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"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
I've drawn Cate out the back door of the store and into the alley with me, pleading for her to be as discreet as possible as to not let on that anything of significance is occurring to the employees inside. The last thing we needed was mother growing any more suspicious than she already was given my prolonged absence.
Cate's hand is covering her mouth, taking in Connor's crippled constitution. I've propped him against the crates, instructing him to rest for a moment. I can't tell if Cate is more shocked at the sight of his horribly disheveled appearance or the fact that she has an Indian in her backyard.
"Laura, why in heaven's name would you bring this poor thing to me?" Her hand travels from her mouth to her chest, resting on her heart. "Do you have any idea who this man is?" Her last utterance catches me off inflection in her tone leads me to believe she knows more about Connor than what would be considered general knowledge of a vaguely portrayed criminal.
"You know him?" I question. She gives me a sideways glance and clears her throat.
"Not personally, no. I'm sure you aren't ignorant of the fact that he is a desperately wanted man."
"Of course. There are papers with his face on them pasted on the front of your store." I press my fingertips to my cheek, beginning to worry again.
"He's more than a scoundrel, dear. He's fighting for the Patriot cause. The damn lobsterbacks would do just about anything to get their greasy hands on him." Cate's features mix, caught between intrigue and indecisiveness. Like me, she's not sure what to do.
"While we certainly cannot leave him outside, I don't think it's the best idea to have him come into the store either. The women, your mother, would have a heart attack at the sight of a Native man within the same four walls as themselves." Cate sighs, placing both hands on her hips. She turns to look me straight in the eyes. "Despite our limited interactions in the previous years, you know very well my stance concerning the war."
She pauses, and I nod. "Mother has kept me up to date on your, ahem, strong beliefs."
Cate rolls her eyes and continues. "I would be a turncoat if I didn't make an effort to help conceal him. Here," She rummages through her skirt's pocket, pulling out a brass key and placing it in the palm of my hand. "Go around the right side of the building. There should be a blanket covering a square-ish structure up against the wall; Those are the cellar doors. Take him down there. Judging by the condition he is in at the moment, he won't be in a good enough way to travel for at least another day or two. There are only a few chairs down there, but do your best to get him comfortable. I'll be down in a little while with a cot and hopefully some medical supplies."
I begin follow her instructions, but pause. "What about my mother?"
"What about her? Darling, I am not going to neglect to provide you with a sufficient cover. You needn't worry." Cate gives me a weary half smile.
"I've already been gone long enough for her suspicions to be piqued." I continue.
Cate snickers. "Trust me, love, I have this under control. I am one of the few people your mother actually listens to,"
I clutch the key in my hand tightly as Cate re-enters the store. I have the sense that what I've involved myself in is a lot bigger than what I initially thought.
I trudge over to Connor. "We're putting you in the cellar."
His eyes bore into me, sides of his mouth turned downward, brow furrowed. I gather that he is trying to tell me no minus spoken words.
"We don't have a choice here, Connor." I'm unmoving, channeling my mother's overbearing persona.
"Do not treat me like a dog," His words drip with venom.
"That was not my intention."
"If that is the case, take care to monitor your articulation more carefully in the future lest your message be received incorrectly," He scoffs. I fold my arms in front of me and feel an involuntary frown tug on the sides of my mouth.
"I didn't have to go out of my way to help you, you know." I huff indignantly. I am quickly losing my cool.
"I had asked you to do no such thing to begin with."
"You would have died had I not come to rouse you,"
"That is unlikely."
"Oh, please," I guffaw. "You're burning up like the surface of the sun. Now come along, I'm not going to waste my energy bickering with an indolent sav-" I stop abruptly and mentally slap myself. I catch myself and gulp, trying to smooth over my accidental degradation.
If looks could kill, I would be long dead; His eyes are filled with fire, and I know I've instigated a rage so deep he doesn't dare let it escape. His self-control is truly astonishing.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say…" I stutter.
"Walk. Do not talk." He is practically growling.
I promptly clamp my mouth shut, infinitely embarrassed. I lead Connor around the building, locating the blanket Cate said would be present. I pull it off to uncover the shoddy cellar doors, proceeding to unlock them and carefully usher him down the steps.
The cellar is small and almost pitch black, save for the thin streams of light pouring in through the high windows facing out towards the street. I swat away the cobwebs brushing against my face and sticking to my hair.
"Sadly, there isn't much down here to make yourself comfortable with," I state. I glance back towards Connor, his bulky form half in the light and half in the dark.
I am struck by the tragedy etched in his features.
Not sadness, no; This is not a consciously formed expression; It just is. It is the physical manifestation of his aura. Naturally occurring, devoid of any sort of façade.
Despite their darkness, his eyes hold a certain glassy quality; Dreamlike, as if constantly looking forward to something that may or may not be there (and tortured by the possibility of the latter). He is a garden of contradictions: Infantile but seasoned. Halcyon but turbulent. Fire buried in ice. In this fleeting moment, he is as clear and unhindered as the rivers flowing freely in this strange new land, untainted by the avaricious vices of the common man. His strength, his struggle, is evident in his every feature. His every movement.
Connor stares at me as I stare at him.
Instantly, I feel my cheeks redden once I notice. I flick my eyes away and turn my back completely to him, clearing my throat.
"Once again, my apologies for not being able to provide the best conditions for-"
"It is fine." He interjects. The harshness from earlier has subsided, but I can still sense something of a strain in his words.
I gulp, not sure of what else to say. I feel Connor's eyes on me, prompting me to either move or speak.
I don't want him to think of me as an ignorant little girl, a privileged know-it-all, although I'm sure that is what he has accepted me as already. I think of my slip-up from earlier and feel a pang of guilt in my chest again. Mother has told me more than once that I should think before I speak; For once, I suppose she has a point.
"I'm sorry," I begin. "For before. And the circumstances of our meeting. I do not know much about you, but to say that I am concerned would be an understatement, and to chalk it up to fascination would be a stretch; I'm somewhere in between the two but despite either one I know I am ultimately afraid," I turn to face Connor directly. "I'm afraid of what's happened to you and what could possibly happen to me for having intervened in your predicament."
We lock eyes. His gaze is mostly rugged, all-consuming, with tinges of what seems to be protectiveness. I am surprised by this, but his words follow the message conveyed in his eyes.
"You need not worry. I will not allow anything to happen to you or your family." His voice is completely even; The sureness in his tone is almost comforting, but his words alone are as sharp as the jagged edges of a rock.
Our eyes do not leave each other's. I am searching his sentiment for faults, cracks, any determinant of falsehood in his statement; There are none.
I proceed to do something very unlike me: I trust him.
I trust him, I think. Wholeheartedly and illogically. Devoid of reason. This wild man, hard as nails, covered in blood and strapped with weapons and a brazen disposition. Ready to mangle anyone who crossed him or his cause without a second thought.
Something told me I had just bitten off far more than I could chew.