Widow's Peak

Chapter 4:

Chapter 4:
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As soon as the boat stopped, Irvin herded me onto the dock. He told me to walk fast, and keep my head down. Widow's Peak was full of strangers; stories I didn't know. And, they did not know mine. All they knew was that I was the long lost daughter of Lincoln Roux. Their little world's founder. I wasn't what they expected though. I wasn't sure if I looked like my father, or if I favored my mother. I assumed I'd never know. It was all history that I'd never uncover. Irvin probably knew. However, asking him was simply not something I could do. Irvin knew my father better than I did, but he did not seem to fancy me that much. I was just the daughter of the man he had worked for. Which now made him my worker. I turned to study Irvin. How old was he? How long had he worked for my father? "You have questions," Irvin observed, "they will be answered in due time." I sighed heavily, "that statement has been repeated to me all of my life." When I was young, I asked Janine why the other girls had fathers and I didn't. She told me I would find out in due time. Then, I asked her if my mother did not want me because a high society girl told me that when I was 14. Janine, once again, smiled softly, hugged me, and told me my questions would be answered in due time. I was so tired of being told them. Why couldn't I have the answers that I wanted when I wanted them? I took this chance to look around the dock. It was considerably smaller than the dock back in Oregon. The ladies' dressers were bigger, prettier, and more expensive. The men were taller, more handsome, and walked with a confident gait. The ladies were all beautiful; there wasn't a feature out of place on them. Irvin seemed to know them all, and they seemed to know Irvin. That's when they noticed me. The glances became stares, and the whispers became loud murmurs. Irvin Remington would only be walking with the infamous Lincoln Roux's daughter. I felt strangely inadequate. I felt like I was nowhere near the lady they'd expected. A Roux was meant to be proper, rich, and beautiful. I was dull comparison to the Roux daughter they'd all thought I would be. I glanced at Irvin with a mixture of angst and fear. He must've sensed my gaze because he turned to me, and offered me a smile that was no where near comforting. The way his lips twisted made him look that much more menacing. "It will be okay, Valerie," he gestured to a large, dark wood carriage by the road, "that one is ours. That's Mr. Benedict, the carriage driver, and stable tender." I cast another quick glance at him. From this angle, Irvin did not seem as dangerous or frightening. He simply seemed pale, and historically handsome. Handsome in a way rich girls would never see had he been poor. I tore my eyes from him and instead focused on the carriage ahead of us. Mr. Benedict was a short, stocky man. His gut sat unbridled over his trousers. The middle button on his vest strained to keep closed. His cheeks were red and ruddy, and his mop of dark hair was brushed back away from his high forehead, and low eyebrows. Did my father only hire odd looking men? Compared to Mr. Benedict, Irvin seemed like an Adonis. Irvin raised his hand in a greeting toward Mr. Benedict who in turn tilted his hat in Irvin's direction. It was the greeting of friends through their job. They had both known my father. These two strangers knew the man who contributed to making me more than I did myself. It wasn't right, nor was it wrong. It was just a sad truth of the life I had been given. I smiled at Mr. Benedict myself. He didn't smile back. He just stared wide-eyed at me. His mouth even gaped open a bit making his chin magically grow an extra layer of fat. I dropped my smile immediately. He didn't seem all that happy to meet his new employer. Not that I knew how to manage employees. That went back to the financial issue. There wasn't one, but there could be. I had to learn the ways of my father in order to keep the money he so graciously left to me. I noticed that Irvin had become much more agitated. He roughly pulled me into the carriage, and shut the door with a slam. His jaw was clenched, his hands clasped so tight around each other that his knuckles were white. I didn't know what it was. Surely, being back at his home didn't make him this angry. He suddenly looked ten times more frightening than he did when I first met him. He glanced at me, and I caught a glimpse of the very poorly masked rage that lurked in his eyes. That frightened me to no end. I did not know this man. I did not know what he was capable. And, at the time, I did not know what I was capable of.