I don't own any of the characters of Dr Quinn Medicine Woman, only Emma Jane and all original characters who flow from her.
By nightfall, Emma Jane had shed so many tears that she was surprised she had any left. She hated herself for what she had done and she hated Hank for doing it to her. It was like being in a Hell that she couldn't get out of. Upon entering the saloon, she had been greeted by a dark, gloomy interior where several men sat around drinking and the smell of alcohol and smoke was overpowering. The women that circulated the room oozed a sexuality that made Emma Jane feel fear and nausea in equal measures, then she would remember what she had let Hank do to her the previous night and reckoned she was no better.
The only thing in her favour, was the gold wedding bank on the fourth finger of her left hand, the marker that symbolised she was Hank's wife, the lady of the manor, and that led the men who frequented it to look away whenever her frightened gaze rested upon them.
He had shown her up to their bedroom, an even worse version of the cheap hotel room, tossed her some money and told her to go to Loren's to buy material to make clothes for herself. Emma Jane had stood staring at the coins in her hand, wondering if there was any way she could use them to escape the town. But this was not New York, and it was almost impossible to run anywhere. As she crossed the dusty street to Loren's store, she could feel every eye upon her, and when she glanced over, she saw Jake smirking at her from the doorway of his barber's shop.
Upon entering Loren's store, she hovered nervously in the doorway until the older man took pity on her.
"You looking for anything in particular?"
"Material," she said, "for…for making dresses?"
"Sure," he came around from behind the counter and directed her over to a shelf which housed rolls of fabric in various colours and shades. "That's the selection. I'm sure you can afford whatever you want." He went back to the counter and Emma Jane realised Hank must have told him that she came from a prominent family.
With an inexperienced eye, she looked over all the fabric and eventually selected some blue and green. Lifting the rolls, she carried them back over to the counter.
"How much do you want?" he asked her.
Emma Jane looked at him blankly, "How…how do you mean?"
"Length," he said, "what length do you want?"
"Uh…I…I don't…"
"Enough to make two dresses?" he filled in for her. She nodded and he started to cut, feeling a rush of sympathy for her. She had clearly never had to fend for herself.
Emma Jane watched him until he had finished and then held out the money Hank had given her, not even sure how much he was going to charge her. Loren took the correct amount from her and handed her the package. She thanked him and made her way back out into the daylight, where she looked around at her new home. There wasn't much to it. The saloon, the store, the telegraph office and what she had been told was the boarding house. It was certainly different from what she was used to.
As she stood staring, a young girl, about her own age, came up alongside her. She was slightly taller than Emma Jane, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a light blue dress.
"Hello," she said pleasantly.
"Hello," Emma Jane replied weakly.
"You're new in town," the girl said. It was a statement, not a question. Emma Jane nodded, "I'm Abigail Bray."
"Oh, are you Mr Bray's daughter?" Emma Jane asked, focusing on something other than herself.
Abigail nodded, "What's your name?"
"Emma Jane Brown. I mean, Lawson," she quickly corrected herself. "Emma Jane Lawson."
"You're married to Hank." Emma Jane nodded, "I saw you arrive this morning. You looked a little scared."
"I was. I am," Emma Jane said, "It's…I've never lived anywhere like this before. I'm from New York," she added, as if Abigail wouldn't know.
"I know," she nodded, "everyone's talking about you."
"They are?"
Abigail linked her arm through Emma Jane's. "It's been ages since I've had anyone to talk to. Why don't we go to the meadow and talk?"
"The meadow?"
"Yes. It's just over this way," Abigail pointed, "It's lovely and peaceful. You can tell me all about life in New York." Emma Jane glanced helplessly at the package in her arms, "Oh you can take that back later. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to sew."
"I don't know how," Emma Jane admitted miserably, "I've never done it before. I always had…" she broke off, not wanting to come across as looking down on Abigail."Oh, don't worry," Abigail said, "I can help you. I've been sewing and making things since I was little. My mother taught me and I can teach you."
"Thank you," Emma Jane whispered, not trusting herself not to cry.
"Come on," Abigail said brightly, "let's go and have that talk." She led Emma Jane away from the barren looking street and around the back of a number of buildings out to where there was a large, lush green field. There were a number of people in it with some young children running around. It reminded Emma Jane of Central Park and she could feel her spirits lift slightly. Abigail chose a suitable spot and planted herself on the ground, gesturing for Emma Jane to follow suit, "Your dress couldn't get much worse," she said honestly.
Emma Jane looked down at the purple dress and had to admit that Abigail was right. She sat down next to her new friend, carefully laying her package beside her.
"So," Abigail said, "tell me all about New York."
Emma Jane didn't really want to talk about home, but she gamely launched into a spiel about the city and the people in it. She talked about her family and her house and before she knew what had happened, she was sobbing again.
"Don't cry," Abigail comforted her, "It's not all that bad here."
"I know, I don't mean to…to be horrible about the town, it's lovely. It's just…" Emma Jane broke off and wiped her eyes viciously with the back of her hand, "I think I've made a huge mistake in coming here."
"You love Hank though, don't you?" Emma Jane didn't reply, "Well, don't you?" Abigail persisted. When she got no response, she seemed flabbergasted, "but why would you marry someone you don't love?"
Emma Jane had been asking herself that question since the previous day, "I don't know. I suppose I thought it would make me feel good, knowing I was doing something of which my parents were sure to disapprove." She sighed heavily, "I was so miserable in New York, but I've only made it ten times worse by doing what I've done. My family will be so ashamed."
"Maybe…maybe you'll grow to love Hank," Abigail offered.
Emma Jane thought about Hank, about the way he had spoken to her, about what he had done to her, "I don't think I ever will."
"I'm in love with someone," Abigail revealed.
"You are?" Emma Jane was glad at the switch in conversation, "Who?"
"His name's Byron. Byron Sully. He came to town a few months ago now and…well…we've been courting, in secret."
"Why in secret?"
"Well, my father wouldn't be too happy about it if he knew. You see, I was engaged to someone else, someone my father really liked. His name was Martin and he was going to go work with Pa in the store. But…then I met Sully and…everything changed."
"Does your father know that you broke off your engagement because of Sully?"
"No," she replied honestly, "he thinks I just changed my mind. I think he's hoping I'll change it back, but I won't." She grinned at her new friend, "He's just so wonderful."
Emma Jane smiled. At least someone was happy. She checked her watch, just to see if there was any chance that time had flown past since her arrival.
"What time is it?" Abigail asked anxiously.
"Three o'clock." Emma Jane consulted the slender silver watch her parents had given her as a sixteenth birthday present.
"Oh, I have to go," Abigail stood up quickly, "I'm supposed to be meeting Sully."
Emma Jane stood up too, sorry that her new friend was running off so quickly, "Did you mean what you said? About helping me make the dresses?"
"Of course," she replied, "and I've also got some old ones that you can have. They're too small for me now but they should fit you. Why don't you come over to the store after dinner and I'll give you them?"
"That would be lovely, thank you," Emma Jane replied, "perhaps you could come to the saloon tomorrow and help me sew."
Abigail's face took on an expression of shock, "I couldn't possibly!"
"But…"
"I can't come to the saloon! My parents would have a fit! Respectable women don't go in there, you know." Abigail stopped short, realising what she had just implied, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest that you…"
"I understand," Emma Jane replied, knowing that she would be forever tarnished because of where she was now forced to live. "I can bring the material over to the store tomorrow and we could do it there."
"That's fine," Abigail said, "I really must go, sorry. I'll see you tonight!" She called over her shoulder as she sprinted across the meadow, her dark ponytail bobbing along behind her.
Emma Jane started to follow her slowly back across the field to the town, clutching her package. It was so beautiful and peaceful in the meadow that she really didn't want to return to the saloon. Once inside she would be swallowed up by its depravity. As she reached the door, she could hear the sound of laughter from inside and taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and went in. The girls were plying their trade to perfection and Hank was tending bar. Emma Jane paused for a moment in the doorway as if shaking herself to see if it wasn't all just some horrible dream.
"Where've you been?" Hank asked from behind the bar.
"I was just talking to someone," Emma Jane replied.
"Who?"
"Abigail Bray."
A smile spread across Hank's face, "Abigail's a sweet little thing." Something about the way he said it made Emma Jane shiver. "You git the stuff to make the dresses?"
Emma Jane nodded, "Abigail's going to show me how to do it tomorrow." She started to make her way through the room towards the stairs.
"Where d'you think yer going?" Hank called after her.
She turned to face him, "Up to the room."
He shook his head, "Can't you see we're busy? Git yerself behind this here bar."
Emma Jane felt her jaw drop. Not only did he expect her to live here, he expected her to work too? "I can't," she heard herself say.
The room went silent, everyone listening in. Even the girls were watching her, some sympathetic, others secretly pleased.
"What did you say?" Hank asked, cupping his ear in pretence, "Did you say you can't?" Laughter came from all quarters of the room.
Emma Jane glanced around nervously. She didn't like the way they looked at her, but her respectability, the small shred she had left, refused to bend completely, "Yes, I did," she replied, "I'm not going to work behind the bar."
"So, it's not 'can't' anymore, it's 'won't'" Hank said bluntly. A faint undercurrent of murmurs came from the nearest table.
"That's right," Emma Jane held her head high, "I won't." With that, she turned on her heel and made to hurry up the stairs. Before she could take a step however, Hank was beside her, pulling her arm and yanking her into a corner.
"I don't know whit you got away with in the big city," he said, "but I've already told you that yer my wife, and if I tell you to do somethin' you do it."
Emma Jane glared at him defiantly, "I'm not one of your working girls. You can't force me."
"I'm your husband and I can make you do whit I like," he replied, his eyes glittering dangerously, "Now, git yerself behind that bar and git a smile on yer face, or you'll feel the back of my hand."
Emma Jane wanted to say something else, wanted to stand up to him, show everyone that she wasn't some quiet little mouse from the city, but she was afraid of her husband, afraid of what he could do to her. So, she placed the package in the corner, wiped her hands on her dress and positioned herself behind the bar.
"Whiskey," the nearest man growled at her.
Assuming it would not be the smartest move to remind him to say please, she picked a glass up from the shelf and placed it on the bar. Then, knowing everyone in the room was watching her, she lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured some into the glass. Her hand was shaking, but she refused to stop until the glass was full. She pushed it towards the customer, who threw some money on the bar and then ambled back to his table. Emma Jane let her breath out slowly. It hadn't been that difficult, nor that unpleasant. If only her parents could have seen her. Slowly, conversation around the room resumed and she continued to serve, until eventually, nobody even seemed to care.
From the corner of the room, Hank watched the scene unfolding and smiled. At the end of the day, his new wife was quite a good sport. He was more and more convinced he had made a wise choice.
At seven o'clock, having had no break or food, Emma Jane asked Hank if she could be excused to go across to the store to pick up the dresses Abigail had promised she could have. Having had great amusement for the previous four hours, Hank agreed to give her the time off, on the understanding that she was back in time for the evening rush. Emma Jane agreed and then ran out of the saloon as quickly as she could, taking in huge gulps of air that weren't filled with the stench of cigar smoke or alcohol.
She hurried across the street to the store where Loren was just finishing serving his last customer.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Abigail said I should come over this evening," Emma Jane explained, "She said I could have some of her old dresses, until she's taught me how to make my own."
"Oh…" Loren's face crinkled into the indulgent smile of a parent, "That's my Abigail, so sweet and giving. Quite the lady. I know she'll make Martin a good wife." Emma Jane kept her mouth closed, remembering everything Abigail had told her that afternoon. "Go on up." He waved her in the direction of the stairs at the back of the store.
Emma Jane took them and met Abigail at the top.
"Hello," the latter said, "I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."
"Sorry," Emma Jane replied, "I was held up. The saloon was busy."
Abigail raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. She could hardly believe the things that Hank Lawson was forcing his poor wife to do. She led the way to her room and Emma Jane looked around it with envy. It was small, but it was beautifully neat and tidy, with dolls on the wooden shelves and a small dressing table with a mirror. It was a far cry both from her New York luxury and her Colorado Springs sparseness.
"Your room is beautiful," she admired.
"Thank you," Abigail replied, opening the wooden closet at the other side of it, "Here, these are the ones I was talking about." She lifted out three dresses, one yellow, another pale green and a pink one. Emma Jane fingered them gently. "Do you like them?"
"They're beautiful," she replied honestly, "Are you sure I can have them? I wouldn't want to take them from you."
"Don't be silly," Abigail waved her hand, "like I said, they're too small for me now. I have a few old aprons as well, if you could use them."
"Aprons?"
"Well…" Abigail looked at Emma Jane's dress, splashed with what looked and smelled suspiciously like alcohol, "you might need them, for working in the saloon."
"Oh…yes, of course," Emma Jane said, hoping to make light of the situation, "It does get quite messy in there." Abigail handed her the aprons, "I really appreciate this."
"It's nothing. And you'll come over tomorrow morning for my sewing lesson?" she teased.
"Of course," Emma Jane laughed, "Provided Hank doesn't find something for me to do. How was your meeting with Sully?"
Abigail's face became dreamy, "It was so lovely. I love spending time with him, Emma Jane, I really do. He's so different to Martin, in a good way. I just can't think of anyone else I'd rather marry."
"Your father still thinks you're going to marry Martin," Emma Jane said, relaying what Loren had said on her arrival, "Shouldn't you tell him about Sully?"
"I can't," Abigail said, "not yet. And neither must you," she added hurriedly, "not anyone. Not even Hank."
"I promise," Emma Jane said, knowing full well it was hardly the kind of relationship where she would share intimate secrets with her husband, "Your secrets will always be safe with me."
Abigail smiled, "I think we're going to be really good friends."
Emma Jane grinned in return, "Me too."
It was after eight-thirty by the time she arrived back at the saloon. Before Hank could have a chance to chastise her, however, Emma Jane bolted through the bar and up the stairs to her room where she could put Abigail's dresses away safely. Upon opening the closet in the bedroom, she came face to face with all of Hank's clothes.
"Have to do something about this," she muttered to herself. If she was going to live here then she would have to have some closet space. For the moment, however, she pushed his things as far as possible to one side and hung up the dresses. When she closed the doors, she turned and surveyed the room, thinking that something would have to be done about it too.
When she opened the bedroom door, she came face to face with Carolyn, the self-styled 'head whore' who had done nothing but glare at Emma Jane since her arrival. She considered herself the beauty of the saloon, but as far as Emma Jane could see, she looked old and tired, despite the fact she couldn't have been much older than twenty-five.
"Carolyn," Emma Jane greeted her carefully, "What can I do for you?"
"What can I do for you?" Carolyn mocked in a sing-song voice, "You really do think you're a cut above all of us, don't you?"
"No, I don't," Emma Jane lied.
"Come in here with your fancy ways and your, 'I won't work behind the bar,'" Carolyn glared at her, "You may be Hank's wife, but you're nothing as far as I'm concerned."
Emma Jane couldn't help notice the formal way Carolyn spoke, rather like herself. She had clearly been educated to some level, and Emma Jane wondered what could have happened to reduce her to have to work for Hank. "If you have a problem with me, Carolyn, just tell me. I haven't done anything to you."
Carolyn laughed mirthlessly, "You and your kind. You make me sick. Just remember that I'm in charge here. Hank looks to me. He looks after me. Don't you forget I was here first." With that, she hurried off along the corridor, leaving Emma Jane to ponder why on earth this woman could be so angry at her when she barely even knew her?
Emma Jane made her way slowly back downstairs and behind the bar. Hank didn't say anything about her being later than expected, instead, he merely let her get on with it. In a way, this unnerved her even more. Across the room, she could see Carolyn smiling with an older man, who was clearly enjoying her attentions.
"Want to try it?" Hank's voice sounded in her ear causing her to jump.
"What? No, no I don't," she felt her face redden and she focused her attention on wiping spilled whiskey from the bar top.
He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him, "You can just be my little baby then."
Emma Jane swallowed hard, knowing it was useless to fight and unwise to be wilful. Instead, she turned in his embrace and looked up at him, "You're right," she replied, "I'm all yours." With that, she kissed a surprised Hank lightly on the lips and then disentangled herself from his arms to serve a customer. As he walked behind her, he touched her lightly on her bottom causing her to spill the whiskey she was pouring. It seemed as though gritting her teeth and getting on with it would be the only way to survive.
That night, it wasn't quite as bad as she had envisaged. As the time for sleep had drawn nearer and nearer, Emma Jane had psyched herself up for what she was certain was about to come. She had told herself that if this were to be her life, she would have to just get on with it, in more ways than one, and it gave her a little naïve pleasure knowing that Lydia still had it all to come. She could just imagine her prim and proper sister's face the first night Arthur would take her to bed.
She had already formulated a plan to tidy out the closet in the room to give herself some space, and to give the room itself a good clean. If she got the chance, she wouldn't mind doing the same with the saloon itself, the cursory sweep the floor received at the end of the day doing nothing to remove the sticky remains of spilled whiskey. Having never scrubbed a floor in her life, it seemed a daunting task, but she had seen the housekeeper in New York do it often enough. How hard could it really be?
Wifely duties was another area where she was determined to roll up her sleeves, metaphorically of course, and get on with it. It would do her no good in the long run to act like it was a chore and might put an end to the sniggering of the saloon girls, who had all been taking bets as to how many times since their wedding the previous day Hank had taken his wife. She had overheard one girl say that it clearly hadn't been enough since she still walked too stiffly.
As she lay in bed, wearing nothing but her slip, she listened for Hank's footfalls on the stairs, her heart beating wildly in her chest. When the bedroom door finally opened and he came in, she smiled at him from under the covers.
"See yer waitin' for me," he noticed, closing the door purposefully behind him, "Guess you know what's comin'."
He made it sound so crude, yet Emma Jane forced a smile onto her face. She watched, just as wordlessly as the previous night, as he got undressed and slipped into the bed beside her. Her heart thumped so strongly and loudly, she was worried it might burst right out of her chest as Hank manoeuvred himself on top of her. This time, when he kissed her, she kissed him back, blindly not knowing how, but trying to give him the impression she wasn't afraid. When he ran his hands down her body, she moved it against him, allowing her own hands to explore his, although feeling herself tremble as she did so in fear and anxiety.
Perhaps as a result of her efforts, Hank was much gentler with her and as they moved together, Emma Jane found herself feeling a slight tinge of pleasure. As she held him to her and he kissed her, she couldn't help almost enjoying the sensations that their union was bringing. She felt her body shudder uncontrollably as she moved towards her climax and at the crucial moment, she heard herself cry out his name, as if from far away.
Hank looked down at her in surprise as he too reached his orgasm, studying the look on her face. It was different from how she had looked the previous night. There were no tears, and her face was not creased with fear. Instead, she merely looked back at him, her breath coming in short gasps. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him and he gently stroked her hair as she lay against his chest. If she had been faking, she had been damn good.
Emma Jane was listening to Hank's heartbeat, her finger absent-mindedly twirling a lock of his blond hair. A sense of calm had come over her, a feeling far more welcome than the one of fear and pain she had experienced on their wedding night. Was it possible to experience such a transformation in only one day? Did it make her no better than the women who sold their bodies for the pleasure of men? Maybe deep down, she was a frustrated whore, trying desperately to escape. The thought of this made her want to laugh, the first thing that had since she had arrived that morning.
"Whatcha thinkin'?" Hank asked her, breaking into her reverie.
"Nothing," she replied.
"Didn't hurt you this time." It was a statement, not a question.
"No," she replied honestly.
"Told you you'd git used to it," he replied in a self-satisfied tone.
The following morning, Emma Jane was up bright and early, leaving Hank snoring softly in the bed bedside her. She washed and dressed quickly in the yellow dress Abigail had given her and, putting one of the aprons over it, made her way downstairs to take her first look at the kitchen. It too would need a through clean and a small part of her relished the task. First of all, however, she was going to have to learn how to cook breakfast, not just for herself and Hank, but for the girls too. Jessica, one of the younger, quieter girls, who couldn't have been more than fourteen, had told her the previous evening that they all took it in turns to make the meals, but Carolyn had butted in and declared that seeing as little Miss Posh from New York was now Mrs Lawson, she would be expected to do it. At the time, Emma Jane had bit her lip as tears had sprung into her eyes, causing Carolyn to laugh uproariously and then rush off to tell the others that Emma Jane was a crybaby and, what's more, couldn't cook. Now, however, she was determined to make a damn good go.
It didn't go to plan, however. She had scouted the cupboards looking for something to make and, finding little, decided on bread and cheese. It wasn't exactly a gourmet meal, and she wasn't even sure if the cheese would be ok, but she decided it was the only thing she couldn't possibly screw up.
The food wasn't a problem, but she couldn't for the life of her work out how to light the fire to make tea. When Hank came down, he found her on her hands and knees in front of the stove.
"Whatcha doin'?" he asked, lighting a cigarette in amusement.
"Trying to light this damn thing!" Emma Jane replied, looking up from her task, "but I'm not having much luck."
Hank got down beside her and lit in in one go. He grinned over at her, "It takes a bit of gettin' used to, like most things," he raised his eyebrows.
Emma Jane ignored his innuendo and got to her feet, "I'm sorry, but all I could find was bread and cheese," she gestured to the food on the table, "I'll go to Loren's this morning and try and get some things. Do you think the girls will mind?"
Hank laughed, "They don't care whit they eat s'long as it's edible." He sniffed, "It is edible, right?"
"Of course it is," Emma Jane replied indignantly.
"Well, well, well," Carolyn appeared in the kitchen, wrapping her shawl around her, "Little miss perfect is cooking breakfast. Hope we don't all die from eating it."
Emma Jane took a deep breath and tried to ignore her. Instead she busied herself around the kitchen, setting out plates and mugs for the tea that was hopefully going to be brewing soon. When she turned back around, Carolyn was cosying up to Hank, her body pressed against his, her smiling face upturned to his. Emma Jane felt a stab of anger go through her. Who did this woman really think she was, making eyes at her husband? Her anger was momentarily dissipated however, by the entrance of the other four girls. The next hour was taken up with eating breakfast and Emma Jane washing up the dishes and putting them away. When she next went to look for her husband to ask him for money, she found him and Carolyn, once more, whispering conspiratorially.
"Hank," she interrupted them loudly, causing them both to look up, "Can I have some money please?" She ignored Carolyn's supercilious look as Hank dug around in his pocket and gave her some, "Thank you." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the saloon into the hot morning sunshine. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she hurried over to the store, where Loren was just opening up.
"Good morning, Mr Bray," she greeted him cheerfully.
"Morning Emma Jane," he replied. He was beginning to like her, "You're up and about early this morning."
"Well, there's practically nothing edible in the saloon," she admitted, "So I'm here to shop." She looked around, forcing her fake confidence to belie the fact she had no idea what to buy."
Loren left her to it, watching as she meandered slowly around the store picking things up and then pausing, as if not sure whether to get them or not. Eventually, she returned to the counter and placed her purchases down.
"I think that's everything," she replied smiling at him and handing over the money, "Is Abigail here?"
"No, she went out for an early walk," Loren replied, "She likes doing that sorta thing in the good weather. She should be back soon though."
"She promised to teach me to sew," Emma Jane reminded him, "I'll come back later." With that, she lifted the basket and once more stepped out into the street. As she did so, an older woman came out of the boarding house and upon spying Emma Jane, waved her arms in greeting.
"Hello," Emma Jane said, as the woman hurried over towards her.
"You must be Mrs Lawson," the woman said.
"Emma Jane, please."
"Nice to meet you Emma Jane," the woman shook her hand, "I'm Charlotte Cooper. I run the boarding house."
"It's nice to meet you too," Emma Jane replied, pleased at how many nice people there were in the town to balance against the horrible ones like Carolyn.
"You're from New York?" Charlotte inquired. Emma Jane nodded, "You must come over for supper one evening and tell me all about it. And, meet my children, of course."
"You have children?" Emma Jane said.
"Two," Charlotte replied beaming broadly, "Matthew is seven and Colleen just turned one."
"You look after them by yourself?" Emma Jane asked, not wanting to ask outright if Charlotte was married.
"Their Pa travels a lot," she replied, "but I manage. Promise you'll come?"
"I promise," Emma Jane replied, watching as Charlotte hurried back over to the boarding house. She made her way back over and into the saloon which was still closed for business. Jessica was behind the bar, cleaning glasses, but the others were nowhere to be seen. Emma Jane headed into the kitchen and put the provisions she had bought into the cupboards, reminding herself again that she had to clean the place. Then, she made her way upstairs to her room to get one of her aprons and upon opening the door, found Carolyn rummaging around in the closet. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
Carolyn turned to face her, a wicked smile on her face. As Emma Jane drew nearer, she saw to her horror that Carolyn had shredded the pink dress Abigail had given her. "Let's see what you're going to do now," Carolyn said malevolently.
The inner tomboy in Emma Jane, the part of her that had led her mother to despair as she rolled around the ground with her brother, surfaced violently, and she flew at Carolyn, knocking her backwards onto the floor, and wrenching the knife from her hand. "How could you!" she yelled angrily.
"Get off me!" Carolyn yelled back, pushing Emma Jane backwards, but the younger girl was stronger and she launched herself once more on top of the vandal, pulling her hair and trying to scratch her face.
The next thing Emma Jane knew, hands were around her waist and pulling her away from Carolyn and she spun around to see Hank gripping onto her tightly.
"The hell's goin' on in here?" he asked, not letting go of his wife.
"She…ruined…the dress!" Emma Jane's anger came forth in short bursts, exhausted as she was from the fight. "Look what she did!"
Hank looked at the dress which lay on the floor, a tattered mess. He looked over at Carolyn, "She deserved it!"
"You…you evil…" Emma Jane made to fly at her again, but Hank held her back, "You…you…" a thought suddenly popped into her head like an epiphany, "You're fired!"
Carolyn's mouth dropped open, "You can't fire me!" She shot back, "You don't have the right!"
"Oh yes I do!" Emma Jane wriggled out of her husband's hold, "I'm mistress of this…this…place," she swung her arm around, "and I say you're fired! I want you out, now!"
Carolyn looked at Hank, "She can't fire me!"
Hank looked from Carolyn to Emma Jane and back again. "You heard what the lady said. Git yer stuff and git out."
"But…but you can't!" Carolyn yelled, "You can't do this to me!"
Hank stepped forward and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of the room and along the corridor to her own room, Carolyn protesting loudly. He threw her onto the floor, "Git yer things together."
"Where am I going to go?" Carolyn demanded.
"Don't know, don't care," Hank replied, "You got five minutes." He slammed the bedroom door on Carolyn's angry sobs and moved back into the bedroom where Emma Jane was standing holding the ruined dress. "You ok?"
"Fine," she replied, "but the dress isn't." She threw it on the bed and sighed heavily.
"You can git yerself another one."
"Sure, once Abigail actually teaches me to sew. It was such a pretty dress too." Emma Jane turned to look at him, "Thank you for backing me up."
He shrugged, "Yer my wife."
Those simple words resonated within Emma Jane and she smiled at him, "Yes, yes I am."
The door to Carolyn's room flew open and she appeared, dragging a bag behind her. Without so much as a look, she ran down the stairs and into the bar. Emma Jane hurried to the window and watched as she appeared on the street. She gestured to a man who held up his hand to the driver of the morning stage which was about to depart. As he took her bag from her, Carolyn looked back up at the saloon and saw Emma Jane framed in the window, "You'll be sorry!" she yelled at her, before climbing inside.
Emma Jane watched as the stage pulled away from Loren's store, craning her neck until she could see it no longer, knowing that it was speeding out of town, taking her nemesis with it. With that, she leaned her head against the window and sighed in relief. Maybe life in Colorado Springs wouldn't be so bad after all.
TBC Please R and R, it keeps me going!
