She hadn't planned to fall in love with him. Yet, weren't they much thrown together by the hands of fate? Celina recalled the first time they had locked eyes with one another. His eyes were like the changing weather of the sky. They stormed like gray thunderous clouds, murky and strong as steel. Then they cooled as the storm passed revealing clear bright blue skies that ever were shifting back to the darkest lapis hues of a deep pond. As intoxicating as those seductive orbs, it was his countenance more than anything that brought her to heel. How his movements seemed to strut as he strolled down the mass steps of the train depot, towards her. He had such long artistic like fingers, which reached up and artfully tilted the round derby from his head, revealing the autumn tint of his hair. With the coolest of attitudes, Harris tilted his head in greeting.
Denver city loomed high above them and yet disappeared taking the multitudes of citizens with it, as Harris introduced himself. "Harris Hemlock, Miss?"
"Marrow. Celina Marrow," her breath was caught in the confines of her slim throat. The climbing spires and framed tower of Union Depot stretched behind him casting a shadow over the sprawling red brick buildings. The slight paved sidewalks were mulling with a sundry of the populace. Fine Denver socialites, stretched their brightly colored plumage, hiding their delicate ivory faces from the sun, beneath the silk lace awnings of their parasols. Working class women, dressed in muted grays and browns, dashing down towards the waiting horsecars, already seating dapper gentlemen, waiting to be bused down town into the Five Points for work. The dusty streets echoed with the clopping chomps of horses hooves, pulling carriages, and workaday loaded wagons up and down the avenue. Ruckus and deafening was the sound of the city streets, until Celina set sights on Harris Hemlock.
"If you'll pardon my brashness, you look a bit lost," half his mouth curled up into a crooked smile revealing just a hint of his white teeth.
Indeed, she was. She'd never been this deep into the city before, being somewhat of an outskirts girl. Her dressmaking situation, working under a well known tailor, started on the following day just up the avenue. As she was taking her employers advice and rather adventurously studying her bearings of the city, Celina had stopped before the open plaza before the train depot. Three burgundy and gold trimmed horsecars lined the dustbowl of a street, waiting to fill its trolley designed expanse with fare. Having never set foot in such a conveyance, Celina had paused working up the nerve to join the other's boarding without a second thought.
"I'm not used to…well…being so," she'd searched her mind trying to find the proper words to explain how new she was to city dwelling.
"Being a City Slicker?" he'd chuckled offering his arm. "What you need is an escort!"
There was hesitation. She didn't know this man. Hadn't she been warned time and again that sometimes the most villainous terrors wore the masks of beauty? But there were so many people bustling around, and she was still so very close to the tailors shop down the way, that he seemed like an innocent venture. And it had been such a marvelous venture, under his god sent protection, and dashing charm. Harris rode along side her in the horsecar, down as far as the brownstone tenant buildings turned into middleclass restaurants and galleries. They strolled down the narrow cement sidewalks, enjoying the constant flow of conversation and witty repartee on Harris' part.
She learned everything she could ever want to know from him in mere hours compared to months of courting. Harris Hemlock was an artist working as a dentist. He owned a shop located just before the Five Points, from which he also displayed his art. A first class mimic, Harris could duplicate any work of art for which even the most expert eye could not discern the difference. It was a handsomely paid side business, with clients mainly from the medical school seeking his skilled hands for massively detailed anatomy drawings.
"So you can see why I just had to approach you, Ms. Marrow," Harris smiled roguishly. "Your face is beauty incarnate, to my hands. I realize the forwardness of what I'm about to ask of you…but you must give me a chance to capture you on paper."
Surely, this must be a line; however, as she peered into those opalescent steel blue eyes, Celina felt her heart yearn. She had come to the sprawling depths of Denver to find work, and found love…
Love? Was it love? Now as Celina stared at her disheveled reflection in the askew mirror atop the bureau, she sighed. Her cheek was beginning to turn purple and swell, rounding her usually slender face. The flesh around her eye socket quaked as though it had been smashed with a brick. Slowly, her spindly tapered white fingers slid up into the crimson satin of her hair, causing her to wince painfully. Celina supposed it could have been worse had the glass shattered. She could easily hide a lump under her plaited crown, but deep ruddy gashes were another thing.
Deep down Celina knew she should set the room to right, though she ignored the disarray about her. All that could occupy her mind was Harris. Brow furrowing, her mind grasped at the loose tendrils of present thought and memory, searching for solid ground. Jake. Harris? Jake? One man in the same? Two men separately? Squinting into the mirror as the mid afternoon sun pierced orange and bright through the side window, Celina twitched. The light had vanished with a passing shadow, causing her to spin around attempting to catch it. Yet, the window remained sunny and undisturbed, uselessly muted by the shear white muslin drapes and lace panels.
Then it sounded. Not in her mind but true and solid giving her a start. She paused collecting herself before the next round of heavy knocking rattled the thin door in its frame.
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The heat was stifling, floating down in thick waves over Hank's head. His heavy ruffled hair stuck moistly to his face and neck as he trudged his way to the boarding house. Put frame back where yah got it, was as far as his plan reached. He hadn't yet accounted for Celina's presence in the room, let alone how he'd get passed what would now surely be a locked door. With this in mind, Hank stalled just before his weather worn boot could tap its heel on the graying boards of the porch. What would he say to her? He couldn't just barge his way in, she'd know immediately that what was afoot was him. Jostling backwards, his long legs shuffled sideways, before he skirted the squat building. Hank pressed his perspiring back against the warm wall of the boarding house, feeling the thin fabric of his shirt cling to him like a second skin. He never longed so much for the dank cavernous dark of the smoke hazed saloon. Free from the baking sun, as he'd press the skin of his forehead to the slick glass of a whiskey bottle. He could practically taste the bitter tang of that tawny liquid, washing down his rough tongue, scratching its fluid way down his throat. Maybe his high tolerance wouldn't help him to forget these events, but it certainly would sooth him for the night.
Hank's shoulder nudged the molding of the width long window. He'd take his chances if she saw him snooping around outside. Very slowly so as not to draw attention, Hank veered his head around, peering in through the ivory lace panels. Although his view was veiled, he could just make out the muddled chaos of the room. Celina had practically turned the room upside down, in her obvious search for the framed photograph. Cat's outta thah bag. Her sudden movement at the mirror on the wall opposite the window had Hank nearly dodging into the dirt. Holding true, he continued his barmy espionage, catching the oddity with which Celina stared into her reflection. Her eyes seemed to be darting to and fro with the rapid movement of a speed-reader. She seemed to be trying to grasp at a dozen different things at once all within the confines of her mind.
Taking a step back, no longer caring whether she saw him or not, Hank crossed the window. His mind made up he strode back around the boarding house and forced his way in. The time for thinking was over, and the time for rushing in guns hot, and eyes blazing was now! The small parlor of the house was cool and fresh, caressing his hot face like feathers on the breeze. How he longed to savor it, yet the task at hand growled, fueling his perseverance, to get into that room. Hank's balled up fist struck hard at the thin door, rattling it in its frame. Moments passed until he heard the shuffled movement of her cautious steps. He took advantage of the meek manner with which Celina edged the door open, pushing his way in, sending her sprawling towards her disheveled bed.
"Lady," Hank's voice was melodiously sharp. "I warned yah didn't I? Didn't I warn yah tah stay away from Jake and Teresa?"
He towered over her as she kicked her way further up on the bed. But Hank didn't stop in his siege quite yet. His knee steadied on the mattress next to her own knee, climbing over her as she attempted to shove herself away from him. Celina wasn't frightened, and she wasn't startled in the least. She had the air of a cornered predator, calculating its next move, as Hank hovered over her body on the bed. Celina struck out batting him about the head, her tiny fists bouncing off his solid skull, without damage. In a flash, he'd taken hold of her wrists and had pinned them down by her head. She seethed arching her back nearly touching his stomach with her own, as she wriggled for freedom. Hank's grip was like an iron vise; offering not an inch of give as he brought his face so close to hers he could see his reflection in those murky emerald eyes of hers.
"Well?" she blasted him. "What now…Mr. Lawson? Are you going to beat me? Kill me? What are you going to do that won't have you thrown into jail, before they wrap a rope around your neck?"
"Feisty! Ain't yah," if he hadn't despised her so much, he might have liked her. "Yah'ain't scared. I can see it in your eyes that yah ain't scared. So's I'm askin' you. What's it gonna take tah have yah outta here for good?"
"I'm not leaving Mr. Lawson. I'm haven't done anything wrong. Haven't broken any laws," Celina unflinchingly stared into the glacier blue violence of his eyes. "I'm maintaining steady employment in this town like any worthy citizen. In fact, I'm turning quite a pretty penny for our esteemed Mr. Bray. Or has Mrs. Slicker yet to teach you how to count higher than the fingers on your hands!"
He could strike her. Strike her in the same place Teresa had and no one would be the wiser. Not a soul on the council would believe this Twist after the manipulative strings she'd pulled. It didn't happen often, but now peering into the sizzling hatred foaming in those dark ocean green waters that were her eyes, Hank was sure that he was better than she was. He'd done some low down dirty things in his life, but this one was rancid down to her core. Quick study as he was at reading the dregs in his saloon, Hank knew she hadn't started out this way. But somewhere along the road of her life, this one had cracked hard, and was beyond repair.
In one fluid motion, Hank snatched her up by the neck, throwing her out from under him, as he simultaneously ripped the frame from his inner lapel and flung it over the other side of the bed. He was fast about it, insuring Celina was never the wiser. Dragging himself from the bed, he eyed her as she sat on the cluttered floor choking and rubbing at her neck.
"We'll just see what Loren's got tah say 'bout all this now," Hank strutted nonchalantly over the threshold of the open door. He paused momentarily looking back at her with a sneer. "Better clean this place up," he tossed at her before smoothly exiting.