Birds of a Feather II

Mary

Mary had paid upfront for her room at the Hotel Grand until the end of the week. The cost of it was more than the room she'd rented in Valentine, but she'd initially spent the money for Daddy's sake, to be close to him and save him from putting himself into more debt. While she was by no means rich, her husband Barry had left her well off enough for a few unexpected expenses after his death.

But it was the end of the month now and time for her to move on. She had only her cosmetics left to pack. She planned to depart in the morning.

Why had she bothered to stick around in Saint Denis? She'd asked herself this question every day since Daddy had found her at the hotel. He'd apologized profusely over selling Mother's brooch. Though he seemed remorseful, it was an act he tended to play after he'd run out of money, or was kicked from the gambling halls. She'd marched him straight to the train station and made sure the next stop would be home. Truthfully, there hadn't been a good reason for her not to join him. So, what had compelled her to remain?

Was she fooling herself by lingering? Arthur had told her he was on his way out of the gang. It wasn't the most tangible of vows, but he'd been at his most sincere when he'd taken her hand and promised her they could be together soon. She hadn't seen that sort of conviction from him since he'd nearly convinced her to elope with him.

Mary sighed, remorse hitting her hard today. She should have run away with him all those years ago, before Daddy forbade the relationship and she turned her back on the only period in her whole drab life she'd felt true happiness.

She stayed because she held onto the hope Arthur had meant what he said as he saw her off on the trolley that day. She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But it wasn't to be. Then she'd read in the newspaper about the failed bank heist and the little bit of hope left flickered out. Arthur was either dead, captured or forgetful of his promise to her. The latter being the most likely, as he always became caught up with crime, no matter how many times he claimed he sought a way out.

At that point, Mary couldn't handle the unresolved uncertainty between them anymore. So, she sat down and constructed a letter straight from the heart. A letter that bespoke her honest feelings and severed their ties to each other completely. She rid herself of any keepsakes that reminded her of him. She couldn't bear to pawn the ring or throw away the one photograph they'd managed to take together so she choose to mail those too.

She'd sent it out days ago and she wasn't sure if he'd ever see it with all the traveling he did, but it had done much to ease the burden of her heavy heart.

There was a knock at the door, startling her out of her reverie. Mary set down a hairbrush she'd been using back on the vanity table. She was expecting the bellhop today to remind her of the upcoming end of her stay.

As if she'd summoned him with her wandering mind, there he stood before her. Not a bellhop, but Arthur. Her heart leapt as she released a soft gasp, unable to stop the quickening of her pulse at his appearance.

For an instant, time stopped and all those discarded hopes and dreams flooded back to her as if they'd never left. He was alive. He was here. Finally here. He truly had meant it when he'd said he'd escape with her.

"Mary," he murmured, his voice cracking as his eyes locked on hers.

"Arthur," she whispered, the volume of her own voice diminishing. "You're here."

"Yes, Mary." A familiar half smile tugged at his lips, one that had never failed to send her heart skittering. "I'm here."

She stepped to the side, wordless, as she opened the door wide to allow him in. She closed the door and faced him, in a terrible state of shock. Fearing she may faint, she took a seat in the lone chair by the vanity. Arthur remained standing in the center of the room.