Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, or anything to do with it, but this plot is mine, MINE,
MINE!
A/N: Okay, so I wanted to do a fic that is totally crazy and out of this world, and since I used to love writing stories like this, I decided to give this a shot. There are a few things you should know before reading this fic:
1) Its set in the 1800s
2) Rip is the narrator, but that name doesn't come in until Alucard does
Any other confusion, just tell me and I'll try to fix it. ENJOY!
The Prairie Wind
Chapter 1
A New Life
Rattle rattle, clatter clatter, BANG! I am jerked awake by the last note of the continuous melody of the train. Someone's case has fallen out of the luggage rack over my head, and now a young man rushes forward to pick it up. I idly gaze back out the window.
Everything here is so flat, I think to myself. It's the complete opposite of the home I left behind in Germany. I almost wish I was back there, but no. I need a fresh start, a new outlook on life.
I'm beginning to get warm under all my layers. I look down at my gown. It's hardly suited for train-travel, but it's the simplest one I have. The petticoats and hoop-skirt make it a down-right pest. Oh well, when I get off the train I'll buy myself a more suitable dress.
Who would have thought that a rich German businessman's daughter would be on a west-bound train in the so-called "New World." I can scarcely believe it myself. A year ago I never would have even thought I would work up the nerve to leave Europe, but Hans's death changed all that.
I feel a lump grow in my throat at the thought of Hans Gunsche. How happy I'd been when he'd asked me to wed him, how happy I'd been to take his name. Frau Ria Gunsche. But that's all changed now. After his death I've taken back my maiden name and left Germany. Now I'm back to plain old Fraulein Ria van Winkle.
I shake my head to rid myself of those memories. How can I move on into the future when I'm still clinging to the past?
I look out the window again. There is still the lifeless ocean of trees. I'm sure the train line must stop soon; I've been traveling for hours.
Sure enough, I can now see a small town protruding out of the trees. I pick up my case and make ready to leave. This small town is as far as the railway goes, so I guess this is where I'm staying.
Yes, this small, distasteful town is where I'll have to stay. Only the wagon trains take one further west, but it's unheard of for a woman to go alone. That has always bothered me. Why should a woman have to stand obediently behind a man? It's not fair.
The train pulls to a stop at the station, and I get in file to head out. From the moment I step onto the platform I feel as though I've entered a whole new world.
In the town, there is one long, dusty main street lined with rough wood buildings with false fronts and wooden sidewalks. I'm thankful I took the time to learn english back in Germany or I'd be at a loss now.
I head down the street looking for the boarding house where I've been promised work. I must look a sight walking down the wooden sidewalks in my ornate gown and bonnet.
There it is; the boardinghouse! I walk inside the plain two-story building to find an even plainer room. There are two doors. One behind the small desk in the corner, and the other is leading on. I stand there for a moment, looking around.
Suddenly, the side door behind the desk bursts open to reveal a short, harassed looking woman. She catches sight of me and her jaw drops. "You… you'll be wanting a room then?" she asks uncertainly, eyes still lingering on my expensive clothing.
"Nein, actually I vos promised work here vhen I enquired in Toronto," I say. Her jaw drops, if possible, further open. "My name ist Ria van Winkle." I hope his may prompt her out of her stupor
"Ah, yes," she says, regaining her composure, "my husband told me you'd be comin', but I have ta tell ya, I wasn't expectin' no one like you." She is still looking at my dress.
"How much does one a them things cost?" She points to my dress.
"I… don't know."
"Where'd ya get it?"
"Mein father bought it for me." She is still looking me over, and it's starting to make me uncomfortable. I try to look back into her round, flustered face, but it's no use. She looks so funny looking me over that I fear if I meet her eye I might start to giggle, which would be very rude.
"Martha, MARTHA!" comes a shout from the side room, and moments later a man with a medium build emerges. I recognize him from the Inn in Toronto. He is the man who offered me the job. What was his name; it had been almost Irish sounding. Ummm, oh yes, Mr. Ciaren Kutcher.
He catches sight of me and laughs out loud. "Didn't I tell ya Martha? Isn't she jest a doll?"
"I didn think ya meant it literal like Ciaren. I thought ya meant in temperament and whatnot." the woman named Martha replied. I stand awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say.
"Welcome ta the town, Miss Winkle." Mr. Kutcher says to me, still recovering from his laughter. I don't bother to correct his mispronunciation of my name. However, if my father ever heard anyone call me "Miss Winkle," he wouldn't rest until they had realized their mistake.
"So, how do ya like it so far?" he asks intently. I look him and his wife over. They both looked tired, and are wearing dull, well-worn clothing. I hide a sigh and plaster a smile to my face.
"I really can't say, sir. I have just arrived und cam right here." I reply politely. He responds with another hearty laugh.
"Don' ya jest love her accent, Martha?" He is rudely straightforward, and I am tempted to retaliate. Calm down, just calm down, Ria I tell myself, he'll stop soon.
After he finishes laughing he turns to who I know guess is wife. "Martha, there's some cookin' ta be done efter ya finish with this here fine young lady."
"Right then." she replies. He winks at me and walks outside. I'm horrified. Why would he wink at me? Are all people out here as repulsive as him? It takes me a moment to realize Mrs. Kutcher is still talking to me.
"An' so I says to him, I says, a course we can use the help. I'm plum tuckered out by the end a' the day, an' help is always appreciated." I'm assuming she's referring to her husband telling her about my working here.
"An' so deary, yer jobs'll be perty easy, but a painted up city girl like yerself might need a little more of a hand." I'm actually biting my tongue now to refrain from saying anything I might regret later, and still she talks.
"They'll jest include stuff like cookin', cleanin', and things o' that sort. But first I'd think yeh'd want ta buy yerself some proper clothes." I realize that she expects a response to this, so I let my tongue out from in between my teeth.
"Ja, I meant to. I don't really vant to keep vearing these annoying dresses anyvay." I reply. The look on her face changes. It seems she's satisfied with my obvious disdain for my ornate clothing.
"If ya'll please follow me, I'll show ya where ya'll be sleepin'." I follow her through the door in front of us, and down a long hallway. She's still talking, but I scarcely listen. I'm intrigued by the lack of grandeur, yet the hominess of this place. It's the opposite of the grand hall that I grew up in. We reach a staircase at the end of the hallway, and climb it. At the top landing, facing the East, there is a window seat. It looks like a lovely place to read, I think to myself, but hardly have time to inspect it. I have to walk very quickly to keep up with the bustle of Mrs. Kutcher.
We stop at the end of the hallway on the second floor. She opens a door to the right and walks into the room. I follow her into the plainest bedroom I've ever been in. There is a small window looking out on the opposite side of the room, and a small iron bed against the wall to my right. There is a small wooden dresser and chipped mirror to the left, along with a basin and jug of water. The smallest wardrobe I've ever seen is sitting next to the window of this small, plain room that is to be mine.
"So, what do yeh think?" asks Mrs. Kutcher. I don't know what to say. I suppose it's nice, in its own way. But it's so different from my norm.
"It's… nice," is all I can say. Luckily, she seems satisfied. She smiles.
"All right then, yeh can stay here, and I'll finish fillin' yeh in on the job over supper. It'll be downstairs in the kitchen. I'll come get ya when it's time." With that, she turned and left me in my small room to unpack.
I pull off my bonnet, and let my long, dark hair fall over my back. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My dark blue eyes stare blankly back at me, and the creamy, satin gown I'm wearing makes my normally pale complexion seem oddly flushed. My annoying cow-licks are lying flat against my forehead from the pressure of my bonnet.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a knock at my door. I walk over and cautiously open it. Mrs. Kutcher is standing there, holding a sack.
"I thought that since yeh don' have a proper dress, thet I'd lend ya a few. They were my daughter's, who's run off west. Anyhow, they should fit yeh jest fine." She gives me the sack. "I'll be back in 'bout half an hour so be sure teh git cleaned up."
"Danke," I say. I really am thankful, as she walks away. I was NOT looking forward to going to dinner in this gown.
I shut the door and open the bag. There are 4 dresses, and some under things in the bag. I chose a plain, rose-colored dress, and lay it on the bed.
I slip out of my many layers and pull on the dress. It fits me almost perfectly, except that it's slightly tight in the waist, so I pull my corset a little tighter to prevent the dress from stretching.
I look at myself again in the mirror. I gasp at the difference. I no longer look like a city girl, but a farmer's wife. Well, a very dirty farmer's wife. I walk over to the water basin and jug.
There is a cloth hung over the side and I put it into the water. There is also a bowl with a brown soap bar sitting in it. I take it and rub it all over my hands and face, trying to rid myself of the train dust. After rinsing the soap off and drying myself with a thin towel, which was sitting by the basin, I look back into the mirror. Finally satisfied that I've gotten off all the dust and grime, I focus on trying to twist my hair up into a knot.
Boys have no idea how lucky they are, not having to worry about clothes or fashion, I think bitterly to myself. I finally succeed in pinning my unruly, yet annoyingly straight, hair back, just as there is a knock on the door.
That must be Mrs. Kutcher, I think as I move towards the door. I take a deep breath, and pull open the door.
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A/N: Hope you liked the first chapter. Please R&R. And if you're going to write flames, please make them constructive so I can improve my story. Not just mindless whining. Thanx! Please read more (when I get around to posting it).