Maka stormed into her house like the devil himself was on her heels.
She slammed the polished oak door shut firmly behind her and wasted no time in locking it up tight.
Her heart rate gradually slowed as she leaned heavily against the door.
The thrumming in her head subsided a fraction as she sucked in the much need air her lungs had been lacking.
Safe in her own house, the paralyzing fear she had felt began to dissipate, leaving red hot anger in its wake.
The nerve of that man! I'd rather die that marry that monster.
There's got to be a way out of this contract.
Maka paced back and forth for awhile raking her brain for a solution.
I could always run away, she thought absently.
No, there's nowhere in England I could hide that he wouldn't find me.
His wealth and influence was vast. It was a despairing thought.
The law would be on his side as well, the moment I'm found I'd be dragged off to the alter in chains.
Feeling drained and hopeless Maka sunk down to the floor and buried her face into the old Persian rug that adorned it.
It was the only furniture left in the house, she had sold everything trying to make ends meet.
She couldn't bear to sell the rug though.
She lay there on her beloved rug, unmoving for a time as all her thoughts and memories came flooding back.
She inhaled the familiar scent of the rug, it smelled like her papa.
Of spilled gin and spicey cigar smoke.
A single tear fell at the thought of ber papa, Lord Ragnarok's words buzzing in the back of her mind.
Her papa was all that she had, now that he was gone she really was on her own.
She was all alone in this empty house.
Even the servants were all gone, not being able to pay their wages.
It all seemed so hopeless.
There was a quick knock on the door, rousing her from her melancholy thoughts.
Who could that be at this hour?
What if it's lord Ragnorck?
Maka's heart trembled at the very thought.
She put her ear to the door and listened, praying it wasn't him.
"Who's there?" she finally asked, calling forth her courage.
"It's the post ma'am." Came a muffled voice.
Curiosity getting the best of her, she threw open the door.
"Why's the post come so late?" She inquired as she took the letter the man poffered.
"It was sent first class ma'am," the post man offered in way of explanation.
"Thank you." Maka said taking the letter and dismissing him.
The post officer left and Maka tore open the letter eagerly, not having the slightest idea who would be writing to her.
The light from the moon was dim, but she could make out the handwriting easily enough.
Forsaken ranch. Dripping springs Tx.
To the last of my brothers kin, I wanted to say that I am sorry for your loss. My brother was stubborn as a mule and had the sense of cotton stuck between his ears, but he was still my only kin. We hadn't spoken in many years for our own reasons, but hearing of his passing has filled me with much regret. I wish I had patched things up with him before he kicked the bucket, but there ain't no point dwelling on it now. The last time we had spoke though he mentioned having a child, Maka I think was his name? Maka you are my only family left, and I want to do right by you for you father's sake. I'd like for you to come live with me here on the ranch. We have plenty of room for you. I don't take in freeloaders though, so if you want to be a part of this family you'll have to help out and pull your own weight. Not a bad deal though eh? I understand that you have lived a comfy life in England and may not want to leave, but I think you and me should be a family. It's what your father would have wanted. Please write me back on your decision. I look forward to hearing from you nephew. -Sincerely your uncle Frank. P.s we have no use for women on this ranch, so if you have a mistress or a sweetheart I highly suggest you leave her in England where she belongs.
Maka blinked very slowly as if the letter she held would dissapear otherwise.
She blinked again, but the letter was still there.
"What kind of a mad dream is this?"
She marveled as she clutched the letter tighter.
She had an uncle.
An uncle who wanted her to come live with him.
An uncle who lives in Texas no less.
Maka's heart lept with joy at the very idea of having family who wanted her.
Only problem was, her uncle thought she was a male.
Her name was an unusual one, she could understand how he thought it a boy's name.
Re-reading the words "we have no place here for women," instantly crushed her hopes.
He didn't really want her.
She was so close to escaping all her problems she could almost taste the freedom.
"My gender is once again my downfall. If only I were male, then I could decide my own future." She said bitterly to her dim reflection mirrored in the window.
I'm not even a pretty woman either, she thought as she frowned dissaprovingly at herself.
Maka had never thought herself a great beauty, her bust rather lacking, her eyes being too green and too round, and her gangly lean form being very unappealing to the opposite sex.
I might as well have been born a boy she thought with a huff, I certainly don't look very feminine.
Then in a flash of inspiration, the answer to all her problems struck her.
She knew what she had to do.
Rushing up the stairs of her quiet house, she ran into her father's abandoned study.
It was the only room left that had not suffered the purging of furniture and finery.
she couldn't bear to sell her papa's things, it was all she had left of him.
Maka desperately rustled through the drawers of her father's desk for a quill and blank parchment.
Not stopping to ponder her actions, she hastily scribbled away, her eagerness making her hands shake slightly.
Dear, uncle Frank. Thank you for writing to me so soon. I was quite surprised at learning about your existence. I find it hard to believe that I have a real flesh and blood uncle. My father had always told me that he had lost his brother a long time ago, I am quite pleased to find you well and alive. It is most gracious of you to open your home up to me, a starnger. I'm very thankful of your kindness. I am happy to accept your offer. I admit that my knowledge of Texas ranching is not vast, but I am willing to learn. I promise that I will be of great help on your ranch. I will be on the first ship out of London tomorrow. I look forward to meeting you at last uncle. Sincerely, your nephew Maka.
Maka hesitated only for a moment before she signed the word nephew.
She didn't like the thought of lying to her new uncle, but the fear of becoming Mrs. Ragnarok within three months was too strong not to.
Scanning her letter once then twice Maka deemed it acceptable and stuffed it in an envelope, complete with wax seal.
She would send it first thing tomorrow morning.
It would reach her uncle in Texas, and she would follow shortly behind it once she got her affairs in order.
That being done Maka walked quickly out the back door into the crisp night.
She went to the stable, not fearing the dark building as it came into veiw.
It had once been a familiar sight to her, back when it was lively and filled with horses and workers.
Growing up she had spent many a happy days in the stables.
Now they lay empty, uninhabited by beast or man for months now.
The horses had been the first thing she had sold.
It had broken her heart, but she knew that she could no longer feed them.
They deserved better homes than what she could give.
The stable was now errily silent as she approached, no welcoming whinnies to be heard.
The stable was a dusty, spider infested place that she rarely ventured to these days.
Maka ducted under a small door; it smelled of stale air, old hay and leather around her.
She tip toed in, not wanting to disturb the silence of the vast place; a room that was now haunted by memories of things long gone.
Maka struck a match and lit a lantern that hung on the wall, illuminating the small tack room brightly.
In the far corner she spied an abandoned trunk, left behind by a stable hand.
She rummaged through the chest, silently thanking the person who had forgotten it.
Inside she found a sturdy pair of boots, some trousers, shirts, and a cap.
Maka eyed them dubiously, wondering how on earth men's clothes went on.
Shrugging her shoulders, she began to unbuttoned her dress.
Maka shivered as her petty coat slipped away, leaving her skin bare and chilled by the night air.
She caught her reflecting in a mirror that was leaned against the wall in a corner.
She turned to the mirror and frowned at her reflection.
She wasn't naive about her gender qualities, or rather the lack of, but she couldn't deny the soft curves that reflected back in the mirror.
She returned to the chest where she found to her delight a length of soft white linen.
She hastily wrapped it tightly around her bosom, binding her chest flatter.
Satisfied that it would stay in place, she quickly dawned the rest of her male garments.
She fumbled with the buttons of the shirt for a moment, but was other wise quite please with how easy the clothes went on.
Much easier than stocking, corsets, and lacings.
Pulling the cap on her head Maka stood back and and examined herself critically.
For a moment she stood there, shocked at her appearance.
The clothes must have belonged to a young stable lad because they fit almost perfectly, they were only a little baggy in certain places, but they'd do nicely.
She smiled at the mirror, pleased at her new image.
Her face was still a little too soft and feminine, but other wise she could easily pass as a young boy.
Except for her hair.
Maka gazed at her long golden hair despairingly.
Men in London were wearing their hair longer these days, often pulled back in a smart pony tail, but hers flowed down below her waist in great sheets of gold.
She would have to cut it off.
Maka had never been a vain woman, but the thought of cutting all her hair off made her cringe.
It was the one feminine quality she had.
Steeling herself she went to the trunk and pulled out a pair of rusty shears.
She held the shears that had once trimmed the beautiful manes of her father's horses in her steady hands.
Maka held her breath as she brought the shears up to her head and snipped.
She looked down to see a waterfall of hair float to the floor.
The thought of Ragnarok's vicious laughter pushed her as she continued to cut away.
Stepping in front of the mirror once again Maka gazed at the final result.
A gangly youth stared boldly back at her.
A large purple bruise was forming on the side of her face, a small reminder why she was fleeing her country and only home for a far off land.
He would never touch her again.
Her hair was now shoulder length, still a little longer than was common, but it would do nicely if she tied it back, and she really couldn't bare to cut it any shorter.
Surely men in Texas wore their hair long as well?
Maka stared at the stranger in the mirror for a long moment, a wide smile slowly creeping across her face.
Her uncle wanted a nephew, and bloody hell she was going to give him one.
"Here I come Texas." She whispered to the night air.