Water Story

Chapter Three

September 9th, 1852

"Lady Lovejoy. I have breakfast," a soft voice cooed.

Storie sat up in her bed, smiling as she yawned herself awake. "Laurel. I have told you countless times, you do not need to feed me in bed."

"Then what am I good for?" Laurel asked, smiling as she set a bed tray over Storie's lap. Laurel was an earnest woman in her late thirties, with freckled skin and a heavy English accent. She had suffered as a mistreated servant for an enterprising Englishman who had made the mistake of coming to the Oregon Territory. His bad attitude got him killed within days. Laurel wandered about the territory trying to find work as a maid or servant, only to find that not many people were wealthy enough to afford one. Storie had found her in a local pub being harassed by a man twice her age. Laurel had designated herself the head servant of the mansion and spent her days teaching the others how to cook, clean, and sew. She was sweet and gentle with the residents of the mansion, but Storie knew how devious the Brit truly was. Laurel would sew a man a pillowcase before using it to gag him as she tore out his throat. For this reason, Laurel was among Storie's favorite residents.

"You've a big day today, after all," Laurel continued. "I've ironed your dress and polished your shoes. Your stockings-"

"If I wanted a maid, I would hire one," Storie interrupted.

Laurel's eyes shone, delighted by Storie's honest words. "Lady Lovejoy, I insist. I do not have much money, but you've made me the richest woman in my family line. I have plush blankets and fine clothing. Good food and sturdy shoes. Most of all, I have power. Least I can do is keep your shoes shiny."

Storie cast her a playful look, which Laurel easily returned before she continued speaking. "As I was saying, your stockings are warming by the fireplace-" She gestured to the hearth. "- and I've included a healthy bit of lime in your cereal."

Storie, who had just taken a bite of the oatmeal on the tray, pursed her lips as she considered the sour flavor. "I like that," she decided after a moment. "Though I still believe that talk about lime is nonsense."

"It's not. Saved my brother," Laurel argued breezily. "Lady Delgado is being fed and dressed as well."

Paloma lived in a cabin on the grounds with her husband, Felipe. The residents had insisted numerous times that the couple should live in the mansion proper, but Paloma refused because of the number one rule of the mansion: No men were allowed inside. Storie trusted the men and boys of the pack, but worried that their presence would bring undue anxiety to the recovering residents.

Paloma, as the alpha, could have made an exception for her beloved. But she did not.

"Thank you," Storie told her as she began to eat the meal of oatmeal and eggs. "How is the house?"

"Excellent, my Lady. Er, there is one thing. The new girl, Mary," Laurel said, biting the inside of her lip thoughtfully as she straightened her apron. "She was asking questions. Wolf questions."

"In fear or desire?" Storie asked.

"Desire, I believe. Curiosity, at the least," Laurel answered.

Storie considered this. Then she shook her head. "I do not trust myself to make decisions regarding someone as pure and sweet as Mary. I will ask Paloma who we should have answer Mary's questions in our absence."

Laurel smiled to herself, slyly straightening her apron as she did so.

"You already did," Storie guessed, grinning at Laurel's forward-thinking.

"Lady Delgado has already assigned Patricia and Jenna to the task," Laurel replied.

Patricia and Jenna, a mother-and-daughter pair of Black wolves, were among the most patient members of the pack. Patricia had fled slavery in Mississippi, and chased whispers of wolfish shape-changers to the Oregon Territory. She had been the first person to ask for Storie's bite. Storie considered her as close a friend as Paloma. Patricia had met a freeman in town named David, who had insofar been protected from the racism of the area by a six-shooter he kept on his hip. David also requested the bite, then the two were married within three months. Storie herself had helped deliver Jenna some fourteen years ago.

Storie let her spoon clatter against the bowl for dramatic effect. "Perfect. Perfect! See, that is why Paloma is alpha. My best thought was to sit Mary down on the grass and make her pet my wolf form."

"She would've fainted," Laurel agreed with a chuckle. "Oh, and the carriage is ready. Leroy asked to drive. You know how he loves the ocean."

"I do," Storie said. Laurel noticed that she was finished with her breakfast and cleared away the tray so Storie could stand. As always, Storie's barefooted height of six feet and one inch grabbed Laurel's attention.

Storie was thirty-seven years old. She had been this height since she was sixteen. She was long used to looks of shock, even some of disgust or confusion, when people saw her full stature.

She was not quite used to the admiration some residents, like Laurel, showed her.

Laurel clucked her tongue. "What I wouldn't give to look like you," she sighed, turning to the door with the tray in her arms.

"Can hardly find dresses my size," Storie reminded her, walking over to where Laurel had set out her outfit today. All black. Laurel was a genius.

"I know. I've lengthened enough of your dresses," Laurel teased as she closed the door behind her.

Storie dressed. She knew better than to attempt a hat with today's mission, though she hesitated to wear items as ripe for stealing as gold barrettes.

She wore the barrettes. Storie promised herself that if someone tried to snatch one, she would throw him to the ground and use the barrette to slice his throat.

Paloma waited on the porch of the house. She was thirty-two, but her face looked timeless. She had no lines or wrinkles, but the look in her eyes was ancient. Storie had heard of the things Paloma had accomplished in Louisiana before heading up to Oregon Territory. A silent war, vicious guerrilla attacks in the swamps where the angry humans outnumbered the wolves three to one. Storie had seen enough of Paloma's wolf form to know she could best anyone and anything in battle, but this isn't what made Paloma special. It was her mind that marked her as the alpha.

Or maybe it was both. The pack was currently as loyal as could be, but it wasn't always that way. Storie was certain the only reason they had survived certain tensities was a lingering fear of Paloma's abilities.

Either way, Storie felt a lot better about their mission with her alpha at her side.

Felipe was absent. Paloma refused to recognize him as her husband outside of their cabin for fear of any townspeople watching from the forests surrounding the tall fence of the property. She didn't want to paint a target on her husband's back.

"Ready?" Storie asked, smiling though she knew better than to take their mission lightly.

"As ready as could be," Paloma responded. Storie knew the fear in her friend's heart because it was present in her own. The women were walking into a situation in which the careful control they kept upon their lives would be shattered.

Storie straightened her already perfect posture. "If someone comes near you, I will kill him. If an eye containing anything but kindness lays upon you, I will pluck it out. If a harsh word is spoken in your direction, I will rend off the jaw that moved to utter it."

"And the same to you, Storie," Paloma bade Storie.

Storie smiled as she smelled the horses on the cold winter wind. "Then I expect we will be fine."