Chapter 4

Strong noises upset her. They always had. No one else seemed to notice her discomfort with the music or with how lively everyone was getting. Most times, she could cope with it well enough now—but there had been men in and out of the Coleson estate all day.

Loud men, talking about building on to the back section of the house to make even more indoor bathrooms, making noise, dropping things, banging things, yelling back and forth. Rough men, too. Men who had stared at her and her friends. Two had even talked to her, about things she did not know anything about. Isobel had said she should not have watched what they were doing to build Dr. Coleson’s hospital, but Beatrice wanted to see the work they were about. She wanted to know what was happening out there, for the hospital. That was all. She was making notes of all that the men were doing each day. So they could remember.

She had wanted to see the work, not the men.

Isobel had told her to be more careful in how she acted with the men, to not give them ideas. But now…Isobel’s words had upset Beatrice. Even if she had hidden that. She did not think she had done anything wrong. But Elspeth had told her to just let her know when she went outside next time to watch them, and she would go with her.

Beatrice had been going places alone since longer than she could remember. Why should America be any different? No one had been able to give her a clear answer on that.

And now there was so much noise…

It was just too much. She twisted her hands in her lap and tapped her toes, but that did not help calm her like it sometimes did. It just did not.

“You are fluttering once more,” Isobel said, with that look on her face that said Beatrice was annoying her again. Sometimes when Beatrice would get a bit wriggly, Isobel would get angry. Sometimes when Beatrice did anything, Isobel would have words about it. She said she just wanted to help Beatrice with life a bit better. But Beatrice did not feel all that helped when Isobel started in.

Agnes leaned closer to Beatrice, nudging her elbow with a conspiratorial grin. “Come on, Bea. Tell us another story. One from home. ”

“I’m not feeling up to it.” On the ship from Liverpool, she had entertained them all by telling stories. Stories she had read so long ago, when she had been a young girl. Then she had made up her own, when she had run out of remembered ones to tell.

They had bypassed the East Coast entry points. Dr. Coleson had arranged direct passage for the four of them straight to Galveston. To make it easier on them all. It had still taken them twenty days to go from Braeford to Garrity County. Beatrice had told them lots of stories.

She had found she liked the telling of stories, too. Especially of writing them down—but that was her secret. But tonight…she just could not think of a one. Beatrice set the chair she was in to rocking a little faster. She just needed the movement, that was all.

“Come on,” Agnes pressed, her tone teasing but persistent. “You’ve got to have one. You do not run out of stories once on the trip.”

“Let her be, Agnes,” Elspeth cut in gently, her calm voice breaking through the chatter. She glanced at Beatrice, her expression warm with understanding. Elspeth covered Beatrice’s hand, where she gripped the seat of the chair so tightly. “It’s not the night for stories.”

Elspeth looked at Agnes. Agnes looked back, then nodded. They were doing it again—that thing they did where it was like they were talking without talking. Beatrice never did understand when they did that. Usually it was about her, though. When they were being a bit overprotective.

But they moved closer to her, one on each side. They did that a great deal. Especially when it stormed.

Storms. That was what it was.

Those men with their tools and yells had sounded like storms. And it had upset her all day. They had been gone an hour or so now, but her head—it still hurt from the noise.

Agnes and Elspeth would not remember the little storm that day. Right before the explosions. Not like Beatrice did. She had been caught out in the storm that day, gathering her mama’s sheep that had wandered away. A tree had near fell on her, and she had already been upset and frightened.

Agnes and Elspeth had been working that day, for the Sinclair family up the hill—further away from the mines. Almost an hour walk. They had not felt the explosion the way Beatrice and Isobel and Mora had. Had not seen the death of so many so soon. The storm had ended, there had been a rainbow, and then the explosions had come. One right after another. Drowning out anything the storm could create.

And she had known. She had known her Papa was not ever coming home. Beatrice had run—all the way to the mines. And to the town, where the fires had started. All the way, and she had seen.

Sometimes, Beatrice was sure she would never be able to forget.

Elspeth told a story instead. But Beatrice could not concentrate on her friend’s words. She slipped to her feet, and headed for the door, making excuses. She just needed the library. That was all. Books. That was what she needed—her Papa had always collected books when he could find them. Books made her feel closer to him.

The library did not have any windows. It was the quietest place on the Coleson Estate. One of the darkest. She would be safe there. Maybe…maybe she would not be forced to remember again.

Somehow, it took her so long to find her way to the library. But finally she was there. Beatrice grabbed a book and settled next to the small hearth. There was a lamp right there, the kerosene almost full.

Her head hurt, but she could read. Maybe. She would try.

That was what she would do, she would read a book, try to calm herself. Before bed. She had just removed a leather-bound copy of A Lady of Quality and started on the first chapter when a sound had her looking toward the door.

"You’ve got a habit of sneaking off.”

There he was again, laird of the manor, deigning to condescend. She pulled in a breath and tried to control her nerves. Before she ended up in another fit again.

"Is the sitting room not lively enough for you, Dr. Collins?” He had been part of what she had wanted to escape. He had watched her. Almost all day. Whenever they were in the same room, she had just known he was watching her.

He had been watching her watch the workers today, too. When she had slipped outside to see what the men were doing a bit better than she could from the window. He had been there—coming up behind her long after she had been out there in the chill.

He had told her to take herself back inside—that she was proving to be too distracting to the men who had important things to do. What she did not understand was why. She had just stood there quietly, watching. Until Dr. Collins had noticed her there and ordered her back inside. She had not been bothering him at all. She did not know why he thought he had the right to order her about, either. She had told him that, too.

He stepped into the room more fully. And shut the paneled door. Trapping her in there with him. “Lively enough, certainly. But I couldn’t help noticing someone slipped away."

"And what of it?"

"Nothing. It’s just… unusual. Most people thrive in social company. You seem to thrive outside of it. A bit peculiar. I also suspect the noise of the builders was making you quite nervous today. Elspeth told me you are particularly fearful of storms, and even I thought it was a bit stormy today for a few moments from the sounds of that pile driver. We do have rather dangerous storms here at times, but very rarely at Christmas. Relax, little bird, you are safe tonight. You might check out The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, right there. It has two sequels, and I suspect good old Iagan has them all. He’s rather a bit eccentric—he wants entire collections of things. Especially children’s books. The man just loves children’s stories—probably because he’s a redheaded child at heart. Oz contains a nasty storm, but it ends well. It has particular appeal to children—if you are the nervous sort.”

From his expression—she knew exactly what he thought of her. Peculiar. Or high-strung. Nervous. She’d been called them all. "Not everyone finds noise and commotion enjoyable. I prefer quiet. Storms have nothing to do with it. I do not appreciate you making a mockery of me, doctor.”

“Not mocking, child. Observing.”

"Do you make a habit of mocking people you barely know, Dr. Collins?" Why did he get particular enjoyment of teasing her so? They had spoken a few times now. And each time he made her feel all churned up like this.

Why had the man followed her? Just so he could upset her more than she already was?

She half wished he would go right outside and get swept up to Oz. She had read the books, after all. Only he could be fed to the winged monkeys instead of finding his way back!

"Not mocking. Just observing."

"And what have your observations revealed?"

"That you’re… different.”

Different—imagine that. She did not fit into his particular mold. “Different? That’s a polite way of saying odd, no?"

The man smirked at her. Oh, how she despised that expression on his ruggedly beautiful face. “If you like. But I didn’t mean it unkindly. You’re focused. Precise. You stand apart from the others, and not just because you’re quieter."

"And what makes you the authority on people like me?" she asked. "You look at me and see someone you can dismiss—a girl too peculiar to bother with. Think you are the first? But you do not know anything about me. You are just judgmental and condescending of anyone not just like you.”

"I don’t necessarily think peculiar is a bad thing," he said finally. “Just different. I am not judging you. I can promise you that.”

"You do not know what to make of me, do you?"

"No. But I am trying to figure you out. I can’t seem to help myself.”

"Then stop trying to figure me out. I certainly have not asked you to. You are not as clever as you think you are, Dr. Collins. I did not expect all the noise from things being built with steam. Should not your time be better spent with this new hospital of Dr. Coleson’s? Before that Barratt man arrives in the morning? Bringing more builders and…noise. Instead of observing someone who has not asked you to, or even wishes you to, in the first place?”

"And you’re far cleverer than I expected, Miss Ardis. Matching verbal wits with you would be quite entertaining and invigorating, I suspect. As well as matching…other things.”

She just looked at him. She could not think of any other things she would want to match with this man at all. Ever. She told him that, too.

His smirk just deepened. “Of course you don’t. But I believe…I am beginning to. Think of many things. You intrigue me, little Beatrice. I have yet to figure out why. But I will.”

Beatrice finally looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor. Why was he still there? Could he not just leave her be?

“You do not have to stay here, you know. I would prefer you do not,” she said. "I came for quiet."

"And yet, here we are," he said, that tone in his voice she just did not like. It was what Sandy Sinclair had sounded like when he’d followed her home and stolen that wicked kiss, just three weeks before that day. Telling her he wanted her and no other, and he’d have her too. In so many ways she would not believe.

Once her daddy the minister married them up good and proper, and all. Because Sandy wanted her to be his missus. She hadn’t even been sixteen at the time, and Sandy had been a good ten years older.

Well, she had not believed him. Would not have agreed, even if he had asked instead of ordered. But Sandy had been far easier to figure out than this swanker in front of her now.

"And I’ll admit, little bird. I do find you fascinating. Something about you… different. Peculiar.”

And she did not know if he meant that in a good way or bad. Or even why she cared at all, either way. Could the man just not leave her alone? For a little bit of peace?

“Why are you really here?” Beatrice asked.

He stepped closer. Almost crowding her. Why would he do that?

“I told you, I noticed you’d left and wondered why. You looked…upset.”

“No,” Beatrice said, one of the questions she had had slipping out before she could stop it. “Why are you here in Garrity County? I cannot imagine someone like you, so sophisticated and self-assured, coming to a quiet town like this unless you had a reason.”

“I’m here to discuss building a small hospital here, with Iagan, as I know you’ve heard before. I’m going to invest some funds, for one thing.”

“Right. But it does not suit you. All of this—being here, pretending you fit into a quiet life when you clearly do not. Have no respect for it either. Why not go back to the city from which you came from?” He stepped closer again. Beatrice had nowhere to go. And she would not step away. Not give him the satisfaction of that. She just would not.

“And what exactly do you know about what suits me?”

“Enough to know you’re out of place. You do not belong here any more than you think I do, Dr. Collins.”

“Do I not?”

“You do not. Maybe it is more than that. Maybe you are here to find a bride, perhaps? Are you here to check out the little sparrows, sir? Take your pick? Are you ready to settle down and live the proper life of a young country doctor? Do any of us fit your needs, Dr. Collins?”

“ Do not get your hopes up that it would be you, little bird. I am far too old for one like you. If my tastes even ran to peculiar, to begin with.” His hands wrapped around her arms, holding her still when Beatrice would have squirmed away.

The words hurt. She did not know why they did. It was not him mocking her accent. It was not that. It was him saying it aloud.

She was different .

Even from her friends. Different. Peculiar. She had heard it so many times before. From the people in Braeford. From her papa and her mama.

She was different. Not like the others. A burden.

She had tried so hard once she had realized what different meant to not be a burden. To help as much as she could, to help as many as she could. And after that day, she had done her best to help her mama. Each and every day.

It just had not been enough. Tears filled her eyes. Because of him. Because of everything—the noise, this strange place, those men looking at her and wanting to talk to her, and not Isobel, who had come looking for her an hour later, and then him watching her. She should have just gone to bed. “This was a mistake.”

“What was?”

“This conversation. You’re just trying to…I do not know. Confuse me on purpose. Why can you not just leave me alone? Why do you enjoy upsetting me? Have I ever done anything to you to deserve it?” Beatrice tried to step around the man, but he blocked her path with his much larger body. He was big, strong, fit. As muscled as a man who had worked hard for his living, and not just one who had worked with his brains.

“Am I upsetting you? I sincerely do not mean to do so.”

She turned back to him. “You do not know me, Dr. Collins, so I will ask you to simply stop judging me. And you certainly do not scare me, if that is what you are after.”

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles; an expression she just could not identify. “Good. Because I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Are you not? Are you afraid this little bird is looking for a husband and may think you fit the bill?” Sarcasm—something she abhorred, and did not always understand. But this moment almost needed it.

Beatrice clenched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. He covered her hands, so much smaller than his, with his own. The touch was so hot it almost burned her. She did not know a man’s skin could burn so hot.

“Leave me alone,” she said finally, her voice low and firm. “I came in here for quiet, not… this. Not…you.” Dr. Collins just looked at her, for a long, long time. She just stood there. Waiting. Not knowing what else to say. Or how to get away from him, or why the scent of him smelled so nice, when he was so irritating to her nerves. “This little bird has no interest in a wealthy husband like you right now, doctor. If ever. I’d need a lad with more than fluff and arrogance in his head to catch my eye, doctor or not. Your precious bachelorhood is safe enough. You will never be the laddie for me.”

“You’re not what I expected, Miss Ardis. But remember one thing—battling with me is a battle a girl like you will not win,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “Best not even try. But I may just enjoy the challenge. I can give you this, you are definitely not boring. Now I have to figure out what I want to do about that.”

Before she could reply, he was gone.