"Cheyenne. Cheyenne, wake up."
"Five more minutes," she grumbled into the pillow.
No such luck. A calloused hand gripped her shoulder and shook her until she batted it away. Groaning irritably, she complied and shifted onto her elbows. Green eyes fluttered open, though she had to rub them in order to keep them that way.
"It's so early," she moaned. For Christ's sake, the sun hadn't even risen fully.
Connor snorted. "Indeed. Now get up."
Cheyenne muttered under her breath, but rose to her feet and stretched. Connor watched for a moment, then left the room when she bent over to dig around in her duffle. After a moment of consideration, she finally reached for a brightly colored dress that went to her knees. She had a feeling the weather would be roughly the same today and had no desire to cover up anymore than necessary.
At least Connor, who was already wearing his white robes, had no problem. He eyed the dress, but said nothing while she followed him into the hallway.
"Connor, I'm sorry," she suddenly blurted.
The native stopped in the middle of the stairs and turned around. His narrowed eyes and tan face were unfriendly, and Cheyenne found herself second guessing her actions. This wasn't what she'd planned to do, but being with him now made her anxious to get the weight off her chest.
"For what?" Connor finally asked.
"For what I said to you last night. I didn't mean it."
"That is twice now you've spoken to me like that."
His voice was hard and disbelieving, enough so that she nearly shut up under the intensity of his gaze. "I know. The stress was getting to me, and I took it out on you. It wasn't right, but I just want you to know I'll do better. I promise."
He considered this, all while eyeing her in a way that made her fidget uncomfortably. After several loud seconds ticked by, he finally sighed and his eyes softened a smidge. "I forgive you."
"I...Thank-"
"This time. If it happens again, I will not be so merciful. Understand?"
His tone was final and she recoiled at the edge in it. "Yes."
"Good. Now let's go."
Cheyenne followed without complaint, her heart pounding as Connor led her downstairs for breakfast. At least he was willing to give her a second, no, third chance. But this time, Cheyenne told herself, she would make sure she didn't screw it up.
The sound of a throat being cleared and a tapping cane broke her train of thought. She turned to face Achilles, his raised brow and disapproving look betraying what his problem was.
"Really?! Are you serious right now?!"
…
A few hours after breakfast found Cheyenne still following Connor around. He'd informed her over breakfast that he needed to check on the many residents living on the land. It'd been a while since he'd done so, but it also would give her a chance to meet them as well. Inwardly, she hoped they would be a little more open minded than Achilles who, despite his disapproval, let her walk out of the manor in her current attire without making her change again.
As soon as she and Connor walked out the door, Cheyenne asked him about colonial women wear. To say the least, it took her completely by surprise. She expected that they covered up more, but the thought of dressing like they did everyday left her feeling worn out.
"So many layers," she muttered in wonder.
Connor chuckled. "Is it that shocking?"
"You have no idea. Why can't women just throw on a simple skirt? It seems overly complicated to me."
"That is how the colonists are. It is proper attire."
"Well, I don't think I'll be dressing properly, then."
Connor shrugged, indifferent. "It is your choice, but I would advise covering up more than yesterday."
"I'll keep that in mind." They approached the first settlement, a modest looking farm surrounded by crops and livestock. Two people were standing in the shade the building provided, but quickly approached when they noticed them.
"Connor," an African woman in a red and yellow head wrap greeted warmly, followed closely by a man with a similar skin tone and dark beard.
"Prudence," Connor returned. "How are things?"
"Good, Connor. Everything is great." She turned, now eyeing Cheyenne curiously. "But who is this? A new friend?"
"Yes. She came here looking for a place to settle. I offered her one, but she is staying with me for now."
"How wonderful. The more the merrier," the man proclaimed cheerfully. "But what might she be called?"
"My name's Cheyenne. What's up?"
"Excuse me?"
Cheyenne's cheeks flushed slightly when Prudence raised a brow. She'd have to remember not to use modern day sayings. "I meant it's a pleasure to meet you."
Prudence was giving her a questioning look, as was the man standing beside her, but they thankfully decided to drop the matter. "And to you as well."
Connor and Cheyenne stayed for a few more minutes and made idle chit-chat. Cheyenne was quite curious about the people on the homestead, but also hoped to indirectly learn more about the time period through conversation.
But Prudence and, as Cheyenne soon found out, Warren were curious about her too. Though they hid it well, she caught both of them eyeing her dress and exposed lower legs with perplexed expressions. They probably had plenty of questions about her, what with her attire and phrases they'd never heard before. The thought had Cheyenne feeling self conscious, and she decided to reconsider dressing like colonial women, or something similar to it.
For now, Cheyenne made up a story to explain her origins. As far as Prudence and Warren knew, she was forced to flee from Boston after tax collectors visited her home and found out she was unable to pay. A few days later, after relying on foraging and the kindness of strangers to survive, she met Connor, who offered her a place on the homestead.
And she explained her strange attire as a gift from her now deceased mother, who loved experimenting with fashion and had a rather unique taste.
"I am so sorry for your loss," Prudence offered, shaking her head sadly. "But it is fortunate that you met Connor. He's given us all a second chance, and I'm sure you'll prosper here."
Cheyenne nodded. "An opportunity like this doesn't come often, and I will be forever grateful to Connor for offering it to me."
Warren and Prudence beamed at her. Unfortunately, they had to return to the farm soon after, so the four exchanged goodbyes and Connor led Cheyenne away.
"They were nice people," she commented.
"The people here are good. You should have little trouble getting along."
"That's a relief." Indeed, Cheyenne was feeling nervous before, but seeing how open the two were put most of her worries at ease. "You're doing a really good thing Connor. I know this time period wasn't easy, but Warren and Prudence seem so happy here."
Connor allowed a smile for a split second. "Thank you. But you need to remember to tell everyone the same story about how you got here. I do not want them getting suspicious of you."
The light mood between them gone, Cheyenne let her own smile drop. "Of course. I worry about what might happen if people suspect I'm not what I say I am."
"As long as they do not suspect, there is no need for worry," Connor assured. "Your story is believable, so stick with it."
"I will, but I wanted to ask you about something."
"And what is that?"
"I've changed my mind about dressing like colonists. Sort of. I don't want to wear that many layers, but I'm worried that my clothes will attract too much attention. Do you have an alternative?"
Connor considered for a moment, then gestured to the path in front of them. "I think I have the perfect idea."
…
Turns out, Connor's idea took shape in the form of a woman named Myriam, another settler on the homestead. She was a hunter, and upon seeing the other dressed in pants and a shirt, Cheyenne was immediately relieved. Perhaps she would not be stuck with layers of skirts after all.
The young huntress looked at Cheyenne's dress a moment too long to be natural, but still extended her hand for a shake. Cheyenne took it as she introduced herself, then stood quietly beside Connor while he inquired about some poachers on the land. A spark of anger flashed in Myriam's eyes and she brushed her fingers against her left arm, though she shook her head and promised to keep an eye out.
"Good, but be careful. Come get me if there are too many."
Myriam rolled her eyes. "Of course, father," she replied playfully. Connor chuckled and looked as if he was readying a retort, but the huntress turned back to Cheyenne before he could speak. "Where did you get that dress, if you don't mind me asking?"
"My mother made it before she passed." Cheyenne put on a sad smile while toying with the end of the skirt. "She always loved to experiment."
Myriam shuffled awkwardly. "I'm sorry for your loss. I probably shouldn't have asked."
"It's fine," she reassured. "I'm not offended."
Myriam seemed like she was going to ask another question, had Connor not interrupted her. "Hello Alice. It has been a while."
Cheyenne looked over her shoulder to see another woman approaching them, fiery red hair swaying in the breeze behind her. "And hello to you, Connor." She turned to Cheyenne. "And you as well. What's your name?"
"I'm Cheyenne."
"It's a pleasure." Alice came closer and greeted Myriam. She made small talk with her and Connor for a moment, but soon turned back to Cheyenne and eyed the dress with interest. "That's quite pretty. How'd you come across something like that?"
Cheyenne repeated her story again. Alice nodded and expressed her sympathies, to which Cheyenne accepted and offered answers to the woman's other questions, including how she came to the homestead in the first place.
"My, my, that's terrible," Alice murmured sadly.
"It was, but that's all in the past. Things should get better now."
And Cheyenne believed that, too.
…
Well, perhaps things would get better someday. But for now, as Cheyenne adjusted to the time period, things only grew stranger.
A few days after meeting the homestead residents, Connor woke her early one morning and practically dragged her to the stables. Sleepy and shrouded in darkness, she asked where they were going. "Boston," was all Connor would reveal as he went about saddling the horse.
Cheyenne tried to get more information out of him, but to no avail. Connor simply ignored her questions until he finally asked that she remained silent so he could concentrate. Halfway tempted to defy him, she considered returning to bed, but was quite curious about colonial America and wanted to see Boston. Even if it was far from her native Iowa, she still wanted to see the beginnings of the country.
Unfortunately for Cheyenne, the trip was uneventful. True, she didn't know what to expect of the city, but the dull, smelly one she and Connor rode into after a multi-hour ride on horseback disappointed her deeply.
And disgusted her.
"Is that a pig?"
Connor seemed a little taken aback. "Have you never seen a pig before?"
Eyes wide, she looked back and forth between them. "I have, but why is it walking down the street? Shouldn't it be in a pen?"
Connor shrugged. "Lots of animals walk the streets. It is normal."
"You're kidding me!" The pig in question choose that moment to approach Cheyenne, to which she quickly put Connor between herself and the pig to avoid it. Connor gave her an odd look before retrieving some feed from his pocket and sprinkling it on the ground. The pig gave a grunt before dismissing them entirely and gobbling up its snack.
"It will not hurt you."
"That's not what I'm worried about. I don't know where it's been." She observed the animal for a moment longer, muttering under her breath, "No wonder this place smells like shit."
"There are no pigs in your city, I suppose."
"Only if they're being taken somewhere, but they still don't run free like that."
Connor raised a brow but Cheyenne ignored it, especially after she noticed other colonists looking at them. Some were even stopping and pointing them out to their group mates.
"Do not worry," Connor reassured. "The colonists often stop and watch me."
"I think they're looking at me, actually."
Sure enough, she was getting stares. If she moved behind Connor, they would crane their necks or move so she was still in their sight. She suddenly felt uncomfortable in her black jeans and white hoodie, causing her to tug the hood over her head and shove her hands into her pockets.
"Ignore them. We need to go."
"And where are we going, exactly?"
"An inn."
Perplexed but unwilling to spend more time in full view of the colonists, Cheyenne followed Connor down the cobblestone streets obediently. She stayed close to him, more so than she normally dared, and observed the surrounding city from beneath her hood; the brick buildings, red or brown, some tall and some not, boring and dull.
Similar, but still much different from home.
By the time she and Connor reached the inn, Cheyenne wanted to let out a big sigh of relief. Every second on the streets were filled with people stopping and staring. One particular man, extremely drunk by the sound of him, had the nerve to call out to the two of them, but lost interest after they turned a corner. At least in the inn, people paid more attention to their alcohol and conversations than the two of them.
After sliding a few coins to the innkeeper, Connor led Cheyenne upstairs into a small, but thankfully clean, room with two small beds and a wooden table. He let her look around, then set a small bag on the table and gave her an absurd command: stay there and wait for him to return.
"Are you out of your mind?!"
Her sudden outburst startled Connor. "Excuse me-"
"I'm not staying here."
His eyes narrowed. "Yes, you are."
"If you were just going to dump me, why couldn't you leave me with Achilles?"
"I…I cannot explain, but you need to listen to me, Cheyenne. Now please stay here."
He left no room for argument. Slumping her shoulders in defeat, she nodded. "Fine. Will you be gone long?"
"Potentially."
"Overnight?"
"Perhaps."
Cheyenne was getting more uneasy by the second. "What about food?"
"I left some money on the table. It should be more than enough."
"Wait!" Cheyenne demanded. "I want to know what was so important that you had to drag me out of bed and all the way to Boston, only to abandon me in some random inn!"
He let out an annoyed sigh. "I already told you, I cannot explain. Now settle down; I need to leave."
With little choice, Cheyenne watched him go. Filled with anger, she buried her face into a pillow and screamed. Afterwards, she punched the mattress before plopping down onto it and unwillingly resigned herself to waiting for Connor to come back.
…
Connor left her in that inn for what felt like hours. Cheyenne only left for food, though she kept her hood up and eyes down. The innkeeper she spoke to eyed her suspiciously and tried asking her about Connor, then her clothes after she dodged the first set of questions. Thankfully he shut up after she dumped the entire bag of coins on the counter and left to get her what she asked for.
When Connor finally returned, she was half-asleep on the bed and nearly screamed when he yanked the door open.
"Sorry. I did not mean to scare you."
"Tell that to my pounding heart!"
Connor snorted. He looked irritated and tired, but didn't bother with a response. Then he turned towards the table, reaching out as if to grab something, but quickly stopped in his tracks when he saw nothing on it.
"Where is the bag I gave you?"
"With the innkeeper."
His eyes snapped to her. "Why did you give him the entire bag!?"
Cheyenne jumped, his sudden hostility unnerving her. "I didn't know how much it was!"
"Can you not count? Were you so privileged that you never worried about money in your former life?"
Cheyenne bristled at his acidic tone and raised hers to match. "Excuse me? Don't talk to me like that! I already told you-"
"Was' going on in 'ere?"
Cheyenne turned towards the doorway where the man who interrupted them stood. He was dressed in patchy clothes, barefoot and dirty with a bottle in his hand. Repressing a disgusted shiver, she glanced back at Connor, only to realize they'd gotten a lot closer to each other. Both their fists were clenched and Connor's pulse point suck out in his neck. If it wasn't for the man, they probably would've started shouting.
"Nothing," Cheyenne finally said. "My friend and I were just…having a bit of a disagreement. We're fine."
"Didn't look like nothin' to me. Yer both red, and it looks to me like the savage is about to hit ya, little lady."
Cheyenne, now on her way towards the nearest bed to sit down, froze midstep. "What did you say?"
"Listen girly, maybe you don't know how these savages treat their women, but I think ya should-"
"That is enough," Connor interrupted, voice deadly calm and spoken through clenched teeth. "You need to leave us. This conversation is between her and-"
"A conversation that'll end with 'er dead." He ignored Connor's enraged snort and went for Cheyenne, pointedly ignoring her silent protests. "It's fer yer own good, girly. Don' make me get the guards up-"
The idea that he would potentially try to force her to go with him made Cheyenne extremely anxious, and seeing his blackened fingers reaching for her made her feel trapped and cornered, enough so that she smacked his hand away. "Don't touch me you disgusting son of a bitch! I'll break your nose if you do!"
The man was angry immediately; the rejection of his advances clearly wasn't sitting well with him. "Ya wanna stay with this 'ere savage? What if 'e-"
"At least 'this savage' has enough decency to not smell like pigshit and sweat! Now leave us alone, because this is none of your concern!"
The man bared his teeth and let the bottle drop so he held it by the neck. Cheyenne quickly realized what he was doing and backed away but he advanced on her, now brandishing the bottle like a weapon. She was about to scream, but the sound of metal sliding on metal interrupted her, followed quickly by something flying through the air and the bottle shattering.
"Leave now!" Connor barked, now brandishing his tomahawk threateningly. "And keep the guards out of this, or you will not go home tonight!"
Now turning pale, the man shakily nodded and fled, stumbling like a drunk before he finally disappeared around a corner. Even once he was gone, Cheyenne stood frozen in place until Connor calmly closed the door. Only did she make a move to sit on the nearest bed, legs now unsteady and trembling while she stared at the broken brown glass littering the floor.
"Cheyenne?"
She nearly startled when Connor spoke. He'd moved while she was distracted and now kneeled at her side, face much softer than it'd been a few moments ago. He placed a hand on her leg and she jumped, heart pounding like that of a skittish rabbit.
"Are you well?"
"I...I…" She chuckled humorlessly. "Shit. Yeah, I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
Connor raised a brow. He looked skeptical, but said nothing as he sat beside her. His hand, a warm and solid weight, left her leg soon after.
"I'm sorry about the money," she told him. "Currency's different in my time, so I didn't know how much to give him in the first place. Then he wouldn't stop asking about me and you, so I thought he would shut up if I just-"
A quiet chuckle from him cut off her rambling. "It is fine, Cheyenne. I did not give you a large sum. My errands did not go as planned, and I became angry at you because of it. I apologize."
"It's fine, Connor. I probably deserved it."
"No. You didn't." He paused momentarily. "That man was quite...surprising to you."
"I was more scared than surprised. I thought he was going to hit me with that bottle." She snorted. "The goddamn hypocrite."
"I know, but you weren't scared before."
He didn't elaborate, leaving Cheyenne confused. "What are you getting at, Connor?"
"What he said about me surprised you."
"Well, how could I not be?"
He seemed taken aback. "Does no one speak like that in your time?"
Cheyenne considered. "Some people do, but I've never seen it personally. It's a lot less common, and even punishable, sometimes."
"Is that...really true?"
"Yeah. And even if they were going to be racist," she added as an afterthought, "I don't think near as many people would be bold enough to say something that hateful to someone's face."
Connor seemed confused. "Do they leave notes?"
She chuckled. "No. It's...hard to explain. I'll tell you more tomorrow, but there are ways to say things like that without anyone knowing it's you."
His brow creased further, but he looked content with the explanation for now. "I want to thank you. It means a lot to know you do not view me that way."
"You're welcome. But if I may, does that happen often?"
"Yes, unfortunately."
To her surprise, Connor didn't seem sad or angry. More like he just accepted that it happened and there was nothing he could do about it. She felt bothered and almost apologized, but caught herself before she did. Apologize for what; the actions of other people that she couldn't control? It didn't feel like the right thing to do. Then she considered wrapping her arm around his shoulder or taking his hand in hers, but she didn't know if he would appreciate that, either.
"Well," she finally said. "At least things will change someday."
Cheyenne felt a subtle warmth in her chest when he smiled, looking hopeful. "That is comforting to know. I am glad that I met you."
"Me too, Connor. Me too."