Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-03-06 01:12 am
ikissdhimbck) wrote2009-03-06 01:12 am
Entry tags:
IX. I came to you with best intentions...
When the door opened out into Texas once again, the sun was still creeping past midday. The dusty trail leading to Refugio was hot, and already the chill from Milliways was melting away, replaced by sun-warmed fabric and an almost wet heat. She blinked hard and squinted against the abrasive light, taking a brief moment to readjust to her surroundings. But she took no more than a breath before spurring Beaut on into a gallop.
Refugio was a fair-sized town—a marketing and shipping center for hides, wool, cotton, and livestock—a place with a somewhat seedy reputation, just big enough for someone like Katherine to blend in.
Or so she hoped.
It was getting on suppertime when she eventually rode in, past the ruins of the old Spanish mission, past the wooden courthouse and post office, into the hustle and bustle of the broad way. She led Beaut along in a slow trot, scanning faces and storefronts, looking for pieces and badges, acutely aware of the warm steel weight of that Colt against her thigh, counting how many seconds it would take to retrieve it from the folds of her skirts and use it, should anyone give her cause. She kept the reins high in her hands, trusting Beaut to steer her true while her wary blue eyes took stock of every store and business.
Ridiculously, stupidly, she pulled up short outside of the sheriff's office, staring inside the open door numbly, stalk-still and rigid in the middle of the road. She didn't know why, or for how long she sat there, gazing.
"Afternoon, Ma'am?"
It took a second for her to register the voice. She blinked hard and turned her head. Standing there next to her was a man, dressed smartly and squinting up at Katherine from under the brim of a dark-colored derby. His eyes were young and hazel, but he wore a well-groomed red handlebar mustache, which made him look older.
"Afternoon," Katherine murmured, with a polite nod. "...Oh, I'm terribly sorry, milling about in the middle of the broad way like this."
"No need for concern," he assured, and smiled amiably. "You look lost."
He had a soft voice, tinged with what could be a Russian accent, though it was not quite like Esfir's.
The corners of Katherine's mouth twitched in response. "Am I that transparent? Ah... yes. I'm new to the town."
"Ah. Well, then, I welcome you to Refugio. My name is Karl. Karl Kounce."
Given that she was on horseback he simply bowed, rather than offering her his hand (as any proper gentleman would when greeting a young woman). It was a low bow—much lower than what would have been considered appropriately polite—which made Katherine's cheeks heat a bit when she again nodded a respectful greeting.
"Mr. Kounce. I am Katherine—"
She faltered briefly, mind desperately searching for a name.
"—James," she provided, swallowing hard.
Less than five minutes in your new home, and you've already told your first lie.
"Do you travel alone, Miss...?"
She worked her jaw in silence for a moment before she found the words to reply. "I do."
She could see the question in his eyes and in the slow, measured nod of his head before he ever opened his mouth to speak again. It wasn't extremely common for a woman of Katherine's age to be traveling alone. There were only very few reasons why one would do such. Katherine, for her part, decided to go with what would be the least damaging to her reputation.
"My husband passed away this winter. He suffered with pleurisy for some months before the pneumonia. And then... well, it was rather quick."
The speculation lifted from Mr. Kounce's features, replaced instead by sympathy.
"Ah, I see. I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. James," he said quietly, again lowering his head out of respect. "Are you looking for someplace to stay?"
"I am," she nodded, swallowing down the shame she felt in his presence.
"I was hoping to relocate to your fine town, actually."
"Oh, very good," he replied, hazel eyes sparkling. "I could show you to one of our fine hotels, but perhaps you would be more inclined to visit the local boardinghouse?"
"That would be greatly helpful, thank you," she said with genuine gratitude, moving to dismount. It would be impolite to stay on horseback at this point, so she opted to lead Beaut along as Karl showed her the way.
"Where do you hail from?" he asked after a polite pause in conversation, walking a modest distance from her with his hands clasped behind his back.
She glanced at him from over her shoulder.
"Ah, little town. Northeast of here. I'd be surprised if you've heard of it. We had a farm and... well, I couldn't keep it up after my husband's death."
"You were born in the area?"
"Yes," she nodded, giving him a fleeting smile. "And yourself?"
"New York. But my family is from Braunschweig, Germany," he said, accent coming out a tad stronger. It made Katherine smile a little more, and he turned his head to return the gesture, eyes a little imploring. "Have you no family to return to?"
She grew quieter with the question. "No. My mother died when I was young, and I’m afraid my father was in a tragic accident some years back. I have no siblings or... or children. I taught for some years, but... Our schoolhouse recently burned down."
He listened quietly until she finished speaking, eyes never leaving her face. "You've had a great deal of misfortune. But, as it so happens, we're in need of a teacher here, Mrs. James—"
His foot caught on a loose rock in the road, and he stumbled. Katherine, startled, reached a hand out to steady him.
"Are you quite all right?"
"Just a little embarrassed," he admitted, cheeks visibly rosy, even under the shadow of his hat. "I... happen to do that quite frequently."
Katherine laughed, surprising herself. She apologized for her timing, but Karl simply laughed along as he straightened his coat and hat, and told her not to.
"I teach at the schoolhouse down the way," he said. "If you're looking for work, it wouldn't be a bother to introduce you to Miss Fannie Horan. She's our principal."
"I..."
She swallowed hard. Maybe she could start over after all.
"I would be very much obliged, Mr. Kounce. Thank you ever so kindly."
_____________________________
Karl Kounce had escorted Katherine to the boardinghouse on the other side of town, advising her against the neighboring saloon, which could "get rough some nights, all manner of disreputable folk wandering through for San Antonio." She had smiled, and nodded, and shifted her skirts nervously, feeling that gun pressed into her thigh.
After Beaut had been stabled and fed, Katherine was introduced to Miss Emma Jirou, who kept both the boardinghouse and one of the finer hotels in town. Arrangements were then made for Katherine to acquire a modest room, and permanent stay for her horse.
Once things had been taken care of, Karl had begged his leave, promising to return come morning and give her a tour of the schoolhouse. Grateful for his assistance, Katherine agreed. She took a small meal once she was alone, and settled in her new... home.
It was a railroad flat; just two rooms, side-by-side. There was a community washroom on the first floor, and meals could be brought over from Miss Jirou's hotel, as long as they were requested at a reasonable hour. There was one window in the main room, which led out to an old-fashioned fire escape, and just the one door. The walls were horsehair plaster, painted with blue calcimine paint. She had a small table with two plain, wooden chairs, a small kitchen stove, a sewing table, and a wooden rocker. Through an open doorway was a four-poster bed, a wardrobe, and a squat dresser with vanity mirror and basin. There was barely the space between furniture for her to be able to move around in either room, but she would make do.
That night she lay awake in bed, staring at the long beam of moonlight filtering across the ceiling from the main room window. Even though she had spent nearly two full weeks in the bar, she found herself thinking of the passing of time as it would have happened in her world—within the span of a day.
Thirteen hours ago, she killed a lawman in cold blood.
Ten hours ago, she pushed away every friend she had in grief.
Nine hours ago, she met a hero, and realized... he was just like her.
Seven hours ago, she gave her virginity to a man she could barely look at anymore.
Her fingers curled tight against her belly as her eyes slipped shut.
She had lost her home, her family, and her best friend. She had no livelihood, no future ... no honor. Karl called her "Mrs.," but she was no better than some two-bit floozy. She had taken a man's life, and she should be in a jail.
"Sam, I'm sorry."
Even as she spoke the words they surprised her. Of all the names she could have pulled from her mind—her father, her friends from the bar, the man she'd killed, the town she'd fled—it was his she'd gone to. And now that it hung there, out in the open, she realized just how much she missed talking to the gentle onion peddler.
"I miss you. Wish I had jus' kissed him when he asked, then maybe you wouldn't—"
She closed her eyes to the sting and attempted to catch her breath.
"I dunno what to do."
She curled up on her side in her tiny tenement apartment, knees tucked under her chin, and fell into a light, troubled sleep.
(Her Colt hidden away under the pillow beside her head.)
_____________________________
She met Karl outside her building the next morning. Her dress was fine and particular, hair off her neck and skirts freshly pressed, thanks to one of her new neighbors. Karl was wearing a tweed suit, a fine pocket watch adorning the breast, a brown derby atop his copper hair, and he smiled and bowed when she came out.
(She looked lovely.)
"Have you eaten yet?" he asked.
She shook her head, and immediately he offered her his arm. Miss Harriet Wood, he said, could make the finest bacon grits and eggs this side of the Mississippi, and Katherine was overdue for an introduction.
They talked about a great number of things over the course of breakfast. Karl was interested in both her and her opinions, and Katherine surprised herself by smiling more than once, speaking of things that someone seeking anonymity perhaps shouldn't. He made her feel comfortable, and at ease. He was safe.
This, of course, only fed her guilt.
"At which school do you teach, Mr. Kounce?" she asked once the meal was finished, sipping slowly at her tea.
His fingers twitched against his china teacup (inwardly he ached for her to call him 'Karl', but he could never say such a thing aloud). "Ah, the building on the west side of town is currently the only one open. It's been some years since they last held classes on Jackson Street."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Quite all right," he smiled, charmed by her gentility. "There has been some talk of reopening it, actually. As a school for Negros."
The muscles in Katherine's shoulders tensed at his words, but she kept her expression neutral. A myriad thoughts crashed in on her mind.
'No one ever says "no" to Charles Walker!'
"That sounds like a lovely idea," she murmured.
"If it finds the right kind of backing," Karl shrugged, a wry smile twisting his mouth. "There are those in town who strongly believe it would not be in our town's best interests."
"That's ridiculous," said Katherine, before giving herself time to check the contempt in her voice. She caught Karl's eyes—the question clear on his face—and sighed, collecting her thoughts before explaining any further.
"How will we ever stand if we insist on looking at ourselves in terms of color and means? We were created equal. I have no more right to an education than does a kitchen maid, or a child with dark skin. We talk about the 'free Americas', but how does a Tonkawa feel? Or the granddaughter of a former slave?"
Karl sat quietly, hazel eyes glinting with fascination as Katherine spoke. There was such fire to her words, though she never lost her grace or composure.
"I would gladly welcome either into my classroom, but for the opinions of townsfolk like yours, who call it an abomination—a strike against God," Katherine continued. "Foolish, the lot of them. If you have half a mind, you should personally back such an endeavor. Not solely as a teacher, but as a man."
After saying her piece, she fell quiet, her insides a tangled mess of nerves. She was worried that she had let herself say too much this time for sure.
But Karl only smiled, soft and small, and nodded his head. He was touched by her words.
"Well put."
At his expression, Katherine allowed that meek (but proud) smile of hers to blossom forth, the rosiness returning to her cheeks. There was a tremble in her fingertips she couldn't quite shake.
That morning, Karl Kounce showed Katherine to Refugio's modest schoolhouse, and introduced "Katherine James" to Miss Fannie Horan. The principal welcomed her to the town, and hired her without second thought.
Things seemed to be falling into place. The uneasiness and dread lifted themselves from her heart.
(And Mr. Kounce eventually requested she call him by his first name.)
."
Refugio was a fair-sized town—a marketing and shipping center for hides, wool, cotton, and livestock—a place with a somewhat seedy reputation, just big enough for someone like Katherine to blend in.
Or so she hoped.
It was getting on suppertime when she eventually rode in, past the ruins of the old Spanish mission, past the wooden courthouse and post office, into the hustle and bustle of the broad way. She led Beaut along in a slow trot, scanning faces and storefronts, looking for pieces and badges, acutely aware of the warm steel weight of that Colt against her thigh, counting how many seconds it would take to retrieve it from the folds of her skirts and use it, should anyone give her cause. She kept the reins high in her hands, trusting Beaut to steer her true while her wary blue eyes took stock of every store and business.
Ridiculously, stupidly, she pulled up short outside of the sheriff's office, staring inside the open door numbly, stalk-still and rigid in the middle of the road. She didn't know why, or for how long she sat there, gazing.
"Afternoon, Ma'am?"
It took a second for her to register the voice. She blinked hard and turned her head. Standing there next to her was a man, dressed smartly and squinting up at Katherine from under the brim of a dark-colored derby. His eyes were young and hazel, but he wore a well-groomed red handlebar mustache, which made him look older.
"Afternoon," Katherine murmured, with a polite nod. "...Oh, I'm terribly sorry, milling about in the middle of the broad way like this."
"No need for concern," he assured, and smiled amiably. "You look lost."
He had a soft voice, tinged with what could be a Russian accent, though it was not quite like Esfir's.
The corners of Katherine's mouth twitched in response. "Am I that transparent? Ah... yes. I'm new to the town."
"Ah. Well, then, I welcome you to Refugio. My name is Karl. Karl Kounce."
Given that she was on horseback he simply bowed, rather than offering her his hand (as any proper gentleman would when greeting a young woman). It was a low bow—much lower than what would have been considered appropriately polite—which made Katherine's cheeks heat a bit when she again nodded a respectful greeting.
"Mr. Kounce. I am Katherine—"
'I think you can't be afraid of your new home. Though perhaps you might want a new name.'
She faltered briefly, mind desperately searching for a name.
"—James," she provided, swallowing hard.
Less than five minutes in your new home, and you've already told your first lie.
"Do you travel alone, Miss...?"
She worked her jaw in silence for a moment before she found the words to reply. "I do."
She could see the question in his eyes and in the slow, measured nod of his head before he ever opened his mouth to speak again. It wasn't extremely common for a woman of Katherine's age to be traveling alone. There were only very few reasons why one would do such. Katherine, for her part, decided to go with what would be the least damaging to her reputation.
"My husband passed away this winter. He suffered with pleurisy for some months before the pneumonia. And then... well, it was rather quick."
The speculation lifted from Mr. Kounce's features, replaced instead by sympathy.
"Ah, I see. I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. James," he said quietly, again lowering his head out of respect. "Are you looking for someplace to stay?"
"I am," she nodded, swallowing down the shame she felt in his presence.
((Liar.))
"I was hoping to relocate to your fine town, actually."
"Oh, very good," he replied, hazel eyes sparkling. "I could show you to one of our fine hotels, but perhaps you would be more inclined to visit the local boardinghouse?"
"That would be greatly helpful, thank you," she said with genuine gratitude, moving to dismount. It would be impolite to stay on horseback at this point, so she opted to lead Beaut along as Karl showed her the way.
"Where do you hail from?" he asked after a polite pause in conversation, walking a modest distance from her with his hands clasped behind his back.
She glanced at him from over her shoulder.
"Ah, little town. Northeast of here. I'd be surprised if you've heard of it. We had a farm and... well, I couldn't keep it up after my husband's death."
"You were born in the area?"
"Yes," she nodded, giving him a fleeting smile. "And yourself?"
"New York. But my family is from Braunschweig, Germany," he said, accent coming out a tad stronger. It made Katherine smile a little more, and he turned his head to return the gesture, eyes a little imploring. "Have you no family to return to?"
She grew quieter with the question. "No. My mother died when I was young, and I’m afraid my father was in a tragic accident some years back. I have no siblings or... or children. I taught for some years, but... Our schoolhouse recently burned down."
He listened quietly until she finished speaking, eyes never leaving her face. "You've had a great deal of misfortune. But, as it so happens, we're in need of a teacher here, Mrs. James—"
His foot caught on a loose rock in the road, and he stumbled. Katherine, startled, reached a hand out to steady him.
"Are you quite all right?"
"Just a little embarrassed," he admitted, cheeks visibly rosy, even under the shadow of his hat. "I... happen to do that quite frequently."
Katherine laughed, surprising herself. She apologized for her timing, but Karl simply laughed along as he straightened his coat and hat, and told her not to.
"I teach at the schoolhouse down the way," he said. "If you're looking for work, it wouldn't be a bother to introduce you to Miss Fannie Horan. She's our principal."
"I..."
'Keep teaching. Teach them that it's wrong to hate someone for their skin.'
She swallowed hard. Maybe she could start over after all.
"I would be very much obliged, Mr. Kounce. Thank you ever so kindly."
Karl Kounce had escorted Katherine to the boardinghouse on the other side of town, advising her against the neighboring saloon, which could "get rough some nights, all manner of disreputable folk wandering through for San Antonio." She had smiled, and nodded, and shifted her skirts nervously, feeling that gun pressed into her thigh.
After Beaut had been stabled and fed, Katherine was introduced to Miss Emma Jirou, who kept both the boardinghouse and one of the finer hotels in town. Arrangements were then made for Katherine to acquire a modest room, and permanent stay for her horse.
Once things had been taken care of, Karl had begged his leave, promising to return come morning and give her a tour of the schoolhouse. Grateful for his assistance, Katherine agreed. She took a small meal once she was alone, and settled in her new... home.
It was a railroad flat; just two rooms, side-by-side. There was a community washroom on the first floor, and meals could be brought over from Miss Jirou's hotel, as long as they were requested at a reasonable hour. There was one window in the main room, which led out to an old-fashioned fire escape, and just the one door. The walls were horsehair plaster, painted with blue calcimine paint. She had a small table with two plain, wooden chairs, a small kitchen stove, a sewing table, and a wooden rocker. Through an open doorway was a four-poster bed, a wardrobe, and a squat dresser with vanity mirror and basin. There was barely the space between furniture for her to be able to move around in either room, but she would make do.
That night she lay awake in bed, staring at the long beam of moonlight filtering across the ceiling from the main room window. Even though she had spent nearly two full weeks in the bar, she found herself thinking of the passing of time as it would have happened in her world—within the span of a day.
Thirteen hours ago, she killed a lawman in cold blood.
Ten hours ago, she pushed away every friend she had in grief.
Nine hours ago, she met a hero, and realized... he was just like her.
((Betrayer.))
Seven hours ago, she gave her virginity to a man she could barely look at anymore.
Her fingers curled tight against her belly as her eyes slipped shut.
(What will you do if you become pregnant?)
She had lost her home, her family, and her best friend. She had no livelihood, no future ... no honor. Karl called her "Mrs.," but she was no better than some two-bit floozy. She had taken a man's life, and she should be in a jail.
(Where the hell do you think you are?)
"Sam, I'm sorry."
Even as she spoke the words they surprised her. Of all the names she could have pulled from her mind—her father, her friends from the bar, the man she'd killed, the town she'd fled—it was his she'd gone to. And now that it hung there, out in the open, she realized just how much she missed talking to the gentle onion peddler.
"I miss you. Wish I had jus' kissed him when he asked, then maybe you wouldn't—"
- Be dead.
She closed her eyes to the sting and attempted to catch her breath.
"I dunno what to do."
'Keep teaching. Teach them that it's wrong to hate someone for their skin. If you get in trouble, then move. Teach somewhere else.
'Maybe you'll end up saving some other girl's Sam.'
She curled up on her side in her tiny tenement apartment, knees tucked under her chin, and fell into a light, troubled sleep.
(Her Colt hidden away under the pillow beside her head.)
She met Karl outside her building the next morning. Her dress was fine and particular, hair off her neck and skirts freshly pressed, thanks to one of her new neighbors. Karl was wearing a tweed suit, a fine pocket watch adorning the breast, a brown derby atop his copper hair, and he smiled and bowed when she came out.
(She looked lovely.)
"Have you eaten yet?" he asked.
She shook her head, and immediately he offered her his arm. Miss Harriet Wood, he said, could make the finest bacon grits and eggs this side of the Mississippi, and Katherine was overdue for an introduction.
They talked about a great number of things over the course of breakfast. Karl was interested in both her and her opinions, and Katherine surprised herself by smiling more than once, speaking of things that someone seeking anonymity perhaps shouldn't. He made her feel comfortable, and at ease. He was safe.
This, of course, only fed her guilt.
"At which school do you teach, Mr. Kounce?" she asked once the meal was finished, sipping slowly at her tea.
His fingers twitched against his china teacup (inwardly he ached for her to call him 'Karl', but he could never say such a thing aloud). "Ah, the building on the west side of town is currently the only one open. It's been some years since they last held classes on Jackson Street."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Quite all right," he smiled, charmed by her gentility. "There has been some talk of reopening it, actually. As a school for Negros."
The muscles in Katherine's shoulders tensed at his words, but she kept her expression neutral. A myriad thoughts crashed in on her mind.
- They wouldn't even let him inside the building
'It's against the law for a Negro to kiss a white woman'
- 'That colored only got what he deserved!'
- 'God will punish you!'
'You kissed the onion picker'
"That sounds like a lovely idea," she murmured.
"If it finds the right kind of backing," Karl shrugged, a wry smile twisting his mouth. "There are those in town who strongly believe it would not be in our town's best interests."
"That's ridiculous," said Katherine, before giving herself time to check the contempt in her voice. She caught Karl's eyes—the question clear on his face—and sighed, collecting her thoughts before explaining any further.
"How will we ever stand if we insist on looking at ourselves in terms of color and means? We were created equal. I have no more right to an education than does a kitchen maid, or a child with dark skin. We talk about the 'free Americas', but how does a Tonkawa feel? Or the granddaughter of a former slave?"
Karl sat quietly, hazel eyes glinting with fascination as Katherine spoke. There was such fire to her words, though she never lost her grace or composure.
"I would gladly welcome either into my classroom, but for the opinions of townsfolk like yours, who call it an abomination—a strike against God," Katherine continued. "Foolish, the lot of them. If you have half a mind, you should personally back such an endeavor. Not solely as a teacher, but as a man."
After saying her piece, she fell quiet, her insides a tangled mess of nerves. She was worried that she had let herself say too much this time for sure.
But Karl only smiled, soft and small, and nodded his head. He was touched by her words.
"Well put."
At his expression, Katherine allowed that meek (but proud) smile of hers to blossom forth, the rosiness returning to her cheeks. There was a tremble in her fingertips she couldn't quite shake.
That morning, Karl Kounce showed Katherine to Refugio's modest schoolhouse, and introduced "Katherine James" to Miss Fannie Horan. The principal welcomed her to the town, and hired her without second thought.
Things seemed to be falling into place. The uneasiness and dread lifted themselves from her heart.
(And Mr. Kounce eventually requested she call him by his first name.)
."