I stepped into the sunlight, but it didn't feel any warmer. No… in fact, the cold clung like guilt on a preacher's soul. Colder than a grave at midnight. I pulled my shawl tight around my body—not just for warmth. More so, to protect myself. I felt violated. I started back toward town.
BONG... BONG... BONG...
"What?" The clock tower was chiming the next hour. "No! Seven?! Hellfire! It's seven?! Damn it!" I took off at a full sprint. Did it matter? No, not really. No matter what, I was already late.
When I arrived, everything seemed to be fine. No customers waiting outside, not there ever were, even though it was technically past opening. Ambrose hadn't shown up yet, but that was nothing new. He usually checked in on the mercantile in the morning, then spent a few minutes here in the afternoon, just to say he did.
Ambrose Quinn—Mr. Quinn to most—owned the shop. My boss. Bless him. No, really. The man is a saint. And God should bless him. He doesn't know a damn thing about dresses or feminine niceties. This whole place got dropped in his lap when some rich lady from New York passed through once, insisted we needed a dress shop, and funded the construction herself. She even named it, "Rosewood and Ribbons", without so much as a whisper of input from Ambrose. Now the poor man is stuck managing both his mercantile and this unnecessary boutique.
And no one in town respects him for it, even though everyone knows the story.
I made my way to the mirror behind the counter. I needed to check my face. I'd taken a good backhand from an insufferable ass. From what I could tell, it wasn't as bad as it felt. Head wounds always bleed more than they should. I went to the back and rinsed my mouth in the sink—then I heard the shop door open.
"Anna?"
My name clung to the edges of his throat like smoke-stained wallpaper in a saloon—peeling, brittle, yet stubbornly there. It was Ambrose. What was he doing here? I scrambled to clean things up, and had almost made it when he walked in. "Dear God! Anna, is that blood?" Fear painted his voice now.
I stood up straight, staring at the ceiling. I sighed. God. What was I going to say? Turns out, I didn't need to say a damn thing. He already knew.
"Don't say a word, Anna. I'll have Doctess Hart here for you quick as I can." He left before I could tell him it wasn't necessary. By now, the bleeding had mostly stopped. The man is too good for this town.
I've tried to convince him, more than once, to:
One: Sell off all the merchandise—any price, doesn't matter—and hand the building to anyone who'll take it. What's that woman in New York gonna do about it?
Two: Same deal—sell the goods, sell the building, pass it all on to another dreamer with stars in their eyes.
Or Three: Just sell his mercantile and abandon the dress shop entirely.
All so he can finally retire and move to Kentucky to be with his daughter, Celeste. He could be happy. Free. Live how he wants.
I always smile at his response, though. It's always the same. "I am living the way I want. Sure, being the proprietor of a dress shop isn't ideal for a man. But it runs itself. And I've got you. While it's true, you aren't Celeste, you're like a daughter to me. Someone's gotta look after you. You're a wild thing."
Silly old fool. And I say that with a heart full of love. He's my silly old fool. I didn't know how long I had until Ambrose and Doctess Hart returned. In the meantime, I still had a job to do. I changed the tender drawer and had just started sweeping when they came back.
"Put that broom down and have a seat, Anna," Ambrose said before he was even fully through the door.
No use arguing. I hung my head and leaned the broom against the wall, sitting on the bench next to the boots. His back was to her, so he didn't see the smile tug at her lips as she stifled a giggle and shook her head.
"Alright, old man, she ain't dead yet—and I'm not letting her die today. Give her some room and let her breathe," Doc Hart said.
She's a beautiful woman. A delicate rose left to wilt in the heat and dust of this hellscape. Well… not so much heat today. But you get my point. She's sharp, smart as a whip. She'd have to be. That's why no man dares touch her. They're intimidated, though they'll never admit it. She says she's fine with it—admits she was never the motherly type. Would rather have a career than a man.
Ambrose stepped aside. Doc Hart knelt down before me. "So, Anna, what happened?" she asked, her eyes locking with mine. She has beautiful eyes. Bright blue. Almost icy. She smells like lavender and wildflowers.
I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to relive it. But I was raised not to lie. "Well… I had a meeting this morning—"
Ambrose jumped in before I could finish. "A meeting? Let me guess. That snake, Crowe, wasn't it?" A growl hung in the air as he spoke.
Part of me wished I'd never told him about Crowe. But Ambrose is like a father to me—the only one I've really ever had. It was no wonder I'd leaned on him. I needed someone. But now... I regretted it. Too late. "It was a private meeting," I said, gently rubbing my still-throbbing cheek. "Admittedly, it didn't go as well as I'd hoped. But it ended on..." I hesitated. "Favorable terms." And I use the word favorable loosely.
"I'll just bet it was Favorable." Ambrose muttered, clearly agitated.
I sighed. "Anyway, it's just a small cut on the inside of my cheek. I rinsed it, and the bleeding's stopped. I'm fine. All this fuss is for nothing."
He opened his mouth again, but Doc cut him off. "That may be true, but there's no harm in me taking a look while I'm here. Just to be sure nothing more serious is going on. I know Mr. Quinn dragged me here— From the looks of it, likely against your will—but do you mind if I take a quick look?"
I sighed again. If she'd been pulled from something important—hopefully not surgery—it'd be rude to send her off. "Alright, Doc. Since you came all this way, might as well."
She nodded. "Alright then. Give me a minute to get ready." She turned to Ambrose. "You got a place I can wash up, old man?"
He nodded and led her to the back.
Another slow day. Nothing new there. I leaned back on the bench. Even just a moment of rest felt wonderful. They returned, and I sat up again. I couldn't help but wonder—did Ambrose tell her my secret? No. He wouldn't betray me like that.
"Alright. Open wide," she said, standing in front of me.
I did. It was awkward as hell as she stuck her bare fingers into my mouth, pulling gently on my cheek to let the headlamp shine in. "This hurt?" she asked.
Of course it did. But I've had worse. "It's fine," I replied.
She nodded and resumed her exam, silent for what felt like an eternity. I closed my eyes to make it feel less awkward. Finally, she pulled back. "Well, you weren't entirely wrong. You've got a nasty cut, but it's mostly stopped bleeding."
She turned to her bag, pulling out gauze and an amber tincture bottle. She added a few drops to the gauze and turned back.
"Open," she said.
I obeyed.
She gently wiped the wound, then pressed a clean strip of gauze in place. "Leave that in for about an hour. Then you can take it out. I need to run back to my office to make up your medication. I'll be back when it's ready."
I nodded. She repacked her bag.
"Thank you for coming, Doctess. I don't know what I'd do without Anna," Ambrose said.
She smiled. She got us, understood the dynamic. Thought it was sweet. "No need to thank me, Ambrose. We have to protect our roses." She patted his shoulder. "I'll be back soon." With that, she left.
I grabbed my broom again.
"No, no. Put that down. Go rest. I'll clean up."
I looked at him like he'd sprouted horns. "You don't need to be running this place. You heard the Doc. It's just a cut. I'm fine. Go handle your usual rounds—I've got this."
He clearly didn't want to leave, but he had responsibilities. "Alright, you win. I'll be back to check on you. Need anything before I go?"
I laughed and swept in his direction. "Get moving before you get swept away." I nudged him toward the door with the broom. "Go. I'll see you later." And with that, he left. I got back to work.