Katherine

"I don't have any skills."

Katherine blurted the words out before she could think them through, and Melissa looked up, bloody rag in hand.

"What?"

The two of them knelt together on the floor of Melissa's treatment room, scrubbing at the puddle of blood left behind by her latest patient-- a man with a festering wound on his hand, which her friend had been forced to amputate.

Through the months of her stay, they had established a tried-and-true system of maintaining secrecy. Because of the fences and the little homestead's distance from town, nobody came to Melissa except by way of the main house. Even before Katherine's arrival, it was standard practice for a runner to race ahead and warn Melissa of the patient's injuries or illness, so she could better prepare. Now, that runner also gave Katherine ample time to secret herself away with her daughter.

In the beginning, she had huddled in their room, keeping Isobel quiet with little games and stories, praying for the intruder to leave swiftly.

The more she healed, and the more her mind broke free from the walls around it, the more she wished she didn't have to hide. She wanted to help, with something more than the clean up.

"You work so hard," she told her friend, dunking her rag to clean it and wringing it out. "You all do. You take care of your patients, and Amelia helps Josh with the horses and the books. Josh runs the ranch. Even your pa has his goats. I don't have a job. I've never had a job."

"You take care of Isobel," Melissa said, frowning at her. "That's a job unto itself. I'm only responsible for my patients' lives as long as they're in my care. You always have the weight of another life on your shoulders, and you are an amazing mother. That's no small thing, Kat."

Katherine sighed, swiping at the leftover streaks of half-clotted blood. "But she's not going to be little forever. Another ten years or so and she won't need me anymore. And even before then, I need a means to support her."

"You can stay here as long as you need, Katherine," Melissa said firmly. "Don't rush out the door."

"I'm not rushing," she grumbled. "But I can't stay here forever. I'm going to have to go somewhere and start my life over, somewhere far away from..." she closed her eyes and pulled in a breath, summoning the strength to say the name. "Somewhere far away from Jacob," she said in a rush, clenching her teeth afterward on the wave of remembered sensations that rose up in the wake of his name. His oily voice, his soft hands, gripping her hard by the arms, by the hair. His body inside her, half-hard and painful as he shoved and rutted and turned red and sweat-slick with exertion. The smell of him-- incense and the sour musk of old sweat.

"Kat." She opened her eyes and saw that Melissa had come to kneel beside her, one hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said truthfully, giving her shoulders a shake and letting Jacob's presence settle back into the dark recesses of her mind where he belonged. "I'm sorry. Just..."

"His name," Melissa finished for her, giving her arm a squeeze before letting go. "I understand. But back to the topic at hand..."

Melissa was so good at that-- at making her feel as if her crippling weakness was no great problem. That was what made her such an adept healer, Katherine had long-since deduced. Anyone could read books and study the body. Melissa had an inborn ability to sense what people needed in their souls, whether that be soothing compassion or a firm reassurance. The last thing Katherine wanted when she was already feeling weak and pitiful was the other woman's sympathy. Melissa always seemed to understand that.

"I need to make a new life," she said, commanding her muscles to work and resume her chore. The blood was almost gone. Next they would use warm soapy water to clean every surface that had been touched during the operation. After that, boiling water to clean the instruments and alcohol to 'sterilize' the lacquered wooden table the patients sat on during treatment. All the rags and sheets were also treated with boiling water. Katherine thought the whole thing was a bit excessive, but Melissa insisted cleanliness was key. She 'read it' somewhere. She was always reading things somewhere, dragging heavy, leather-bound tomes or worn leaflets out from some corner to point at in reference.

"Where will you go?" her friend asked, joining her efforts as they scrubbed the last of the blood streaks from the floor.

"I don't know. A city, perhaps? Amelia said she could help prepare me to find a job, and a place to live."

"What about your parents?"

Katherine shook her head. "I just don't know," she said feebly, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know if they'll understand. My father's the one who married me off in the first place."

"Surely he wouldn't have done so if he knew what Jacob was really like."

"No," Katherine said, pain squeezing her chest. "No, he wouldn't have. But he's a man of God, and I took vows. I don't know, Mel. I can barely justify what I did to myself. How can I justify it to him? And he never liked Gabe. If he finds out where I went when I ran..."

Despair began to settle over her. No, she couldn't go to her parents. As badly as she wanted to shelter in their arms like she had as a girl, she could not risk them sending her back to Jacob. Worse, sending Isobel back.

"Okay," Melissa said calmly. "Alright, so your parents are out, for now. Let's do this. You're worried about the practical stuff, so let's forget that for a minute. Let's just dream. If you could go anywhere and do anything, where would you go and what would you do? Forget if it's too far away, or if it's a man's job or one you're not qualified to do. If the whole wide world was open to you, where would you go?"

Katherine gnawed on her lip. She had never once thought about that, at least not since those long-ago days laying by the river with Gabe and dreaming of a make-believe land across the bridge.

"I'd go to Europe," she said confidently. "London, or maybe Paris. No, definitely London. I can't learn a new language."

Melissa laughed. "Alright, so London. And what will you do when you get there? You'll have to take a new name, to go with your new life. What will you have people call you?"

It was Katherine's turn to laugh. "Couldn't I just change my last name?"

"Nope. It has to be something all new."

"Okay, fine, um... I don't know. You pick something."

"Alright, you'll be called Prudence."

"Prudence..."

"Yes, Prudence. And Isobel will be Gertrude."

"Mel, that's cruel."

"Well, you let me choose so now it's settled. So, Prudence, what kind of home will you have?"

"It can be anything?"

"Absolutely anything."

Katherine fought a smile, thinking of the paintings she had seen of castles and palaces throughout the world. The stately manors of London and the big plantation homes out east. If she could have anything...

"I think I'd like something small," she said truthfully. It wasn't humility, either. The thought of living in a big house frightened her. It felt too much like returning to the church-- those vaulted ceilings, swallowing up her pleas and prayers. She wanted something small and safe where she could whisper and still be heard. "I read a story about a village on the coast, and it sounded so cozy. I think a little cottage would be nice, somewhere close enough that we could walk to town but far enough that we could sit in the garden and it would be peaceful."

"So, not London then," Melissa said with a wry smile.

"No, I suppose not. I want to live by the sea." Katherine had never seen the sea, but she thought she might like it. It would be freeing, to go stand on its shores and know she could take to the waters and hide beneath the waves if the noise and the nonsense ever came to be too much.

"Alright then, you have a cottage by the sea. And a garden."

"Yes, but I want the garden to be chaotic and messy. I don't want rows of pretty flowers. Not that your garden isn't beautiful, but I want everything that will grow, all in a tangle."

Melissa smiled. "And what do you do for work? Every day while Isobel is away at school, what do you do?"

Katherine thought through everything she knew. All the jobs she knew a person could have. She could be a seamstress, a cowhand, a doctor, a barmaid. She could be a banker or a prostitute, a preacher or a lawman. She could be a cook, or a shopkeeper, or a fisherman.

"I think I'd like to be a teacher," she said finally, pleased with her discovery, but Melissa frowned.

"You're just saying that so you can be with Isobel."

"No," she shook her head, surprised by her own confidence. "No, that's not it at all. I'm thinking of all the things I have done in my life, and I think that has always brought me the most joy. I have loved watching Izzy grow and learn, and being able to teach her things. She's already so smart with her letters, and even when she gets frustrated I still enjoy teaching her."

Melissa shrugged and stood, and Katherine followed. Together, they emptied the bloody water from the basins and exchanged it for clean, warm soapy water. Melissa set to work on the table while Katherine knelt to clean the floor.

"Alright, so you're a schoolmarm--"

"Hey!" Katherine laughed, and her friend rolled her eyes.

"Fine, you're a lovely, youthful, vivacious schoolmistress. You and Isobel live in a cottage by the sea, with a messy garden. Anything else?"

"No," Katherine said with confidence.

"You're sure?" Melissa pressed. "That vision is perfect to you? There's nothing more you want to add?"

White suds streaked across the floor in the wake of Katherine's rag, and she focused hard on the tiny bubbles. Nothing more...

Katherine wasn't stupid. She knew what her friend was getting at, because the whole lot of them had been dropping subtle hints to that effect ever since she had emerged from the cowering solitude of her recovery. Even Amelia, who had been far away when Blue Angel and the Devil Dog roamed these hills, had begun a subtle campaign of needling and vague hints.

Maybe if Melissa had asked her ten years ago, she would have answered differently. She'd have blushed and lowered her gaze to her feet and mumbled that maybe, just maybe, she'd like for there to be a man there as well. A specific man, with whom she had always shared her dreams. She'd want him to share her bed and give her his name. While she was off teaching the children, perhaps he would run a shop. Or, if they lived near the sea, he could be a fisherman.

For nearly all of her life-- right up until the fateful night she turned her back on him for good-- he had been more than a part of her dreams. He had lived in them with her. Whether she saw him in them or not, it was known that he was there.

Now...

Katherine cared for Gabe. He was her oldest friend. Perhaps, all things considered, her dearest. He had been her lover, and now her rescuer. Her protector. She owed him her life. More importantly, she owed him Isobel's life and happiness. And beyond what he meant to her, she knew that deep in his heart Gabe Townsend was a good man, as deserving of a quiet cottage by the sea as any dreamer. She respected his strength and admired his loyalty and his quiet sense of honor. It broke her heart in the sweetest, sharpest way that his love hadn't faded with time and disuse. Nothing in him had faded.

Katherine knew that time had not changed Gabe Townsend.

The problem was that time very much had changed Katherine.

She cared for Gabe. She trusted him. She liked him.

But did she love him? Could she love him?

Deep inside, she knew the answer, and the agony of love's absence hurt like a knife to her heart.

* * *

"Ma?"

"What, sweetpea?" Katherine sighed, sitting back on her heels and abandoning the pile of unlit tinder in the stove. It was too early in the morning for Isobel's inquisitive jabber. The fire wasn't even lit, yet, and the air in the kitchen had the blue-gray nip of frost. Usually Melissa was up first, and had the whole house orange and glowing with warmth by the time Katherine rose. But last night she had been up late visiting a patient, so it was up to Katherine and Isobel to wake the place up.

"How come Mister Gabe hasn't visited us?"

The question made her cold-numbed hands flinch on the box of matches, and she dropped them to the floor.

"Drat it!" she hissed through her teeth, hastily scrabbling together the spilled matches. She'd never be able to fit them back in the box all neat the way they were supposed to go. "Get me a bowl, Izzy," she ordered, pulling together a haphazard pile of matches as her daughter scrambled to do her bidding.

If she'd hoped the little spot of chaos would distract her daughter, she was a fool. Isobel was an unusually quiet child, but that quiet hid a depth of stubborn curiosity that couldn't be quelled. Not by Jacob's fists or the trauma of an unsettled life. Katherine's daughter never forgot a mystery. Never abandoned a question. If Katherine didn't give her the answer she sought, she'd ruminate on it and find different ways to ask until the mystery was solved.

"Hey, ma?" she asked again as Katherine stood and placed the bowl of matches on the kitchen table.

"Yes, Iz?"

"Does Mister Gabe not like us anymore?"

Katherine clenched her teeth and pulled in a deep, slow breath through her nose.

"Why do you think that, sweetie?" she asked, crouching down in front of her daughter and framing the sweet, distressed little face between her hands. Isobel's lip trembled and she dropped her gaze, her words rambling but subdued. One long, quiet sentence, lilting with distress and heartache.

"I asked if he would come visit us and he said he would, ma, he said after you got better he would come but you're better and he didn't come and he promised but he didn't come and I want him to visit us and he said he would but he didn't so I think he doesn't like us anymore..." she trailed off as a single tear broke loose from one eye and trickled along the curve of her nose.

"Oh, Izzy," Katherine sighed, pulling her daughter into a hug and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Rather than melting into the embrace, as was her wont, Isobel held herself stiff and pulled away as soon as Katherine relaxed her grip.

"He doesn't like us anymore?" Isobel asked, peering up with forlorn acceptance.

"Sweetpea, I'm sure that's not it," Katherine said, guilt gnawing at her. She had a good idea why Gabe hadn't visited. She'd been half-conscious and wracked with pain the morning she'd arrived at the Tuckers' but she had still heard the quiet conversation in the hall outside her door. He hadn't visited for one reason only-- she hadn't invited him.

"But he promised, ma," Isobel whined, stamping one stocking-clad foot on the floor. "Bad promises are lies."

"But not every broken promise is a bad promise, sweetheart," Katherine chided gently. "I'm sure he meant to come. Perhaps he's just busy?"

"Mister Gabe is always busy," Isobel challenged, glowering, propping tiny fists on tiny hips. "He was busy before, but he played bakery with me when you were sick."

"Played bakery with you, huh?" Katherine asked, an unbidden smile tugging at her lips. Smiling still felt as unnatural as writing with her left hand.

"Uh-huh. We played bakery and tea party and we drawed pictures. He's not a good drawer, I'm better. And he showed me knucklebones and he's better at knucklebones still, but he said I'm good and I'll beat him soon. And he told me stories, but they weren't good stories like yours, but they were okay." Once again, Isobel was rambling, but this time her voice rose with her growing frustration, her gaze demanding. She trailed off on her tirade, and then slumped, the hard lines of her glare fading to a defeated frown. "Mister Gabe is always busy but he played with me before," she said sadly, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "I think he doesn't like me anymore."

"Isobel, no," Katherine said firmly, using the pad of her thumb to wipe away the twin droplets that broke loose and raced down her daughter's cheeks. "I promise you, that's not it. He likes you very much."

Isobel sniffed. "But--"

"No buts," Katherine said sternly. "Sometimes mothers know things better than daughters, so you're just going to have to trust me. Mister Gabe likes you very much, and he wants to visit you."

"Then how come he hasn't?"

Katherine pulled in a breath and held it for a long moment. She could lie. It was her right as a mother to tell white lies to protect her child. But the truth was, any lie she came up with wouldn't be to protect her daughter. It would be to protect herself.

"I think he was just being polite," she said, sending a silent prayer for strength up into the heavens. "He knew we were getting settled in here, and he wanted to give us time. He was waiting for us to invite him."

Isobel brightened. "We're settled now!" she said excitedly, her voice rising an octave as her shoulders perked, the gloss of tears vanishing from her eyes in an instant. "We can invite him now! We can invite him to my birthday!"

God, no. It's too soon. Isobel's birthday was in six days. Less than a week. Although anything less than a lifetime was too soon. I just need more time. Please, I need more time.

"We'll send him a note," she said, smoothing her hand over Isobel's coal-black hair. "But don't get your hopes up, sweetie. He's very busy."

"He's always busy, ma," Isobel said, with a very adult roll of her eyes. "He likes me a lot. We're friends. He'll come. You'll see."

Isoble scampered off, chattering to herself as Katherine bent once more to light the stove. Her spine prickled with unease and her fingers shook as she struggled with the match. She lit one, dropped it, and snuffed it out with a swallowed curse. Lit another and managed to push it beneath the pile of tinder in the stove. Immediately, the dry shavings sprang to life and she stacked kindling over the flames, wishing she could burn away her worries and fears with such ease. But her problems weren't like the flakes of dry tinder or the spindly fingers of kindling. Her fears were a massive, rain-drenched log, sodden from bark to core. How long would she have to sit beside a roaring fire for the wood to dry and catch flame and burn away the damage Jacob had wrought? Years? Decades?

Gabe would come if she called him. Her certainty outpaced even Isobel's. If she sent him a note-- and she would, because her daughter didn't deserve her deceit-- he would come. He'd bring some sweet, thoughtful birthday gift. He'd sit with her daughter and play any game the little girl requested. He'd keep a respectful distance from Katherine, and wouldn't approach her unless she invited him.

Even so, it was too much. She was safe here, with these people who were kind to her and patient, and asked for nothing in return. They didn't need her to invest in them emotionally, or to repay their generosity.

Gabe, on the other hand...

He'd die before he asked repayment or requested any kind of loyalty from her, but he didn't have to speak to make demands. His eyes compelled her devotion and his quiet generosity coerced subservience. Every crack and rupture in his soul screamed for every scrap of kindness she had left to offer. She was no more free in the shadow of Gabe's love than she had been in the chains of Jacob's cruelty.

All she wanted was to be her own woman. She wanted to be strong, and to raise her daughter with a sense of self that no man could tarnish. She wanted to live far away from this place-- the darkness that had broken her and the memories of light that haunted her. Gabe was half of everything she sought to flee-- guilt, fear, pain, and heartbreak. Time and distance only made her more certain-- he was the last frayed rope connecting her to this nightmare. Jacob was the lashing that bound her wrists, cruel and controlling, but Gabe was the noose around her neck. He was the one with the power to strangle the last life from her soul.

The fire had burned out. Lost in thought, she'd forgotten to add more fuel, and now a pile of flaking ashes lay in the divot of soot and charcoal. Katherine stared at the cold, gray mess. Fear was no longer a fluttering of her heart or a chill that raced up and down her spine. It was a heavy, sodden thing that lived inside her chest and smothered all but the strongest flame that lived inside her.

It was good, she told herself as she restacked shavings inside the stove and lit another match. Curling yellow tendrils sprang to life and she stacked yet another handful of kindling over the fledgling flames. It was good that life had banked the fire within her. Fire was dangerous. It spread too easily, went out too easily. It was too difficult to tend. Cold was so much easier to manage.

The thought gave her a measure of solace as she finished building up the fire and busied herself in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. She finally had a notion of how to protect herself. She just had to snuff out every flame but the one that burned for Isobel. Starve every spark of life before it gained the strength to warm her.

She would write Gabe a note. He would come. He would watch her with yearning in his eyes, and she would smother every lick of life his presence coaxed to existence. He couldn't reach her if the parts of her soul he touched were cold and dead. He couldn't hurt her if he couldn't make her feel at all. 

***

Y'know, guys, I really tried. I was so excited. I was like 'this is going to be the book where the hero isn't a big ol' soft turd pushover.' But it seems that big ol' soft turd pushovers are the only kind of men I am capable of writing. Almost like I'm living in a fantasy world, here, or something. 

Oh well... 

Where do y'all think this silly story is going? I know where it ends but the getting there is always a winding road of shit I did not expect. How do you suppose Katherine and Gabe wind up rebuilding their friendship? To be honest, my instinct is to just set her free in the world and let her be a strong independent woman who don't need no man, and just let Gabe mope about town for the rest of his life. But that wouldn't be a very good romance novel...

Alright. As always, thank you for reading! And again, please don't forget/neglect to vote! Mail-in ballots are super easy to get your hands on this go-round. If you need help or have questions, slide into my DMs!!! 

Love!
Liz

***