My thanks go out to Gandalf007 and Katia0203 for their comments on the first chapter! I appreciate your support of my writing and I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything associated with Tolkien Enterprises. I also do not own any music by Stephen Foster. His lyrics are included in this fanfic; they are old enough to be considered public domain.

ooOoo

Guardians of Arda

By Ponytail Goddess

Chapter 2: Change is in the Air

The faint sound of humming could be heard coming from the light breeze flowing through the cool evening air. The sound was followed by a fair maiden emerging from between the leafy rows of a deep green cornfield. Though the chill of early fall was in the air, she wore no shawl or coat, for her kind was not easily affected by changes in the weather. The vibrant leaves of the cornstalks seemed to almost bow out of her way as she gracefully emerged from the field into the golden light of the setting sun while holding a basket full of cobs, all of which were still wrapped in their fresh-smelling husks.

Not a hint of sweat was on her fair brow, though she had purposely wiped some dirt on her face, just as her father always had during their days together. Upon hearing the delicate blades of grass and nearby squash vines whisper that she was still safe and alone, Duckie breathed a sigh of relief. It had been three days since the Thomas brothers had vandalized the farmhouse and thankfully, none of them had come back since. It had taken Duckie the remainder of the night to clean up the mess they made and she had been too frightened to sleep for the next two days.

Needless to say, she was no longer forgetting to lock the cabin door.

After managing to work through a majority of her fear during her first two days spent alone, Duckie had started tentatively exploring the property. Much to her delight, she had found a small orchard of fruit trees growing behind the house, as well as an underground cellar that was quite large and filled with a nice variety of freshly harvested foods and dried meats.

The entrance to it was well-hidden behind a thicket of blackberry bushes, so Duckie had attempted to move some of her father's items into the safety of its storage area. It did not go very well though, as his trunk had proven too heavy for her to move on her own and his harp was too large and awkward to carry down the rickety wooden stairs.

Instead, Duckie busied herself with making the cabin cleaner than it had been in years, mopping the floor until it shined and scrubbing the bedsheets over and over again on a washboard until the horrible odor was vanquished. It hadn't taken very long to get the place into tiptop shape, so after she finished cleaning she relegated herself to starting the harvest while waiting for Father John to return. Having never fully gotten over the experience with the Thomas brothers, Duckie decided to quit while the sun was still shining so she could lock herself inside the safety of the cabin's comforting walls before the cover of night fell upon the farmlands.

There was something else to worry about too; an evil, looming in the darkness of the forest by the base of the snowcapped mountains. Duckie was very aware that something unnatural had killed Lewis. She suspected that same something had been on the roof of the cabin during the first night of her stay. Whatever it was, it must have been at least a little skittish, as the Thomas brothers had scared it away with their loud carousing and reckless shooting. Still, the plants were frightened of it and had warned her to stay inside at night, as that was when 'the monster' came out of hiding to feed.

Just thinking about it made Duckie silently tremble as she dropped a basket of corn down at her feet. "Soon this will be over…" She said to reassure herself, shaking her head at her own fear. "Father John will come back for you either tonight or tomorrow."

Duckie wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing though. She had become quite attached to the farm today, though she didn't like the idea of living in the middle of nowhere all alone. The only other alternative seemed to be to get a husband, but Duckie knew she could not do that. Marrying a mortal would mean giving up her immortal soul, which was a decision one should not be forced into. While Duckie knew she could marry a mortal if she truly desired to, her father had always advised against it, as she would likely fade away and die from grief when her husband perished.

No, a life like that was not the life Duckie wanted at all.

"Perhaps Father John will listen to me." She reasoned with herself as she carefully picked up the basket of corn she had gathered earlier in the day and balanced it on her head, then reached down and grabbed the second basket of corn up in her arms and headed towards the barn to put them into storage there. "Perhaps a teaching job could be found."

It was the only other thing she could think of—becoming a teacher would give her additional time to think through her options and allow her to get out of any sort of arranged marriage, for teachers were not allowed to marry in these parts. Duckie didn't feel particularly excited about the prospect, but she knew she was intelligent enough for such a thing, as she had taken several levels at school repeatedly when they moved from town to town to hide her age. Her father Elroy had also chosen certain literature and skills, such as music and other arts, to teach her in his spare time. Duckie had quickly excelled at them all and they brought her much joy.

Yes, perhaps teaching could be right for her until she could get her head on straight and figure out what to do next.

As Duckie headed towards the barn to find a place to store the corn, she closed her eyes and took several deep and cleansing breaths, letting the peace of the countryside soothe her anxious thoughts. A moment later, her colorful eyes burst open, wide and mystified.

The air was rife with change!

She could feel it now, lingering heavily over her like a woolen blanket, whispering for her to stay put and step into her destiny once and for all, whatever that happened to be... Duckie was confused because she had never felt this way before, but her good instincts and unique connection to nature had never steered her down the wrong path before. At the moment, she felt absolutely certain of one thing:

Something was about to happen.

Something life-changing.

Something new.

Quickly putting the corn into the corncrib she found at the back of the barn, Duckie ran outside as the wind whipped around her, whispering louder and louder to stay and step into her destiny. When she caught sight of what was before her, the voices stopped. The wind suddenly stilled around her.

On the distant trail, more than a couples of miles away from the cabin, was a small wagon train headed down the path. Duckie presumed it was the Oregon Trail. She had always known it was relatively close to the settlement where she lived with her father—they themselves had taken it before they decided to live in the unnamed settlement for a while before moving on towards the west coast.

It seemed as though her destiny was somehow related to those weathered wagons. Duckie could see how each one was covered with a dusty cloth bonnet and was guided by worn out livestock.

Something or someone important was over there.

But what could it be? Or whom?

Feeling nervousness well up in her heart, Duckie quickly ran into the cabin and locked the door behind her. She took the small dinner she had laid out for herself with her to the window and picked at the salted pork and vegetables a bit as she watched the wagon train draw closer and closer to the fields of the farm. Duckie could tell the sun would set soon. These strangers would end up needing to set up their camp near the farm for the night.

What would happen then?

Filled with a nervous excitement, Duckie set about cleaning up the remainder of her food and dishes while she waited for them to arrive. The wind had told her to stay put, so she tried to sit in one of the chairs and wait afterwards. However, she found herself choking at the bit to do something, otherwise her mind grow restless and wander into odd places.

Upon eying her father's trunk, a wave of nostalgia and loneliness washed over Duckie. An idea rapidly formed within her mind and she abruptly found herself searching through her trunk for the key that would open up his. The small copper key was quickly located and Duckie scooted over to his trunk to with the intention of opening it on her own for the very first time.

This action was not completed as easily as she anticipated. Duckie had never been allowed to look through her father's trunk before and, though he was deceased, it still felt like an inappropriate invasion of his privacy. Her desire to feel close to him was greater than her sense of propriety though, as he had always been able to ease her anxiety in times like these. Duckie longed to feel his comfort again and his belongings were the only things she had left to remember him by.

With a wavering hand, she carefully undid the lock with the key she had found under his pillow in the boarding house. The lock was removed easily enough, but Duckie sat on her feet staring at the familiar sight for several minutes before she finally had the courage to open it up. The old hinges creaked a bit as she slowly opened up his trunk with care. Immediately, she was hit with the familiar smell of orange blossom, rosemary, and bergamot; it was Caswell No. 6, her father's favorite cologne. He had purchased multiple bottles of it while they lived on the east coast, not knowing if they would be able to find such fineries in the west.

"Our first president, George Washington himself, wore this cologne too. It is very popular." He always said to her as he sprayed some on before going about his day. Duckie felt a tear escape from her eye as she unwrapped two unopened bottles of it that were sitting on top of his neatly folded clothes in the left side of the trunk. Each bottle was wrapped in a soft cloth for safekeeping. She carefully wrapped the bottles back up and set them aside.

Duckie gently ran her hand across his well-starched clothing, taking the immaculately folded white shirts out one at a time. Beneath them were several pairs of pants he had worn regularly, along with a couple pairs of suspenders and a variety of socks and undergarments. A couple of fancier items were beneath everything. It was finery that Elroy surely had not worn since they lived on the east coast. A funny looking jacket and short pair of pants were found beneath them. These, Duckie was certain, were made before the 1800's. She idly wondered why her father had chosen to hold onto them.

Seemingly having come to the end of the clothing, Duckie turned her attention to the other side of the trunk. A couple of pairs of shoes were on top of a layer of books. Duckie had read several of the books before and paid little attention to them as she set them aside. Underneath them, however, was a second layer of books she had never seen before. These books were not made on a printing press, but seemed to be handwritten with fancy calligraphy in a language that was completely foreign to Duckie. As she flipped through the pages with wide eyes, Duckie found herself tracing the mysterious, beautiful characters with her fingers, idly wondering what each one meant and what language it was.

Had her father spoken a different language that she did not know about?

She had heard him mutter some oddities under his breath from time to time, but truly, Duckie had thought nothing of it. He had come from Ireland, after all, so she had assumed it was Gaelic. These characters, however, were definitely not Gaelic and were unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The first five books she flipped through all looked rather similar to one another. Upon grabbing the sixth book, which was a particularly fat one, Duckie found herself gasping as she opened the cover. A few large, dried flowers unexpectedly flew out from beneath the cover and fluttered onto the floor, losing a couple of stray petals along the way.

"What are these?" She murmured to herself as she gathered up their remnants carefully, trying to protect them from further damage.

They looked like lilies, but they appeared to be rather exotic varieties she had never seen before. There was a deep purple one, a white one with a hint of light blue in the center, and a speckled pink and black one. Though they were flattened and dried, Duckie could tell they were picked while at their prime. Even now, they were still quite beautiful.

"I wonder where father got these." She murmured to herself as she set them gently beside the trunk. Duckie quickly forgot the flowers though when she opened up the book and found that it was hollowed out inside.

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed as her eyes fell upon a large stack of money, which was folded over neatly in a stack. There was more money in Elroy's book than Duckie had ever seen in one place! How had her father acquired so much?! There was also a large pouch of change, which contained regular American coinage, as well as some golden coins that Duckie did not recognize. She held one in front of her face briefly to marvel at its shimmer in the setting sun, before quickly sticking it back in the pouch and slamming the book shut.

What if someone else found out about the money? Would she be able to stay safe?!

She crawled up to the window and looked to see if anyone was outside of it, but there was no one. The wagon train had not arrived yet, although she could see they were much closer than they were previously. Frightened, but still curious, Duckie peeked back into the book once more to see what else was inside.

The remaining contents seemed to be a large stack of letters, all of them held together with a lovely blue ribbon that Duckie recognized as one she had worn in her hair during her childhood. Duckie removed the letters from the book and stuck it back into the trunk for safekeeping.

She walked the letters over to the table and sat down with them, undoing the ribbon and flipping through them one by one. It appeared that most of the mail was from a man named Eli Dann, whoever that was. There were a few others from a couple of random men, but most of them were from Eli.

Duckie frowned, as she had been hoping there would be some in her mother's hand. Duckie knew very little about her mother. Her father had told her long ago that her mother died while giving birth to Duckie. Her father rarely offered any additional details about her mother. In fact, it seemed to pain him to speak about her, so Duckie had long ago decided she would no longer ask about her until her father had been given adequate time to heal from her passing.

The questions in her mind about her mother never went away though. She had hoped one day her father would be able to have a much more candid conversation about her, but now that hope had been extinguished along with her father's life.

Sighing in resignation because she would probably never know much about her mother, Duckie set about opening one of the letters from Eli Dann. However, she quickly realized it was completely unreadable. Though there was a clear address printed in English on the exterior of the letter, the inside was filled with the same calligraphy that was in several of her father's books. After opening a few more, she found that every single letter her father had kept was in the same unfamiliar language, including the ones from the other men.

Duckie shook her head in astonishment as she stared at the abandoned letters on the table. Her father spoke a different language and had never told her. She had thought there were no secrets between them, but here was a rather large one that had never been revealed.

Why hadn't he told her about this?

What else might he have hidden from her?

Duckie's head was spinning as she stared at the beautiful markings on the letters in front of her. "I don't understand…" She said out loud as she mentally tried to make sense of her discovery. What reason could he have possibly had for keeping this from her? Duckie felt as if her world was falling apart right before her eyes and there was no one she could talk to about it.

Feeling more miserable than before, she quickly put each letter back into its respective envelope and started to stack them up. After a moment, she did notice a small piece of information she could garner from the mysterious letters…

The postmarks were dated.

Duckie flipped through the letters again, immediately realizing her father had placed them in the order he received them. The newest one was addressed to their previous home in Nebraska and had been sent right before they left for Wyoming in 1855, five years ago. The earliest letter was from 1806…

The year Duckie was born.

Unless he had thrown his older letters away, it appeared that her father had only began correspondence with Eli Dann after her birth. Perhaps it was someone he knew from before his marriage to her mother? A friend from school perhaps? Duckie wondered in Eli Dann was still alive and if he would be able to read a letter in English if she happened to send him one.

Knowing there was little other information she could obtain from the letters, Duckie tied the letters back up in the ribbon and placed them back in the mysteriously hollow book. She took all of the books out of the trunk and found a large box beneath them. With careful hands, Duckie opened the box inside the trunk and peeked inside.

This was the most mysterious thing of all. Inside the box appeared to be some form of bassinet, but it was unlike any bassinet Duckie had ever seen before. Rather than the usual ones she saw men carve out of wood, this one was very small and woven from thin, pliable tree branches. Though it looked rather primitive, the branches were surprisingly symmetrical and the entire thing was well-crafted. Most surprisingly, there were turquoise stones woven into the edges; they were large stones, ones that were probably worth a lot of money.

Why did her father have such a thing? Had this been hers as a baby?

Indeed, it appeared to have belonged to her, as she found a few tiny dresses inside of the bassinet. There was also an old china rattle and a woven purple and turquoise blanket, which seemed to be filled with interesting shapes and patterns that Duckie had never seen before.

Duckie probably could have admired these items for most of the evening had the sound of a fiddle not broken her concentration. Glancing out the window once more, Duckie could see that night had covered the lands in darkness, with a large full moon brightly lighting the fields in front of her. Carefully, Duckie repacked her father's trunk, taking the time to put a couple of dollars from his book into her apron pocket before locking his belongings back up for safekeeping. She scooted her trunk in front of his with the hopes that it would deter any future thieves from examining his pricier belongings.

After lighting a couple of the oil lamps in the cabin, Duckie tentatively walked over to the window and peered out to see what had become of the wagon train. As she had suspected, they were currently making camp quite close to her fields. A large cooking fire had been made in the middle of the wagons, which were in a semicircle formation. One tall blonde man was standing and playing a fiddle while a few others appeared to be cooking something in a large pot over the fire. A few more were standing by and simply watching, talking with one another and smiling with camaraderie.

Though they were far away, Duckie's eyesight was spectacular and she could immediately see that these men were not like other men. The men she had known in the towns where she grew up came in all different shapes and sizes; some were short and some were tall, some stout and some gangly. They all had varying imperfections, such as large ears and noses, scars, and missing appendages. Most of the ones over the age of 20 sported beards or moustaches.

However, the men in this wagon train looked nothing like that at all. No, these were the most beautiful men Duckie had ever seen. Each and every one of them was tall and had perfectly chiseled muscular physiques. They all looked clean-shaven and many seemed to have long hair. Most of them appeared to be blonde, though a few had dark hair much like her own.

There was something about these men though, something a bit unnatural. It was in the way they moved, with a certain grace and precision that men typically did not demonstrate. Their skin was flawless too; none of them had so much as a blemish on them. Each of them had eyes that practically glowed in the firelight.

"Oh my…" Duckie murmured as she admired them one by one from afar. Each one seemed more perfect than the last, with their long shiny hair shimmering in the moonlight along with their glowing pale skin. Duckie felt the heat of embarrassment light up her cheeks as she caught herself imagining what they would look like without their billowing white shirts and tight vests on. Surely they would look as perfect as the drawings of Italian statues she had once seen in a book about famous artists.

Duckie pulled her trunk up to the window and sat on it with a dreamy look on her face as she watched the men dish out soup to one another from the large pot above the fire. There was a lot of laughing and teasing going on; Duckie could hear their merry tenor voices from all the way across the farm. Having missed the company of others, Duckie found herself drawn to them, wishing she too could take part in their joyous evening.

Over and over again, Duckie looked for signs of women and children amongst the crowd and was puzzled by their absence. After all, she too had traveled the Oregon Trail, multiple times at this point, but she had never seen a group of men such as this before. Usually the trail was filled with families traveling together, seeking out a better life. These men did not appear related though and there was not a single woman or child in sight.

"Are they migrant workers?" Duckie wondered aloud as she ogled them through the window, placing one of her elbows in the windowsill and leaning her head upon her hand thoughtfully. "Where are their wives and children? Handsome men like them must have women lining up in droves to marry them."

She admired them in silence as they ate, joked, and told tales. Duckie watched as a few of them said their goodnights to one another and disappeared into the wagons. The man with the fiddle soon started to tone down his performance, now favoring slower and more relaxing tunes over the faster ones he played at the beginning of the night. Then Duckie's heart skipped a beat as she heard a chorus of voices rise up from the fire, each perfectly melding in with the next. The men's clear voices rang out into the night, creating haunting melodies with lush harmonies.

Duckie had never heard anything like it in her entire life. Her breath caught in her throat as she listened, absolutely entranced by the beauty they created. A tear fell down her cheek before she even realized she was crying. Her whole body was taken with the sound and gooseflesh appeared on her arms in response to the voices mingling in the air.

"Oh my goodness…" She murmured a few seconds after they finished their final note and a sweet silence filled the air once more. "Oh my-"

A loud knock rang out from the door. Duckie gasped with surprise and quickly stood up and turned towards the door. Father John had come for her at last!

Duckie's heart thundered in her chest as she both rejoiced and panicked at his sudden arrival. She quickly touched the sides of her head to make sure the pointed parts of her ears were covered by her hair and then ran to the door, wiping her face in the process so he would not see that she had been crying.

She quickly lifted the bar from the latch and pulled open the door. "Father John!" She exclaimed as she pulled open the door. "I am so happy to see-"

Duckie immediately stopped, gasped, and quickly took a step backward, her hands covering her mouth with surprise.

Foolishly, she had assumed it was Father John, but it was not. No, she would recognize that face anywhere. The man standing before her was the same height as her, but had long brunette hair with no traces of grey in it. His hair was tucked under a bandana that was pulled just under his mouth, blocking out a bushy brown beard that was unkempt and sticking out from the fabric in every direction possible. His teeth were half-rotted and his breath reeked of alcohol.

It was one of the Thomas brothers.

Duckie immediately knew she had made a terrible mistake and took a step back as the large man leered at her and smiled crudely. "Who do we have here? A squatter in Lewis' farmhouse?" He said as he stepped in and started to circle around Duckie much too closely.

"I'm no squatter!" She countered, hoping to lie her way out of the situation. "I'm Lewis' cousin. My husband and I have inherited this farmhouse fair and square! Now get out of my home!" She said, getting louder and louder to try and intimidate the criminal. He said nothing though as his eyes looked her up and down repeatedly, sizing her up as he circled around her.

When he brushed against her body uncomfortably, Duckie took another step back and tried again. "My husband will be home any minute from harvesting and he will not be happy to find an unexpected guest, so get out!" She shouted, pointing to the door with vigor, hoping the unkempt man would believe her and leave.

"You ain't got no husband," he finally replied, his eyes shrinking into little slits as he leaned in towards her. "You're that tall girl from town that everyone says looks like a man. I heard you were supposed to marry old Lewis, but now he's dead and you're alone." He said with a cackle, calling her bluff.

Duckie trembled with fear and tried to step away from him again as he reached up for her face with a dirty hand. She felt the table behind her legs though and was forced to stop, though the man continued to step closer. Duckie cringed as she felt his body press uncomfortably against hers. His foul breath blew in her face repeatedly until she turned her head away from him.

"There is nothing to worry about, my dear little liar. I'm just here for some money and I'll be on my way." He commented as his hand grasped Duckie's chin and forced her to look into his blue eyes. "You'll tell me where Lewis kept his cash, won't you? Of course, I can think of a few other fun ways we could pass the time if you don't." He crooned as he looked her up and down once more, his eyes lingering uncomfortably on her chest.

Hoping to be rid of this monster, Duckie nodded slowly and reached into her apron pocket for the dollars she had put there earlier from her father's trunk. "Here it is. This is all he had left."

When Duckie held up the dollars, the man ripped them away from her immediately and quickly flipped through them. "Three dollars? That isn't even worth my while. Are you sure this is all he had?" He asked again while pushing her roughly against the table.

She leaned backwards to try and get away from him, but ended up sitting back on the table with the man standing between her legs. Panicking as he reached to touch her again, Duckie heard a breeze from the open doorway whisper in her ear, "Grab his gun!"

Without hesitation, Duckie reached into his holster and grabbed the pistol he had, pointing it awkwardly at his chest once she had it situated in her hand. "Get off of me or I'll shoot!" She shouted.

The man grew angry immediately and tried to grab the gun away from her. A struggle ensued where Duckie tried to hold the gun up in the air where he couldn't reach it and the man tried to pull her arms down to get it from her. "No you don't, you little-"

Bang!

The gun went off in the air when Duckie accidentally pulled the trigger. She screamed as the man yanked the gun out of her hands violently afterwards, twisting her pointer finger around in the trigger guard painfully until a soft cracking noise was heard. Duckie screamed a second time, this time from pain as pulled the gun away from her clutches. She watched helplessly as the man raised the gun up in the air. She tried to block her face from the blow that he was about to incur.

It never came though. Instead, she heard a gun cock and a different male voice spoke up. "Drop it or die."

Peeking through her fingers, she saw another man looming behind the first. Her eyes went wide because she had to look up to see his face. He was the literally the tallest man she had ever seen! Duckie immediately recognized him as one of the handsome blonde men from the wagon train.

His pistol was pressed dangerously against the back of the first man's head, deep within the thicket of his messy brown hair. A look of utter disdain rested upon his strong facial features as he stared down at the man with grey eyes that practically glowed in the light from the oil lamps.

The Thomas brother in the room knew that he was had because he immediately let the pistol swing down around his finger before dropping it to the ground with a loud thud. The second man immediately kicked it across the room and commanded, "Take two steps backwards and then turn around slowly with your hands up."

His voice resounded with authority and the criminal listened. Once he was no longer touching Duckie, she tried to get up off the table, but found that she was so anxious her legs were no longer working properly. Instead, she found herself unceremoniously sliding to the ground with a groan, as her back rubbed against the legs of a hardwood chair roughly enough to leave bruises. Despite the pain in her back, Duckie craned her head upward and leaned her body to the side so she could watch the scene between the two men unfold.

The blonde man appeared incredibly confident as he started to interrogate the criminal. "What business do you have with this woman? Why are you treating her this way?"

"She is my wife." He hissed through his gritted teeth, trying to lie about what had happened. "She's insolent and needed to be taught a lesson-"

The deepening frown on the blonde man's face told Duckie that he wasn't buying into the lie. Before the thief had even finished his sentence, the blonde man grabbed him by the bandana and hauled him upward. He got so close to his face that their noses were almost touching.

"Do not lie to me you disgusting criminal." He threatened in a dangerously low voice. "She does not wear your ring, nor does she object to my treatment of you. Now try again—what is your business here?"

Duckie could just barely see the thief's expression as his eyes narrowed at the blonde man and he smiled sarcastically back up at him. "It ain't none of your damn business." He said, growing louder with every word as he reached for the gun the blonde was pointing at him. A brief scuffle ensued where the two men fought for control of the gun. The blonde slammed his boot heel down on the other man's foot, which made him scream in pain. Still, he held tightly to the gun, trying hard to yank it out of the blonde's vicelike grip.

Just as it looked like the brunette thief was about to gain control of the trigger, the blonde seemed to take control of the situation. The blonde purposefully aimed the gun at the man's own foot just as the brunette pulled the trigger. The thief yowled with pain, letting go of the gun for a second and stumbling backwards as crimson blood gushed from the side of his foot where he shot himself.

The blonde put his gun hand down at his side as he watched the thief stumble around the room, crying out in pain and leaving a trail of red liquid smeared across the floor in his wake. The thief wasn't done trying to fight him though and screamed out as he ran towards the blonde with his hands outstretched. He could barely charge at him in his current condition and the blonde man stepped away from his clawing hands with ease. What was more impressive was how the blonde quickly spun around on his heel and brought his pistol around just in time to smack the thief across the face when he turned to try and attack again. It was all over in a matter of seconds and the thief dropped to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. He did not move and was clearly unconscious.

"Filthy mortal." The blonde muttered almost incoherently under his breath as he holstered his gun in his belt and turned towards Duckie.

After giving her a quick once over, he asked, "Are you hurt?"

When Duckie didn't answer, he started to walk over to her, but then stopped a few feet short, as if thinking better of it. He held out his hand to her, wordlessly offering her assistance off the floor.

Duckie stared up at him, taking a moment to examine him a more closely. She immediately noticed how handsome he was; his face was framed with shiny blonde locks of hair that seemed abnormally bright in the low light of the room. While most men wore their hair shoulder-length or shorter these days, Duckie could see that this man had hair that was at least as long as hers, if not longer. He had beautiful grey eyes that glistened in the flickering lamplight and a face with strongly defined features, including his nose and chin. Unlike most men though, he did not have a beard or mustache, nor did he seem to be sporting any scars or skin flaws. No, he was surely the most perfect man Duckie had ever seen.

"Trust him," the wind seemed to whisper as it blew into the cabin once more. Before she realized what she was doing, Duckie found herself reaching up and accepting his offer to get up. The man pulled her onto her feet with ease. Duckie marveled at how smooth and soft his hand was—the only other man she had ever known with such hands was her father! Duckie looked him over after letting go of his hand and could see that he moved as smoothly and gracefully as her father as well…

Was he the same as her and her father—an immortal?

Duckie could not see if he had pointed ears like her and her father, as his hair and brown leather hat were covering them up. Below them, Duckie saw he was wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway to his elbows, showing off the deeply corded muscles of his arms. His outfit was completed by a pair of tall brown pants, which were held up by a simple pair of suspenders and a pair of well-worn brown leather boots. His belt held dual gun holsters, each housing a shiny silver pistol.

When Duckie looked up at the man's face again, heat filled her cheeks as she suddenly realized he was watching her while she had been inspecting his features. He half-smiled down his nose smugly with such a look of pride that Duckie found herself both entranced and flustered by his impeccable confidence.

The man put his hand on top of his brown cowboy hat and bowed his head down to her for a moment. When he met her eyes once again, the hint of amusement only lingered for a few more seconds and then he looked as serious as he had when he addressed the criminal. Duckie was finally able to blink her eyes a few times and snap out of the trance she was in.

"Are you hurt?" He asked again and Duckie shivered, for even his voice was smoother than a normal man's voice. His warm breath practically felt like silk as it brushed across her burning cheekbones.

Duckie felt herself shake her head in response after a few more seconds passed, having already completely forgotten about her broken finger in the presence of this unusually tall and handsome stranger. Her throat felt dry and all words seemed to have left her.

"What was that man truly after?" He asked, his eyes looking intensely into hers. "What did he come here for?"

Though her lip trembled, as her body had never fully relaxed after the attack, Duckie finally forced her mouth to form the necessary words. "The man who lived here died a few days ago. He wanted to steal his money, but I didn't know where it was, so I gave him what little I had. He said it was not enough though and that he wanted… other things. I started to fight him and that's when you came along."

The blonde closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as his face lifted towards the ceiling, an unreadable expression passing over his face momentarily before it was replaced with a look of repulsion. "Ah, so he is a despicable cur. I shall dispose of him so that you are not bothered by him further."

With that said, he turned around, picked up the thief, and threw him over his broad shoulder as if he weighed nothing. Duckie's eyes went wide as she watched him haul the thief out the door; he did not stop until he reached the man's horse. With a great push, he laid him over the top of the stallion's weathered saddle.

Duckie watched nervously as he pulled a few things out of the thief's pocket and then used the coil of rope from his saddlebag to tie him to the top of the horse. Once he appeared to be secured, the blonde went to the front of the horse and let the animal sniff his hand. The horse seemed quite calm in his presence and even allowed him to pet his nose for a while. She heard him whisper something unintelligible to the horse before it galloped off without hesitation.

She had never seen anything quite like that in her entire life.

When the horse had passed the fields and galloped into the darkness, the man came back, his hair glistening beautifully underneath the light of the full moon. He climbed the stairs and stopped a few paces away from her.

"Thank you… sir." Duckie started and then trailed off, at once feeling awkward because she had not yet learned his name.

"Henry," he replied with another prideful half smile. "My name is Henry Deere and you need not thank me. I was a sheriff once and though I am about to start a new profession, I will continue to ensure the people who live close to me are safe."

He turned and walked to the end of the veranda and then pointed beyond it. Though she could not see it, Duckie knew he was pointing towards the location of the wagon train. "My cousins and I have just purchased the land next to this farm to start a cattle ranch. We're are going to be neighbors, so it is good that we have now met, though I wish it had been under better circumstances. May I ask what your name is miss?"

"Duckie Hir." She said, her voice coming out as a whisper, though she had not intended it to.

"Miss… Hir, you said?" He questioned, cocking his head a bit to the side as he looked at her more closely now. Duckie nodded while feeling a bit confused by the odd look he was giving her. It was as if Henry was trying to figure something out about her, but Duckie could not imagine what it would be. Like magic, the perplexed look that had appeared on his face was gone after a moment and replaced by a very serious look.

"My cousins and I believe in being neighborly, so if something like this ever occurs again, you may come to us for help. I am leaving you that man's gun; shoot off if you need help and someone from the ranch will respond immediately." He said in such a tone that Duckie knew he would not take 'no' for an answer.

She watched as he used one hand to point into the house where Duckie knew the thief's gun was still haphazardly lying on the floor. "Here is some ammo for the gun and the money he took from you."

Henry reached out to her holding up a small box of bullets and the three crinkled bills. Duckie walked to the end of the veranda to retrieve them, but when she reached out, Henry gently caught her hand up in his empty one. For an awkward moment, he held up her hand carefully in his own and inspected it closely.

"You are hurt." He murmured, softly touching her bruised pointer finger. When the thief had twisted the gun away from her, he had surely broken it; Duckie had heard the crack of her bones and felt the pain well up in her hand at the time. Now that Henry was handling it, she was reminded of how painful and swollen it was.

"I think it might be broken." Duckie replied. Without letting go of her hand, Henry set the bullets and money on the small rocking chair to his left and then placed his other hand on top of Duckie's finger. She heard him whisper something under his breath as he ran his fingers gently across her finger a couple of times. As he moved, the pain miraculously eased into a tingling sensation and a few of the darkened spots grew lighter before her very eyes.

"What did you just do?" Duckie asked as she stared up at him in amazement. He met her eyes again and a look of surprise flashed across his face before his look of indifference replaced it.

"Nothing." He replied, abruptly letting go of her finger. Even when he released it, she continued to feel the tingling from his touch. "It is not broken, just swollen. It will heal in a few days."

"You did something to it and now it is nearly healed. What did you do?" She questioned, refusing to let it go. He stared back at her icily in response, clearly annoyed by her words. He declined to give an answer though and spoke harshly to her when he responded.

"You are wrong—fighting with that thief has addled your mind. Get a good night of rest and feel better in the morning. I bid you farewell." Henry said coldly and then jumped over the railing of the veranda and landed on the ground below and started walking away.

Duckie found herself feeling very confused, as the conversation had turned bitter quite quickly and without warning. She was uncertain what she had done to cause his change of heart and shook her head in frustration before walking back into the cabin and locking the door. Rushing over to the window, she watched as Henry walked back to the wagon train through the tall grass.

He did not leave a path of trampled grass in his wake in the way that every other man did.

He was like her.

Different.

Beautiful.

Immortal.

"Wait a second…" Duckie muttered, remembering something from earlier. She ran back to her father's trunk and quickly unlocked it. She tore through the side of the trunk that was full of books until she found the thick, hollowed out one. Her hand took out the letters and she gracefully slipped the ribbon off them so she could flip through them once more.

"No, no, no…" She said to herself as she looked over each one while walking towards one of the oil lamps.

And then she gasped, for there in front of her was a letter from none other than Henry Deere.

Time seemed to stop for several seconds before Duckie finally acknowledged the truth out loud.

"He knew my father."

ooOoo

I'd love to know what you think of the story so far. All comments are welcome below. Thanks for reading—I will try to update soon!

-P.G.