Vivian
Things were bad.
No, things were terrible. They were worse than they had ever been. Her girls were afraid, her coffers were shrinking...
... and she was so damned happy she could cry.
She didn't know if it made her a good mother or a bad one that she yearned with such intensity to watch her son walk away. That it gave her such hope to imagine that he would leave her life and never return to it.
Maybe she was a good mother because she wanted him to be safe and happy. That was, after all, what all good mothers wanted.
Then again, perhaps she was a bad mother because she wanted liberty from the constant worry. He was her weak spot, her Achilles heel, and that was not something she could afford to have.
Not that she was some iron-clad, unfeeling bitch. She considered herself a cunning businesswoman, but not ruthless. She was stern with her girls, but she strove to be warm when warmth was what they needed. There was life in her beyond the flame of maternal devotion, to be sure.
Nonetheless, she prided herself on being a woman who could handle anything, and handle it independently. She could run her business without a man's 'expertise' with the books. She could protect her girls without a man's brawn, not that Gabe would ever see that. She could handle hunger and loss, pain and humiliation. Life had dealt her hand after hand of struggle and strife, and she had won every round and come out stronger.
Except for Gabe. She could not handle Gabe. She couldn't win at being a mother. As a baby, her son's hungry tears had cut her down to the marrow of her bones. As a child, his loneliness had crushed her. As a man, his strength crippled her. She could handle loss of money and the girls' fear, but she could not cope with her son's pain. His presence—his quiet, weary suffering in the name of protecting her—was a knife drawn down the center of her belly. It drew her open, exposed and bleeding, and there was no way for her to protect herself. She couldn't walk away stronger when every other day she was eviscerated anew.
So yes, perhaps she was a bad mother, because she wanted him gone. Not partially. Fully. She wanted to sew herself back together and bear up against the world, and she could not do so when he stood at her side, unwittingly slicing her open with his every bruise, scrape, and tired sigh.
A bad mother, maybe. But a happy bad mother.
"Spring is coming," she said, her step light as she turned her face up to the pale blue sky, walking alongside her son down the narrow road to town. It was only a half-mile walk into town, and though they both led horses they had chosen to stretch their legs rather than ride. Well, she had made that choice so that she could be nearer to him and have this conversation she was so desperate to have. She'd also made the choice to accompany him on his weekly trip to town, despite his objections and insistence that she stay behind.
"Looks like it," he said evenly, his boots making heavy, sucking sounds as he stepped through the blend of slush and mud that comprised the little road. It was more a driveway than a road, since her place was the last and only stop after it branched off from the main thoroughfare through town. If she wanted to have it leveled, she'd have to hire someone herself.
"Are you ready for spring to come?" she asked casually. There was nobody else around, the snow-coated pine woods to either side empty and still. Nonetheless, caution was paramount. One thing she had learned, long before she had picked up and moved to this town—before, even, she began to sell her body for the comfort of wealth—she had learned that speaking in riddles and code was always safer than speaking directly.
"S'pose so," he answered, and she didn't need to watch him to read between the lines. The reluctant excitement was there in his voice.
"Are you happy spring is coming, angel?"
He made a disgruntled sound, whether at the question or at the endearment she didn't know. "S'pose so," he said again, and again she heard the truth pressing and pounding against the walls of his indifference.
For a while, they walked in silence—a silence filled with sound. The slish-slosh of their boots and the horses' hooves through the slushy mud. The constant crack and splat of heavy pats of melting snow falling from tree branches onto the pock-marked snow. The air smelled of woodsmoke and of dormant life, burgeoning beneath the surface of the mottled white, waiting eagerly to spring forth.
"I'm sorry winter's coming to an end," Gabe said eventually, giving a gentle, admonishing tug on his horse's lead as the beast snorted and huffed its indignation at their pace.
"Thought you hated winter."
"Most of it. Not all of it. There's some things about winter I'll miss."
"That so?"
"Mmhm."
"Like what?"
"Ma..."
"Like what, Gabriel?"
He sighed and turned his gaze to the woods. "I dunno. Home always feels warmer in the winter."
"Mmm," she hummed in agreement, nodding thoughtfully and smiling in spite of her efforts to remain a mockingly stoic mirror to his false apathy. One of her favorite things about 'winter' was teasing her son. She'd miss teasing him terribly. "What else?"
"When it's cold out, the girls spend more time just... hanging around? Not working. Just living. Inside, all together. I s'pose it's nice having everyone close."
"It's fun," she agreed. More than the money and the strength of her reputation, Vivian prided herself on the warmth of her establishment. Not for the patrons. She couldn't give a care if the patrons felt they were at home. But she likened her girls to a family, and the darkness surrounding their little haven had drawn them all closer. Family was something neither she, nor her son, had possessed in great quantities throughout their lives. She shared the same origin as her own offspring. A single working mother and a lone child were a family, yes, but a small one. It was nice to have more.
"Fun..." Gabe echoed, nodding and shooting her a sideways flash of a smile. "Also a pain in the ass."
"Sometimes."
"All the time."
"What are you most looking forward to, now that spring is coming?"
He sighed, the sound not unlike the one she made when she had carried something heavy all the way up the stairs and could finally set it down at the top. "All the..." he waved vaguely at the forest around them. "New life."
"New life?"
"Yeah. The grass and trees and flowers and that sort of nonsense."
She laughed. "That sort of nonsense is a delight, I agree. I don't think many folks would look at you, my love, and say 'That there is a man who appreciates the beauty of new life.'"
He rolled his eyes at her, the yellow sunlight making shadows on his face that shielded his expression. "Probably not."
"I'm your mother, though, so I know better."
"Of course," he drawled.
"You are exactly the type to appreciate new life. I can't imagine anybody better suited for spring."
He huffed out a laugh, but just as she had heard the joy in his monotone answers, now she heard the somber shadow of doubt that darkened his laughter.
"You don't agree?" she prodded, letting her feet carry her down the familiar road as she turned to watch her son. His jaw was tight and he stared straight ahead.
"Spring's just awfully nice, ma," he said quietly, lowering his gaze to the road in front of him. "Not sure it was made for folks like me."
"Gabriel," she snapped, planting her feet in the churned-up mud. He stopped with her, breathing a resigned sigh, and she crossed her arms over her chest, her horse's lead still wrapped tight in her fist.
"Ma..."
"No," she hissed, mustering up the glare she had perfected when he was a small boy—quiet but nonetheless prone to mischief. "No, you will listen to me."
"I didn't—"
"How dare you," she said, lifting her chin and holding him with her glare. "How dare you insult something I love so much."
"Ma, I just—"
"No excuses. Look me in the eye and tell me you're sorry."
He grimaced and rolled his eyes like the sullen teenager he had been so many years ago. Or was it yesterday? "Sorry," he said, the corner of his lip tugging up at the corner. "Can we go, now?"
She wanted to say no. Maybe overall she was a bad mother, but there were pieces of her that were a good mother. Those pieces wanted desperately to hold him here and sing his praises until he was red with discomfort and at least a tiny fragment of him reflected back the picture she saw. She wanted him gone, yes, but she wanted him gone with the assurance that he would carry with him some small sense of his own worth.
Alas, but this was neither the time or the place.
"Alright," she sighed, and they resumed their walk. It was nearly noon, the yellow sun hanging limpid and watery in the sky. Up ahead, she saw the intersection with the main road, a stark gap in the pines. Their time to talk was drawing to a close. "Just promise me something, alright?"
"Hm?"
"Promise me that, even when you doubt your suitability for... spring, you'll stay there. You belong in the spring, angel. You were born for it. Take it from me, there are parts of it that are not fun, and parts that are downright awful. But spring is the best season, and all that new life is the greatest joy this world has to offer. So even when you feel like you belong in the cold of winter or the heat of summer, you have to hang on to the spring. If for no other reason, do it because it would breaks my heart to see you lose it."
"Well damn, ma," Gabe said, grinning at her. "Don't you know the season change every year?"
She laughed, because he wasn't speaking in metaphors. She saw that in his eyes. He heard her. She still wanted to have that conversation with him. The long, uncomfortable one where she held his hand and looked him in the eye and told him, not in metaphor but in plain English, that he was the greatest thing in her life. That he would be a wonderful father and husband. That she had the utmost of faith in him making both of those girls happy and keeping them safe. That he was worth the love she hoped Katherine felt for him. That his leaving this town, and her, was the greatest gift he had ever given her and he should never feel he had done her wrong.
But they were outside. This was neither the time nor the place for clear messages and plain English. That conversation would come later, on a quiet night sometime before he left. Perhaps the last night of winter. For now, metaphors would have to suffice.
* * *
They made quick work of their chores in town. Canned food and soap from the general store, a few bolts of cloth from the dressmaker, and a deposit at the bank. This time last year they'd have stopped at the hotel to warm up with lunch. Folks turned their noses up, but the promise of a generous tip at least earned them a table.
Gabe stuck close to her throughout the visit. So close she had to snap at him at the dressmaker's for crowding her. Nervous energy crackled through the air, as much from her son as from the town at large. As they walked down the street he walked a shade behind her and off to the side, one hand clenched into a fist around his horse's lead and the other hanging loosely by his pistol. In the stores, he found a way to keep himself forever between her and the door, going so far as to physically move her back when she pushed past him to retrieve a can of canned beans in the general store.
"Need I remind you who wiped your poop ass?" she said through her teeth, glaring up at him.
He smiled tightly. "Need I remind you who outgrew you when he was thirteen?"
"Bigger doesn't always equate to stronger," she huffed, dropping the can into the crate he held under his arm.
"Not always," he agreed. "But in this case it does."
Her son acting as her armed guard rankled her, but the longer she spent in town the more she came to appreciate his presence and understand his anxiety. Would she have preferred her guard be some faceless, nameless brute who she didn't care about? Most certainly. But in the absence of the brute, she had Gabe, and Gabe was alert to the shifting energies of the townspeople.
Vivian and her girls had never been welcome in town. People had always sneered and flung curses, or spat at their feet. Most stores refused to extend her credit, and she could count on one hand the number of polite or pleasant exchanges she'd had in town since arriving over a decade ago.
But this was something else.
Their mere presence cleared every establishment they entered, otherwise-friendly folks bustling out in a cloud of slurs. The men jawing outside the lawyer's office scowled and turned their backs as she and Gabe walked by. The older married couple in the general store huffed, set their crate of goods on the floor by the front door, and left with disgusted sounds before she had selected the first item. The young woman in the dressmaker's gasped as if a gun was drawn on her and fled. Even the dressmaker, normally a friendly-enough woman due to Vivian's consistent patronage, lowered her gaze and refused to speak to them beyond the exchange of goods for money.
Out on the streets, she felt as if an invisible wall was built around her and her son, pushing away everyone they drew near. There was no spitting at her feet, because nobody would dare get close enough to do so. She had planned to visit the hotel for lunch, just as she would have before. She wasn't hungry, and she knew Gabe would protest, but it was an act of defiance. A necessary show of strength. She would not be driven out on a wave of hypocrisy. If she truly wasn't wanted, she would leave, but she had seen two damned many of these men in her barroom to sidle away with her tail between her legs.
But when they finished at the dressmaker's she didn't even mention the hotel. Between Gabe's clear distress and the anger and distaste she felt swirling in the cold, damp air, her own nerves were frazzled and frayed. She just wanted to go home to her girls. Her kingdom.
"Just the bank," she said, to her son's unasked question. "Make this deposit and then we can head back."
He breathed out a sigh of relief, hovering at her side as they drew even with the bank and secured their hoses at the hitch post. Inside, the air was somehow frigid and stuffy at once, and the man behind the counter was bundled in a coat, hat, and scarf. The stove in the corner was cold.
"Stove's out?" Gabe said as they approached. The man nodded and offered a thin smile. He had always been a decent enough fellow. Vivian had a suspicion he had fallen in love with one of her girls. He was a cowering little creature, and had never gone so far as to stand up to the gruffer, meaner, stronger men who used her girls and mocked them. But he had never himself been cruel, and he wasn't disdainful when he served them at the bank. When there were no other customers around, he could be downright amicable.
"Pipe's clogged," he said, a cloud of steam issuing from his mouth as he lifted his face from his scarf to speak. "Smokes the place up pretty bad. Boss said he can't risk a fire. Stove's cold until someone comes to clean it."
Gabe snorted. "Don't suppose the boss has to sit in here all day?"
The other man huffed. "Nope. Stove back in his office works fine," he said under his breath. "Anyway, what brings you in?"
Vivian made her deposit, a weight rising off her shoulders as the thick block of bills and coins disappeared into the man's keeping. She never gave all of her money to the bank, but she also didn't think it wise to keep all of it at the saloon. She'd never been more grateful for that caution than she had been when the fire several years ago had burned her business, and a good portion of her savings, to the ground.
She accepted the deposit slip, Gabe exchanged a few last sympathetic pleasantries with the shivering teller, and they left.
She was working, with clumsy gloved fingers, to unknot her horse's lead from the hitchpost, when she heard the voice.
"Bold of you to bring one of the whores to town with you." The voice was gruff and immediately familiar, and she turned to glare at the man who approached before her son had a chance to respond.
"I'm not one of the whores, Mr. Mulligan," she said over her shoulder as she resumed work on the lead. "I'm the whore. Loftiest of them all. You of all people should know that, considering how much time you spend at my establishment."
"Ma..." Gabe said warningly.
Mulligan sneered. "Satan's Concubine herself deigns to curse us with her presence. How did we get so lucky?"
She supposed that was supposed to hurt her, but the names had never done much more than prick her like a needle and she actually liked 'Satan's Concubine.' It sounded... distinguished. Lucifer was an angel, after all. Look at how far she'd come! From selling herself in back alleys to servicing angels!
She snorted, but Gabe growled. "Get out of the way, Mulligan."
The man, and the two friends he had brought to support him, was blocking the road to exit. Vivian had freed her horse and had joined Gabe where he stood in the center of the road. She held her horse in her left hand, so she could stand beside her son without the horse between them. Not that she was afraid, necessarily, but it felt important to keep him close.
"You can't order me about, out here," Mulligan spat at Gabe's feet. "This is our town. We make the rules, here." The men at his shoulders nodded and grunted in agreement. Vivian recognized them, too, but their names were lost to her. They were just faces and drinks and money. The man on Mulligan's left had a ruddy round face, drank beer, and squabbled with her about every penny he spent. The man on Mulligan's right had a sloppy, patchy beard and beady eyes, drank whiskey, and tipped generously once a girl had hinted that she was willing to take him to her bed.
"Then what are the rules," Gabe sighed, tipping his chin toward the road behind them. "What do you want? We're headed out of town. This is pointless."
"I decide what's pointless," Mulligan growled, turning his watery red gaze to Vivian. "I want her."
"Excuse me?" she scoffed.
"You're a whore, aren't you? But you never serve us. You're too busy counting your money, you greedy bitch."
"Enough," Gabe snapped, stepping forward, but she took an even larger step forward and cast him a withering glare.
Not your fight, angel.
"If you require servicing, Mr. Mulligan," she said calmly. "You're welcome to come by the saloon this evening after we open."
"Funny," Mulligan said with an evil little smile. "I don't feel like waiting. You want to leave town. I want to know what has you so high up your ass you never lower yourself to serve us. The way I see it, there's only one way for us to proceed."
She opened her mouth to retort, but Mulligan lunged forward without warning. He snatched her by the hair and she felt each strand as he yanked her forward. Even so, the pain was dulled as her attention fixed on Gabe, who had disappeared into a tangle of limbs as the two other men fell upon him. Both their horses made panicked sounds, dancing away from the chaos. Her docile mare wandered off to the far side of the street, and Gabe's monster bucked, put a hoof through the stair-rail leading into the bank, and took off down the street.
For some reason, her mind was preoccupied with that damn horse as Mulligan dragged her by the hair down the street. What would he do? Shove her down the next alleyway and rape her? In broad daylight? She hardly thought about it. She fought, yes, kicking and punching. She worried about Gabe, yes, battling two-against-one somewhere behind her. But mostly she thought about the horse.
Gabe loved that stupid horse, and it had gone tearing off down the street. What if it disappeared? He'd be devastated.
"You pompous bitch," Mulligan was growling and kicking away her leg as she brought it up to knee him in the groin. "You think you're too good for us."
I am.
We all are.
She didn't honor him with an answer, or even a curse, as a shadow fell over them. He'd brought her into the space between two buildings. The lawyer's office and the tailor? Maybe? Maybe he really was going to rape her in broad daylight. It wasn't as if anyone would come to her rescue.
She really hoped the stupid horse found its way home...
Mulligan's breath was hot against her neck as he spun her and shoved her, face first, into the rough wooden exterior wall of the lawyer's office. Splinters dug into her cheek and white flashed in her vision as her forehead struck the wall. His body pressed against hers, and she felt the small, hard lump of his erection.
His hands tore at her coat, and she wondered if the horse would survive if it didn't come home. It was burdened by the saddle and tackle. Maybe it would get tangled in something and die of starvation? Or maybe it would only suffer for a few days before the untended leather grew loose or broke. She imagined the cinches snapping and the saddle falling away, the bridle pounded into the snow. She imaged that damned horse running through green grass, jagged peaks behind it, and it made her smile.
She was resigned to her fate. Mulligan was massive, and he had her pinned. Taking him would be unpleasant, but she would survive. She knew from the feel of that lump against her back that his invasion at least wouldn't damage her physically.
Rather than fight or scream or cry as Mulligan's hands pawed at her body, she let herself fall away from her body as she had in those early years of working. Before she learned to enjoy her job, and had the money to be choosy about her clients. Back when she had been young and unbroken, her body pure and tight with fear. The pain had been so terrible, as men rutted into her. Ugly, hairy, sweaty, smelly men. So she had simply left. She had lain in the bed and closed her eyes against the sight of their flushed, sweaty faces, and gone away.
She went away, only distantly registering the sound of tearing fabric and the bite of frigid air against her upper back, and joined Gabe's horse and ran through the plains to somewhere warm. Somewhere with no snow. No muddy slush. She felt the silky whisper of grass against her feet and warm air toy lovingly with her hair. She felt the heat of the sun soak into her skin.
She jolted back into her body just in time to catch herself from falling as Mulligan abruptly disappeared from behind her. Staggering, she grasped at the wall for balance, her head pounding and dizzy as she spun around to see Gabe and Mulligan rolling around in the thick snow that snow blanketed the shadowed space between the two buildings. She didn't gasp—she was not one to gasp—but she choked on a breath as Mulligan managed to roll on top and slammed a fist into Gabe's face. She watched her son's head snap to the side.
With a yell, she launched herself at the larger man, looped her arm around his neck, and attempted to drag him backwards and choke him to death at the same time. Alas, she was strong in her mind and her willpower, but her physical strength had diminished with age. He tossed her off as if she were a child, but the diversion gave Gabe the opening he needed. He reared up, slamming his forehead into Mulligan's nose. The man yelled and fell back, and Vivian scrambled out of the way to avoid being crushed.
"You son of a bitch," Gabe growled, shoving off the ground and throwing himself forward. His momentum carried both men back out into the street where a small crowd had gathered. Vivian scrambled after them, fighting to gain her feet as her head whirled and throbbed with her movements. Gabe landed two solid punches to Mulligan's face. Then another. Then he dragged the man to his feet, one hand wrapped in his coat and the other tight around the fleshy neck.
"Leave us..." Gabe rumbled, turning and slamming Mulligan against the front of the lawyer's office. "The hell..." his fist tightened around the man's neck, and Mulligan's face began to turn purple, his eyes bulging. "Alone."
Vivian saw Mulligan's eyes flick to somewhere over Gabe's shoulder. His lips, parted as he fought for air, turned up into an obscene grin. She should have known he would have more up his sleeve than a beat-down. She had let herself grow complacent with the news of Gabe's imminent departure. She had forgotten how wicked these people could be.
All of the heat from her own exertions drained from Vivian's body. She felt as if someone had replaced her blood with snowmelt and all the little beads of sweat on her skin had suddenly turned to frost.
She turned, her body slow and sluggish, like she was moving underwater. Even her own heartbeat had slowed where it pounded in her ears. Her senses seemed to fall away. She couldn't smell a thing. She couldn't taste a thing—not even the blood in her mouth from when Mulligan had slammed her into the wall. She couldn't feel a thing beyond the icy chill that had fallen over her. All she could hear was her own drawn out heartbeat. All she could see was the man who stood in the street, bringing a pistol to bear. Her vision narrowed to the small black ring in the center of the barrel, pointed right at her son's exposed back.
"Don't!"
She didn't hear the word leave her mouth, and barely felt the gust of air scrape up her throat. She didn't even think at any length about what she was doing-- what she so desperately needed to do. It wasn't about Gabe, and it wasn't some noble sacrifice. All that existed within her was that instinct. She stumbled over her own numb feet as she threw herself toward the gun. Maybe she could wrench it out of his hands before he shot, but that thought left her mind as soon as it entered. He was too far away. All she could do was make sure something solid found its way between that gun and her boy.
The bullet didn't hurt her. She didn't even feel the pain. She just felt a strange, hot pressure in the center of her chest. She didn't fall, or stumble back, but she did stop in her tracks. She dropped her gaze to her chest, where a small, round hole had appeared just below her breasts. Then the barrel of the gun flashed and something punched her in the thigh and she fell back. Instead of hitting the wall, she hit something soft and warm. Arms held her up as her knees buckled. Another flash, another punch, this one to her shoulder.
The warmth at her back was like a pot of hot water dumped over a snowball. All the eerie numbness melted away, and she fell fully back into her body.
Pain.
Everywhere.
Her chest, her leg, her shoulder, but also everywhere else. It rippled across her body like disturbed water, and she opened her mouth to moan.
Nothing came out. She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Her mouth tasted strongly of iron, and something thick bubbled in her throat.
Oh, angel.
He hovered above her, his face bloody and bruised. He was saying something, but the world was a mess of sounds and pain, and she was underwater. Drowning. She watched through a warbling haze as he smiled at her and spoke again. What was he saying? She wanted to ask if he was alright. Blood coated the side of his face. She wanted to ask if he could see where his horse had gone. Damn that stupid animal for running away...
That wasn't a very profound last thought, she mused as darkness clouded her vision and stole her son's image from her forever. She still felt the warmth of him holding her dying body, but it was distant. Just as the pain was growing distant. She was dying for certain, and her last thought was about a stupid horse! She'd have hoped it would have been more meaningful.
Then again... she cast her mind out and found the horse, sometime in the spring. She ran with it, as far and as fast as she could, putting miles and mountains between herself and that bloody, tragic scene in that cold, ugly town. Her last thought should have been for her son, but it would have to be enough that her last act had been for him because her last thought was not of Gabe.
It was of the sun and the peace of an open prairie. Of warm, soft air against her naked skin. Of pleasure and love beneath a blanket of stars. Of a stupid beast of a horse, running free and fast beneath a deep blue sky.
***
Hello!
I'm sorry for the brief hiatus. I've kinda lost my mojo.
Hope everybody is well!
Liz
***