New York more to be rid of him than to get him some real learning, he’d come back only a year later, saying he’d decided politics were his future. He’d set his eyes on taking the mayor’s place.
“That’s kind of you to think so,” Rose said to Mrs. Dunken. “But I’m sure Henry has his sights set on a girl of much higher standing than I, what with his political aspirations and all.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, dear,” Mrs. Haverty said.
Rose stopped dusting out of shock. She’d never heard the banker’s wife say a kind thing to her in all her days.
“You may be of low standing,” Mrs. Haverty continued, “but you do have land to your name. A good parcel of land can make even the most plain of girls pretty enough to marry.”
A slow, creeping dread came along with those words. Mrs. Haverty sounded like she was certain about that. Rose glanced over at Mrs. Dunken. Still the same smug look.
Oh no. They’d done something, made some plans to marry her off.
A shadow crossed the doorway and Rose knew who it was before she even glanced that way. Henry Dunken.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, striding into the room and taking up too much space. “I understand you need a hand with the wedding preparations?”
Rose tucked the cloth away in one of the pockets of her apron and picked up the tin of wax. She crossed the room to take it back to the storage cupboard, and to get herself out from beneath their notice.
“Henry, yes, I’m so glad you’re here,” Mrs. Haverty said. “You can help Rose fetch down the candleholders from the attic.”
Rose froze halfway across the room. She most certainly would not go into the attic with that man. She’d known him nearly all her life. He was mean when they were young and was meaner now. His smiles and polite manners fit him like a bad suit, and fooled no one, least of all her.
“I’ll have to beg your apologies,” Rose said. “I promised my mother I’d help her close down the shop. And it’s already late.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Haverty said. “I was just at the shop, and your mother said she’s coming this way any minute now. I’m sure the store is already closed.”
Rose’s mind tumbled and spun, looking for a new escape route. “I have chores at home, waiting for me.”
Mrs. Dunken swished her way over and took Rose’s arm. Firmly. She tugged her off toward the stairs to the attic in the back corner of the room. “My old knees just won’t do those stair steps any longer. Be a dear, for us, Miss Small. I’m sure your mother is in full agreement with you minding as you’re told.”
She gave Rose a shove, and Rose took the first two steps, just to keep from falling.
And then Henry Dunken was right behind her, smelling of booze and blocking her retreat. He leaned in far too close for a man who should know his place and his manners in front of his mother and other women of the town.
Rose took another step, just to fit some air between her and him, and the candle he carried in one hand.
“Go on up, Miss Small,” he said quiet and nice. “Won’t take long to bring the women their fancy candles; then I’ll be on my way.”
She didn’t believe him. But unless she wanted to shove him down the stairs and stir the wrath of all the old biddies, it’d be best to get this done and over with.
Rose clomped up the stairs, Henry just a step behind her, breathing hard enough she could smell the alcohol on each exhalation.
The attic was dark, the posts and beams and rafters dancing side to side in the light thrown by Henry’s candle. The window at the end of the attic was dark too, the moon not yet off the horizon.
“If I recall, the candlesticks are back there near the window.” Rose pointed. She had no intention of going into the dark corner with Henry in the room. She was staying at the top of the stairs, where she could retreat, if needed.
“I’ll need a hand gathering them,” he said, still too quiet and still too nice. “I’d be right obliged if you held the candle for me, Miss Small.”
He stepped up close to her, too close, and offered her the candle he held. He smelled of booze and smoke and sweat. She didn’t know where he’d spent his day, but she’d guess it was in the saloon.
Rose took the candleholder, but Henry did not let go. He smiled, and nice Henry, quiet Henry, melted away, leaving that cruel boy she’d known all her life.
“You grew up real pretty, Rose. Got yourself curves that keep a man awake at night. If it weren’t for that smart mouth of yours, and all those wild contraptions you busy yourself with, you’d be married off, softened up, and have six babies tugging at your skirts by now.”
Rose tucked her left hand in her apron pocket, but did not let go of the candle that Henry still held.
“Henry Dunken, if you don’t have the decency to treat me like a lady, I will leave this attic and tell your mother what a hog you are.”
That got a smile out of him. Not a nice smile. “You’re gonna run and tell my mama? That didn’t work when you were ten. That ain’t gonna work today.” He stepped tight up into her. “And there ain’t no Mr. Gregor to run to here.”
Rose got her fingers around the gun she kept in her pocket. She jabbed the barrel of it below Henry’s belt. His eyes went wide.
“You feel that, Mr. Dunken? That’s one of those wild contraptions I busy myself with. It shoots a man clean through. Then the powder and oil I devised eats away at flesh and bone until there’s a hole left behind wide enough to stick two fists through.”
Rose smiled. She reckoned it was not a nice smile either. “You step away from me, Henry Dunken, or I’m going to blow your manhood to kingdom come.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple to catch in his sideburns and beard. She could tell he didn’t believe her. Maybe didn’t believe she had made such a thing. Maybe didn’t believe she would use such a thing.
But she had. And she would.
Rose cocked the hammer, and the click of gears sounded like knuckles breaking.
Henry Dunken let go of the candle and took a step back. His hands were in fists. Rose remembered how much those fists had hurt when she was nine. She vowed then she’d never let a man hurt her so again.
“You’re a hell-spawn woman. Made of the devil’s rib. No wonder your mama squatted you out in the dirt on the Smalls’ doorstep. You’re nothing but evil.”
Rose nodded. “So it appears I am, Mr. Dunken. And now that we agree to my nature, I’d say it’s best to your advantage to gather up those candlesticks and carry them down these stairs.”
“Man doesn’t turn his back on a rattlesnake,” he said.
“Might be he should, if the snake’s pointing a gun.” Just to make sure he believed her, Rose took the gun out of her apron pocket. Plenty enough candlelight to show the bulky weapon—not the little derringer she carried. This was a modified Remington revolver. Warmed her heart to see the shock in his eyes.
“Candlesticks,” she said.
Henry got busy piling up the carved, polished candlesticks like rough kindling into his arms. When he walked across the room again, he glared at her. “I’ll be mayor of this town, Rose Small. And I will make your life more miserable than even your mad mind can imagine. If you live that long. After all, I know where you walk at night. And where you sleep.”
He stormed down the stairs, bootheels hard and heavy with his anger.
Rose stayed at the top of the stairs for a few moments. Her heart was beating so hard, she could feel it in her throat, hear it in her ears. That man meant to kill her for his bruised pride. And if he caught her alone again, he’d do just that.
She tucked the gun back in her apron, but kept one hand on it. She didn’t want to shoot a man in front of his mother, but if he tried to hurt her, she wasn’t above it either.
Rose was halfway down the stairs when the steam clock whistled. Three short blasts and one long. There was an emergency. Something was wrong. That whistle would call all the townsfolk from miles around to the
