Forever and a Day

Robinson swallowed against the knot lodged in his throat. Is this where she lived? All of this felt wrong. She didn’t belong here amongst these grimy shadows and broken windows stuffed with rags. No wonder she dreamed of apple trees and open fields.

A headache pinched his skull, making him squint in an attempt to fight against his sudden discomfort. He quickened his stride until he paused before her and a doorstep leading into a large two-story building.

Something snorted and darted past his legs, making him jump aside in heart-pounding astonishment. A round, furless creature wobbled down the pavement and into the inky shadows of the night.

He pointed at it. “What the hell was that?”

“A pig,” she remarked, lowering her gaze and moving around him. “They’re always wanderin’ the street lookin’ for food. Much like everyone else ’round these parts.”

He eyed her. “A pig? In the city?”

She set her chin. “I hate to disappoint you, Brit, but in this ward, pigs are considered highly respectable citizens.”

Sensing she was still irked with him, he edged toward her. “If I had known that I would upset you like this, I would have never kissed you. Know that.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. I willingly gave in to it. I just…I don’t want this turnin’ into a mess, is all. I’ve got plans for a better life and I don’t want those plans to fall aside, see? I’m not gettin’ any younger and the Five Points is agin’ me fast.”

He dragged in a breath and let it out. It chafed knowing that he was nothing but an inconvenience to her, especially after that kiss. Did she kiss all men like that? “I have no intention to impose upon your plans,” he managed.

“Good. It means we’ll get along.” She gestured toward the doorstep leading into a small building whose sparse windows were lit by warm light peering out from behind lopsided curtains. “Follow me and mind the step.”

He lingered as she withdrew a key from a stitched pocket within her gown and opened the entrance door. Waving him into the blurring abyss of a narrow stairwell, she closed the main entrance door behind them.

Grabbing his hand firmly, she guided him into the darkness. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” He tightened his hold, fingering her small, callus-roughened hand. It was odd to feel as though he was under her protection and mercy.

She gently shook his hand. “Use your other hand to balance yourself against the wall as we go up. There are sixteen stairs. The first always trips everyone up, even me. So mind it.”

He bit back a smile, touched by her mothering. After a few blind pats, he found the wall she was referring to and lifted his booted foot, placing it on the first step. He caught the edge and carefully slid into place. “You do this every night?”

“I have to sleep sometime, don’t I?”

“Are there no lamps to make use of?”

“There are, but they’re usually dashed out by nine-thirty. We’ve had too many fires down the street.” She tightened her fingers around his hand and tugged him upward. “Can’t you go any faster? Raymond was three and fifty the day his heart stopped and he managed to run these stairs up and down in the dark as if he were twenty.”

It wasn’t much of a compliment having that pointed out. Robinson released her hand and hurried up the remaining stairs, boldly taking two at a time in the darkness. Angling past her warmth, he jumped onto the landing with an impressive thud. “There. Did Raymond ever skip stairs in the darkness the way I just did?”

“Never mock a dead man who doesn’t deserve it.” Her hand caught his arm. She tugged him toward the end of what appeared to be a blackened corridor. “There are two floors and four tenements on each floor. Most of the people livin’ here are men. Don’t know how that came to be, but don’t think the worst of me. It’s just how it is. Unlike them, I’m fortunate enough to afford my own tenement. Raymond knew the landlord, so I only pay three dollars a month for what could easily be six.”

She released his hand and patted his arm. “Stay where you are.” There was a chink of a key being pushed into a lock and then a click and the door creaked open.

Her heels echoed against the floorboards and he could hear the flint being struck. A glass oil lamp sputtered to life, brilliantly illuminating not only her pale face but a small yellow-wallpapered kitchen one could easily cross in but three strides. The heavy scent of starch, lye and soap drifted toward him.

“You’ll get used to the smell,” she offered conversationally. “It’s better than the one outside, to be sure. I do all of my work in the front room as opposed to the yard outside, see. That way nothin’ gets stolen.”

She set the glass lamp onto a wooden table set across from a brick hearth bearing a cauldron. She loosened the tie beneath her chin, the blue ribbons cascading in a flutter to her slim shoulders. She stripped the oval bonnet from her head with a sigh and glanced down, neatly retying the ribbon into a perfect bow. Bustling toward the wall, she leaned over a coal bin and hung her bonnet gently from a nail positioned next to another nail that held a faded wooden rosary.

Her thick bundled hair appeared almost brown in the dim light, with only hints of bright red as she turned back to the chair and swept up a plaid apron. She affixed it around her waist with three quick movements.

His eyes dropped from her slim shoulders to her aproned waist. It was like being her husband and peering into a very intimate routine. He rather liked it. It made him feel as if he were walking into his own home and into the arms of a woman who was his.

Remembering the way her hot, wet tongue had eagerly moved against his own, he gripped the wood trim harder to force out any thoughts of wanting her in that way again. It was obvious she didn’t want more of it. Not from him, anyway.

She glanced up and turned toward him. “Are you goin’ to stand there and let the world know I’m home? Shut the door.”

He cleared his throat and stepped into the small room, shutting the door with a thud. He paused, noting three metal bolts. He gestured toward them. “Do you want me to bolt all three?”

“That’s what they’re there for, Brit. To keep the world out. Unless your boxing skills are better than mine.”

She had a reply for everything. He affixed all of the metal latches into place and turned back toward her. Sensing she was still annoyed with him, he held up both hands in truce. Meeting her gaze, he set them behind his back, locking a hand over a wrist against his spine. “I won’t grab for you.”

She smiled, pulled out one of the two chairs from beside the small table and gestured toward it. “Sit. I’m over it.”

If only he was.

He strode toward the chair, pressing his hands tightly against his back, and sat, causing the chair to creak in protest. It wobbled beneath him. Carefully sliding back into it out of fear he’d break it, he slipped his hands out from behind his back and set them on his knees. He shifted, eyeing the small kitchen, and leaned forward to scan the two other adjoining rooms that light didn’t spread into.

She gestured toward one of the small rooms he was looking at. “That there is the closet.”

“The closet?”

“Where I sleep.”

“Don’t you mean the bedchamber?”

She dropped a hand to her side. “Is that what you Brits call it?” She tsked. “You boyos certainly like to make everythin’ sound so much fancier than it really is. It’s a closet with a straw bed and a trunk. Nothin’ more.”

He lowered his gaze down to his boots, sensing she didn’t particularly like the British. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

She sighed. “You can sleep with me on the bed. There’s room and I don’t mind.”

He glanced up. She was really looking to make him suffer. “I hardly think it wise we share a bed.”

“There was no bed on that omni, Robinson, and yet neither of us could keep our hands to ourselves. Between these three small rooms, our bodies are goin’ to be rubbin’ up against each other quite a bit, so you’d best get used to it.”

He feigned a laugh. “I might not physically survive you or this. I’m still a bit astounded by that kiss you gave me. It was remarkable enough for me to want more.”

“I’ll agree that it was, but you really need to try to keep everythin’ buttoned up in those trousers from here on out. If the urge is particularly strong, just ask for some privacy and make use of your hand. All right?”

He shifted his jaw, feeling his body temperature rising. It was like she was a man, not a woman. “I ask that you not talk like that to me, Georgia. I find it unsettling and vulgar coming from your mouth.”

She clicked her tongue at him. “I’m a nun compared to all the other women around me, but I’ll do my best not to offend.” She drifted past him toward the cupboard and pointed toward a corked bottle. “I’ve got whiskey, if you want it. Came straight from the barrel down the street. ’Tis the best in the ward at a dime a gallon and has enough smoke and bite to make it worth your while.”

He let out a low whistle. “In England we call that death.”

A giggle escaped her. She turned toward him, tilting her head to one side to better observe him. “Do you remember anythin’ about England?”