Burnt Steak [2017] [P/UP]

☆3☆

Monday, Joon 15, 1888
Deer Clyde,
I am lerning how to rite to tell you that I sold papas ranch. Thare was a drowt n Sharolet did not mak it.

I stuck out my tongue in concentration as I tried t' write down what I wanted t' say next.

I met a fella a few yeers bak who said England did not get no drowts, so I moved thare. I am sending the $600 I got for the ranch to you n mama n the tripele—tripplits—the boys. Be safe in Texas.
Love, Nevada.

I tucked the letter an' the money into an envelope an' ran downstairs t' give it t' the postman before he left.

Wavin' him off, I took a minute t' look around at my new home.

Even in the middle'a summer London was still bleak an' grey. The streets were crowded by everythin' from buildin's t' carriages t' people. It made me miss Arizona's wide open deserts where you could just walk an' walk; never really get anywhere but you could still walk.

"Tilly!" A gruff english voice shouted behind me. "Get your bloody arse back in here and help set up shop!"

I rolled my eyes an' stomped back into my place'a buisness.

Not long after I got here, I found housin' an' work in a butcher's shop. Only reason I got the job was 'cause I told my boss I could skin a jackrabbit in thirty seconds flat.

My boss was a big man named John Mason. I worked for him an' in exchange he was helpin' teach me how t' read an' write.

I didn't need no money yet, not when I still had the one hundred an' seventy dollars I got for my animals.

The thought made me cringe. I still couldn't believe that that weasel Monroe won in the end.

Enterin' the butcher shop, I nearly toppled over as a box of fresh, choice cuts'a beef was thrown into my arms. It was still amazin' to me how John's shop was doin' so well in a beef crisis, but I didn't argue.

"The delivery boy ain't here." John huffed. "So you take the carriage and get this meat to this address as soon as possible. They're my highest ranking customers!" A piece of paper was slapped down on top'a the box an' it took me a moment t' understand the letters.

"Puh...Phan...tom...hive?" I sounded out slowly. "What's that mean, like ghost bees? I can't be 'round no ghost bees, sir. That's just downright freaky."

John groaned an' rolled his eyes, walkin' back into the meat freezer. "Just get it there!"

I shivered at the thought'a ghost bees, but figured that if that scrawny delivery boy did this nearly every day, then I sure as heck could do it too.

☆☆☆

I stared with wide eyes at the mansion on the hill in front'a me.

"Ghost bees live here?"

I was shaken from my thoughts as a black haired man in a black suit poked his head outta the giant front doors an' waved me over t' the side'a the mansion.

I nodded an' steered the shop's horse 'round the buildin' where I noticed a side door that probably lead t' a rich man's kitchen.

The man in the suit was there when I pulled up an' hopped down from the carriage, lookin' mighty annoyed I might add.

"You are half an hour late." He said in a noble english voice, checkin' his pocket watch an' scowling.

I smiled an' nervously played with the hem of my skirt. "Sorry, sir. The usual boy wasn't there today, an' I'm still learnin' how t' read. You the bee keeper?"