Corvus (Stars and Sails, Book 1)

Sixteen (Part 1 of 2)

For as long as Josh Holden remembered, he had two faces. One was handsome, rigid, collected. The other was a secret. One that only came out to him in bathroom mirrors, in the reflection of his windows in the middle of the night, and right now, in the glass of the liquor cabinet. This was a broken man—certainly not Joshua Holden—although they looked nearly identical, this was a man with red-splotched cheeks and beady eyes over bag and bag of skin. His dry lips were trembling, and salty tears were running down the sides of his nose.

Holden fumbled with the cabinet, his hands shaking so hard that the bottles clanked together. It wasn't addiction. Holden had been careful to never let it go that far, but that didn't mean that he wasn't above spending most nights in a buzz.

It was hot in his mouth, and smooth as it slipped down the back of his tongue.

"Ah!" His hand shook and he spilt the rest all over him. "Fucking damnit," he swore, blotting his shirt off with one of the clean gardening towels hanging by the back door. Nonetheless, his white shirt had a big stain.

There was another bang on the front door. Holden's teeth clattered, hands tearing at the towel. "One—just one moment!" He called, his voice hoarse. He bunched the towel over his stomach, trying to hide the stain. He straightened out his suspenders and took two deep breaths before making his way to the door.

His hands still shook and his scalp buzzed with energy. On the doorstep, Mr. Wagner looked at him incredulously. "My Amelia Rose has come with me. I wasn't expecting you to smell—"

"I was fixing my father a drink," Holden lied. "He's felling quite ill." He faked a laugh. "I only drink socially."

"You might be the most righteous man in this town." Wagner looked past him. "Speaking of, I need to see your father."

"Mm," Holden nodded. "Out back, in the guest—the guesthouse. He's taken up there." Wagner nodded before making his way through the house and out the back door without so much as another word. Out on the front lawn Amelia Rose stood, a parasol over her head, and a little gloved finger pointed at the grass. "Well hello there, little friend," she said. She reached her finger out and picked something up in her palm. With her other hand, she enclosed it there, parasol wedged under her arm. She looked up. "Oh, Mr. Holden!" She called. "I didn't know you were still there."

He shrugged, but now tremors ran through his shoulders. He bit down hard.

She walked up the front steps and opened her palms. "Look at this fantastic creature!"

Holden clenched his fist and stumbled back into the house. "Pu-put that slime-covered—" He struggled searching for the word. "Just leave the thing be."

"Oh, it's not slimy. Grasshoppers are dry. Leggy." She gave him a sympathetic look. "Bye now, pretty boy," she whispered as she let him hop off her palm and onto the porch. She closed up her parasol and joined Mr. Holden in the foyer.

"You're afraid of bugs," she said.

Holden looked between her and the towel in his hands. He threw it on the coffee table. Amelia Rose reminded him of someone for a moment, but he couldn't quite place it. It was like a word lingering on the tip of his tongue. She stared back at him expectantly.

"I won't justify that with and answer," he replied. Josh Holden, however, was indeed tremendously fearful of even the smallest critters. He grabbed a waistcoat that he had left on the coat hanger and buttoned it up, just to cover the stain. He gestured toward the dusty pink couch. "Care to have a seat?" He asked.

"Oh, I was about to go out riding now that my father is distracted," she said before a little grin slipped across her lips. "But I can make some time for our next mayor, I suppose."

"Nothing is set in stone, Miss Wagner. We'll have to wait till the vote." However, Holden was marked for greatness. Everyone knew that the attractive and much younger Josh Holden would win up against cranky old Farmer Pickett who wore nothing but manure-stained overalls. That was why Zephram had cleared out of the main house. It was time for Holden to really start a life and bag himself the perfect mayoral wife. As unfortunate as Jim Tanner's circumstance was, it now left Amelia Rose with no use for her wedding dress.

Maybe Holden could fix that.

"My condolences on your fiancé," Mr. Holden murmured as he took a seat beside her.

Her face turned sour. "He's not dead, you know."

"My apologizes, I misspoke."

"It's okay." Her mouth tightened. "I mean, it feels like that. I don't think he's coming back."

"I would have spoken to your father if not for what you said the other night to me," He scanned her face, proceeding cautiously. "But I wanted to offer you a quick wedding, however you want it, and a place in my home. I have several bedrooms, so we don't—"

"Oh!" Amelia Rose moved closer to the arm of the couch. "Um, well I don't really—you know he might just come back," she said.

"Listen, Miss Wagner. I know you're in love with somebody else, but consider it."

She frowned. "I'm not in love with anyone. Truly."

"Oh," he raised his eyes. You spend quite some time with that miner. I just thought—"

She shook her head. "No. I—are you in love me?" She asked, as if the realization had suddenly hit her.

All Holden could do was chuckle. "No, Ms. Wagner. But marriage isn't about love. It's about the home, the money, the duty." He remembered to soften a little, even if he didn't mean what he was about to say. "But if we're lucky, maybe we can fall in love."

She looked deep into his eyes before a simple smile bloomed on her lips. She demurely folded her gloved hands in her lap. "Your breath smells like alcohol."

Holden scoffed. "What do you know about the smell of hard liquor?"

"I was only engaged to Aydesreve's finest drunkard," she said. "I won't marry you, but I'll keep your secret." She stood up off the couch and gathered her pretty lace parasol from near the door.

"Don't you leave Ms. Wagner. Hear me out."

She shook her head before exiting. Mr. Holden steeped in his anger. His hands began to shake as the panic rose up again in his stomach. He kicked, slamming his foot into the table leg. He cried out and limped towards the door. As he opened it, Amelia Rose was already on her palomino's back, riding east toward the sunflower fields.