The Orchard

Chapter 1

A/N I am posting the chapters that were originally posted by Dragonling 743.

I sighed, stretching my legs out to the chair across from me, no one was going to be sitting at my table anyway. This dinky little town in the middle of nowhere Ireland. How could father have dragged me back here. I think I preferred America with it's Yankees, and memories of Sam. Of course, I was the oldest, and now that dad is senile I am the only logical choice. Damn Tracy and her brainless husband. No, he had to drag me here right after Sam's death, not even a month to mourn before news came.

Mom died, dad jumped off the financial deep end after the potato famine, and then Sam died in the line of duty. All culminating in me, Myka Bering, living on the same orchard I grew up in, taking my days off to go to town to talk to bankers and pay as many bills off as possible, and then resting in the public house, my feet on the perpetually empty chair in front of me, nursing my whiskey.

Sam would have laughed to see me sitting like one of the outlaws he chased as sheriff. Nothing like a woman in trousers drinking whiskey to set off suspicions. No one looking at me would have guessed I used to be a teacher, lecturing little boys, and the occasional girl on the complexities of simple algebra. It was not the most mentally stimulating of courses, but it put bread on the table while Sam was out. He'd disappear for days, chasing some yokel or another. The last time... Well he just didn't come back.

I shouldn't place so much blame on my father, I truly did love the orchard, the trees, the work. I had missed it while overseas, and he couldn't have known that issues with potatoes could affect our crops so harshly. The loans he took out made perfect business sense, but now all they did was cause me trouble. This morning had been an excellent example.

"Why can't you give me an extension?!" I had exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of most everyone in the bank. Of course I had to open my big mouth. Everyone suspected I was struggling, but did they really need the extra evidence? "You know I am good for the money, but I need time to get the apples to market. Come on! My family started this town, the least you could do is give me a little-" I pleaded. Something I never do, damn Wells for putting me in this position.

"And this is our bank sister dear!" That voice. I knew that voice. I turned around to see that damn bastard Charles Wells standing in the center of the small bank, his arms thrown wide to show off his family's business. He was standing next to some dark haired woman, perhaps the sister we had heard all about. Yet another bad apple ready to fall from the tree.

I ignored the babbling official behind me, and stormed out. They weren't going to help me, no one ever did, not since Sam died, leaving me to deal with a senile father, and a flailing apple orchard. 1906 was not as pleasant as it used to be. My arm shoved into Charles, and he greeted me tersely, "Bering."

"Wells." I replied just as shortly. His sister, I assume watched me with a raised eyebrow, and a poorly concealed smirk. There are too many people named Wells in this town. All of them after my orchards. Sure it was the best land in town, but that didn't mean the vultures needed to keep me working day and night just to stay ahead.

Before the door closed behind me, I could hear his arrogant tones explaining to his sister, "That was the head of the Bering family I was telling father about. Insufferable woman, I'm sure she'll give in soon enough." I was grateful the door slammed before I heard her response.

I was broken out of my unhappy reverie by a soft Essex accent, clean, crisp and entirely unwelcome. "May I join you?" She asked softly, his sister of course. Probably here to confront me about buying the Orchard again.

"No. As you can see, I wish to be alone." I growled, I didn't bother looking up. It didn't matter what she looked like, she was just another grasping vulture stealing my time. I reached out to pour another shot for myself, but I was beaten by a soft long fingered hand. She measured herself a drink, and then refilled my glass. The nerve of that woman, "Who the hell do you think you.. Are.." My voice trailed off as I found myself staring into the deepest brown eyes I had ever seen.

"Helena Wells-George, and you must be Mrs. Myka Bering Martino, interesting name you have." She smirked, pushing my legs off the chair to make room for herself. She leaned forward on her elbows, looking at me in the most curious manner with those dark eyes.

I stared at her for a moment before I pulled myself back together. She obviously hadn't been listening to her brother. She would learn soon enough, it isn't worth it to try and make friends with one of them. "I don't waste good whiskey on the Wells family." I informed her shortly, snatching up the bottle and turning on my heel. I left her sitting at the table that used to be mine. I scoffed aloud at her audacity, trying to be civil after all her family had done.

Once again I was given the privilege of shoving passed Charles Wells, this time on my room where no one could bother me. "Helena!" Charles snarled, "This is no place for a lady!"

"Pish tosh" Her glass hit the table, and I saw her flap her hand at him before leaving the pub herself. It seemed I wasn't the only one sick and tired of Mr. Wells' attitude.