Irene squeezed Charles' hands and gazed into his steady, sincere brown eyes. As she did so, she felt herself growing overcome with emotion at his offer of help. It had been several years since she'd relied on anyone else so she was performing quite the leap of faith.
After all, she hardly knew Charles, having only been acquainted with him for the last six months. While nothing in his nature had given her any impression she couldn't trust him, it did startle her how quickly she'd said yes to his offer. She should be full of hesitation.
She hadn't entirely given all, as she hadn't told Charles anything of what she faced. On that, she wasn't yet convinced she should. He couldn't remain in the dark forever, but she didn't know the first place to start with her past.
"Follow me," Charles said suddenly, releasing one of her hands in order to lead her with the other. They left the alleyway and came out on the sidewalk in front of Mr. Campbell's funeral parlor.
Charles continued, tugging on her hand and pulling her down the street. she felt herself grow warm at the continued contact of his hand calloused and firm in hers. The last time their fingers had been entwined, she'd been writhing beneath him, crying out with pleasure at his unhurried and deliberate thrusts.
Irene's cheeks burned hotly, unbelieving at the turn of her thoughts. As for Charles, he seemed completely unaffected and unaware of her sudden lustful mind. As they walked, his eyes scouted the area in purposeful sweeps, intent on his mission to look out for her. She didn't believe Hahn would follow her, not after his ultimatum. Then again, neither had she expected him to be persistent on his hunt for her.
Irene had little time to dwell on Hahn's intentions (or memories of her unforgettable night with Charles for that matter) as she had to focus on keeping up with Charles' long strides. She lifted her skirts with her free hand and gripped Charles' hand tightly. He cut left down another alley and they entered a courtyard similar to the one outside of her apartment. She followed him up a set of stairs to a white door on the backside and above Esmonde's Restaurant and Tavern.
Charles unlocked the second door and it wasn't until that moment that Irene realized he was taking her to his apartment. She somehow flushed further as he swung open the door and ushered her in.
They'd spent a night together, one where they'd been undressed and uncovered under each other's eyes, so she shouldn't feel self-conscious being alone with him in a room. But this felt more intimate in the light of day, when she wasn't impulsively inviting him in for a last chance fling before she left everything behind.
More than a little curious, she swept her eyes across the room. She'd never thought she'd get this opportunity. She may learn something more about the man who kept everything about himself so close to his chest. Her first pass over the room, and she thought she may remain in the dark a little bit longer.
There was little furniture, not even a chair and table near the kitchen wall like in her apartment. There were a few canned goods in a cabinet on one side of the room. The walls were bare, the wallpaper drooping in some spots. The most indication that anyone lived here at all were the blankets on the bed, a trunk at the end of it, and a framed photograph on the bedside table.
It looked like a place where he kept his things, but not one he had gained any attachment. She couldn't help but comment, "You live so...sparsely."
Charles stopped in the middle of the room, his gaze roving around as if to take it all in with a fresh set of eyes. "It serves its purpose, and I've lived in worse."
She thought she caught the hint of a defensive tone in his voice so she added quickly, "I didn't mean to offend you, Charles."
She was most drawn in by the photograph on his bedside and let it beckon her nearer. Inside the oval frame was a young family, a man with Charles' likeness stood with pride beside a woman with twin braids and a beaded headband. In her arms sat a child dressed in his Sunday best, including the most darling little cap. Even though the child in the photograph was just a baby, Irene recognized the solemn expression and she smiled at it.
She turned to face Charles and continued, "Truthfully, this place is about as occupied as my own room, if you recall."
Charles nodded slowly in agreement, but as she watched, his eyes darkened, as if his memory became distracted. Her breath caught in her throat at the change in his expression, from unreadable to heated. He was not thinking of the lack of furniture or personal touches in her apartment. He was reliving their time together, and her recognizing this brought her own memories to the surface once again.
The way his mouth had drifted over her skin, connected with her neck, his body over her and his hands pressing hers into the mattress as she lifted her hips to meet his, wanting more...
Charles cleared his throat, bringing them both back into the present. "What needs to be done to keep you in Saint Denis, and safe?"
Irene wished she could fan herself as she'd suddenly grown so heated under her collar. She couldn't meet Charles' eye, afraid he'd see how easily he'd affected her when he'd not said a single word. She focused on his question. She was going to be as honest as possible with him.
"Yes, well. When I bargained for three days, I wasn't intending on giving Hahn what he wanted. I have no idea if it'll be enough time to make it back to Saint Denis."
"How far do we need to go?"
"Van Horn." She glanced at him, noticing an almost imperceptible wince on his face. "Is it possible, Charles?" Or had he agreed to help her in a task doomed to failure from its inception?
Charles nodded with confidence. "We can make it work. I know the area well, but we'll need supplies."
"I've already packed everything I need."
Charles' eyes moved to her bag, a frown taking over. She didn't quite understand the disappointment she saw there. She'd told him her original intention was to leave Saint Denis. Perhaps, it was only in this moment he realized the seriousness in her claim.
Charles wordlessly moved to the chest at the end of his bed. He knelt, opened it and collected a few items. He took out a satchel already packed, a hunting bow and arrows, and lastly, a rifle.
As he lifted the rifle out, Irene eyed it with trepidation. "Will that be necessary?"
"If we want to make it back in time, we'll likely be cutting across the woods. Those woods are full of cougars, bears and men just as wild."
He was right, of course. One could never be too careful, especially in that area, but she hadn't thought about it until then. She had to wrap her mind around the daunting realization that she would be returning to Van Horn, and to the people and circumstances she'd left behind. "This undertaking is becoming rather overwhelming."
He said firmly, "We can make it."
Irene was sure he had a multitude of additional questions for her, but in this moment he didn't ask her anything further. When he did, she wasn't sure how much she would tell him, what she could tell him.
He kept on with his matter-of-fact tone and confidence as he spoke of a plan. "It'll be faster if we're both on horses. We can buy you a horse, or find some place that will loan us one."
"I have a horse," she said, eliciting a raised brow from Charles. "I keep her at Eckhart stables."
Charles nodded, clearly satisfied by her answer. "Let's go."
Charles surprised her by taking her to the nearest trolley stop. Perhaps he meant to conserve their energy before the long horse ride ahead of them. It was only a few minutes until trolley came by, and she boarded in front of him. As they sat beside each other, thunder unexpectedly rolled above them and Irene stiffened at the sound.
She pressed close to the window and saw the blue sky being eaten by light gray clouds. She shivered and rubbed her arms. It would be just her luck that a storm would threaten the day. She saw it only as an omen to the beginning of their journey.
Beside her, Charles asked, "Are you cold?"
She glanced at him and then looked down with embarrassment. She couldn't explain this inexplicable phobia of hers without going into everything. She answered carefully, "No. I'm simply not...fond of rainstorms."
Charles leaned close to her, his eyes set on the sky, but Irene's awareness of him suddenly heightened. The warmth of his body radiated from him, enticing her to touch him in some way, if only to seek a little comfort. His shoulder was so near, she could rest her head upon it. It was the closest he'd been to her all day.
Charles leaned back, seemingly unaware of how he affected her as he explained nonchalantly, "The clouds are moving in from the west. If we leave the city quick enough, we may out pace it."
Irene nodded, swallowing. Unbeknownst to him, he'd distracted her enough to not care overmuch about the upcoming storm for now.
They rode to the end of Victory Drive, getting off the trolley as close as they could to the stables, and walking at a fast pace the last block. Irene didn't miss the glances Charles kept making to the sky, or the somber expression that settled and didn't let up as they reached the stable.
Inside, Charles made his way first to a black and white horse, with a spotted hindquarter. Irene noticed how he stood straighter and a light smile took over his lips. He brushed his hand over her mane, and she heard him murmur, "Looks like you'll be getting your wish after all."
Irene walked further down the barn, to the second to last stall. Her gray Nokota stuck out her head. She produced an oatcake from her satchel and greeted, "Hello, darling."
She entered the corral to begin saddling her horse when she turned and caught an odd look on Charles' face. "What's wrong?"
"That one's yours?"
Irene smiled. "Yes. This is Falmouth."
"She's a beautiful horse."
"Thank you," Irene replied. "I visit her when I can, but I'm afraid it's not been often enough lately." She glanced at Charles' horse. "She is a beauty too, and so tame."
"Taima," he supplied. He turned from her, gathering a saddle. "We should get moving."
As they left the stables, Charles turned his attention to the sky again and his mouth set in a grim line. The wind whipped down the lane now and the clouds had grown in mass, darkening the blue sky to an ominous gray. They would be amidst the rain soon. It was unavoidable, and Irene wanted nothing more than to return to her apartment and wait for it to pass.
Charles led Irene down the road, towards the edge of Saint Denis, obviously trying to hasten their pace without catching a policeman's attention or disrupting any pedestrians walking around. But even Irene could tell they weren't moving fast enough. The moment they left the buildings of Saint Denis behind and were finally able to pick up their pace, the clouds above them erupted and the rain burst down suddenly like a dropped curtain.
Irene's heart began hammering and the hand holding Falmouth's reins started to tremble. She sat tensely in the saddle, but she tried to hold back her panic from arising. She could only pray it would be a swift rain and not evolve into anything more serious.
The soil of the farmland they passed darkened as the water soaked the fields. Once they hit the wooden walkways of the bayou, the rain crashed down without mercy, sharp and almost painful with its strikes against their skin as their horses galloped through it.
The bogs misted, fogging the land ahead. Not only was their vision obstructed by the intensity of the rain, but the addition of the fog made the path they were following now impossible to see. Charles seemed confident in his riding, but one wrong step could send them into the muddy swamps, to the delight of any hungry alligator.
Irene could tell Charles wanted to push ahead, to forge through this downpour, but Irene feared she could not handle it. It wasn't only the rain soaking through her coat, or the fear of a misstep, but the storm itself and what it drudged up from her memories. It was weak, she knew, but eventually she called out, "Charles!"
"I know," he answered right away as if he expected her to voice concern. She felt a failure, as the start of their journey, unfortunately, was about to be postponed, but she was not comfortable with traveling in this way. She wondered if Charles would choose to turn them around, and head back to Saint Denis.
But they were too far out from the city now, and the rain was relentless. Charles slowed Taima and Irene followed suit, drenched through her riding clothes. Charles quickly scanned the marsh, past a tree that protected two graves and continuing down the trail.
"Follow me," he said and urged Taima down the road, veering left on the path. "Stay close."
Falmouth followed before Irene gave any command, as eager to stay close to Charles and Taima as she was. Soon enough, Falmouth's hooves planked on a hard wooden walkway. Rain pattered their skin without relief as Charles led them to the side of a house raised above the marsh.
He slid off of his horse and Irene did the same, mud squelching under her boots as she hit the ground. She held Falmouth's reins as she walked up to him.
"Get inside," he told her as he took hold of the horses. She nodded obediently, pulling her satchel off the saddle and hurriedly moving to the front of the house.
She rushed up the steps, wondering briefly if it was occupied. It mustn't be, surely, if Charles chose it as their stopping point. She reached the front door, saturated by the rain every step of the way.
She made to open the door when she noticed it boarded over in three spots. The house was unlikely to be occupied because of it, but these boards also served as an obstruction for them to gain entry.
The rain was coming down too heavily for her to search the area for a tool to pry the boards off. She began pulling by hand and luck was with her on the first one. It loosened from the frame easily, which had her immediately optimistic. However, it seemed that was as far as her luck would stretch as the other two boards held firm. Her cold wet fingers could do nothing to budge them.
After a few minutes of her struggling, Charles came up behind her, his shoulders hunched over and his coat collar up to protect himself from the rain as much as possible. She stepped aside and he took his turn at the boards. With incredible ease, he gripped the first board and it gave way under his strength. The last one needed a little more energy, but Charles managed that one too without much struggle.
He opened the door and shepherded Irene inside. Charles pushed the door shut with some resistance from a growing wind. With the closing of the door, the sound of the storm became deafened. The only clear sound was of the water dripping from their clothes onto the wooden floor.
Charles moved around the darkened room and lit a candle, revealing the single room cabin as being nearly the same size as her apartment in Saint Denis. Irene found her own set of matches and shakily lit a lantern on an end table next to a bed. She glanced around, taking in the paper and glass bottles littered on the floor. A chair and table stood solemnly in the center of the room. The window near the door was partially covered by a tattered white cloth, but the pane behind it remained intact.
When they had finished lighting as much as they could, Irene dropped onto the edge of the bed, shivering. Thankfully, this place was long abandoned. They had a place of shelter for the night, if need be.
Charles found a couple of blankets folded on a chair near the door. A cloud of dust pillowed the air as Charles shook them out. Then he moved across the room and handed one to Irene. "Here. Get yourself dry."
She accepted the blanket and wrapped it around herself. It wasn't fresh-smelling, but it was dry. Charles removed his coat and hung it on a rack by the door.
Charles reassured her, "We'll still have time to get to Van Horn and back, even if the rain takes all night to pass."
She tightly hugged the blanket around herself. "Will the horses be all right out there?"
"Yes. I've secured them below the house. They have cover and neither one seems skittish from the storm." Charles watched out the window, observing, "The rain may last the night, but the worst of it should be done in an hour."
As if to defy his words, thunder crashed suddenly, followed quickly by lightning flashing the room white.
Irene jumped, gasping loudly and Charles turned to face her. She felt as terrified as if it had been the crack of a cannon ball breaking across the air.
"Are you alright?" Charles asked with concern.
Her gaze was frozen on the window, where the rain and thunder raged on. She swallowed and told him, "I-I don't like storms. Frankly, Charles, I'm afraid of them."
He regarded her a moment, as if trying to understand her plight better. "It'll pass fast enough."
She jolted at another roll of heavy thunder and felt tears brimming her eyes, but they didn't yet tumble down. She shut her eyes in an attempt to shut out the tumultuous weather outside. But that only caused the memories she was trying to ignore to crack through.
Her screaming for help, for anyone to free her from the cramped darkness. But the thunder drowned out her yelling and no one could hear her.
She flung her eyes open, her breathing hastening as she attempted to rope herself back to the present.
Charles was watching her closely. "We have nothing to fear with a roof over our heads."
"So I've told myself many times over," she said tensely.
Charles lowered his chin to his chest as Irene did her best to ignore the evening's bluster. He lifted his head and said, "Think of the thunder as if it were bison migrating. The sound is them moving together across the prairie. They're hooves are the thunder, and they are moving away from us."
She shifted her attention to him. She'd seen a group of bison once in her life. As she recalled, their hoof beats over the ground all together did sound like thunder. She smiled through her nervousness, desperate to turn her fear into some mundane imagining. "And the lightning?"
"Hmm." Charles thought another moment before he provided, "The flash of a mad photographer seeking an impossible picture."
Her smile grew. She liked that. "That's a lovely image."
Charles gestured at the pack he'd brought in. "Are you hungry?"
She shook her head. Her stomach was too tied up in knots to eat anything tonight.
Charles took out a piece of jerky for himself. "So, what is it we're retrieving in Van Horn?"
Irene pressed her lips together, suddenly tense again, but for another reason. She knew sooner or later he was going to start asking questions. She sighed. "It's a particular piece of jewelry. A ring."
"A valuable one, I take it?"
She nodded. "Indeed. One I don't really care to part with, but it seems Hahn has left me with no choice."
"Hmm." Charles studied her, and she could see the myriad of scenarios playing in his head. He asked, almost cautiously, "Are you the original owner of this ring?"
"Yes!" she said immediately, but then floundered and winced. "Well...it's complicated."
Charles didn't hesitate on his questioning. "How complicated? Is the law involved?"
"Not actively. Not anymore," she replied defensively. But she wouldn't lie to him. "Although, there has been the occasional bounty hunter I've had to avoid."
"Bounty hunters?" Charles asked, standing straighter. "So there's a price on your head?"
"There are posters," she admitted willingly. "But I haven't been recognized since I left Van Horn. I thought I was safe in Saint Denis, that I would be harder to find."
Charles was frowning deeply, and she wondered if he could understand. She'd sought anonymity by living in a heavily populated city. It was better than staying in Van Horn as a sitting duck to any who chose to search for her, but she knew deep down it hadn't been a long term plan.
Irene tried to explain to him why she thought she'd be safe. "The photograph on my poster is an older one. My appearance has changed significantly, and I went by a different name then."
"Who?"
She stiffened, finally confronted with the one thing she didn't want to reveal. It would change everything between them. "I can't tell you that."
"What could you have done to end up on a reward poster?"
"I'm sorry, Charles," Irene reiterated. "But I won't say any more than what I've already said. I...can't."
She saw the curiosity burning in his eyes. Maybe he deserved to know the whole truth of her situation. But she couldn't bear it. She was selfish enough that she wanted to hold onto his view of the woman she worked so hard to be, for just a little longer. If it came down to it, she'd tell him everything. But for now, she couldn't bear for him to look at her differently.
Mercifully, he wasn't ready to pressure her into giving him further answers. Charles ventured, "We all make mistakes. I know I haven't made the best choices in life."
Irene had made mistakes, but likely not in the way he believed. She chose not to respond to him, in case her whole story came spilling out on a will of its own.
Rain pounded on the top of their shelter, filling the silence between them as the raindrops slunk their way through the cracks that weren't sealed. Irene stared at the roof, half expecting it to cave in.
"You should get some sleep," Charles said eventually. "If we aren't leaving until the rain stops, you'll want to be ready to ride the full day tomorrow."
She nodded, scooting back on the bed and laying her head down. Charles remained across the room, leaning against the wall, and watching out the window.
The wind had quieted down, but the rain fell steadily. With Charles in her view, she felt herself sliding into a sleepy state. In the morning, perhaps she would give Charles more answers. Perhaps the daylight would provide her the courage to do it. She knew he deserved nothing but the truth.
Just as her eyelids started to droop, lightning and thunder struck suddenly and simultaneously, waking her fully. She inhaled with a sharp gasp and sat up, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Fear gripped her as the cabin had grown dark. Only the candle near her was burning. Charles must have put the others out while she dozed. At least, she could only hope that's what happened.
"Charles?" Irene called in a desperate whisper.
She saw his silhouette as he turned his head from watching the storm outside. "Yes?"
Trying to keep herself from outright begging, she asked with a shake in her voice, "If it's not too much to ask, would you come over here?"
The thunder rumbled, frightening her further and bringing up the memories she'd been trying to push down all night. She was no longer in a darkened cabin with Charles. She was trapped, and no matter how much she kicked and hit, she was stuck in what amounted to a wooden coffin. Next, the water would leak through the cracks, and then the real terror would begin.
He lifted his chair and set it next to the bed, the sound sharp, mercifully pulling her from her own mind. "This close enough?"
"No," she said curtly, but not intending to sound rude.
Charles stared at her, unmoving as he stood behind the chair. "What do you want, Irene?"
"Please," she was begging him now, "Join me?"
Charles hesitated, and she didn't blame him. He'd hardly touched her since they left Saint Denis and likely he was wary of her after the evasiveness of her answers. Maybe he'd already stopped trusting her.
But she couldn't help herself in this moment. She trembled, pleading for him with her eyes. When he eventually moved again, she laid back down as he sat on the edge of the bed. He removed his boots and his belt and laid on his back beside her, but he still wasn't touching her. In the dark, she felt how near he was, and the weight of his body on the bed, but nothing more.
He offered, "Is this better?"
"Would...would you mind holding me?" She asked for too much, but she felt like a little girl, alone and distressed, and needing comfort.
He hesitated again and she faced him even as she feared it was one request too many. But in another moment, his arms came around her, and he hugged her towards him. She returned the embrace, burying her face into his chest. Only then could she get her breathing under control.
"You're trembling," he murmured, surprise in his tone.
She nodded, unable to explain. For a long time, she hadn't liked complete darkness, but she'd managed to overcome that particular fear. Tight spaces could be troublesome for her too, but she could avoid those. But storms? They brought forth all the anxieties and broken memories that she wished she could forget.
"You're safe here, Irene." He kissed her cheek and only then did she feel herself truly relax.
"Thank you, Charles," she whispered.
He stroked her hair, and her anxieties melted away one by one. More than ever, she saw how Charles was a man of worth. He was tender, and kind and willing to drop everything to help her, even when she hadn't asked. Any woman would be grateful to have his affections, including her. The trouble was, Irene wasn't sure if she deserved them.