The next two weeks were some of the longest of her life. She was convinced that waiting to die was so much worse than the actual act of it.
Soul had said days to weeks before the symptoms could start. She had nothing to do but wait. Soul had even stripped her of her normal chores, leaving her feeling rather empty without the distractions. With no sense of purpose, she drifted around the house like a wraith, aimless and somber.
One such morning she was signing so adamantly at the kitchen table that Black Star took pity on her.
"Tsubaki, didn't you say you wanted to pick strawberries today?" He asked nonchalantly. Tsubaki looked up from her coffee cup, a slow smile gracing her face.
"Yes, down by the river, the strawberries are heavy and ripe. I want some to make preserves this week."
"That sounds like an easy job? Doesn't it boss?" Black Star says, giving a pointed look at the man wolfing down his breakfast. Soul looks up from his plate, one eyebrow raised in question. "I uh, reckon so?"
Black Star grins, a glint in his eye. Maka had quickly learned since arriving what that glint in her friend's eyes meant. Trouble, with a little fun and mischief sprinkled in. It was one of the things she loved most about him.
"How bout it English? Think you could help Tsubaki out?" Black Star questions.
Maka's head perks up, her face beaming.
"Oh yes, I'm great at picking strawberries! In fact, I was the best fucking berry picker in all of bloody England. The King gave me a metal for it and all." She embellishes, with a wink.
"Absolutely not." Soul gruffs, his expression hard with disapproval, "And don't say fuck," he adds while looking over his shoulder, probably expecting to see her uncle appear out of thin air. "You're supposed to be healing, not working."
"But it's an easy job, you agreed yourself." Black Star jeers.
Maka flashes him a smug look. "You did agree."
Soul glares at them both as they conspire against him.
Tsubaki, ever the peace keeper, clears her throat and lays a hand on Soul's arm. "Maybe a little fresh air and sun will be good for her recovery." She says in her quiet way.
Soul scowls at all three of them before his rigid shoulders inevitably slump in defeat. "Yeah, whatever." He grumbles, his gaze falling back to his breakfast. "Just don't over due it."
Maka springs up from the table, her chair toppling backward in her haste. She sprints to the kitchen, the sound of pots and pans loud in the silence. She returns with a small basket in the crook of her good arm, her face radiant.
"Thank you! I'll be back soon, promise!"
She presses an exuberant kiss to Soul's cheek, then dances from the room, pure joy radiating from her whole being as she flees the house. Soul looks stunned for a moment, his voice cracking slightly as he calls after her. "Damn it fancy pants, be careful out there! No running!"
But she was already gone, her blue day dress a streak passing the open window and out into the wilds, swallowed up into the garden and the trees beyond it.
He presses his fingers to his cheek where her lips had lightly bushed it, the skin there feels cool, but inside he's burning up. He closes his eyes a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was so warm, like sunshine. When her eyes sparkled like that, he couldn't tell her no for shit, not when her mouth curved into that gut-wrenching smile. Soul opens his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, suppressing a groan of torment.
He'd all but forgotten that Black Star and Tsubaki were still at the table with him. They share a knowing look. A look that makes Soul's blood boil. He slams his chair back and stalks out the door, shutting it a little too hard in his wake.
"Well, that was interesting." Black Star drawls, a smug sense of satisfaction about him.
"He's upset," Tsubaki states, her smile faltering a bit.
"We were just having a bit of fun with him. He'll get over it. He never stays mad at me long."
Tsubaki shakes her head. "He's angry with himself."
Black Star leans his elbows on the table his expression turning thoughtful. "Why though?"
"How did it make you feel, once you realized how you felt about me?" She questions in a hushed whisper.
Black Star grimaces in understanding. "I was angry and in denial. Denial that such a wonderful woman would want me too, and angry that there was nothing I could about it." He says quietly. Tsubaki smiles sadly in reply.
"Fuck." Black Star whispers. His heart breaks for the beautiful woman with sad eyes sitting next to him, and also for his love-stricken friends.
Under the table, Black Star grasps her hand. Her breath hitches and she tries to remove it, but his hold is firm. "Just for a moment? There's no one here." He pleads, his voice haggard.
Her eyes glisten in the morning light. She runs her thumb gently across his knuckles in reply, and it's more intimate than any kiss.
Maka tilts her head back, looking at the deep green canopy of trees. She has stumbled upon an old sod shanty, built into the side of a small hill. It's old, older than any other structure on the ranch. She wonders absently who had lived there, so long ago. Did they swim in the creek that ran by it? Or collect strawberries in the summer like her? The door was caved in, and the singular window boarded up.
Up on the gentle swell of the sod roof though, a bed of sweet pink phlox had taken root there and burst into bloom overnight.
A roof of flowers. The thought is so beautiful it makes her smile. Last night's storm had blown away, and the sun shone its heart out in a sky too blue to be real. It would have been a perfect day but for the wind. It was always blowing.
Maka hurries with her basket, gathering the wild strawberries growing in scattered patches. Blue Jays called, little sparrows jumped from branch to branch, and the noisy grackles with feathers the color of night, all of them partaking in the bounty of nature.
It felt good to be outside, to be under the sky, to feel the sun on her face. It felt good to be alive.
Red juice stains her fingers, lips, and tongue. The berries taste as sweet as the sod-roof flowers smell. But it's too much sweetness so early in the morning, for the berries leave her stomach feeling queasy. Although her arm feels better every day, the burns and pain slowly fading, she still has a way to go in her healing.
The underbrush rattles, leaves scattering and scraping, and the birds above go silent. Maka grabs for her pistol at her hip, the thoughts of bandits and rabid wolves plaguing her mind.
She would never go anywhere without protection again.
As steel slips from leather, her body goes quiet, listening for the dangers. The underbrush rustles again.
"Show yourself!" She hollers. Her voice wavers, but the weapon in her hand is steady.
An excited yip bounces off the trees around her. Little Chief bounds towards her, all toothy grins and tail wagging.
"Stop! Stay!" Maka shouts, her eyes blurring at the sight of him." He looks confused at her command, but he sets his haunches into the dirt only a few paces away from her. Fresh tears spring anew as she looks at him, her pistol still trained on him.
After the wolf attack, everything had been utter chaos. It hadn't crossed her mind until much later that Chief was probably wounded from his tussle with the wolf. The pup was missing, not a hair nor a trace of him. Soul said that most critters who were bitten, tended to wander off and die by themselves. It was the way of nature.
She had hoped, that he would come back, safe. But after a full week of missing, her hope had dwindled greatly.
Her sweet pup was here now though, and she couldn't even welcome him back properly. Not when there was a chance he had been bitten too, that even now he could be harboring the madness.
He cocks his head to the side, regarding her with sad whimpers. His whole hind end wiggles with the effort of sitting still.
He's dirty, skinny, and worse for wear, but his brown eyes are clear, his mouth free of blood and foam. Maka re-holsters her pistol and drops to her knees, not able to resist a moment longer. "Come here. Good boy." She sniffle as he leaps into her outstretched arms. The wound on her arm sings at the abrupt contact, but the pain grounds her in the moment, as her patchwork friend wriggles in her embrace.
Maybe he hadn't been bitten after all, or maybe he had been spared of the disease. If he was still alive and healthy, maybe there was still hope for her too. Maka rocks back and forth on the grassy ground, crying into his fur for a long and heart-wrenching time.
Chief, unaware of why she's so distressed, whines and licks her salty cheeks.
"You saved our lives, you know." Maka hiccups, tossing his ear affectionately. His tail thumps in reply.
The little dog had without hesitation put himself between them and the wolf that day. If it hadn't been for him slowing down the wolf's path, Soul may have not had time to draw his knife and fight. Maka hugs him harder. She had unwilling traded her golden locks for this dog. A supposed sacred dog, of bravery and good luck. But now, holding him close, she knows without a doubt that the Cheif of the wandering tribe, hisbwords had been true. Her hair had grown back, her pup had become dear to her, and the trade had been assuredly in her favor.
A lucky dog indeed.
After a time her tears dry and she stands, leading the little dog back to the ranch. She can't wait to tell Soul, see the look on his face. He guarded his emotions so well at times. He hadn't admitted it to her, but he had been worried too. Without a word to her about it, whenever he hadn't been by her side fussing over her, he'd been out searching for the pup. He pretended often not to like the little mutt, but they had become fast friends over the months.
As Maka nears the barn, she hears a murmur of voices coming from the open door, and she pauses, her ears perking at the mention of her name. Soul and Black Star were usually out chasing cows this time of day, trying to keep the cattle from straying off the range, and rustles and poachers from straying onto it.
It was odd that they were still here, and not out working.
"I should go track her down. I shouldn't have let you twist my arm about letting her go. She isn't ready. She's still weak." Soul's voice practically growls.
"She doesn't need no nurse-maid boss. She's only been gone an hour. Let her be." Black Star retorts with a snort.
"What if there's trouble? We've had beef going missing recently." Soul says and she can hear the strain in his voice.
"She's been practicing her hand with a gun. She's not a bad shot either. She'll be fine. You need to relax boss."
Maka can practically hear the eye roll in Black Star's voice.
Soul is silent for a beat, and then his voice drops so low she has to strain to hear him.
"What if there's another wolf attack, or God forbid that dog of hers shows up with the madness. Her heart's so soft she'd probably try to cuddle the damn thing!"
Maka's fingers jerk in response, grasping little Chief by the scruff.
"You sure the Lobo had it, boss? You didn't just mistake-"
"It for sure had it." Soul cuts in, his voice grim.
Black Star lets out a long, shaky breath. "Well, then, don't you reckon she'd be showing signs of it by now, too? Maybe she's alright?"
"Hell, Black Star, how're we ever gonna know? She's always acted crazier than popping corn on a hot skillet."
Something hot flares in Maka's chest. She's heard enough.
She steps across the threshold with a deliberately heavy tread. The men are both sitting on a hay bale, their faces glum.
Soul's head snaps up as she enters. He studies her intently, as though looking for signs of injuries, or perhaps impending madness.
"What are you looking at?" She snaps, taking a menacing step closer.
Black Star averts his gaze, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else at this moment.
A wry smile forms on Soul's lips. "You've got berry juice all over your mouth, Maka," Soul says, his gaze lingering for a heated moment on her lips. Maka tries not to blush, instead scowling harder at him.
"Cheif came back. He's fine. I'm going to be alright too. I am not crazy, so stop treating me like I am." She grits out.
Soul's gaze flickers to her and then to the dog waiting outside the barn.
Relief washes over his face at thebliitle pup, but just as quickly his eyes turn wary.
"Maka, we can't be sure."
He gives her that look again. Like she's already dead and gone.
She advances on him, growling and baring her teeth, like a snapping terrier. Soul's face goes deathly pale.
Wild laughter tickles her throat and she bites her lip to hold it back. When she gets close enough she lifts her basket high in the air and dumps the contents onto Soul's head. Berries splatter everywhere.
There's a stunned silence, and then the berries and juice begin to slide off Soul's head and shoulders onto the ground in heavy, sticky, bright rivulets. He stares up at her, his eyes wide. He couldn't have looked more shocked if she had truly turned into a rabid beast like the wolf.
A great whoop of laughter built and built in her chest. She presses her lips together, clutches at her waist, and nearly collapses bent over with the force of it. But she can't stop it. It burst out of her, a great loud sound of joy and wonder. All the laughter she's bottled up for weeks now. She laughs and laughs. She rocks back and forth, her foot coming off the ground and kicking at the air. Her hair comes loose and her face turns red and her laughter fills the barn. Her eyes brim with tears as she stares at Soul, at the fruit that decorates him and stains his silver hair shades of pink and red. She claps a hand over her mouth.
Soul picks a muddled strawberry off his forehead and clears his throat. "What in the blazes?"
Laughter bursts out of her nose in a most unladylike snort.
"I am not mad!" she giggles. She knows how ridiculous this statement sounds.
Soul only looks more bewildered.
Snorting and gurgling, laughing out loud, she spins and runs out the door.
"Wait, Kid!" Soul shouts, slipping on the smashed strawberries as he runs out after her.
She throws her head back, letting the laughter come. It was as if she had waited her whole life for a reason to laugh and, once started, she couldn't stop.
She runs as if she's being chased by heel flies. She'd never run like this before, never picked up her skirts and ran all out, stretching her legs, straining her lungs. Running, running, running, with the wind blowing in her hair, pressing against her ears, legs pumping high, until she feels that maybe she isn't touching the ground at all but flying above it. And still, it isn't enough.
Soul's paint horse is at the end of the pasture gate. With a flying leap she sails over the gate, the sound of her dress snagging and ripping on the top rail. She doesn't bloody care though. She swings up onto the paint's bare back, threading her fingers deep into his main and heels him into a gallop. The paint is fast, much faster than her horse Kippy. She revels in the rush of wind and earth as she streaks across the prairie. She gives a wild whoop, like a deranged person as the paint jumps the gate. She holds on for dear life. They tear across the prairie and disappear over the rise.
Soul had planned to follow her, but he stands in shock, still rooted in the same place, watching as the wild hellion flies out of view.
Black Star cones to stand next to him and lets out a low whistle. "She just stole your horse." He laughs, throwing his head back and smacking his friend on the shoulder in good humor.
"See, crazier than popping corn in a skillet." Soul groans, running a distraught hand through his hair.
"Maybe. But that's the first time I've heard her laugh like that. Maybe she's healing more than just her body now." Black Star says with a warm smile.
A reluctant smile pulls at Soul's mouth too. She was wild and headstrong, and stubborn as a mule. It was her nature, and it suited her.
She looked lovely smiling again, her hair streaming out behind her, her face upturned to the sky in rapture.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge her face from his mind. His heart thuds like a traitor in his chest and his fingernails leave deep crescents in his palms.
A window snaps open on the top floor of the house and the glass gives a mighty quiver in its frame. Stein's head pops out, a deep frown taught against his pale skin.
"Soul, be so kind and go fetch my runaway niece. I need to speak with her!" He shouts across the yard.
Soul stills, his eyes searching. So the old man had witnessed the whole thing huh? Just when he didn't think the situation could get any more absurd. Soul cups his hands to his mouth to shout back. "But she took my horse, boss!"
Even from the barn Soul can see one of the man's scared eyebrows raise in disbelief. "Then take her horse. Just bring that wild thing back here in one piece!"
Soul tips his stetson in reply, trying to hide the shadow of his growing amusement.
Chasing after her sounded like a challenge, and as he readies her horse he chuckles to himself, then just as quickly lets loose a curse. He couldn't understand why the thought delighted him so much.
Maka didn't know where she was going, just that she was going there as fast as the paint would carry her. As the horse began to slow though, her foolishness caught up with her. Maybe she had been too rash, but in the moment it had felt right.
If she had to stay there and hear all the whisperings, and side-eye looks of pity for another second, surely she would have truly gone mad.
Out here though, with the wind drifting through the tall buffalo grass, and not a single sound to be heard, one could easily forget about their problems. Or get lost in them.
"It's just you and me." She says to the paint, sliding forward to pat his frothy neck.
The paint's ears prick forward, catching something in the wind. Maka stills, listening.
Soul had taught her to listen to the horses, to read their body language.
"They sense trouble long before we do." His words drift like a whisper on the wind of her mind.
She puts her hand on her pistol and strains her ears, listening to the sounds around her. It's not loud, the rush of the grass and wind nearly drowning out all else, but her ears eventually pick out the uncommon sound. A creaking and a jingle.
A brightly colored shay drawn by a single horse crests the natural swell and dip of the prairie. A woman wearing a dress the same bright ruby-red as the wild strawberries, her feet braced wide apart, driving like a man. Maka gives a loud whoop, takes off her borrowed hat, and waves it over her head. The woman jumps at the sound, but smiles and waves in return once she notices her.
Blair, a lady in red, a saloon owner, a woman of tarnished virtue, and most importantly, her friend. Soul had warned her not to go back to the saloon, but he had never mentioned not seeing Blair again. Maka spun the paint around and galloped to meet her halfway. She pulled her mount up next to the shay, Blair smiling devilishly up at her.
"Lord have mercy, I thought you were a banshee coming to take me." She laughs fanning herself with a gloved hand.
Maka grins. "Do banshees usually wear blue day dresses?"
"No hun, but women don't normally ride astride like a man. Nor do they wear cowboy hats and work boots under their dresses." Blair chuckles, looking her up and down. "You're a right mess right now, and I love it."
Maka grimaces. "I feel a right mess. It's so good to see you though, Blaire."
The woman pins her with a shrewd look. "I was on my way to see you actually, so it's right good we ran into each other. I know a spot close by, a place we can sit and rest a spell. Mind accompanying me? There's something I want to talk to you about."
Maka nods her curiosity piqued. "I stole Soul's horse here, I'm not anxious to get back anytime soon, so I have all the time in the world to talk. Lead the way."
Blair bursts out, a few tears running down her face. "Lord hun! Tell me all about it. Sounds like a right good story!"
They reprieved in a little coulee, nestled among stately larch trees. The birds gathered here, sheltered from the late summer sun, and so the women too took refuge here.
Maka shares her story of the day's events, and her friend laughs and smiles, picturing the strawberries dashed upon an unmentionable cowboy's head.
"Here hun, I think you earned a stiff drink. I wish I could have seen the look on his face." She says with a serpentine smile.
The woman produces a flask from her dress pocket. Maka hesitates only a moment before accepting it. Her day had already been such an unusual one, she might as well embrace all the rebellious urges.
She swallows, nearly choking in surprise. Blaire laughs, the tinkling sound causing the birds to stop and listen.
"What is this?" Maka croaks, feeling the liquid blaze down her gullet, warming her from the inside out.
"That there is tequila. Our friends from down south make that. It's my absolute favorite." She says smacking her lips.
"It tastes awful," Maka replies her eyes watering as she takes another pull.
"It'll grow on you, especially the more you drink." She says with a wink.
Maka tries to pass it back, but Blair shakes her head. You keep it. I've given up drinking."
Maka cocks her head and regards her friend. The woman is actually blushing.
"Seems I'm in the family way recently, I reckon it's best not to drink for a spell." She says her cheeks glowing, even in the darkened shade of the larch tree.
"You're having a baby?" Maka says slowly, her mind putting it together. Blair nods, twisting her hands into the folds of her ruby-red dress, her eyes downcast.
Maka throws her arms around her friend, gathering the woman close, laughing even as a few tears collect in the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Blair! How wonderful! You're going to be a momma!"
Blair's face pinches painfully as she leans out of her embrace. "You're not ashamed or disgusted by it?" She asks, her voice wobbly.
"Why on earth would I think that?" Maka questions, suddenly aware of how distraught her friend seems. Blair looks away, her shoulders stiff. "I have no husband. I thought a proper lady like yourself would look down on me because of that."
Awareness comes rushing in like a cold hard wave. "The father?"
Blair shakes her head. "I told him about the baby. He's right set on refusing it's his. On account that I'm a soiled dove who runs the local house of sin. Even though he's the only lover I've taken for almost five years now."
"Bloody bastard!" Maka explodes, causing the birds to take flight above them. "How could he do that to you?!"
Blair shrugs, her mouth set in a hard line. "Men take what they want. It's a tale as old as time."
Maka wants to howl her frustration into the wind, but she takes her friend's hand firmly in her own instead, meeting the woman's somber face.
"You don't need him. Your baby will be loved by you, and by me. I'll be here for you. Whatever you need."
A small semblance of her smile which had always been bright as the Texas sky, flitted across her face. "Thank you, hun. I couldn't ask for a better friend than you. That's why I have to tell you the worst part now."
Blair clears her throat nervously. "I've decided I'm leaving this godforsaken place, Maka. And I'm never coming back."
Maka freezes, eyes wide, struggling to comprehend.
Leaving?
To her, this place was home, more so than anywhere else had ever felt. The thought of Blair leaving was enough to knock the air from her lungs.
"Why?" She finally gasps.
"I need a new start. For me and my baby. If I stay here. My baby will be nothing but a bastard. The child of an unwed whore." She shakes her head sadly. "I want a better life for my little one. I want to go somewhere that no one knows us. Where we can be respectable."
Maka recalls the piercing eyes and hostile whispers of the town's people towards Soul any time he passed. Her heart breaks, knowing that her friend, as good a woman as any, would be treated even worse.
"I'll sell the saloon, it'll be enough money for a new start somewhere else. I have to admit though, that I'm a little sad to see it go. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I'm not proud of the line of business I've been in, but I worked hard to get where I'm at now." Her face take on a very melancholy shape, her eyes far away. "I didn't choose this life, but it was the hand I was dealt. I've been a whore for so long though, I'm not sure if there's anything else left to me."
In England, she was taught a woman's virtue was something to be protected, to be praised. She was warned from an early age, about all the ways a girl could tarnish her virtue; speak to a boy who was a stranger to her family, to go out unchaperoned, return his smile, return his kiss . . . The loss of a girl's virtue was like a tar pit. If she dipped one little toe in the black gooey mess she would be stuck fast forever. Ruined forever. And so Maka had always believed that women fell into harlotry because of a wickedness in them that made them enjoy the carnal attentions of men. Looking at her sweet friend now though, she sees a woman who is being wrongfully misjudged.
"You are not a whore, you're so much more than that my dearest friend." She says softly to the woman sitting next to her.
"I wasn't always like this, ya know," Blair says ruefully, as she leans back against the larch's trunk. "I had a loving family, parents, a sister. They had been decent folks."
"Had? Did you lose them?" Maka asks gently, knowing all too well the familiar sting of death.
Blair snorts and shakes her head. "They're dead to me, but I suppose they're still alive somewhere out there. When I was 18, I traveled with my family on a wagon train from up north. We were heading south, hoping for a better life."
Blair unbuttons the cuff of her ruby-red dress and rolls the sleeve up past her elbow, revealing something black scrawled across her forearm. "It's ink." She explains.
"It's quite beautiful," Maka exclaims while leaning forward. Maka had seen sailors on the ship from England with tattoos, but she'd never seen one close up. She's curious as she takes in the dark intricate lines and swirls on Blair's arm.
"It was done by Indians," her friend says quietly.
Maka's head snaps up in renewed shock.
"Comanches stole me off the wagon train in the dead of night. They sold me to the Mohave, who like to tattoo their girls by piercing the skin with sharpened bones and rubbing dye into the wounds. They think of them as marks of beauty."
Blair cocks her head, studying Maka's upturned face as if undecided whether to say more. The wind in the larches sings its sad song with breathey sighs and creaking limbs. Maka could almost hear the larch needles falling to earth.
Her friend's face held terrible grief, her smoky voice pitched low. "Before they sold me, the Comanches did what they call 'passing her over the prairie.' I reckon even a lady like you can guess what that means."
Maka could only nod in horror.
"The Comanche didn't keep me long thankfully, and the Mohave were kind people. One of the Mohave braves eventually took me as his squaw. He's the one who tattooed me."
Maka blinked slowly, her friend's words sinking in. "You were married to a brave?"
"Married is a bit of a stretch. I suppose in the eyes of the tribe we were, but before God and the church, I'm not so sure. Doesn't matter though. I lived with them for two years, until the soldiers came."
Blair bows her head and Maka's stomach clenches as she sees the silent tears sliding down her face.
"They showed up out of nowhere, guns firing, swords flashing. They only spared me because of my skin color. They said they were there to rescue me. The thing is though, that I didn't want to be rescued. Trouble is, by then I loved my man, even though he was an Indian. They killed him and they killed the baby I had by him. She wasn't even a year old yet."
Maka takes in her friend's ravaged face. Ravaged by torture and grief. They had killed her love and her baby. Maka has no words for her friend, but Blair seems to sense this and squeezes her hand tightly.
"Do not fret for me. It was a very long time ago now." A deep crack forms in Maka's chest, and her own eyes grow wet. For Blair, her suffering, and for the overwhelming hatred of others in this world.
"And after all that, when I had lost everything, I found my family again, but they wouldn't have me back. Not when they got a look at my tattooed arms and heard what had been done to me."
"But that wasn't your fault!" Maka protested, her throat tight, unable to help the anger in her voice.
"Finding fault doesn't change what is," Blair says quietly. "Any woman who lies with a savage, willing or not, is going to come away from it branded a whore. There ain't no man going to marry her, and no one's going to hire her to sell hats or wait on restaurant tables. It's the way it is."
Maka bites her cheek trying to rein in her anger. It wasn't right that one woman should have to suffer such misery. Or any woman at all. She felt something within her break away and die. Some of her youth and innocence. Her hands curled into fists, her fingers pressing hard against her palms. She felt outrage at the tragedy she had found in this woman. Rage at people who pointed and judged others. Those who called her friend a harlot for lying with a savage, condemning her to a life of destitution, saloons, and selling her body to strangers. And rage at men who took their pleasure from women, who took and gave nothing in return, who without sparing a thought for the souls and hearts within the soft feminine flesh they craved. And she felt a rage at women like herself, who were ignorant, who condemned their own kind for the things that were done to them by men.
Maka looked up into Blair's face, at the vulnerability there, and she saw a strong woman. A woman who had loved and lost. A kind woman whose only crime had broken the Lord's commandments and the laws of men and now she must forever pay for her transgressions. A woman who is ashamed of what she was and proud of what she has become. A woman just like any other woman born of a woman. A woman like her. A woman who would survive, no matter what.
She doesn't know how she can muster a smile, but Blair does.
"I told you my story hun, not so you would pity me, but so you would understand me. I want you to know why it's so important that I leave. I want this baby, I want to be a momma, to have my own little family, but not like this. Not at the cost of my child's suffering."
Maka hugs her close and nods into her should, understanding. "I know you must do what's best for you and your little one," She sniffles, "But know that I will miss you dreadfully so. You've become very dear to me." Blair hugs her back, her eyes bright.
"I want so badly, to take you with me, hun. It would be such an adventure. Two friends striking it out on their own. No one to tell them what to do, where to go, or who to be." She gushes, trying so hard to keep the hope from her face. "But I can't ask you to. I know you have people here who you love."
Maka leans back and shakes her head sadly. "That sounds wonderful. Truly it does. But you're right, I have people here that I couldn't bear to leave." Blair's head jerks in acknowledgment.
"If for any reason you change your mind. Come find me. Or if you get tired of a certain cowboy's shit, you will have a place waiting for you." Maka scrubs harshly at her cheeks and lets out something between a laugh and a sob.
The rest of the afternoon slips by, and the women take shelter under the trees, hidden from the world.
They laugh, they cry, and they share their thoughts and dreams.
They share these bitter-sweet moments, knowing this is their final goodbyes.
The sun was high in the sky when she and Blair parted ways.
The sunshine was melting and flowing over her like warm butter. She led Soul's paint, walking towards home. She waded in the waist-high grass. She walked until the weight of everything seemed to compress, and it felt like it would crush her if she took another step.
She sinks to her knees, letting the prairie grass take her fully.
She wants to find peace in her heart. From this terrible world, with its people who often do terrible things to the good people.
She smooths her hands out, pressing them against the Texas dirt. She hates this place, and she fears it. And she loves it fiercely. She lays down, pressing her cheek on the cool earth, and listens to the wind.
She squints against the dense sunlight. The grass seems to tremble with the light and the wind. Strange feelings stir deep within her belly. She presses a hand to her stomach.
Grief, it's what presses down on her. She rolls over, burying her face in the grass, digging her fingers deep into the root-woven earth. She feels much like the grass, rooted to the loamy Texas earth, but not so deep that she couldn't be ripped free if she wasn't careful. She pulls loose a great clump of the grass, as if to show herself how easily it could be done. She tosses it away and presses her face into the exposed dirt. She smells its ripeness, feels its coolness. This dirt that was Texas. She couldn't hate this place for very long. It was too big, this country, too raw and wild. There were times when she thought she would be crushed by it.
And other times . . . Times when she looked out over the prairie and saw herself astride a wild cayuse, chasing her shadow over the empty miles of grass, riding and riding until she fell off the end of the world. Times when she looked at the big Texas sky and saw herself flying like an eagle, spreading her wings against the vast and empty blue and soaring on the tail of the wind. Flying high, high enough to touch the sun.
She wonders if her life would have been better if she had stayed in England? If she had married a man she didn't love and led a very boring and normal life. Would there have been less hardships and sorrows than here?
She doubted it. She had been blind to so much, but now she knew. Life was full of sorrows, no matter where one lived. That was life.
A katydid whirls nearby, singing its song of life and love. Searching for its fated mate.
Maka feels her cheeks pulling in a small secret smile. Life was full of joys too. She had to remember that there was good in the world too. Her thoughts drifted instantly to Soul. Her grumpy cowboy, whose heart was as big as the sky.
And because she was thinking of him, naturally he materialized in front of her.
He had been following her tracks here, led by instinct, maybe led by more.
Had he heard her, calling out like the katydid? Heard her heart's song, singing out for him on the wind?
He looks down at her, eyes at half-mast. "Sleeping the day away are we?" He deadpans.
She can tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and the way his hands are jammed into his pockets that he's not truly angry with her.
Why wasn't he angry though? She had stolen his horse, dumped strawberries upon his head, spent the day drinking and lounging about, and all manner of other wicked things.
What she does see in his eyes makes her heart clench. Relief. She had worried him.
"Soul." She murmurs as she reaches out and yanks his hand towards her. His crimson eyes widen in surprise as he topples down next to her in the grass.
"Maka, what the blazes? Are you..." But something on her face must show that her heart is heavy because his words die on his lips and he falls silent. His eyes search her face too intently. She opens her mouth to speak, but instead, she only tastes clarity and salt. She was crying again, and she hates it so damn much. She hates that Soul sees this side of her so often, the weepy, mad mess she has become. His face shows no signs of disdain or judgment though. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and drags her to his chest. His heartbeat is slow and loud against her ear.
"I'm sorry." She sniffles.
"For what?" He asks gently.
"For always crying like this."
"You shouldn't apologize for crying, it's ok to cry in front of me... As long as I'm not the one making you cry." He amends. She nods against his chest and his arms grow tighter.
"Now throwing strawberries on me, taking off with my horse, and making me track you across half the damn prairie on the other hand... that's probably worth an apology."
Maka jerks her head up; horrified, her cheeks burning with shame.
Only he isn't mad, or frowning, or even being serious. He's teasing her. Just like he used to do when she was still a man and they were best of friends.
Only, they're still friends, and she's still the same person and he's still the same man; steadfast, unyielding, and oddly kind underneath all his gruff ways.
He smiles down at her, all traces of his mask gone and her heart rushes in time with the wind that ripples the grass around them.
That smile, it's a wide, unabashed thing, that touches his clear deep eyes. It's brighter than the Texas sky and warmer than the sun. And it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. The peace she was longing for spreads over them, here in this sea of grass, here with this man.
She had been right. There was still goodness and joy in the world, his smile proved that.