Eight & Sand [M]

It was the kind of day where the ground simmered like a stew in the cast iron pot. The kind of day that made strong, working men buckle and animals collapse.

The perfect kind of day for going to town.

But while the dawn had been balmy, the rising sun brought with it the slow burn that would scorch the back of her neck had her hair not been down. She was baking alive, even in her light cotton blouse and skirts (she was going to town, after all, she could afford to look a little nicer).

There were only two sources of respite from the blistering heat on her five hour trek into town: the shade of the brim of her pa’s—no, hers, now—hat and the rough canvas grip of her canteen as she put the glass to her lips and tried to soothe the growing dry ache in her throat. It was hardly enough to make the journey bearable, but the fifteen mile trip to Striaton was almost done by the time the early morning was giving way to early afternoon. She’d slept later than normal, having stayed up too late the night before preparing her wagon and goods and taking stock of what she needed to trade for in town. And by Gods, was she paying for it.

By the time Striaton’s wooden vista came up closer and closer over the edge of the horizon, her eyes were stinging from heat and lack of sleep; her neutral mood had decidedly fallen from pleasantly calm at the prospect of going to town and being away from the backbreaking work of her farm for a day into a sour, sweaty frown that she could feel all the way to her toes.

It was easier to deal with the heat on the move and hard at work, not so much sitting pretty in the slow tread of the wagon.

An eternity later, her wagon, dragging hot dust, made it down the central road of Striaton. It wasn’t a big, bustling town; its humble inhabitants were sparse as they went to-and-fro from errands. It was too damn hot to do more than sit inside and pass the time.

She stopped in front of the general store that sat in the center of town with a glass window full of tempting, practical goods that drew her eye and her shoulders relaxed. She’d made it. Relief hardly had time to settle in before the dead quiet of early afternoon exploded into shouts:

“Sadie! Sadie, it’s great to see you!”

A young man—barely qualified to be considered a man—with a scrawny chest and an even scrawnier pair of shoulders bounded out of the store. He wore a white shirt and dark pants and an apron that was tied tight around a slim waist, and he had a face that was better suited to a puppy than a boy; eager, with baby cheeks and big, brown eyes and a mouth so wide-open with a smile that a lolling tongue would complete the canine picture. His hair was dark brown, a little mussed. Surely his mother wasn’t approving of him not combing his hair?

Sadie arched a brow and half smiled, “Good afternoon, Gilbert.” Gripping the reigns, Sadie stepped down off the wagon with a sturdy thud onto the ground and tied the horses to the post in front of the store. Gilbert was all-but bouncing on his heels as he watched her make her way back to the door of the store; whatever was on his mind had set the back of his pants on fire, by how he was moving around.

“So,” He babbled, “What brings you to town? If I’d known you were goin’ to be coming up, I’da had ma make you somethin’ special, or—“

“No need for that.” Sadie motioned to the door and headed inside before she continued, “I’m just out of a few things. Thought I’d come to make a trade. And the Almanac was givin’ some awful hot weather, so I had a feeling any day this week would work.”

Gilbert darted alongside her and then to the counter, puffing his chest up in the perfect imitation of an adult store clerk, “Well, what can I do ya for, Sadie?” His foot tapped from a hybrid of impatience and excitement. What was on his mind?

She took her hat off and wiped her brow, taking a long pause to catch her breath. It was still warm in the store, but being closed off from the sweltering sun was a pleasant enough respite that she almost forgot she was irritable.

“Well, for starters, we ought to go through what I brought and figure how much it’s worth.”

They braved back into the heat to unload the wagon. Sadie was a strong woman, made of nothing but years of manual labor and sunlight, but Gilbert, for all his slender, childlike frame, was just as easily handling what wheat she’d been able to harvest this year. There were some other vegetable goods—not too many since she needed most of them to feed herself—and a few fur pelts from rabbits she’d trapped in the garden. It wasn’t much. Nothing like what she and her pa and ma had been able to put together, years ago. But it would be just enough, she hoped, to get her what she needed.

While they took everything back over the counter, Sadie finally gave in to Gilbert’s impatient lip chewing and eye-darting and asked, “So what have you been up to, Gilbert?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Gilbert sighed as if he’d just had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders and darted into the back of the store. He came back with a fat handful of hand-written letters and shoved them at her.

“I’ve almost got it!”

Sadie scrambled to keep the papers from flying out of her hands, and she neatly arranged them before looking down at the page. Gilbert’s handwriting wasn’t the neatest (another thing she was certain his mother scolded him for) and she could barely make out what the letters were forming together to say.

“Got what?”

“My book, Sadie!” He sat on the store counter and kicked his legs with boundless energy, “I’ve just about got it all—it’s perfect!”

She arched a brow at him, “Still on about becoming a novelist?”

“Of course I am! I have a story to tell, Sadie—it’s got it all, a farm boy hero, a rebel princess, an evil Empire, and a Rebel Alliance…”

“Sounds like a war back East,” She laughed and slid the papers back to him. His face fell.

“Aren’t ya gonna read it?”

“Gil, you know I ain’t got the time.” It was an act of pure control that she kept her expression from showing the bubbling annoyance that had settled in a low stew in her stomach. He never learned.

Gilbert put the papers to his chest and looked down, “Right…maybe next time you’re in town for longer?”

Her eyes started to roll. She stopped them, and put her hand on his shoulder, “If I get the time.” After a moment, a faint pang of guilt made her lip curl into a soft smile, “You know, I’m sure it’s good anyway. You’ve always been tellin’ stories.”

The brightened smile that replaced his dejected look made the pang of guilt fade. Just enough that she moved on to listing out what she needed:

“So, Gil, I need a barrel of molasses, two tubs of lard, twenty pounds of flour…”

“Woah, woah,” He started looking through the goods she’d brought to trade, “I don’t think this is worth quite enough for all that, Sadie.”

The stew in her stomach started to boil, low and fearful. Not this. She didn’t need this, not now. “What do ya mean? It was plenty last time.”

“Well…” Gilbert chewed his lip, “It’s just that prices for crops have gone down, what with Plasma starting to move the railroads in. And more folks have been bringing in more crops, so…”

“Damn it,” Sadie said, “Damn it all, Gil.”

“I’m sorry, Sadie.” He winced at her tone and she squeezed her eyes shut. Things were getting to be so damn hard. Deep breath, Sadie, deep breath.

He caught on and put a hand on her arm, reaching across the counter, “We’ll work something out. Let me do some countin’ and I’ll work out what I can give you.”

“How long you need?”

“Come back in a couple of hours and I ought to have you straight.”

Sadie smiled, though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes, “Thanks, Gilbert. You’re an angel.”

“Shucks, just tryin’ to do right by a friend. I know things haven’t been easy since…” He caught himself and then smiled as bright as he could, “Anyway, why don’t you go get you somethin’ to eat? I’m sure you’re hungry from your trip in. I’ll watch your wagon, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

There was a soft wave of relief that worked its way through her shoulders to her stomach. Despite the heat curbing her appetite, Sadie could certainly eat, and she could definitely use more to drink.

She bid Gilbert goodbye and headed out the general store and towards the Three Brothers’ Saloon.

It was a large building sitting pretty in the center of town, a massive wooden construct with swinging wooden doors that invited in any weary wanderer making their way through town—or the locals who needed a stiff drink or a hot meal. Or both. Sadie pushed open the doors and felt the room quiet for a moment as the few patrons took stock of her.

She knew she was an odd sight; Sadie was taller than most men, and just as athletic, with strong features and hair that was as red as a morning before a brutal storm. Her stature and the contrast of her attempted feminine dress set her up for odd looks and amused grins. Sadie stilled an embarrassed blush at the eyes on her and headed to the bar.

Cilan, one of the proprietors of the Three Brothers’, smiled at her and said, “Well, good to see you, Sadie. What brings you to town?”

“Had some errands to run,” She replied as she slid onto a barstool.

Before Cilan could continue his line of inquiry, a lovely female voice called out, “Sadie! Sadie Crimgan!”

A slender pair of arms threw themselves around Sadie’s neck and nearly toppled her off the barstool. Sadie pried the woman off her and a genuine smile crept onto her face.

The woman was a beauty; golden blonde waves framed a heart shaped face with large, reddish-brown eyes and dark, arched eyebrows. She was slim, made all the slimmer by her flattering pale gown with black accents. The bustles and frills of dresses back East were lost out in the Territories, and it suited the woman all for the better in the straight skirt of the dress that hinted at long legs.

“Beatrix Spear,” Sadie said, arms on the woman’s delicate shoulders, “What’re you doing out and about today?”

“Getting into trouble,” Cilan laughed, “She’s been helping us serve on busy days.”

Sadie glanced at the near-empty saloon, “Sure is busy today, then.”

Beatrix had a warm laugh, and as she laughed, she said, “Oh, it’ll pick up.” But a glint of something more entered her eyes as she leaned in and whispered, “There are some gentlemen from the Plasma Railroad here; people have been steering clear of ‘em.”

Sadie whispered back, “What’re they doing all the way out here in Striaton?”

“Looking to connect us to Nacrene,” Beatrix said. “But enough about that; what brings you in? It’s so good to see you!”

It wasn’t enough about ‘that’, but Sadie let it drop for Beatrix’s charm and energy. And there was the subtle hint in her expression, her gesture, her quickness to change the conversation that was a warning not to push too far. Too many ears, perhaps?

Beatrix had been Sadie’s friend since she was a small girl making the long trek to holiday religious services with her parents; they were the only girls close in age in the tiny town, and Beatrix had latched herself firmly to Sadie, despite Sadie’s oafish size and bumpkin demeanor. Beatrix was from a right and proper family from back East—her pa had been a decorated cavalry officer in the War between the States—but her charm had never failed to make Sadie feel a little less like a backwoods farm girl when they spent afternoons strolling around town or sitting in Beatrix’s parlor. Made her feel like she belonged, even when she didn’t.

She shrugged, “Just coming in to do a bit of trading. Though things are a little tough right now, what with crop prices going down.”

Beatrix hopped into the barstool beside Sadie and tucked her legs elegantly to the side, “Oh, Sadie, I know you don’t like to hear it, but you really should just sell the farm and come to town. You could stay with my family, and we’d find you something to do!”

Sadie snapped, “I ain’t sellin’, Beatrix.”

“It’s just been so hard on you, the past few times you’ve come into town, and I can see it in your face. One woman running even a small farm just…it just isn’t going to sustain itself in the long run. You’ll kill yourself working at this rate.”

“Just as well, s’what killed pa and ma, I reckon.”

Ah, Gods, that had been bitter.

Eyebrows drawing together with a perfectly prettified frown, Beatrix said, “It’s just not safe, living alone so far out from town. What if something happens to you? What if you get kicked by a horse or cow, or if you take a nasty fall, or if—“

“I’ll be fine, Beatrix,” Sadie said and shook her head, “I don’t need your worryin’.”

Cilan coughed and interrupted the cold staring contest that had replaced the easygoing conversation. “Sadie, what can I get for you? You hungry?”

“Yeah. Whatever you’ve got to eat is fine by me.”

Nodding, Cilan disappeared into the back, where the kitchen snugly sat. Beatrix fell into a still, pouting silence beside Sadie, looking down at clasped fingers.

“So, you said you’ve got a little farm?” A man’s voice asked, smooth and calm behind Sadie. She stiffened and turned to face him; he was a lean man with red-tinted blond hair, wearing a clean grey suit that was better fit to the East than the Territories.

“It ain’t any kind of good sense to talk about where you live with strangers,” Sadie warned.

“Then let’s not be strangers,” He said, “I’m Timothy James. Plasma Railroad. And I heard your name was Sadie Crimgan if I’m not mistaken?”

“You got some fine ears,” Sadie’s shoulders bristled more at his eerie familiarity and she sunk back into the bar. “What’s it to you what I’ve got?”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Timothy James said, “A matter of money.”
Her voice was guarded when she replied, “What makes you think I need money?” What did he know, anyway? Eavesdropping Yankee bastard.

Timothy smiled, tight and all-too polite. “Well, I know for a fact that crop prices are driving down business right now.”

“They’re just fine.” Sadie snapped. Who did this man think he was? Assuming, falsely engaged, obviously playing her to try to negotiate with him...

He tilted his head to the side, “Hm, I think that’s not quite the truth. But to be more direct: you know that we’re trying to bring the railway to Striaton. I’m here to finish up some of the business behind it. That includes finding the property owners of any land in the nearby vicinity that would be in the way of the new tracks.”

She knew where this was going. Sadie bared her teeth in a warning smile, “I see. And what makes you think my land is in the way?”

“My associates saw you come in from the west. That’s near the direction of Nacrene, and there’s one farm we observed in that direction. Small little thing. Good land, though. It would be worth your while to sell.”

“I don’t think so.” It made her feel like sunstroke, all hot and wrong and confused, to think that someone had been watching her farm. Marking her land for their damn railroad. Plasma was nothing but trouble.

Timothy James hummed again. It was a grating sound, thoughtful in the way that he was only ensuring the conversation he had rehearsed in his head continued to go off without a hitch. Finally, he said, “You really should consider the offer. I couldn’t help but overhear your friend say you run the place on your own? Surely it’s too much work for one pretty woman, no help, and no companions? You would be better off with some money to rebuild your life here in town. The railroad will bring in a lot of business here.”

Sadie bristled and felt her arm raise. Beatrix caught it and whispered, “Sadie, don’t.”

She ignored Beatrix, shook her off her arm, took a firm stride over to Timothy James and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. He was much smaller than she was, and although she could see muscles tensing under his clothes, could feel the coil of decent power, Sadie was a farmer, and had been a farmer all her life. There was nothing to spare on her body. She was made of hard oak and steel, and despite the shred of strength she could feel in the Plasma agent’s body, there was a softness like cotton under him. He wasn’t accustomed to the Territories.

Soft Yankee bastard.

Beatrix said again, firmly, “Sadie. Don’t.”

Sadie curled her lip at Timothy James and said, “You ain’t gettin’ my farm, Mr. James. You’d best leave me to my lunch.”

“What if we made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

Her temper flared, a hot and angry flash in her stomach all the way to her head. Vision white. Heart pumping. She took her fist back and nailed Timothy James right in his smug mouth, releasing the lapel with the other hand just as she made contact. There was enough force in the blow that sent him toppling over a chair.

“You shouldn’t have done that, miss.” He drew his hand up to his split lip and came away with blood. Then, despite the flinch that said it hurt, he whistled through his teeth, and two of the men who had been nonchalantly nursing drinks stood, swinging off their jackets. They were big men. Bigger than Sadie. “Now, do we need to make a scene?”

Beatrix started to stand in between Sadie and Timothy, but Sadie pushed the slim woman aside with one hand and stepped forward, closer to the men, “You can go ahead and try. I’m done talking to you.” She looked back to see Cilan with a white-knuckled grip on a plate of steaming hot food and a drink. He was staring, imploring her to stop. She inclined her head. “Sorry, Cilan, but I think I’d best be going. I don’t want no trouble.”

Sadie was at the door when one of the men took her by the arm and said, “Miss, I don’t think Mr. James was done with his conversation.”

She didn’t know how to fight, not proper, like a soldier or a scholar from one of those magic schools back East. But Sadie was athletic. She had been wrangling cattle and horses since she was small. Sadie was slighter than these men, but she was by no means helpless to them.

The flash of anger struck her again, whiter and hotter than the sun outside, this time. She twisted out of the man’s grip, slammed her boot down onto his fine shoes, and shoved him hard.

“I told you,” Sadie warned, “I don’t want no trouble.”

The near-empty saloon exploded like a stick of dynamite hitting stone. The first man took a swing at Sadie and she ducked under it, nearly tripping on her skirt before she rotated at the hips and smacked the man right in the bone of his shin with a spinning kick. He howled in pain and started to buckle, but before Sadie could deliver a solid punch to his nose as he lowered down to her level, the second Plasma goon grabbed her under her arms and lifted.

“Sadie!” Beatrix called, “I’m going to get help, just—oh, Lords have mercy—“ There was a flash of golden hair as the slender Beatrix darted out the door and into the heat that simmered just outside.

She didn’t have time for help. She wasn’t going to be manhandled into selling her farm. It was her family’s land. Her pa had come a long way for it. Had worked his tail off for it.

Sadie brought her elbows down hard into the soft crooks of the second goon’s arm, and he grunted in surprise, grip loosening enough that Sadie dropped back to the floor. She swept her leg out and kicked the man right in his ankle. He staggered into a table, gripping the edge for support.

A shadow loomed over her. Sadie turned just in time to duck out of a punch from the first man she’d kicked. She swung again with her fist and caught him on the chin. The man dropped as abruptly into a heap on the ground.

The second man was back up, a chair held overhead. He tried to bring it down on Sadie, but she threw herself between his legs and he overshot the swing, shattering the chair on his companion. From her vantage point below, Sadie kicked straight into the second man’s crotch. She kicked like a damn mule. She’d probably learned to kick from pa’s damn mule, in the first place.

He dropped as quickly as the first man.

Sadie stood in the dust and splinters and brushed her blouse and skirt off. She turned to apologize to Cilan, who she was sure was probably standing in frozen, horrified shock.

A whip cracked across her face, sharp and painful enough that it sliced her cheek with a thin kiss of a cut. As she caught a better glimpse of the whip as it came back at her—barely giving her enough time to sidestep—she saw that it was green. Green?

Timothy James was magic.

Sadie cursed and put her hand to her cheek as she watched the vine slither back to its master. He was holding a packet of seeds in one hand, and his fist was clenched around a thick strand of vines that writhed in his grip.

“Thought Plasma was against magic these days.” Sadie curled her lip at him. Stretching her cheek like that stung like hell.

He inclined his head, “Miss, I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand the complexity of Plasma’s stance on magic. It’s a little outside of your educational background.”

Uppity bastard! Sadie took a stride forward and the vine whip wrapped around her wrist as she drew her fist back at him. It was constricting, tight to the point where she thought he might pop her wrist right off her arm.

Before he could say another smart thing, Sadie widened her feet and pulled hard on the whip. Her strength surprised Timothy James—she could see it on his face—as he came stumbling forward and right into her fist. The impact of bone on bone rattled her all the way to her teeth, but she followed through with the punch and sent Timothy James staggering, his grip on his vine weapon dropped. The magic had forced the seeds to sprout far too early; they started to wilt and wither as soon as they’d left his power.

“You’re not right,” He said through his swollen mouth, “No one is that strong—“

She had a chair in hand and had brought it down over his head before he could say a damn word more.

“Sadie.”

It was only when she heard Sheriff Cheren Griffith’s voice that the weight of her actions settled heavy and shameful on her shoulders.

She’d just near destroyed the saloon of three gentlemen she respected. And as she looked to the bar, she saw that all three of them—Cilan, Cress and Chili—were standing in stunned silence.

Sadie dropped her head low and turned to the Striaton’s sheriff. “It ain’t what it looks like, Cheren.”

Beatrix came and put a hand on Sadie’s cheek, “You’re bleeding.” In only a second longer, a handkerchief was shoved onto her skin, silky cool. Sadie clamped it onto her face and felt it grow damp with blood.

“Come on, Sadie.” Cheren was at her side abruptly, arm threaded around hers. “I need to have a word.”

“What about them?” She grumbled, “They started it.”

“My boys will be along shortly.”

They walked in silence in the blistering heat, Beatrix trailing along behind as they came up to the Sherrif’s office. It was close to the store.

“Beatrix,” Cheren stopped at the door, “Thank you, but I need to speak to Miss Crimgan alone.”

She paused, hurt flashing over her lovely features, “But—“

“It’s fine, Beatrix. Could you do me a favor and check on my things at the store? Gilbert was watching everything for me.”

“Alright.” She frowned and turned away from Sadie and Cheren before almost gliding away. No evidence of sulking, although her expression had screamed that she was, indeed, sulking.

Cheren led her inside and sat her down across from his desk, where he then sat properly across from her, back straight and shoulders squared. He was a handsome man with deep black hair and dark eyes. He had no beard—he was too clean cut for that—and his eyes were intently focused on her with a kind of straightforward law-abidingness that she had no choice but to take seriously. Even if Cheren and his wife were close friends…Sadie couldn’t imagine that he would take it easy on her.

“I’m already having enough trouble with Plasma,” Cheren finally said after they’d sat in a long, uncomfortable silence. “And then you have to go picking a fight as soon as you come into town.”

“I already told you, Cheren,” Sadie replied, “They started it. This time.”

He rubbed his jaw, “You really don’t get it, Sadie. They’ve been in town giving us all grief for a few weeks now. You can get away with being out of the loop, but…they mean business about expanding to Striaton. We’re one of the last stops holding back the Plasma Transcontinental.”

Odd. It would negatively impact Sadie, for sure, with the railroad likely conflicting with her farm, but being connected to the East so wholly like that would mean better things for the town, wouldn’t it? She voiced her concerns, “Why don’t y’all let ‘em start, then?”

“Because trouble follows wherever Plasma goes. I’ve heard some things from folks out towards Nacrene. Strange happenings. People disappearing again. Not to mention the scraps they start with magic folk.” Cheren hooked his thumbs into his jacket and leaned back in the chair, “You know that the Commodore says that magic impedes progress? Well, there’ve been rumors that the Plasma folks tend to take that a little too serious. We’ve got a fair number of folks with magic in town, Sadie. The brothers, for example. Town wouldn’t function without them.”

“So everyone’s terrified,” Sadie said. “Why put up with them at all? Just run ‘em out of town.”

“They’re pretty good at getting what they want, Sadie. When things don’t go their way…”

Sadie tilted her head to the side. There was more going on. “What do you mean, Cheren?”

His jaw tightened, “They’ve got their ways, Sadie. Now, what trouble did you get into with them?”

She explained, briefly, her encounter, and Cheren’s face darkened.

“I see.” Was all he said.

They fell into silence again.

“I ought to let you get back home, Sadie.” Cheren sighed at last, “You need to lay low for a while. Don’t get into any trouble…do you need me to clean that cut up before you go?”

She winced. “Yeah, I reckon I’d appreciate that.”

It didn’t take him long to have her cleaned up and sent on her way. He was letting her off easy—and so that he could bring in the three Plasma gentleman, by the looks of things as she stepped out of the station to find the town deputies helping three cuffed, limping men to the station. She didn’t scurry to the general store, but Sadie walked with a greater sense of purpose the entire way there until she was certain she was out of their sight.

Everything was in order when she arrived. The back of the wagon was loaded down…loaded down far more than what she’d bargained for.

Gilbert came out of the store with a broad smile, “Sadie, ma and I went over the numbers—oh, good Lords, are you alright?”

“Just had a little bit of a time, Gil, but I’ll be just fine.”

Beatrix said from the seat of her wagon, “I tried to tell you not to start trouble, Sadie.”

“I’m alright, Beatrix. I don’t need your fussing right now.” Sadie waved her hand at her, “But Gilbert, what’s all this? Surely that doesn’t total out to what I brought…”

Gilbert had a sheepish grin as he scratched his cheek, “Well…like I said, ma and I looked over some numbers. This ought to take care of you for a good few weeks. At least two months, really.”

She wasn’t one to tear up. She wasn’t going to tear up. But she did clap Gilbert on his back. Almost hugged the boy.

“Gil, thank you.”

Beatrix had hopped down to join them. “Are you going to be alright? Promise you’ll be careful on your way home. Did you refill your canteen? Oh, and I picked up your hat. You dropped it at the saloon.”

Sadie took the hat delicately from Beatrix’s hands and tried to smile. It hurt her cheek. “Thanks, Beatrix. Sorry for all the trouble today.”

She just laughed. “It’s never dull when you’re around. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll be layin’ low for a while. Sheriff’s orders.”

Beatrix looked crestfallen, “Ah. Well, maybe I’ll have to make a visit out to the farm one of these days.”

“As if your daddy’d ever let you leave his sight for that long.”

Gilbert coughed, “Well, it’s getting late, Sadie. You’ve got a long way back.”

“That I do.” She looked at the sky. It would be dark by the time she got in.

So Sadie loaded herself in the wagon and headed home. It wasn’t an eventful journey, but there was an uncomfortable feeling that settled over her the whole way back to the small fields and barn that made up her home.

Felt like someone was following her. But when she turned her head back to look, there wasn’t anyone nearby. Nothing hiding over the horizon. Nothing for miles but Sadie and her trail of dust.

It was dark when she got home, and she had to struggle with the tack and cleaning of her horses by lantern in the barn. She checked the wagon for anything that needed to be moved inside, decided it would all be alright in the barn for the night, and headed in.

Her body ached. Her cheek stung.

She’d made a fool of herself in town. She always made a fool of herself.

Sadie changed into her nightgown and headed to bed, unease still looming over her with a sickening shadow. She turned back her neatly tucked covers and stared into the moonlight pouring from her window.

Always a damn fool, Sadie Crimgan. Always. Can’t go to town without causing some kind of fuss. Or hurtin’ Gilbert’s feelings. Or Beatrix’s.

She closed her eyes at last with a long sigh. Sadie could just force herself to forget about it tomorrow. Work always made it easy to forget how stupid she was. It was a bitter comfort, but a comfort enough that she was able to drift off at last.

Sadie woke to the smell of fire.