Topic: A Helping Hand

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:10 EST
To those who arrive on Rhy'Din in less than ideal circumstances, the Welcome Center is often the only thing standing between them and instant poverty. Of course, for some, the definition of poverty is very different to the city's definition. It all depends on the year they come from, the class they were born into, the circumstances of their departure from whatever world they have left. Often they arrive alone, and sometimes they go back, but for those who have nothing to their name and nowhere to turn, the Welcome Center is a lifeline they cannot afford to let go of.

This was true of twenty-two year old Bridget Donohoe, pulled out of the harbor waters after she made an almighty splash landing in them from apparently nowhere. Without her antiquated life-jacket, she might have drowned right then and there, but thankfully the pockets of cork were enough to keep her afloat until help came to her. And now here she was, two days after arriving, living off the kindness of the Welcome Center, trying to shake off the trauma of her unfinished voyage from Ireland to America in the early years of the 20th century, unable to read the notices for jobs available through her lack of education. All she had were the clothes she stood up in, and a will to work for her living. Now all she had to do was find a job that would take an Irish immigrant with no qualifications. Even on Rhy'Din, that was a tall order.

Sam McAlister was at the Welcome Center on business. He'd been sent there by his employer to fetch a few newcomers to help out at the ranch. He'd been instructed specifically to hire a few hands, along with a maid. Ranch hands were easy enough to find, but maids were another matter. Women were usually spoken for first, while men were a dime a dozen. He wasn't particularly fond of this task. He'd rather be tending cattle than looking for help, but an order was an order, and he wasn't in a position to argue. Still, it sort of felt a little like the slave trade, and despite his less than sterling reputation, he had his morals.

Amid all the bustle of the Welcome Center, Bridget was a sea of stillness and calm. She'd been drilled in how to make a good impression by her mother from a young age, all of them knowing that the only way to improve your lot in life was to catch the eye of someone who might want to take you a little higher than where you stood. That meant being well turned out, your clothing clean, your hair neat, and knowing when not to make a point of standing out in a crowd. As it was, Bridget was a product of her time, dressed in the rather more modest attire of a woman from the lower classes in the early 20th century, her hands folded on her lap as she sat near the door. She might have seemed to be staring into space, but what she was actually doing was listening to the requests as they were made to the staff in the center. She was certain that she would catch something about a job she might be suited for.

Thankfully, Sam knew better than to inspect people's teeth and check their hair for lice. He had a good eye for cattle, which helped him have a good eye for people. He only chose those who looked hardy and fit, and were neat and clean in appearance. There was no point in hiring someone who appeared lazy or sickly or unkempt, as they'd never work out. His boss was in the business of making money, not doling out charity, and while Sam might not agree, it wasn't his job to argue. He'd already picked a half dozen hands and sent them to the wagon to wait. He was just about to give up on finding a suitable maid when he spied a young redhead sitting demurely on a chair, as if she was patiently waiting for someone or something.

In the course of her eavesdropping, Bridget became aware that someone was staring at her. Her eyes flickered toward the perpetrator, looking him up and down quickly before looking away. He looked like trouble, that one; the kind of man her mother had always told her to stay away from. Admittedly, the kind of man she'd always been a bit fascinated with, but she wasn't stupid enough to give him any indication that she liked the way he looked. After another moment, she glanced back, and he was still looking at her. Her brows knotted in a frown. "Were you going to pay me for all that lookin', or are you just saving up a memory for later?"

To his credit - or not - he hadn't looked away when she'd noticed him staring, sizing her up, just as she was doing the same. A faint smirk appeared on his scruffy face, as if he found her cheeky attitude amusing. "Ain't no reason to pay for something I can get for free," he replied with equal brashness.

Her brow rose at his response. "Get it somewhere else, I'm not here for whorin'," she informed him coolly, the lyrical lilt to her voice betraying her Irish roots. "I'm here for paid work, honest work, and I'm not going to spread my legs for a man who doesn't even know how to shave himself proper."

"Whorin'?" he echoed, laughing. "Darlin', did you miss what I said the first time" I ain't paying for something I can get for free. And I ain't here to hire no whore. I'm looking for someone who's willing to work for an honest wage, but you might be a speck too sassy." To be honest, he liked his women sassy and spunky and she seemed to have that in aces, but she didn't have to know that. Besides, it wasn't so much what he liked in a woman as it was about her ability to do the job.

She stood up, turning to face him. "Nine years in service," she told him sternly. "Four as an upstairs maid. I'm not afraid of hard work for fair wages, and I've no family to support. Tell me the job or leave me alone, I've not the patience to play games. I need a job or I'll starve, and that isn't so different from home as you might think."

At six feet, two inches tall, he towered over her and just about everyone around, save trolls and giants and the like, but her pluckiness gave him pause. Well, it would be better to have a maid who could stand up for herself and wasn't afraid of a little hard work than one who would fall apart at the smallest thing. "How long you been in Rhy'Din?" he asked, pushing his hat back to scrutinize her better.

"Two days," she answered him fearlessly, but her hands clenched as she said it. She might not have much, but she did have her pride. She'd never been in a workhouse or a soup kitchen all her life, and yet here she was, living off the kindness of strangers. "Why, are you lookin' for something in particular?"

"I'm looking for someone who's willing to work hard. My boss ain't an easy man to please, but he pays a fair wage for a hard day's work, and you'd get room and board." He considered her again. If the decision was up to him, he'd have hired her in a minute; but then, he realized the decision was up to him. This was what he'd been sent here for, to make these decisions so that his boss didn't have to. "How old are you?" he asked. He didn't want to hire a child, after all, and she looked pretty young.

She fidgeted, disliking the question, but knowing it would inevitably come up. Back at home, she was virtually an old maid. "Two and twenty," she said awkwardly, rubbing her hands against the skirt of her coat. "What's the work you're offering?"

"Up to the mistress, but a maid, I s'pect. Her decision, not mine," he told her, considering thoughtfully again before waving for her to follow. "Come along, then. Sooner we leave, the sooner we get there and see you settled in. You got any baggage?" he asked, gaze darting to see if she had a trunk or a case or a bag.

She shook her head, a flicker of real pain crossing her face for a brief moment before she pulled herself together. "Just what I'm standin' up in," she informed him. That really was all there was to it; she was hired. A sense of relief passed over her as she moved to follow him. "Where're we going?"

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:12 EST
"We can take care of that later," he told her, regarding her wardrobe. The mistress would likely fit her out in a maid's uniform of some sort, and she might even have some old castoffs the girl could borrow until she was able to make or purchase some clothes of her own. "Oakham Mount Ranch. It's outside the city," he told her, realizing he hadn't introduced himself yet. "I'm Sam. Sam McAlister," he said, offering her a large, callused hand.

"Bridget Donohoe," she answered his introduction with her own, eying his hand for a moment before putting her own in his grasp to shake the proffered limb confidently. "I'll not disappoint."

"Where you from, Miss Donohoe?" he asked, as he held the door for her and followed her outside. There was a wagon waiting for them across the street, and a small gaggle of men waiting to join them.

Ah, now, she knew this one. In a strange land, it was better to be specific but vague. "Ireland, Mr McAlister," she answered confidently, eying the gaggle of men standing by the wagon. This was going to be an interesting journey if she had to share the wagon bed with them. She could only hope they had manners. "County Mayo. Are you native to this land yourself?"

"Well, now, that's a tricky question," he replied as he pushed outside, pausing a moment to let a carriage pass before leading the way across the street. "I ain't originally from here, but I don't much remember home," he told her, not offering much more than that regarding his past. "You men, get in the back. The lady'll ride up front with me," he told the group of men, some of whom were eying the young woman with undisguised interest. The wagon wasn't much to look at in the way of comfort, but it was sturdy enough and the horses appeared to be well-cared for.

"Seems like the more time I'm here, the less I remember about home myself," Bridget admitted with a shrug. The interested looks she was getting from the men were met with a stern glare; she certainly wasn't afraid of defending herself if she needed to. "O'course, that could be the landin', too. Up here, you say?" Flicking her skirt to free her foot, she placed a boot on the wheel to heave herself up onto the bench at the front of the wagon.

He gave the men a look that said, "Hands off," before turning to give her a boost onto the bench, offering her a hand, despite his warning glance to the men, who were now climbing into the wagon.

Biting down a yelp as she was boosted up onto the seat, Bridget sat down hurriedly, tucking her skirt back into a respectable position. "Thank you," she nodded to Sam, glancing into the bed of the wagon curiously. The men had obviously all been picked for their strength and health, which suggested they had been chosen as hands. There wouldn't be much, if any, association with them.

He climbed up beside her, so that he could take the reins, keeping as respectable a distance between them as possible, though considering the size of the bench, it wasn't much. "Don't pay them no mind," he told her quietly, of the men in the wagon behind them. "The boss don't stand for nonsense. They make any trouble for you, they'll be gone before you know it." He took up the reins, urging the horses forward with a tug of the reins and a word of encouragement.

Clearly a woman used to traveling this way, Bridget already had a grip on the seat to keep herself from lurching as they set off. She hadn't been much out of the Welcome Center until now, looking around at the city with wide eyes as they traveled along the roads. "Is he the type to toss a girl out for just about anything?" she asked curiously, wanting to know a little more about the people she would be working for.

"Ain't seen him toss one out yet," he replied, his eyes on the road with a brief glance her way. "Long as you don't try to steal nothing or talk back to the missus, I s'pect you'll do all right. She ain't his wife, but she mostly runs the house." He paused a moment as he considered her again. "Long way from Ireland. Mind if I ask, how you got here?"

"Seems about the same as home, then," she mused thoughtfully, outright staring at the sight of an ogre in a top hat as they passed him by. She almost missed the question presented to her, turning her attention back to the man at her side. "I don't rightly know," she admitted with a shrug. "Took ship from Queenstown; four days later, ship went down. Last thing I remember is hangin' from the stern railings with the the ship standin' straight up from the sea. I must've let go, but I landed in the harbor here. Strange times."

He tipped his hat politely at the ogre as they passed. "It's the Nexus," he told her, though she might have already been told as much. It was one of the first things they told you when you got here, if you were lucky enough to find the Welcome Center before you found out on your own. "No one seems to know how or why, but it plucks some of us out of time and space and dumps us here, for whatever reason. Some call it a curse, some a gift. For some, it's a second chance. For others, it's a kind of limbo, but for most, it eventually becomes home."

"Ah, well, best I make it home," Bridget said, with the weary tone of someone who knew she wasn't going to be able to go home home, no matter what happened. "I reckon people will count me dead even if I'm not pulled out of the sea, so here's where I stay. You're sure your lady won't mind that I'm Irish' I've heard talk 'bout us being refused work because of who we are."

"There's ways to go back, if you want," he told her, though he wasn't quite sure how it worked himself, but then he had no interest in going anywhere, content with where and what he was, at least for now. "Why'd she mind if you're Irish' This ain't Terra ....Earth, I mean. Some folks call it Terra. It's where I'm from, or so I've been told, but I don't much remember it."

"So many of us crossed the sea, I suppose people over there didn't like it," Bridget shrugged once again. "There's nothin' for me back there. My family in Ireland are gone; the cousin I was travelin' to will be glad I didn't show up, I daresay. I've nothin' but myself."

"You mean America?" he asked, squinting his eyes in the sunlight as he glanced her way. "What year you say you're from?" he asked, though he didn't recall her mentioning that. "Last I heard, America's made of mostly outcasts and refugees. Course, that depends on which version of history you prefer to believe."

"Aye, I was headin' for some place called Chicago," she told him. "Had a cousin four times removed out there, last family I knew of. I don't know much about the place. I daresay the ship goin' down will make the news stands for a few days, perhaps he'll notice."

"You don't sound too upset about not going," he said, though he had a feeling she wasn't saying a lot more than she was. "Better Rhy'Din than drowned, anyway. There's lots of opportunities here, if you're ambitious enough. I'll warn you though ....It can be a dangerous place for someone who don't know their way around. You stay close to me, and I'll make sure no harm comes to you."

She raised a brow, glancing back at the men in the wagon before looking at him once again. "You offerin' to marry me already, Mr. McAlister?" she asked, half teasing but prepared to follow it through if she needed to. A married woman was safer than an unmarried one, after all. It suddenly occurred to her that he had asked a question she hadn't answered. "What year is it?" she echoed with a curious frown. "'Tis 1912, what year d'you think it is?"

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:13 EST
"Me" Get married?" He laughed. "Just trying to be polite, miss. That's all. Don't get no silly romantic notions in that pretty head of yours." He turned the horses and wagon off the main road and onto another road that led to the outskirts of town and beyond to the farms and ranches that laid outside the city. "That's another tricky question. I reckon it depends on what calendar you follow. Most folks here reckon the year to be two thousand and sixteen."

"Who said romance had anythin' to do with marriage?" Bridget countered, snorting with laughter as he told her a year that was impossible. "Don't be daft, man. That's over a hundred years into the future!"

"On a world a long way from home," he murmured, half to her, half to himself. Why was it so unbelievable when just being here in Rhy'Din was unbelievable. If he understood her right, it sounded like the Nexus had plucked her out of time and space just in time to save her from drowning or worse. There was always something worse, but hopefully, this wasn't it.

"I'll marry you," a low voice from behind them offered, followed by a chorus of rather bawdy laughter. Bridget's pale cheeks flushed a dark shade of red, but she refused to acknowledge the voice, much less turn around and see who had spoken.

"Yeah, find out if the carpet matches the drapes," another voice joined in. Thankfully, she didn't know what that actually meant.

Sam clenched his jaw, grumbling something under his breath before pulling the wagon to stop at the side of the road. He turned slowly around to face the gaggle of men in the back - men he had hand-picked for the ranch and could just as easily let go. "You have something to say, you say it to me. This ain't a party, and she ain't the entertainment. Any one of you lays a hand on her, and I'll personally see to it your chances of ever having a family are finished. You don't like it, get out now. Ranch hands are a dime a dozen. Jobs ain't." He looked to each one, a grim expression on his face, waiting to see if any would challenge him or decide they didn't need the job.

Bridget sat in flaming silence as Mr. McAlister berated the men in the wagon bed. Not one of them even met his eyes, not even attempting to take up the challenge had laid down. They all needed the work, and it wasn't worth risking a loss just because of mild curiosity about a girl. Most of them figured they could find out another way in later days.

"I reckoned not," Sam said, turning back around, knowing the men wouldn't try anything as each and every one of them needed the work - at least, not yet. But once they reached their destination, the girl would be under the mistress' protection, and the men would be sent to the sheds that housed the hands.

As the wagon got underway once again, Bridget drew in a shaking breath. She'd been propositioned before, of course, but never in a situation where she was entirely on her own. Despite Sam's insistence that he'd keep her from harm, he wasn't her father or brother. His assurance didn't give her the same sense of safety that family would have. "What is a ranch, Mr. McAlister?" she asked quietly, as though hoping that the men wouldn't be listening to them now.

"Place where we raise steer, ma'am. Cattle. Horses, too, but mostly cattle," he replied, keeping his voice quiet, so the men wouldn't have such an easy time overhearing them. "You needn't worry about that. You'll be helping the missus keep house, not tending animals."

"Oh, I see." She didn't, not really, but she would soon have an understanding of just how wide an acreage her new employer had under his name. "And what is your job on this ranch, may I ask" Are you a foreman of sorts?"

"Of sorts," he replied, not putting a name to his position at the ranch. He'd started just like the others, as a ranch hand, a cowboy, a wrangler and worked his way up as he earned his boss' trust and proved his worth. He wasn't at the top of the totem pole yet, so to speak, but he was slowly rising.

Uncertain quite where to go from there, Bridget fell silent, her eyes turning to the scenery as the wagon left the city behind them. Nothing would ever be as beautiful as the mountains of her home, she was sure, but this Rhy'Din place had a certain beauty of its own. Her thoughts turned to the job she would soon have to turn her hands to, hoping that the mistress of the house would have patience with her to start with.

He fell silent, as well, his thoughts straying to the men in the wagon; he found himself worrying for her safety, though he wasn't sure why. She was as lovely as a wildflower, though he sensed some inner strength in her. She was a survivor, just like him, just like so many in Rhy'Din. He decided then and there against his better judgment to keep an eye on her, though once again, he wasn't sure why.

Most of the journey was made in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, listening to the murmur of voices behind them in the wagon as the men introduced themselves to one another and fell to boasting to pass the time. For a long time, Bridget was completely unaware that the plains they were passing through were actually a part of Oakham Mount, until she saw the house rising in the distance. She gasped at the sheer size of the place, surprised to find somewhere so opulent out here in the middle of nowhere.

Pointing toward it, she touched Sam's arm lightly. "Is that it?"

Sam didn't need to lift his gaze to the house in the distance. Even from here, it looked large and imposing and strangely beautiful there in the distance, rising above the plain that surrounded it. "That's it," he confirmed. "Almost home," he said. Home for now, anyway. He wasn't sure it would be home forever. He had bigger plans; plans of his own.

"It's so big," she breathed, aware that the men behind her were also marveling at the size of the house that fronted the ranch. "Is all this land we're on now theirs, too?" Her arm gestured to the grassland around them.

"Most of it. There are some other farms hereabouts, but we're the only cattleranch." Not the only cattleranch in Rhy'Din, of course, but the only one in the surrounding area. "Quite a sight, ain't it?" he asked, a faint smile on his face as he steered the wagon in the direction of the house.

"Aye ....a sight is what it is." Bridget leaned back against the seat, feeling the weight of what she had agreed to sink in. It was very isolated out here. "A grand house must have a grand family livin' in it. Are they good people, Mr. McAlister?"

Sam frowned thoughtfully, unsure how to answer that question. In truth, he didn't really know them well enough to answer it. He wasn't one of the family; he was just a hired hand, like all the rest, just a little higher on the totem pole than the rest of them. "It ain't my place to say, but they pay well, and I got no complaints," he replied, not really answering her question. He'd heard some rumors - unpleasant ones, at that - but that was all they were. Until those rumors were proven truthful, he'd continue to go about his business, earning his pay.

She nodded, understanding what wasn't said as much as what had been. No master was ever entirely cruel or entirely kind, after all. It was no surprise that the wagon drove straight past the wide front entrance, circling the house until it came to a halt at the back, where the stables and outbuildings stretched away from the house itself. It was a bustling sort of place, reassuring in the very normal activities that were going on all around them as the men piled out of the wagon bed to stretch their muscles after the long ride.

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:13 EST
"Wait here," Sam told her, before hopping down from his perch behind the horses. He went around to the back of the wagon and gave the men instructions on where to go and who to see. There wasn't a grumble among them, nor a stray glance toward the girl, but Sam wasn't stupid enough not to know there might be trouble later.

Doing as she was told, Bridget took the opportunity to look around, spotting a couple of girls beating out rugs in the courtyard. They looked like every other girl she'd ever met in her years of service - tired but determined, needing the job more than they needed their pride or dignity. A hand touched hers, making her jump in surprise as she looked down at a stocky man in a black vest. His gaze made her feel in need of a bath, but she didn't dare look away to seek out Sam.

"Help you down there, miss?" the man offered, reaching up to take hold of her waist before she agreed. She found out why as soon as her feet touched the ground; one of those hands traveled south to squeeze her backside hard while she was trapped between him and the wagon.

By the time Sam was finished dealing with the men, he turned back to find one of his boss' men helping Bridget to the ground, a little too close for comfort. "Excuse me, but the lady is my responsibility," he told the other man, with the same unflinching gaze and unapologetic air he'd had for the new hands.

"And you delivered her safe and sound," the other man nodded, his smile just a little too confident. He did let go of Bridget, but she was still trapped against the wagon by his presence. "Picked a pretty one there, McAlister. The boss might not like it if you got a belly on this one."

"Ain't picked her for you, Dobson. She's still my responsibility until I see her safely to the missus. Now, if you don't mind," Sam said, reaching for Bridget's arm. "Or maybe you'd like to take it up with the boss."

"I might just do that," Dobson said, backing up a couple of steps finally as Sam made it abundantly clear that he was not going to leave the redhead anywhere near the boss' favorite enforcer. He eyed the girl speculatively. "Been thinkin' about settlin' down for a while now. Might have found the right one for me."

Bridget didn't dare say a word, clinging to Sam's arm more for the feeling that she wasn't alone with a predator than anything.

"Too late, Dobson. Ain't you heard" We're already engaged," Sam told him, green-gray eyes flashing like steel. "Come along, darlin'. Let's get you inside, so you can meet the missus." He didn't bother to say another word to Dobson, dismissing him like a cockroach beneath his boot. There was obviously no love lost between the two men, and Sam didn't want him anywhere near Bridget.

Judging by the smirk on Dobson's face, he was taking that declaration with a pinch of salt, but thankfully Bridget had enough control of her face that her surprise at Sam's announcement didn't show at all. She skipped along at his side, trying to keep up with his long stride, all the while aware of the other man's eyes on her back. "Who is he?" she whispered as soon as she deemed it safe to speak.

"A prick," Sam replied bluntly, before realizing he was talking to a woman who might not understand the word or appreciate his coarseness. "Someone you should make a point to steer clear of. I ain't sure what it is yet, but something ain't right about him. He's the kind of man who takes what he wants and don't bother asking." Unfortunately, he was also the boss' right hand man.

"A right bastard by the look of him," Bridget nodded in agreement, reassuring him that she was more than capable of handling a little coarse language. As they stepped into the servants' entrance, out of sight of Dobson, she pulled Sam to a halt. "You told him we were engaged," she said with a confused frown. "In the wagon, you said you weren't looking for a woman. Which way do I fall here?"

"Begging your pardon. I didn't mean to presume, but I've seen too many of his kind before," he told her as she pulled him to a halt. It was the only explanation he offered, saying nothing about what he'd said in the wagon. He'd obviously taken a liking to her, and he felt her safety was his responsibility, since he'd been the one who'd chosen her.

He also hadn't really answered her question. Bridget frowned, sighing as she looked up at him. "You've made me your burden, Mr. McAlister," she warned him gently. "I'll not forget the kindness in it."

"I brought you here. You're my responsibility," he replied simply, though he'd never taken on such a responsibility before. He wasn't afraid to stand up for what he thought was right, but he'd never really challenged Dobson so openly before. There'd be hell to pay for it before long, but he hoped it would be later, rather than sooner.

"Aye, but you didn't have to be kind about it," she pointed out with a flicker of a smile - the first smile he'd seen on her solemn face since he'd clapped eyes on her. "Thank you." She squeezed his arm gently before letting him go. After all, servants were not supposed to openly behave as though their reason for living was anything but the care of their master and mistress.

"Least I can do. There ain't nothing kind about Dobson. You'd best keep your distance," he warned her again. He and Dobson had never much liked each other, though he wasn't sure why. The man had always rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that the man was more ornery than a steer in heat.

"I'll do my best to," she nodded obediently, smoothing her hair back from her face. She was apparently about to meet the mistress, which suggested this house didn't have a housekeeper. That was unusual, for Bridget, but she knew that beggars could not be choosers.

"He comes up to the house a lot. He's the boss' right hand man, so to speak, so you just mind your business and try to steer clear," Sam explained as they approached the grander part of the house, even bigger up close than it appeared from a distance and probably more than a little imposing. "I'll introduce you to the mistress," he said, leading the way through the vast rooms toward the main part of the house, where she was likely doing whatever mistresses tended to do during the day - staying out of the sun was a given. Whether he always offered a personal escort was uncertain, but for some reason, he'd taken a liking to his charge and felt responsible for her safety.

With no guests and no children, the house seemed a little empty but for the occasional glimpse of a servant hurrying about their business. Bridget kept close to Sam as he led the way, marveling silently at the rich furnishings with an envy she knew she would never be able to sate. Beautiful things like this were not for the likes of her. As she was led into the presence of the mistress, however, she forced her eyes front unconsciously straightening her shoulders and standing a little taller.

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:14 EST
The mistress of the house looked up from her reading, her parlor being the only place in the house Mr. Rogier would allow her to read or write, and smiled at them. "Sam, you came back successful," she declared, the drawl in her voice vaguely reminiscent of the American South.

"'Course I did," Sam drawled back, his own drawl a mix of Rhy'Din and someplace else that sounded suspiciously like the American Old West. He reached for Bridget to draw her forward with a hand at the small of her back. "This here's Bridget Donohoe. She's new to Rhy'Din. Miss Donohoe, this is Jemima, the mistress of Oakham Mount." The current mistress anyway, as they tended to change almost as often as the seasons.

Wide-eyed at the very informal greetings being shared between the mistress of the house and Mr. McAlister, Bridget edged forward to drop a curtsy to the woman. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," she said quietly, proving that, in spite of the cheek that had caught Sam's attention in the Welcome Center, she did know how to behave around her betters.

Jemima rose from where she sat, looking Bridget over thoughtfully. She pretended not to notice the look the redhead gave her jeans, knowing that modern styles of dress did sometimes shock newcomers to Rhy'Din. "Very nice, Sam," she complimented his choice. "Well, Bridget, you will be working as an upstairs maid, and occasionally as my own ladiesmaid when I need you. You will have one afternoon off every two weeks. I expect my staff to be clean and well turned out. You will begin work the day after tomorrow - that will give you time enough to bathe and find yourself something suitable to wear. Sam, any expenditure can be put on my credit account. You know which shops to use, so you will escort her."

"Me?" Sam exclaimed, frowning with displeasure. He might know the shops in town, but he knew very little about women's clothing, except maybe how to remove it. Corsets had always given him particular trouble, and he wasn't sure what the hell women bothered with them for. They were impractical, at best, and uncomfortable, to boot. Thankfully, most of the women at the ranch were more practical than that. "Pardon my saying so, ma'am, but I don't know sh-.....I don't know squat about female things." He did, however, know where to go, and he could be counted on to get her safely there and back.

Jemima raised a brow, picking up a small bell from her desk to ring it. "Bridget, don't worry about a thing," she said, ignoring Sam for a moment. The door opened to admit a mousey girl of around Bridget's age. "Maud will show you where you're sleeping, and how to use the plumbing in the bathroom. Off you go."

Dismissed, Bridget gave Sam one mildly terrified look, and followed after Maud.

As the door shut behind them, Jemima turned to Sam. "Chad Dobson is the only other person on the ranch with nothing to do right now, Samuel McAlister, and if you think I'm going to send that girl into town with him, you have another thing coming."

Sam offered Bridget an encouraging nod of his head before turning back to Jemima with a scowl. "He's already taking liberties where they ain't welcome," he said, flopping into a chair, as if he and Jemima were old friends, rather than mistress and ranch hand. Well, that wasn't too far from the truth anyway, though friendship was as far as it had ever gone. "That man's a menace. Reckon he scared his own mother the day he was born."

Sitting down a little more gracefully, Jemima frowned. Though she was head of the household at the ranch, she didn't really have any authority, especially over Sid Rogier's more specialist employees. "Already?" she asked with a concerned frown. "That girl doesn't look the sort to make a fuss if someone overpowers her. How do you know he's already crossed the line?"

"Come on, Jem. You know Dobson. Soon as I rode up, there he was, like a buzzard on a corpse. He had her cornered against the wagon, and I swear to God, he had his hand on her backside. Christ, she's barely out of diapers. He wants to get laid that badly, there's plenty of women in town willing to oblige," Sam replied with obvious distaste for the man in question.

"But that's not the man he is," she pointed out with a sigh. "He likes the fear. And if the rumors are true, he likes hurting them, too. Just rumors are enough to blacklist him in town, so he preys on the girls up here. That's why I want you escorting her tomorrow. Even if he follows, I know you won't let him hurt her."

"I told him we're engaged," he admitted with a slight wince, knowing she was going to probably berate him for that, but hopefully, she'd understand his reasoning behind it. "She's already been through enough. She don't need Dobson making things worse."

"So marry her when you're in town tomorrow, and if he touches her, Sid won't be able to ignore it," Jemima said calmly, though she knew Sam was likely to freak out at the thought of marrying anyone, much less a little girl he'd only just met. "Long story short, Sam ....if Dobson's already shown an interest, it's only a matter of time before he does something about it. You and I both know that. But I can't say a word against him, Sid doesn't like me interfering in his affairs."

"Marry her!" Sam echoed, as if the very idea of marriage was not only ludicrous but unthinkable. Of course, he hoped to get married someday, but he was skeptical of love and romance. "If he lays one hand on that girl again, so help me God, I'll kill him," he said, between clenched teeth.

"And Sid'll toss you out, and then all those fellas who keep in line because of you? They'll declare open season on the girls here," Jemima pointed out. She wasn't as sheltered as Rogier would have liked, but in some ways, it was a very good thing. "You wouldn't have to do anything but give her your name, Sam, and share your home with her. You'll both be working long hours, you won't need to see each other much at all. And since you're already so attached that you're threatening bloody murder, you might want to reconsider your immediate reaction there."

"I ain't attached," Sam argued. Hell, he'd only just met the girl. How could he have become attached already? "Just feel a mite protective, that's all. Dobson's a snake. Only reason Sid keeps him around is 'cause he feels safer with him than without him. And what makes you think she'd agree to such a thing anyhow?" he asked, leaning forward to pluck a handful of nuts out of a tray and munch on them, one at a time.

"Because judging by what she was wearing and the way she reacted to me, she's from a time period where romance doesn't come into marriage," Jemima pointed out. "She's probably a practical sort who'll take the safety of a name over love any day. And besides, you didn't see the way she looked at you. She trusts you already, Sam. That's not something to spit at."

"And what happens then, Jem' Am I supposed to wine and dine her and make her fall in love with me?" He snorted at the ridiculousness of such a thing. Who would want to fall in love with him' A simple ranch hand with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the gun at his waist' Not even his horse was his to keep, but borrowed from his boss, more out of necessity than anything else.

She rolled her eyes at him. "How about you look after her?" she suggested. "You don't have to wine and dine a woman for her to love you, although it helps when she's a woman like me." She smirked impishly, but ploughed on. "You obviously like her, Sam. And she likes you, even if she doesn't know it yet. I'm not saying wed her, bed her, and get a belly on her. I'm just saying ....why not give her your name and see what happens from there?"

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:15 EST
"I ain't making no promises, but I'll consider it, all right' Happy now?" he asked, grumpily, as he shoved the rest of the nuts in his mouth and got to his feet. "I gotta check on the new hands. Never seen a more mangy bunch of men in all my life." Or was it just an excuse to escape Jem's company and her insistence that Sam find a wife"

"All right," Jemima nodded, rising to her feet with him. "Just don't forget that you're taking Bridget into town tomorrow with a credit slip from me. If I see her on the ranch after ten o'clock in the morning, you and I will be having words."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, tipping his hat to her, in a gesture of respect. Even if she wasn't Rogier's wife, she was still the reigning mistress of the house, and Sam was personally hoping his boss would make it legal this time. There was no point in arguing with her, but he wasn't sure marriage for himself was such a good idea. Bridget deserved better than him, after all. What could he offer but protection from Dobson"

Protection might well be in order, however. As he left the house, Dobson offered him a curt nod, only just this side of courteous, and raised his eyes to the house once again. Even a casual glance was enough to know what he was looking at. Bridget was standing by the servants' bathroom window in nothing but her shift, her red hair unbound, obviously concentrating fiercely on the explanation of how to take a bath being given to her. The moment she was left alone, she would be vulnerable, and Dobson was right there.

Sam didn't think much of Dobson's curt nod, but when he followed the man's gaze only to find him staring at Bridget, whose silhouette could be clearly seen from outside, he reacted the only way he knew how by throwing a punch at the man's jaw. It wasn't really Dobson's fault Bridget hadn't noticed the window, but Sam didn't like the way he was leering.

The punch took Dobson off-guard enough that he sprawled in the dust, but he came up fighting, snarling as he threw a punch of his own at Sam. "The hell is your problem?" he demanded furiously, uncaring that the altercation was getting plenty of attention from the hands still waiting for their instructions.

Prepared for retaliation, Sam ducked the punch, Dobson's fist finding nothing but air. Sam reached out to grab the other man by the shirt, leaning close, his voice low, jaw clenched in anger. "I told you to stay the hell away from her. That includes your eyeballs."

"You gonna stop me, kid?" Dobson hissed, his hands clamping hard about Sam's wrists. Were it not for the eyes watching them, he might have gone for a knife, but not even he was stupid enough to do that in front of witnesses. "She's just a girl. Have her and hand her over. I don't mind sloppy seconds."

"You stupid or hard of hearing?" Sam retorted, his hands remaining right where they were on Dobson's collar, nose to nose with the man. "I told you once, she's my fiancee. You go anywhere near her again, and you answer to me."

"Can you see how scared I am, kid?" And to his credit, even when faced with the fury of a younger, stronger man, Dobson did not look scared. He looked angry, and an angry Dobson was a worrying prospect. "Until she's got your name, there's nothing Sid'll do to protect her at your word. Now get off!" His knee rose hard.

But Sam wasn't a kid any longer, and he knew Dobson a little too well. He shook the man off and backed away before the knee was able to make contact, knocking Dobson off balance. He didn't remember anymore why he hated Dobson so much, other than the fact that the man had never shown him - or anyone else he could think of - a single moment of kindness. It was almost as if the man existed purely to be a thorn in everyone's side but Sid's. "I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sam replied, almost daring Dobson to take it up with the boss and find out which of them was right.

But that wasn't Dobson's way. He never took his slights to the boss; he dealt with them in his own way, and that way usually involved violence. Stumbling to keep his footing, he glared at Sam. "One of these days, I'm going to cut your throat," he promised the younger man. "And then I'll make your little fiancee scream a bit before she joins you."

"Not if I put a bullet between your eyes first," Sam countered, a little too calmly. He wasn't a killer, but he also wasn't afraid to stand up for what was right and for those who were unable to stand up for themselves. If he knew half of what Dobson had been up to through the years, he'd probably have finished the man off already. "Watch your back, Chad. You never know when a stray bullet might catch you unawares," he said, patting the man's back and offering him a cocky smile, like they were parting friends.

"Don't play with matches, boy," was all Dobson had to say to that, but he walked away with a scowl, not even glancing at the house. The hands who had been watching were a little unnerved by the hostility between the two men, their eyes turning to Sam warily as, above them, Maud shut the curtains to the bathroom belatedly. Oakham Mount clearly had problems of its own.

Wouldn't be any problems if Dobson wasn't around, as far as Sam was concerned, but that wasn't his decision to make. Maybe Jem was right; maybe he should just give the girl his name and be done with it. How the hell did he get himself into these messes anyway' He turned a glare at the group of hands who'd witnessed the confrontation and made his way over, grumbling under his breath. Might as well teach them right from the start what to expect here. He managed one brief glance at the window before he turned his attention back to work, relieved someone had seen fit to close the curtains.

The business of the ranch was busywork, especially as the afternoon wore on into evening and the master of the house returned. After washing herself and being given a plain dress to wear, Bridget was left to her own devices, handed a plate of food for her dinner, and told to keep out of the way. At a loss, she took her dinner out onto the back porch, sitting down on a discarded box to eat as she watched the men at work. Maud had been nice enough, but she got the impression that maids came and went at this house quite a lot. It did not bode well for her career here.

Sam had stayed as close to the house as he could today, telling himself it was because he needed to train the new hands and find out what they were capable of, but as much as he refused to show it, the confrontation with Dobson had shaken him, and he couldn't get something the man had said out of his head. It wasn't the threat to himself that worried him. He and Dobson had butted heads countless times before; it was what he'd said about Bridget, and Sam was wondering if he hadn't done the girl a bad turn by defending her so much as making her a point of contention between the two men. Still, the thought of Dobson forcing himself on her made his blood boil with rage.

The majority of people on the ranch were friendly enough, though, and before long, Bridget was joined on the porch by Maud and a couple of the other servants, snatching their time to eat before they had to turn down beds and be available to help the master and mistress retire for the night. It made for a surprisingly merry little group, but all too soon the food was finished and the time was up. The others hurried about their duties, leaving Bridget alone on the porch once again.

Sam's gaze had strayed a few times to the girl on the porch as he and the hands finished up their work for the day, breaking up to get some supper, clean up, and get some rest before starting all over again in the morning. He pulled off his hat to wipe the sweat from his face before making his way toward the porch, to speak with the newest addition to the household before he went in search of food and a bath.

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:16 EST
Bridget was fiddling with her still damp braid when she noticed Sam making his way toward where she was sitting. A faint smile touched her lips in greeting; he was, after all, the only familiar face to her here so far. "Evenin', Mr. McAlister," she said as he approached. "Off for food and bed, are you?"

"Eventually," he replied, as he took a seat on the porch stairs not far from where she was perched on her box. He tossed his hat in his lap, his hair a scruffy brown mess on his head, curling this way and that. "Might as well call me Sam," he said. There was no way they were going to be able to continue the ruse that they were engaged if she didn't. "Maud get you settled in all right?"

"Sam, then," she agreed quietly, leaning forward onto her knees. "Aye, I'm as settled as I can be. This dress needs taking in, but I can do that when I've something else to wear besides it. Maud took my clothes and burned them in case of lice, she said." She paused, looking down at her hands. "Nothin' left from home at all now."

He frowned, feeling sympathy for the poor girl so far from home without a friend in the world. It wasn't pity. There was a difference, but she wasn't the first or the last orphan to have taken a job here. In fact, he was an orphan himself. "I'm sorry," he offered, though he thought there was little he could do to help. "I can show you the way back, if you want. The portal will take you anywhere you wanna go," he said, though for some reason, he found himself hoping she'd decline the offer.

"Now why'd I want to do that?" she asked him. "I've more here than I ever had there. I've a job and a roof over my head. I've a man to look after me. In three days here, I've gained more than I did in twenty back there."

That statement alone told him how meager a life she'd come from and how little she had to lose, and yet, it only made him feel all the more compassion for her situation - at least, he thought it was compassion. "I'm to take you to town tomorrow to buy you some suitable clothes. Nothing fancy, mind, but Jem won't mind if you buy a few things for yourself. Nightclothes and a few frocks," he added, not knowing too much about women's clothes. "It'll likely take all day, so be up early."

"She's very generous, the mistress," Bridget said wonderingly. "I thought she'd start me tonight, but she's given me a day to settle in. And as to the money ....don't you worry, I'll not waste her coin. There are only a few things I need to be turned out and clean all the time, and by the time the weather starts to change, I'll have coin of my own to dress for the winter."

"I ain't worried," he said, a little too quickly and a little too vehemently to prove his claim. "She remembers where she came from," he told her, though he didn't volunteer any more information about the mistress' past history. That was her story to tell, not his.

Bridget eyed him for a moment, rising from where she sat to come and sit down on the step beside him. "You've been good to me today," she said quietly. "I saw the fight, I can guess what it was about. Haven't had a man punch another for looking at my bare shoulders before. Seems the sort of thing might turn a girl's head if she wasn't already turnin'."

He followed her advance with his eyes, staying right where he was as she settled down beside him. He wasn't going to let a mere slip of a girl frighten him, was he" He frowned to learn she'd seen the altercation with Dobson, or at least, some of it. "Reckon I only made matters worse. Ain't sure what I ever did to set him off, but he's never taken a liking to me all the years I been here. Can't say I like him much either. Never seen him show anyone kindness. Makes you wonder what kind of life turns a man's heart so full of hatred. He ain't gonna back off, until he sees us both ruined. Jem thinks I should give you my name and with it, my protection, but I ain't got nothing to offer in the way of marriage, and I ain't so sure it'll keep the old buzzard at bay."

"Aye, but if he was to try it with me now, I'd be ruined and he'd be off scot-free," she pointed out mildly. "Girls get turned out of positions all the time when a fella gets it into his head to try them. If I was married, it'd be a different thing. He'd be the one in the wrong." She shrugged. "Life's hard for them as like us. 'Tis just the way it is." Her eyes flickered toward him curiously. "You shouldn't offer marriage if you don't want it, but I'd be a good wife. I'm clean and tidy, I can cook, and, well, I'm earnin' a wage. I wouldn't be takin' from you anythin' but a little of your privacy at nights."

"Didn't say I don't want it," he replied, looking just a little indignant. But he had said that at least once that day, hadn't he? Had he meant it, though, or was it just an old habit' He sighed, sounding almost weary, as he met her gaze. "Meant what I said. I ain't got much to offer you. I ain't got no land. Don't even own my own horse. I got a small cabin 'cause I've earned it, but even that ain't mine. Everything belongs to Rogier. I belong to Rogier," he told her, wondering if he should stop there or tell her more.

"That isn't so different from home, y'know," she told him quietly. "Never had a home that was mine, always a tenant, always payin' someone for the privilege of workin' their land and keepin' their houses clean and safe. But you can make anywhere a home with a good heart. If you asked me, I'd say yes, Sam. Doesn't take much to know a good man when I see one. I'm not much to look at, I know, but I'd be a good wife to you."

It was hard to tell from the look on his face, but he was deeply touched by her faith in him, even if he didn't have that same faith in himself. "Ain't you that's the problem. I know you'd be a good wife, but I don't wanna trap you in a marriage you might grow to regret. And I ain't sure I'd be the kind of husband you deserve," he told her, as honestly as he could.

She was silent for a long moment, watching as the grooms finished in the stables for the day. "My ma married my da when she was fifteen years old," she told him thoughtfully. "Bore him twelve children. Eight of us survived. My da was a drunk, and a mean one at that. A couple of pints, and he'd come home swinging his fists. Sometimes he'd drink all the money, and Ma'd have to make ends meet somehow so we could eat. He took my wages off me when I was new workin'. I didn't start savin' until I was older and I knew how to hide it from my da. But she stayed with him. He was her security, and she loved him in her way. I don't think you're the kind of man my father was, Samuel McAlister. I think you're a better man, and a life with you would be a better life than I should have a right to expect. But 'tis your choice, in the end."

He was looking at her again, with a look of astonishment this time, not because of her story, but because she might actually choose this life, choose him, though it was only out of necessity, not mutual affection. "I only got one bed," he blurted, as if that should make all the difference.

She blinked, looking surprised that he should feel the need to mention that. "If you don't want me sharin' it, I'll sleep on the floor," she offered. "I've done it before, I can do it again." A faint frown touched her brow as she considered him. "Sam ....you don't have to ask me if you don't want to. No matter what people tell you, or what threats have been made, you are your own man, and it's your life we're talkin' over here as much as mine."

He shrugged as if his life didn't really matter all that much. "Just reckoned it would be different, somehow. Been working here for years, trying to save up for a place of my own, but it never seems to happen. I ain't gonna lie to you. There've been some women, but no one I ever wanted to spend my life with." He looked out on the vast expanse of land that surrounded them, almost as far as the eye could, it seemed, until you reached the horizon.

Bridget McAlister

Date: 2016-07-11 08:16 EST
"My mama worked here when I was a boy. When she died, Rogier was kind enough to keep me on, but I earned my keep. I started by cleaning the stalls in the barn, and worked my way up to where I am now. It was hard work, and there were folks along the way thought I wasn't worthy, but I earned it. Made myself useful, worth something. Found I had an affinity for this life. There's nothing more satisfying than an honest day's work, but it's lonely. Always thought I'd buy my own place someday, settle down, raise a family, but it ain't happened yet, and I ain't so sure it ever will."

"Oh, it will," Bridget told him confidently. "Two sets o'wages saves more'n one, and I've nothing to spend mine on in any case. Is it love you're worryin' over" Because I'll step aside if you find someone to love that isn't me. I'll sign my name to the annulment to make way for you to be happy with someone else, Sam. I'm practical, I'm not cruel."

He had just told her more in the last five minutes than he'd ever told anyone in years, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe so she'd understand him better" Maybe so she'd know what she was getting herself into if he agreed to this crazy scheme. It was his fault for laying claim to her in the first place, in hopes of keeping Dobson at bay. Could she be happy with him' Or was happiness not really the issue" "Love?" he echoed, dubiously. "This ain't no fairytale, miss. I'd be happy for a companion who don't make a fuss when I snore."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "If I'm to be callin' you Sam, then you really should be callin' me Bridget," she pointed out, turning an almost stern look onto him. "I've said yes to a question you've not asked, and I'll not throw myself down and beg. Ask me, Sam, and be prepared to live with me for a lifetime, or don't. But don't tell me I don't know what I'm walkin' into. I know. I've seen it happen to many people, to my own sister. And I believe we've a better chance than they ever had."

He blinked over at her, his mouth dangling open if only for a moment. He was accustomed to having the last word and to having the upper hand. He'd worked hard to earn that right, and here she was, this slip of a girl, giving him a modest tongue-lashing. And how did he react once he was over his initial shock" He laughed. "You reckon I should get down on one knee or will this suffice?"

"Oh, I think this will do," she said, and for the first time, he got to see the full flash of her smile, bright and mischievous, lighting up her eyes. "After all, gossip says we're already promised. Be a bit daft to ask me again, wouldn't it?"

"'Reckon we should set a date, then. Jem thinks tomorrow will do. Seems a bit sudden, but then, we are in love!" he said, green eyes bright with some mischief of his own. He wasn't mocking love, exactly; he just wasn't sure he believed in it.

"Ah, I think tomorrow sounds about right," Bridget giggled, nudging his shoulder with her own. "I've the day, after all, and Miss Jem seems to think my day is yours too. Plenty o'time to set to and settle in, don't you think?"

"I suggest you savor your one and only night in the servants' quarters, then. You might find the cabin a little primitive to your liking," he told her, smiling a little at the companionship that had grown between them. Well, if they couldn't be lovers, they might as well be friends. With any luck, the rest would come in time, if he could keep Dobson away.

"If I can sleep under a hedge in the rain, I can sleep by your side," she told him with a wicked turn to her smile, touching her hand to his arm. "You should eat and bed down yourself. I'll be up at the crack if you need me to be - I'm not one for lyin' in when everyone else is up and about."

He paused a moment in thought, as if to weigh her words. They were about to embark on a ruse the likes of which he had never dreamed of or anticipated. Whether it would save her from Dobson's lustful devices or make her more of a target, he couldn't say, but he'd be damned if he was going to let the man lay a single finger on her again. "Dawn, then," he said, rising to his feet. The earlier they got started, the more time they'd have to spend together away from the ranch and the prying eyes of those who called it home.

Rising with him, she stepped up onto the porch proper, turning to take his hand and squeeze it gently between her own. "Good night, Sam," she said quietly, her eyes on his for a long moment. "Dream sweet."

"Likewise," he replied, a little at a loss for words as she grasped his hand and bid him goodnight. What would it be like to sit together and watch the sun set, watch the stars appear in the sky one by one as the twin moons rose over the horizon' What would it be like to lie beside her, to take her hair down, to touch her cheek, to kiss her lips? He blinked out of his reverie, remembering himself suddenly. He whole life was about to change, simply because of a single young woman whose face had caught his eye, one among many in a sea of faces.

He wasn't the only one wondering, but Bridget was quick to slip into the house, mounting the winding staircase to make her way into the little dormitory for the female staff. It was a matter of minutes to remove her dress and lie down on the bed in her shift, and that was when her imagination began to take hold. She found herself imagining a life by Sam's side, caring for their home, for their children. Kisses shared in the morning, falling asleep in his arms. He was a handsome man, far more handsome than any she had met before today, and this time tomorrow they would be married. It might well be a hasty, practical sort of arrangement, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be love. She could imagine herself loving him with ease. Smiling, she drifted off to sleep, caught up in hopes of what her future now held. Sweet dreams, indeed.