering.

“I would like to stop talking about it.” She says with a note of temper and even, perhaps, warning. “I’m not a thing to be gawked at in one of them zoos, something to study. I only wanted to do right by you-not open up discussion on why I prefer the swing of a woman’s hips to a man’s strut. I didn’t ask to be this way, but I won’t live a lie because it’s ‘not so bad’, either.”

Rose. Married to a man she found repulsive just because that’s what a woman was supposed to do. Get married, be owned, and try not to die in childbirth after fulfilling her ‘wifely duties.’

Of course, the vaquera had no idea Alice had not at all been simply going about her business that night. That she had wanted to be seen, that she had dropped the blanket and disrobed the rest of the way in front of Marie on purpose, with intent.

Alice may not have known Marie felt the way she did about the fairer sex-but she hadn't been acting in entirely good faith, either.

 

[Alice2015]

“Miss Alice,” Marie began.

"Alice," the widow corrected quickly. She no longer considered Marie just her hand; she was a friend … who also got paid to work on the ranch, but … that was just secondary.

Marie's explanation brought Alice some satisfaction in regards to one specific question upon which the younger woman had been obsessing: had Marie's interest in her friend -- her lover -- been for only that one female … or all females?

Alice was very pleased to hear Marie's explanation, even smiling a bit at the understanding that there was a possibility that Marie might take an intimate interest in her.

Of course, for all Alice knew, Marie had no interest in her specifically. The widow was … well … plain and ordinary. Oh sure, people had often told Alice she had been and still was a very pretty girl, now woman. But looking at Marie here, now, as she had so often over the past weeks, Alice knew that relatively speaking, she was a boring stick of a girl. Marie would have no interest in her.

“I didn’t ask to be this way, but I won’t live a lie because it’s ‘not so bad’, either.”

This way, Alice thought to herself. Is there a way...? How do you become this way? She sympathized for Marie in the sense that Marie found her way something to be … what, regretful of? Resentful of? Ashamed of? Alice already knew that it -- what ever it was, this way -- was something to keep to oneself; she couldn't imagine Marie walking into the Church and telling the pastor what she'd said last week and today at this moment.

Alice my have sympathized for Marie's feelings, but she was sorry that Marie was that way. After all … Alice wanted to be that way, too … with Marie.

The ranch owner wanted to talk about this further, but Marie had made it clear that they topic was closed. She told the hand that she would be going to the Olsen's at sunup and wouldn't be home until almost sundown. "You are welcome to come with me … work on Howard's thresher. I will have breakfast and coffee ready before I leave. If you are not at the wagon … well … I'll understand."

She turned to leave but hesitated. Then, only half glancing back, Alice said with a soft, sincere, and slightly suggestive tone, "I do not regret that I did not know about you, Marie ... before I undressed and stood before you as I did. I do not regret it. And..."

Alice turned to look directly at Marie, hoping the other woman would also be looking at her when she finished, "And I do not wish you to regret it either."

With that, she turned and headed for the house...

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Marie watches her go with a furrowed brow and a frown on her lips. More of Alice’s normal kindness, those social niceties at work, she suspects. Generously trying to absolve her from guilt. She watched the swish of skirts a moment, then looked away with a shake of her head.

Harold’s thresher did need lookin’ at, and Alice had seemed to get the message clear enough, about her not wanting to discuss it anymore. She’d meant what she said about not being an exhibit in a zoo-she gets the innocent woman was curious and appreciated her not being judgmental, but...

Marie picked up the brush and hesitated a moment, caught between continuing with what she’d been doing and closing up the paint can to head to the Olsens with Alice.

What if it wasn’t just kindness? What if she had wanted her to see her? The way she’d said that, sounded a little more than completely innocent, maybe. Or maybe now knowing what she did, just liked the idea of that, the taboo?

Marie’s eyes narrowed. No, of course not. She’s putting ‘sinful’ thoughts in the mind of a woman she’s not sure has any. And even if that wasn’t true-it was a good thing they had going here, that SHE had going-and Marie didn’t want to risk it for some naive little widow’s curiosity.

Besides...hadn’t she been down this road before? She’s not about to find herself sidelined again, not like with Rose. Alice was young, a property owner, and a very pretty girl. She’d be looking to get married again, or someone be looking to marry her. It was just good business sense.

Marie felt sour at the thought, wiping the excess paint from the brush and closing up the paint can, the simple pleasure she’d found in the task ruined. It wasn’t Alice’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own, looking for those two birds in the bush instead of the one in her hand.

Her and the proprietress of the range were closer than any hand and employer ought to be, and it’s a friendship Marie had come to appreciate. And it was sustainable-even when Alice did remarry, Marie wasn’t terribly worried about being dismissed-she suspected Alice would make sure her ranch hand was part of the deal. Besides- a cheaper hired hand wouldn’t be had anywhere, not for all she could do and was doing.

She could be happy, here. Perfectly happy.

Marie sighed. She’d better get her girl saddled up to follow behind-Marie never went anywhere without her horse, the dappled mare went everywhere the vaquera did, and that was just the normal way of things.

That thresher wasn’t going to fix itself, and there was no sense putting off for tomorrow what she could easily do today. Besides. The ride over would be nice, so long as she dismissed this kind of thinking to where it belonged-the abyss.

 

[Alice2015]

Alice returned to the house, close the door, hesitated a moment, then moved to the window to peek back toward the barn. She'd hoped that Marie would come up from the barn … hoped she would find a reason to come inside … a reason to engage her employer in conversation … perhaps expand on that subject she'd made clear was off limits.

Alice had no idea of what she specifically wanted from Marie; her experience with intimacy had been limited to the very conservative sex life she'd had with John, so to even imagine what two women would do together was beyond Alice's comprehension. But what ever it could be, the young farm owner wanted it.

But Marie didn't make the walk between the two buildings. Alice peeked out several times over the next hour or so, only to again and again find the barn under the full moon, its door closed and its occupant no where to be seen. Alice finally dressed for bed and slipped in between the covers.

And for only the second time in her life -- not counting that first time as a young teen when she'd been caught by her mother -- Alice reached her thin, nimble fingers down between her thighs and drove herself to a badly needed explosion of sexual release. It was so wrong and so right all at the same time … even more so of the former as this time around, her mind's eye was filled with the face of vaquera living in her barn.



Alice was excited to find Marie standing next to the already prepared buckboard when she came out the next morning. They traded their morning greetings and comments about the sudden warming and calming of the weather…

...and then to Alice's disappointment, that was the last time they talked until they arrived at the Olsens and planned the day of labor with the elderly couple. Alice had been afraid to begin a conversation, fearful that she might accidentally turn their talking toward the previous night's topic. She didn't know what caused Marie to remain so quiet, but then, that wasn't unusual for the hand, was it?

As late afternoon arrived, the weather once again began to darken. Marie and Howard were still deep into the repair of the thresher, having had to go to town for parts. Alice knew there were things that should be done on her own ranch should another storm strike. Knowing that the hand could ride back on her own, and having accomplished all she and Agnes had planned, Alice excused herself to take the buckboard back to the ranch to secure the property.

It wasn't an unreasonable idea, of course; Alice had made this trip alone dozens of times since and even before John's death. Little did she know that she might have been leaving for home alone, but when she arrived there she wouldn't be alone at all.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Marie cut across the property line and jumped the short stone wall that separated the two ranches, mind pleasantly absorbed in the day’s work and what she planned to do tomorrow. She likes these relaxed, lonely rides well past dark, especially this time of year. The chill was here and the temperatures kept right on dropping, things nice and quiet. Even the crickets were long gone, given the time of year.

The work on the thresher and talking with Mr. Olsen had gotten her mind back to where it ought to be, and away from where it shouldn’t. She’d been given a bag of apples to take back to Alice, and Marie figured she’d make a pie or cider with it-something good like that.

She came up on the back of the little house and headed towards the barn-and found the small side door open. It’d been closed when she’d left it. Of course, Alice would have arrived ahead of her by a few hours-but it wasn’t like Alice to leave gaps for a draft-she’d be too worried about that workhorse of hers catching cold. And why would she have been using this little side door anyway? It opened right to her little corner of the barn.

Marie glanced to the thick paned glass window on that side of the house. The oil lamp was still lit in there, looked like. Lord knew what she was doing still up, this hour. Well, she’d take her these apples and wish her goodnight. Make sure she knew she wasn’t sore with her or anything. Alice leaving on her own hadn’t seemed like anything at the time, but now that she thought about it, she worried there might have been more to it.

She slipped from her horse and rounded around to that side of the house-and caught sight of the wide open door, the light from the lamp and fire within spilling out onto the porch.

“Alice?” The call was short and a little terse sounding-angrier than she’d meant it. But no wide eyed auburn haired girl poked her head out, no worried response was called out. Marie didn’t bother with the front stairs-she grabbed hold of the railing that cordoned off the porch and hopped over it, quick, powerful strides to the doorway. Was she hurt? Fallen or something? Maybe she was asleep with the lantern on for some reason, the door hadn’t latched properly and-

Marie stops dead in the doorway, taking in the little cabin at a quick glance-that woven cloth scrap rug sat rumpled and tossed up at one side of the door. There was mud tracked in and a chair was turned over, a wooden bowl had been thrown and sat upturned on the floor-a struggle. The place wasn’t tossed, didn’t look like a robbery-which meant they’d either come here specifically for Alice, or else would be robbers had found her here when they’d been looking for valuables-and been more interested in the widow than her goods.

Another call for the woman catches in her throat as the panic rises in her chest, a disbelieving look beneath the bed, behind the privacy screen, the shadowed side of the stone fireplace. It didn’t look like anyone had even searched the place for coin or treasure-and why would they, with a pretty girl like that here, all alone and that damned small? Why the hell hadn’t she gotten her a dog or a-didn’t that shotgun have shells for it?

She picks it up off the floor and again casts a glance to the thrown objects littering the place, the overturned chair-and then back through the open door and moonlit night.

She set the gun on the table as she walked out, grabbing the lantern on the way-her boots heavy on the floorboards and her heart in her throat. When had it happened? There was a span of time between Alice leaving the Olsen homestead and Marie arriving after her. She’d clearly made it home, had been inside to pull a shotgun with no shot and throw things at whoever had forced their way in on her cabin.

There’s mud, there’s tracks-flattened bits of grass and a trail that led around the paddock and towards those woods. And if Alice did get away, would she even know how to make it out there? Build a fire, keep herself warm in brush and leaves if she had to? There were wolves out there, she’d seen their tracks-

Marie made a clicking noise to her horse and swung herself up into her saddle, trying not to let the fear or the panic overwhelm her thinking. She’ll track them, and she’d find her. Hopefully in the state she’d left her in, and if not-well, Marie doesn’t want to even consider the ‘if not’. She wasn’t the praying sort, but hell-if God wasn’t willing to look after as sweet and caring a woman like Miss Alice, who the hell did he take care of?

Her jaw tightens as the anger bubbles up in her chest. None of that. Not yet, not now. She needs a clear head, because out here, a hot one could get you-and yours-killed.

~*~

Matthew Connelly sat on the stone steps of an old, rotted out fur trapper’s shack, smoking a cigarette. His hat rested on the stair beside him, black and white hair a little long over his ears, the start of an unkempt beard on his face with the same salt and pepper coloring. He was calmly, lazily watching the fire more than his two men-or the girl. It’d been a long while since he’d seen her in town, had his man Benson inquire about her.

He’s said it a few times before-you never knew when you might just want the location of a pretty little woman like the widow Brown, here. And all alone on her ranch, just an Indian (or had he decided Mexican? He can’t quite recall) in britches for company? Easy pickings.

And today he finally decided they’d make use of it, given the chill and their intent to head back south a ways. A woman in tow, one that could hopefully cook would be a boon once they were back in the Dead Man’s Hollow camp with the rest of his gang. They’d all laid low enough for long enough, he felt.

The other woman hadn’t been there-he’d sent for both and only gotten one, but at least it was the one he preferred, both for tonight and for the camp proper. He still remembered that look of challenge from the ‘ranch hand’. Spirit wasn’t always bad, but he’s getting a little old for women that were like to bite him, and he doubted they could have risked taking her along. It wouldn’t have been the first grave he’d had his men dig or even the first woman he’d have shot-but he tried to avoid it where he could.

Even when it was a woman playing at being a man.

Maybe that was why he’d waited so long to send for them-he’d figured on a kidnapping and a murder, plenty of fun with both-but that wasn’t anything you did if you wanted to stay in the area a beat.

Before leaving, though? A final hurrah before the long trail home.

 

[Alice2015]

Alice was trembling down deep in her core, and while she was consciously telling herself the cause was the cold air enveloping her, deep in her darkest thoughts she knew without doubt what the source of the shivers was: she was to be raped … gang raped … likely viciously, repeatedly, for hours or days on end until -- finally, thankfully -- God showed a kind hand and let death and peace take her away.

It was ironic that while young, naïve widowed Alice had never imagined how two women could fall in love and then become lovers, she knew all too well the nature of rape. Her mother had warned her of the most horrific of violences a woman could suffer even before she reached the age of bleeding; years later, just days heading west for Parkers Gulch, Alice had discovered a poor girl who'd been raped in an alley by two men who then beat her and left her for dead. In an instant, both her outer and inner beauty had been vanquished forever.

And now, that poor girl's fate was to be Alice's own.

When the door of her home burst open earlier in the evening and two men rushed her, Alice fought back with all her might. But, of course, that hadn't been enough. She'd gone for the shotgun, hoping just the sight of the unloaded weapon would scare the men away. But they'd gotten to her before she'd even raised the barrel their way.

Next, she kicked one man in the groin, an instinctive action that had come out of nowhere, it seemed; and as that man groaned in agony, she grasped a pot of hot stew she'd been preparing for Marie and tossed it at the second man. A moment later, they had her contained; she tried to fight, kicking and wriggling and screaming out in panic, but by the time they'd gotten her outside to their horses, her energy was drained and it was all she could do not to fall out of the saddle as the one man held her against his front side.

Alice had no idea how long they'd ridden. She wasn't even sure she was conscious for all of it. The ranch disappeared behind her, as did the forest adjacent to it; soon, they'd gone farther through the woods than Alice ever had with her husband. She thought they were north -- or maybe east? -- of Parkers Gulch, but … really, she had no idea.

How will Marie find me? she asked for the umpteenth time.

Alice's hopes for rescue were entirely and solely being placed upon the shoulders of her ranch hand. Surely, Marie would return home to find the place a mess and its owner vanished. Would the more confident, more capable, more bold vaquera come to save her boss? Of course she would, Alice told herself with certainty.

Wouldn't she?

As she watched the two kidnappers watch her and the third man -- the boss or maybe the father? -- watch all three of them, Alice suddenly realized that she had a fear even greater than that of being so viciously and personally violated by these men: what if Marie didn't feel the responsibility of coming for her?

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

They’d tied her hands in front of her but not her ankles, confident that the three of them could keep track of and manage one little slip of a woman stolen away. They’d dumped her off at the edge of the fire and tended to their horses, recounting the scuffle in the cabin to each other and to their calm, measured boss. Benson mocked the red haired ‘Chuck’ for taking that kick to the groin-something that had the man sour faced.

“And the other one wasn’t there?” Connelly inquired, his voice soft but self possessed, a calm sort of strength there similar to Marie’s-centered, confident, and self assured-but carried a certain...lethality the ranch hand’s lacked. A coiled snake, a predator lazily watching his prey out of the corner of his eye while he stared at the flames.

“Not that we saw, boss. We checked the barn and it looks like someone’s stayin’ in there, but there weren’t no trace of ‘em before or after we was in the house.”

Connelly drew on the stick of tobacco in his mouth, a slow nod as his eyes narrowed a fraction on the fire. “Well now, Mrs Brown-” He says, lowering the cigarette and crushing it out against the stairs casually-but when his grey eyes finally flick to her, focus-there’s a chilling, violating feeling of being known. “Guess that just leaves little ole you, doesn’t it?”

Crouched down on one side of the fire and the closest to her even if it was by five or six feet-Benson grinned, a cruel bent to it. “We ain’t gonna kill you though, girl.” He says, rocking slightly on his heels. “Not if you treat us nice. Real nice, ya hear? We’ll even take you back with us, we get going. Camp hasn’t seen a woman in a while, and we’re figuring a pretty thing like you would do just fine.”

Sour faced Chuck was less about the teasing. “Enough talk-who goes first?”

“Me.” Benson said as he popped to his feet-and Connelly doesn’t protest-just lights another match and cigarette, lifts it to his lips almost thoughtfully-still watching her.

 

[Alice2015]

“Enough talk-who goes first?”

If there had been any question about whether or not she'd been imagining rape as her fate, the question from the man called Chuck confirmed the impending horror.

“Me,” answered the second man -- Benson? -- who didn't hesitate to hop up and begin moving around the fire toward Alice. The man looked toward the older, third scoundrel sitting on the porch, as if to verify permission. And when that man -- Connelly? -- only struck up another cigarette and stared at his cohort, the Benson guy laughed and began to hastily unbuckle his belt.

Alice's heart was pounding like the pistons of a Pacific and Atlantic locomotive. She wasn't just going to let this happen, of course, but she was at a loss of how she was going to stop it. Alice's hope -- or fantasy -- that Marie would arrive in time to save her from this fate had gone unanswered.

Alice was crushed by her ranch hand's absence, but … it wasn't Marie's fault. Even if the woman had gotten home soon after the kidnapping … even if she had understood that Alice was in danger … even if she had pursued the unknown assailants, rather than rushing to town for help … even if she had been able to find a continuous trail through the unknown woods … even if she had been able to find the camp out here in the dark … she likely would have ended up suffering the same fate as Alice soon would, seeing how there were three of them and only one of Marie.

Benson whipped his belt out of its loops, tossed it aside, and -- as he dropped to one knee before Alice -- began unbuttoning his dungarees. After the fight in the cabin, dealing with the widow woman had been easy; Benson didn't imagine she was going to be much of a problem now.

He was wrong.

As she'd been sitting their waiting for her vaquera in armor, Alice had been working on a backup plan. Snatching up a piece of kindling one of the men had dropped near her, Alice stabbed outward at Benson's face. The attack would have taken out one of the men's eyes, if it hadn't been for her bound hands; she hadn't been able to hold the stick as well as hoped and ended up giving the man a serious gash in the cheek instead.

As Benson screamed out in pain and surprise, Alice rolled away from him and did her best to get to her feet to flee. But her dress caught on something -- a snag in the dirt, a rock -- and she fell forward to her face. She worked to get her dress out of her way and had just risen to her feet when she was slammed from behind. Falling forward yet again, Alice felt the full weight of one of the men -- Chuck, it turned out -- fall upon her.

Alice's lungs were emptied of their contents with a loud, painful oomph! She was so overwhelmed by the pain and lack of air that she could do nothing more to protect herself; she felt herself rolled to her back, then felt her hands pinned to the ground above her head by a man who she couldn't see but was sure was Connelly as Benson was still a few yards away crying out in agony.

"This'll be a lot more fun for us if we don't have to kill you first," Chuck warned with a menacing growl. He'd pulled out his big knife and now turned it in the air before Alice's face; the fire light glinted off the blade. As he forced his knees between Alice's and easily pushed them apart, he turned the blade over in his hand, point down, and warned, "Don't move."

A moment later, Alice heard the knife cutting through her dress and bloomers; a sudden rush of cool air flooded over her thighs and -- as Chuck pulled the dress open -- then lover on her calves, down as far as the tops of her boots. As she waited for the man to open the front of his clothing as had the man who wasn't going to get to go first, Alice closed her eyes and began praying.

She could have prayed for any number of things, from a sudden lightning strike that would kill all three men … or even herself, which would have been a blessing as well. Or of the sudden intervention of some trapper or hunter who'd heard the ruckus and come to see what the matter was. She could have even hoped that Marie would actually appear and save the day, although that was looking more an more like the fantasy Alice had imagined it to be.

But she didn't plea for any of that. The only thought going through Alice's mind right now was about how devastated Marie would be to find Alice raped and murdered in the forest, to find her in a way that maybe -- just maybe -- she might have been able to prevent.

Alice's last thought as she felt Chuck reaching between her thighs to pull her undergarment away from her womanhood was Please, Lord … do not let Marie find me … protect her from this horror … please, let her find love … let her live love...

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

CRACK

Chuck jerked back on his knees, shock still and with a pained look on his face. A crimson bloom had erupted on his chest, bled freely through his dirtied button up shirt. He had just enough time to glance down at it-before crumpling onto his side, dead.

Before he even hit the ground Connelly had risen to his feet and hauled the young woman up with him with the hold he had on her wrists, one arm wrapping around her waist and the other hand going for his gun as he turned towards the direction of the shot, her feet dangling as he half hid (what he could) behind her, gun to her head.

There was the sound of a repeater reloading to the right now-and he spun in that direction instead, still using Alice as a shield, holding her tight enough to his body it’d hurt her.

“Come on outta there now, whoever you are-” He did not bark or yell, didn’t so much as raise his voice beyond a slight ‘calling’ level-his breath hot on Alice’s ear, her neck. A very soft sound of foliage this time, the mysterious, stealthy savior in the dark seemingly trying to get around him, get a clearer shot. Connelly just continued to turn, a glance to Benson scrambling for his own gun in the belt he’d dropped near the fire.

“You let her go.” Came the slightly accented demand. It was a woman’s voice, low and heavy with warning, brimming with anger. “You let her go, or I swear to God your man won’t have time to draw.”

“Step into the light or I shoot the pretty thang.” Connelly returned, calm as ever-while Benson had gone shock still, afraid to end up like Chuck.

Marie Hernandez stepped from the inky black forest and into the firelight, a rifle in both of her hands and her feet planted, stock to shoulder and the muzzle trained on Benson. Her dark eyes blazed and there was a tightness to her face Alice would have never seen before. Her shirt was untucked and her hat missing, hair a little crazy and half out of its usual braid-as if she’d been tearing through the forest at breakneck pace, trying to catch up.

“I said let her go.”

~*~

Marie’s heart hammered hard in her chest and blood rushed in her ears-she had never been more afraid-or more angry-in her entire life, hearing the struggle as she finally found the end of the trail she’d been tracking, and then seeing what almost had happened-and still might, if she didn’t get them out of this.

Her mouth had a coppery dry taste to it and her palms were sweaty-but all that was nothing in the face of her fury. The vaquera’s full lips were drawn back from her teeth in a frightening snarl, her dark eyes narrowed and calculating, mean. Her body language was tight and aggressive, and even as she stood there with her sights trained on the bleeding man still shock still on the wrong end of her rifle-she glared at Connelly-and steadfastly refused to so much as look at Alice.

“Well now, if it isn’t the little redskin in britches.”

“Are you deaf? I said let her go, or I shoot.” She repeated in a malicious, hostile manner, meaner than she’d ever spoken to anyone in her life. She’s never shot a gun at another person in her life, let alone killed one. But when she’d slipped up to the thinning circle of trees around the camp, saw the bastard kneeling over a half dressed Alice and trying to remove yet more clothing? She’d seen red, and that rifle was up and recoiling into her shoulder before she’d so much as thought about it.

Connelly gazed back at her coolly. “Then shoot. I reckon this one here matters to you a hell of a lot more than he matters to me.” He cocked the revolver in emphasis. Marie’s eyes remained locked on it, on him-and then she finally looked at Alice, a flicker of anxiety. She lowered the rifle slightly.

“Uh huh. I thought so. Drop your rifle.”

Marie’s expression hardened as she glared at him, then Benson. She didn’t want to do that. Distance and a long range weapon was the only thing that was going to save either of them, and while she’s got the aim for it-she’s not sure she can get at the clear leader without hitting Alice.

She can’t risk it. If she dropped the rifle they were both as good as dead, but...

She can’t.

Marie dropped the rifle. She lifted her hands a little at shoulder height, when he indicated, working her jaw and glaring at the lesser of the two men.

“Kick it away-that’s a good girl. Benson, take her inside there-” He traded the girl off to his now armed second, training his revolver on Marie. He drew closer, looming over her, blocking her view of Alice and the other man. Marie glared up at him, jerked her head away when he reached out to touch her, his gun trained on her heart. He smiled, seemingly amused. “Came to the rescue of your mistress. Noble of you.”

And without even blinking or letting the smile so much as droop-he backhanded her hard enough to send her sprawling. Marie cursed as she hit the ground, striking hard on her shoulder. He lifted a boot to kick or stomp on her, she’s not sure-but she reacts immediately, sweeping his remaining foot out from under him and sending him to the ground, a gunshot going off. A bullet passes close enough it grazes her right cheek bone but Marie doesn't care-she's busy pulling the revolver holstered in her waistband, the one her untucked shirt had been hiding.

Benson whirled around and away from Alice-wide open as Marie fired. The bullet enters his right eye and blasts through the back of his skull-more luck than aim. Before she can turn it on Connelly he hurtled himself at her with an angry roar, seizing her gun wrist and bearing her down beneath him by sheer weight. Marie was cursing at him in a steady stream of Spanish, her boots kicking up dirt as she tried to buck or kick out from under him-as her other hand drew the knife from her belt and sliced it across his chest and throat, blood splattering. He reeled back, tried to bring his gun around-but Marie took advantage of the injury to roll and flip their positions, stabbing into his throat with an angry scream. He made a gurgling noise, eyes wide-and Marie brought the knife back down and into his chest, once, twice-four times as he clawed at her arms and chest, tearing the collar of it open and popping several buttons before he weakened, eyes becoming fixed on something beyond her head-dead.

Dead, his life’s blood staining her forearms, her hands-hot and slippery. Marie shoved at his wrecked chest and stood over him, knife still in hand, breathing hard and still looking furious.

She had known too many good men to hate all of them, but this-this was the worst of the gender, men who stole and thought to claim things that were never meant to be theirs, men who thought they could own people and do whatever they pleased with those people.

“Are you hurt?” Marie asks, terse and still tense, glaring down at the dead man. Her body language was just as hostile, it not more so-her beautiful face twisted with rage. "Did they hurt you?"

 

[Alice2015]

CRACK

The gun shot jerked Alice free from her prayers with a shocked start. The man above her, the one pawing about between her thighs who she could only see in silhouette because of the fire behind him slowly leaned to the left … and fell away to the ground.

At some point, Alice would come to realize that Chuck had been shot … that Marie had arrived … that she, in fact, had killed the wannabe rapist … that her savior had heroically arrived...

But when those thoughts came to her were all a confusing mess within the young woman's mind. Alice felt herself lifted from the ground … literally lifted, as in for some of the moments that followed, she could feel her feet dangling in the air. Connelly's arm and hand grasped her about the torso, holding Alice so tightly that she found it hard to breath.

Marie, you came, she managed to think as the moments passed and the confrontation deepened. Marie had come to rescue her after all. But as she felt herself being passed off to the other man, to Benson, Alice began to fear for Marie instead. Her mind wasn't entirely clear about what was happening, but … well … it wasn't looking good for either of them.

And then, a ruckus … then she was free of Benson's grasp … gun shots, profanities, screams and groans, awful, awful sounds that Alice had only ever heard come from a lamb's throat when John ran his knife across it … and...

“Are you hurt?”

Before Alice, Marie stood and looked to her. Alice just stared in silence … in shock. Her beautiful friend was a mess from the horrific fight; hair mussed, dark skin even darker with splashes of blood, blouse ripped open to reveal the undergarments containing those beautiful breasts that Alice had ogled that first night and fantasized having so that she might be more appealing to a man … to a future, second husband...

"Did they hurt you?"

They...? Alice looked about herself, to the three men now dead or dying about the camp … and the thought of being appealing to a man ripped through her like Marie's knife had ripped through Connelly. How had she ever desired having another one of these in her life...?

Suddenly and very unexpectedly, Alice exploded in sobs. She looked to the woman standing over the now silent third man, and her eyes blurred as tears filled them and began down her cheeks. She moved forward, slowly at first, then faster, closing the gap between them until she very nearly crashed into Marie's arms. Alice's arms clutched around the taller, curvier, more womanly woman as if a child clinging to her mother after seeing a wild animal up close.

After a long moment, Alice sobbed, "Take me home … let's go home."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Marie hears Alice burst into tears, but the ruined man at her feet had had her full attention. He wasn’t getting any deader but-

She drops the knife as Alice crashes into her, the traumatized woman’s slim arms wrapping tight around her middle, face buried into her chest as she bawls her eyes her out. Marie’s covered in blood and had just killed three men-but Alice clings to her anyway, her entire body trembling as bad as that half frozen night.

Marie half felt in a daze-her dark eyes flicked to the treeline even as she one arm hugged Alice close, the briefest of squeezes before she gives a whistle, peels Alice off of her so she could retrieve her rifle-notably not letting go of her, just holding her briefly at arm’s length, her eyes everywhere but on the little woman. Standing in the firelight, the black woods around them-Marie felt both oppressed and welcomed by the inky black night, unsettled by the unknown and comforted by the soon to be safety in it.

She’s tense, drawn tight and prepared for further violence if need be-adrenaline still rampantly flowing through her blood.

“C’mon.” She breathes to Alice, pulling her over to the dappled mare that had just broken the treeline. Marie half lifts Alice up onto the saddle herself. She can’t think, can’t even process what had just happened or almost happened, or even really check the woman over-Alice said to take her home, and that was what she was going to do. More might show up, surely whoever was supposed to be on watch had heard the shots-and if they did, she’d probably have to kill them too. These men had been ready to rape Alice, right by that fire pit. All three of them-and any friends of theirs were just as guilty.

She gave another glance to the carnage left behind, three dead, unmoving men-two the easy way, and one not so much. She wiped her hands her pants and shoved the rifle into the sling on her saddle, covered it back up with the blanket that had hidden it the entire time Alice had known her. She went back to the dead man she’d seen in town forever ago-had that really been it? He’d seen Alice and wanted her, so he’d taken her all this time later?-and picked up her revolver.

She doesn’t want the knife.

Marie came back to the horse and swung up onto her back just in front of Alice, one hand taking the reins and the other keeping her gun up and ready, barely noticing as Alice wrapped her arms back around her and held tight.

Lord Jesus, this was a mess.

She sucked in a breath and murmured something to the dappled mare-and then they were off, not a canter or even a trot-but a full gallop, the horse’s footing assured even in the uneven earth of the wood.

~*~

Marie didn’t slow up until they were mostly home. She didn’t speak on the way, and neither did Alice-both women silent, just the whistling wind that had picked up the hard breathing of a well run horse. Marie slipped out of the saddle and helped Alice-her dress was torn to shreds, she had to be freezing-down, retrieving her rifle and not even walking the horse into the barn-busy pulling her charge into the disarrayed cabin. Marie still doesn’t say anything, just sets the rifle across the same table she’d laid the empty shotgun across earlier, turning back around and closing the door back up tight, wedging one of the rough hewn chairs under the knob, too.

Safe.

It’s only now that things start to sink in. What had almost happened. What she’d just done. The recoil of the rifle and revolver, the feeling of flesh tearing and giving way to her knife, the resistance and the strength needed to drive it home-she glances down to her blood stained hands and for a moment-thinks she might be sick.

They tremble even as she looks at them, and she can’t swallow past the lump in her throat.

But Alice.

Marie turns to look at her, a little wide eyed and as transparently vulnerable as the widow would have ever seen her. Marie’s lip was swollen on one side, had torn open when struck-and there was a burn across one cheekbone, a shallow gouge where a bullet had passed so close it had marred the flesh. Her hair was even crazier, shirt torn open and claw marks at her collarbone and chest-which rose and fell erratically in the simple cream colored corset binding it.

She just stood there a moment, looking at her-and then around at the cabin, a little lost.

“You weren’t here.” Marie says, a little hoarse. “You weren’t here, so I-” She takes a step towards her, then hesitates, uncertain. It’s starting to wash over her now, the faded adrenaline no defense. Her heart’s going to break. They were going to hurt her, they had hurt her, and now Alice had seen the ugly some men carried, and the ugly she carried, killing them like that, blood up or no, self defense or no-and her little face was tear stained and pale and her dress ruined and bloodied from when she’d hugged her and-

Marie’s definitely going to be sick.

She steadied herself with a hand at the table, trying to just breathe for a minute. She’d never been more grateful to God or anybody than she was right now-and never more horrified. She’d just dropped three men. Three white men, and if that got to the wrong people, she’s sure to find herself lynched. Hell, if it got to the right people she might hang, and on the taxpayer’s nickel. But Alice was alive, and Alice was safe, and-

“I was so afraid I’d find you and it’d be…” Too late.

 

[Alice2015]

Alice clung tightly to Marie all the way home; her arms wrapped around the other woman at the meeting of her rib cage and belly, the fingers of both hands interlaced tightly as if afraid she might fall away from her savior.

The little widow's body was trembling from a combination of the cold and the horror. And yet, she'd never felt so warm in her soul as she did now with Marie. Later, when her mind was a bit more calm, Alice would begin to question whether or not she could have felt this safe and secure with her arms wrapped around her late husband. But, that was a thought for another time; John was the least of Alice's thoughts right now.

Back at the house, Alice just stood in the room, silent and still in shock, as Marie began, “You weren’t here. You weren’t here, so I-”

The ranch hand -- Alice's heroine! -- took a step closer. The widow noticed and looked directly to the other woman. And she found herself immediately wondering why Marie had stopped her forward movement after just one step.

“I was so afraid I’d find you and it’d be…”

"You found me," Alice said in a whisper, almost as if she thought Marie needed confirmation. She continued, "You found me, Marie Hernandez … you saved me from … from those men."

Alice's shock was waning, and she was beginning to more fully understand exactly what had happened -- what had nearly happened and not happened but could have -- and her heart began to race again. She looked down to her dress; it was shredded from her groin to the cabin's floor, open just enough to show the insides of her booted feet and calves.

And it was bloody. Not her blood. And thankfully not Marie's. It was … theirs! Their blood, from when Alice embraced the blood covered Marie.

"Get it off," she murmured, beginning to claw at the buttons at her bosom. Her hands were trembling too much to be effective, not unlike that cold, stormy night when Marie had had to undress Alice for a warm bath. She began to panic again, and -- moving quickly toward the other woman -- begged desperately as she clawed at the buttons, "Get it off. Get it off me! Please!"

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"You found me, Marie Hernandez … you saved me from … from those men."

Something awful and tight within her finally breaks, a dreading anxiety she hadn't even realized was there, not with all these awful, more pressing concerns. Alice wasn't horrified with her-the widow was grateful. Thought it a rescue.

Marie focuses on that. It wasn't a cold blooded murder of three men, it was push come to shove survival, last ditch defensive action to preserve the life and sanity of a woman who had the kindest, gentlest soul of anyone she had ever known.

Alice was worth swinging for. Alice was worth the horrific recollection, memories that were sure to haunt her dreams. Shooting a man was bad enough-but a vicious, violent stabbing?

Thank God Alice wasn't now terrified of -her-.

Marie's shoulders drop with a sharp exhale of relief, a hand running through her hair as the vaquera finds her balance. There probably weren't any more men coming, and the cabin was defensible enough if there was. No one would have to know about the dead men-she'd go bury them herself, next time Alice was at the Olsens. Because like hell she wanted to leave her alone now. She'd get her a dog, and she'd get some shells for the damned shotgun and-

The other woman murmurs something Marie doesn't really hear, lost in her next steps-and then there's a flurry of movement, a sudden note of hysteria to her voice, panic. The shock of it wearing off.

Marie straightens up off of the table and catches Alice's clawing hands, wrapping her own rougher ones around them before drawing her in for a warm, tight embrace, a slight rock on her heels. Breathes.

"We'll get you cleaned up." Marie finally says, soft. She can smell woodsmoke in that auburn hair and soap beneath that, feels that petite form tremble. Marie was sturdier than Alice, but not much taller, all told. It made it easier to draw back and look at her. "We'll burn the damned thing, get you a bath, get you some coffee, get you a clean nightgown.". Her voice is calm and as matter a fact as always-I to there's a softer, warmer edge to it, something surprisingly soothing.

Propriety is the last thing on her mind right now. She doesn't care. She doesn't. If Alice gets married, and sidelines her same as Rose, if she packs up and moves back East and all of this was an innocent woman's curiosity-whatever could or would happen-she doesn't care. It'd almost been over in the worst way possible, and her fear and panic had dragged Marie over the coals.

The way she had felt being told to drop her rifle, her anger and her outrage and her logic failing with just a single glance at that petrified, delicate face...

Marie starts on those buttons, fingers careful despite their earlier violence.

 

[Alice2015]

Alice's panic subsided quickly as Marie spoke softly and sincerely to her. The ranch owner believed every thing the hand told her; she trusted her deeply and completely, maybe even more so than she every had her parents or her husband after that.

She lowered her trembling hands out of the way as Marie began working loose the buttons of her dress. Alice looked directly forward, her gaze level; she wasn't looking at anything in particular, nor was she avoiding looking at any one thing either. Her first clear thought that she was even looking at Marie was when the beautiful woman's lips shifted at some point. Alice hadn't really been paying that much attention, so … had Marie licked her lips or pursed them or simply parted them to take a breath or…

Alice didn't know. All she knew was that suddenly she wanted to kiss those lips. She suddenly realized that her heart was once again pounding … and her bosom was rising and falling more dramatically than it had been.

Her dress opened and fell away to the floor about her feet, leaving Alice standing before Marie in her shift, shredded bloomers, and boots. She wondered how exposed she was to the hand; were her nipples -- that hardened so dramatically pushing forward through the thin cotton, and had the knife cut to her clothing done such damage that her otherwise bare legs were visible in the dancing light of the lantern?

She wanted to look down for herself, but instead Alice looked up into Marie's face … wanting to see where the other woman's gaze was set.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“We’ll get a dog.” Marie says, soft and low. There’s a surprising gentleness to her, a warm sort of soft. Normally she was so stoic, quiet. She was reliable, hard working, loyal-but she didn’t talk much, remained a mystery. Her eyes were opaque, dark walls rather than windows to the soul.

But not now.

“A big, scruffy dog, and shells for that shotgun.” One boot, then the other.

“Get you a six shooter. Teach you to use it.” Tugged down the tattered bloomers. Pulled the bloodied shift over her head, watched that auburn hair fall down around her slim, pale shoulders, the two women eye to eye again. It’s her eyes that have her attention. It’s the woman, not the form, not right now. She’s beautiful, her soul even more so. Her right hand frames her face, dares to touch her. Her throat feels a little tight.

“...I won’t let this happen again, Alice.” Her eyes are hot, vision blurring a little. “I couldn’t stand it. Not someone like you. Never you.”

The emotions well up and rock her to the core. There’s nowhere to hide from them and no way to dismiss what she’s feeling. She loves this woman. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it had-and no one, anywhere, would have been able to avoid it happening, least of all her.

It’s not the time. Tomorrow, maybe. Yes, let the shock wear off, let things process-talk tomorrow. “Let me pour you a hot bath. Let me...let me take care of you, Alice. Please.”