"ELLEN!" A voice boomed downstairs.
"Coming Father!" Ellen gathered up her skirts and began to descend to the lower floor, aided by the banister.
"What is it? I was in the middle of a lovely poem," Ellen questioned, smoothing out her maroon calico day dress.
"I'm going to have some very good friends coming by steamboat today, they're brothers, in fact. They're on leave from the Union now, so I want you to be perfectly well-behaved, do I make myself clear?" John Flynn towered over his daughter, even whilst leaning on his cane. He always told her that she got her height, or lack of, from her late mother.
"Have I met these friends before?" Ellen furrowed her brow. She could not remember her father having any friends in the war.
"Yes, once. You were very little. They helped us move after your mother passed," Her father's eyes fogged over.
"What are their names?"
"Victor Creed and James Howlett. And, if I remember correctly, you were quite smitten with Victor when you were small. Wouldn't leave his side for anything. Perhaps I can finally marry you off, hmm?" A grin threatened to break out on his face.
"Surely not! And besides, what would you do without your daughter-maid-cook?"
"Burn in a fi-" "Burn in a fire."
The sunset cast strange shadows across the docks of Boston. Cats were beginning their nightly hunts as vermin scurried into their dens. Two pairs of heavy boots thunked along the wooden boards, the path to their destination clear in their owners' minds.
"Hey, didn't John have a daughter?" Jimmy tilted his head back in thought. It had been a while since he had seen the man they were going to visit.
"Hmm," Victor hummed, " Yeah, yeah he did. Little blonde thing, blue eyes. How old's she gotta be now? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"Souns' 'bout right. We're here," Both stopped in their tracks. They looked up at the large, two-story house they had helped furnish not ten years ago.
"Smells like dinner's ready," Victor commented with a smirk.
"Victor! James! Come in, come in. Ellen was just finishing up dinner- you do remember Ellen, right? Unless you're too tired to be hungry. Your beds are in the same rooms as last time, first and second doors on the left, oh, who am I kidding, you both look starvin' as wolves! Ellen! Is dinner ready yet?" John Flynn ushered his guests inside. Victor smiled inwardly at the man's fast talking. It was how the man roped him and his brother into hauling all the heavy furniture into the house all those years ago.
"Thank you, sir," Jimmy said as he and Victor hung their coats in the closet by the door.
"Oh, you can drop the formalities James, we're not in the middle of a fort," John laughed.
"'Scuse me, boys?" The three men turned to the soft voice. Ellen peeked her head and shoulders out the door. She smiled.
"Dinner's ready. Take up a seat at the table and I'll bring it out," She returned to the dining room, and back to the kitchen.
The men, eager to eat, quickly took their places at the table. John sat at the head, with Victor and then Jimmy to his left. There was an empty spot with a plate to his right, Ellen's seat. Once they were settled, Ellen brought out the tray of fresh beef first, a little over cooked, but fine otherwise. She served her father first. He took three pieces. She moved on to Victor.
This must be Victor, she thought as she piled the meat on his plate, Well, I'll give that he's handsome. There was something dangerous in his smile, the curve of his shoulders, the gleam in his eyes. As she set the pieces of beef on her plate, she glanced at his hand. In place of fingernails were long, curved talons. *Gasp!* He must be one of those 'freaks' Annabel was telling me about! But, he's not trying to rip my throat out, or eat my heart while I watch, as Ellen continued her internal monologue, Victor noticed her attention on his claws. He retracted them as far back as they would go, looking up to gauge her reaction. She seemed to snap out of whatever daze she was in, and smiled at him as she placed one last piece on his plate before moving onto his brother. After setting two small pieces for herself, she returned to the kitchen to get the other dishes.
"So you didn't tell her?" Victor's voice was dangerously low as he glowered at the older man, listening to the door swing closed behind the girl.
"No, I didn't think it was necessary. She's an open-minded girl, but she's curious. If I told her, she would be pestering you with questions right now," He stopped short when Ellen came back out with potatoes. She went back into the kitchen for cornbread.
"What if she asks questions? What do we tell her then?" Jimmy interrogated.
"The truth. She can keep a secret," John nodded finally.
"What if she slips up?" Victor stared at his claws, unsheathing them a few inches.
John didn't get a chance to answer as his daughter came out with the last side and a bottle of cider. After everyone was served, she sat down. John led them in saying grace, then everyone began to eat.
"Good night, father! Good night, Victor, James!" Ellen called as she ascended the stairs. The men were in the sitting room, discussing business. Her room was the third on the right, after her father's and the small study. She set her candle on the simple desk against the far side of the room. Carefully, she used a match to light her small kerosene lamp. With a puff of breath, she blew out the thin white candle. Sighing, she walked to her armoire. She unbuttoned her blouse and took off her skirt and hoop skirt, hanging them both in as best she could. She lay in bed in her pantaloons and chemise, listening to the muffled voices of the men directly below her. She could make out three distinct voices.
The first spoke, the pauses between sounds were short. It must be her father.
The second spoke. It was not as deep as her father's voice, and spoke only for a short while. That must be James.
The last voice spoke. It was deep, and growling. Ellen shivered, though she was not cold. That must be Victor.
The first voice spoke again. Then the second. First, third, first, third, second, third, first, second...
Ellen stared up at the ceiling, fighting off sleep. She pulled a needle she kept in the side of the mattress and pricked her thumb. The pain helped her stay awake.
Finally the voices stopped. Ellen heard the stairs creak and doors open and closed. She waited. She had to wait until they were asleep.
Victor laid on the almost-too-small bed. He laced his fingers behind his head and shifted around, trying to make himself comfortable. He could hear Jimmy snoring in the next room, and John across the hall. A sound coming from Ellen's room stirred him. She was walking around, trying to be quiet. The house creaked. The footsteps stopped for at least five minutes. Victor wondered if he had imagined them. They started up again. A drawer creaked. Fabric rustled.
Victor smiled to himself. Ellen was sneaking out. He wondered why. Deciding to find out for himself, Victor slipped on his clothes silently. He was careful not to make noises; he didn't want to alert the girl. He finished dressing before she did. Slowly, he opened the window and climbed out, lifting himself onto the roof. He perched just above her window and waited. It was not long before he heard the sound of a window opening beneath him. Ellen poked her head out, looking left and right. Satisfied that no one was watching, she slid one leg, then the other onto the ledge. Breathing deeply, she jumped.
Victor almost leaped after her. He watched as she flipped, landing in a wheelbarrow full of hay that had been carelessly left out. She emerged a few seconds later, brushing stray strands off of her skirt, and continued on her way. She was headed for the docks. Victor grinned, flashing his fangs. He waited for her to turn the corner before jumping down and following after.
Ellen walked briskly through the night, taking care to make many turns and alternate routes to confuse anyone who followed her. The moon was already at its peak when she came upon her destination. The Harbor. Taking one last sweep of her surroundings, she climbed awkwardly over crates and boxes, finally reaching the wide space between ten boxes of tea and three large crates of grain. Ellen sat down on the cool wood, letting her feet dangle over the side of the harbor. She breathed deeply. The smell of the tea mixed nicely with the salty tang of ocean air.
"I was wondering where you were sneaking off to,"
Ellen gasped and turned sharply. Victor crouched on top of the piles of grain, resting on the balls of his feet. His gaze was on the ocean and the docked ships within.
"How did you find me?" Ellen was confused. Victor smiled at the sea before turning his gaze to her. He slid off the crates and sat beside her, leaning back on his hands.
"Smell. I almost lost you behind the nets full of herring," Victor tapped a claw on the side of his nose.
"Smell? Like- like a cat?" Ellen cocked her head.
Victor chuckled. "Yeah, like a cat."
A comfortable silence settled over them. They watched the waves lapping at the sides of the boats, the odd sailor leaving for or returning to a pub. Once, Ellen commented: "Oh, I wondered what happened to Rosaline,"
"Hmm?" Victor grunted. Ellen pointed at a sailor on the opposite dock with a busty red-headed woman clinging to his arm. Her face was caked in rouge, her dress was stained and tattered.
An hour passed.
"Come on, let's get you home," Victor broke the silence, standing. Ellen sighed, but obliged. She was starting to get sleepy. Victor helped her over the crates and boxes, scaling them with feline grace. She took his offered arm and he walked her back to her home, using a much more direct route. When they reached her house, Victor told Ellen to climb onto his back. She was too tired to say no; she hiked up her skirt and clambered on. He scaled the vertical walls of the house and helped Ellen slide into her window before climbing over the roof and back to his own room.
Ellen fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed, not even bothering to take her dress off.