Wilhelmina A Novella (19 page)

‘She’s yours now,’ I told Rosa as I showed her the head. ‘Her body is in the other room, it’s still alive. You can put her back together and determine her fate for yourself.’

‘You don’t want to burn her yourself?’ Rosa asked curiously.

‘I've already burned her in the worst way imaginable,’ I said. I wanted to reiterate the fact for the governess to hear as she rested, powerless, in my hands.

‘Very well then – we will burn the pieces immediately,’ Rosa said. ‘I am sorry about this. If you hold no grudge against me, then I hold nothing against you.’

I simply answered by walking right up to her and handing over Elizabeth Bathory's head.

‘My lust for blood is over,
for now
,’ I offered as parting words.

Rosa looked down at the head as the governess looked back and forth between the two of us. Rosa was just as quick and destructive as lightning as she snatched the governess’ eye right out of her face.

‘Here, take this as a token of our truce. Let bygones be bygones.’ Rosa said as she held the eye out for me to take.

‘You keep it. Consider it a reminder. If we ever meet again I’ll take it from you,’ I said with an impious grin.

I walked by her in silence. When I walked out the back door of the manor, her army was waiting. Many of them were the governess’ slaves, chosen and turned at the estate. They would each want to take a piece of her if they could. They parted and let me walk by.

I was vindicated and justified in every sense, and the blood on my lips served as a sweet victorious treat, but soon that wore off. Regret began to seep into my conscience in the deep darkness of the night as I wandered aimlessly through tree and wood until dawn.

11. In Faith

Being alone was worse than hell. Being alone with my thoughts was even worse than being alone.

Every step I'd ever taken, every defiant breath and glare, had always been for Charles. I’d been determined to find my way back into his world, to see him again. I didn’t have to be a resident in Charles’ heart; I would have been just as happy being his moon, a satellite of his kind heart. But Charles was dead, and nothing could bring him back, not anymore.

I was empty. My purpose had been taken away from me. I was more like a pet to Charles than a lover, kept on a leash of daydreams. Existence was nonexistence. Life was death.

And for the first time in my life I realized just how pathetic that really was.

Where could I go? What purpose had I in life, or death, now that he was dust in the wind over parishes as far as the state of Louisiana spread?

I was a lost, soulless, and hollow creature now. Charles was lost to me.

I pulled my red ribbon out of my hair and clutched it in my fist in smoldering anger. I was enraged because when it came to settling business with the governess it was a possibility; she was a tangible problem to be solved, and I could touch her with my very own hands and had done so already.

But Charles could never be touched again. And the thought of eternity without the feel his presence, the sound of his voice, the sight of his smile, or his glorious compassion made me feel even more powerless than I already was. This riddle couldn’t be solved by any force on the face of the earth. His beautiful benevolence was but a distant memory, cold and still.

This ribbon was all that remained of him. He had kept it on him for years, even when he thought he may never see me again. That alone meant that I was worth something, even if only worth a passing thought. I was worth something to Charles Abberdean and that was all I had ever hoped for.

And now, as I mourned over Charles, I remembered everything he stood for. He was the face of forgiveness, of courage and persistence. He was the face of charity, of admiration, and the very essence of munificence and love.

What would he think of me now if he could see me?

My hands were crusted over by dry, sticky blood as I held the ribbon in my hands. My dress was covered in an innocent man’s blood as his wife’s life sloshed around inside of my gut. Their daughter’s head was twisted backward on her shoulders as her cold dead body lie in her play room.

I became the very opposite of what Charles stood for. I was right when I assumed that I was no longer Wilhelmina. I was a monster, marred on the inside for the horrible deeds I’d done on this night. And this monster was laughing on the inside as it rode the rising tides of boiling anguish until I could take it no longer.

I saw Evonne’s fearful eyes and I screamed. I saw her husband’s confused face and my shriek took the place of his as the memory of my hands mutilating him came into view behind my eyes. I dropped to my knees at the thought of murdering poor, helpless Abby in cold blood without a second thought, and I cried. I had no more tears to shed, but I sobbed.

I heard a crackle and tear.

I opened my eyes and looked down into my hands where the ribbon had been torn by my inhuman hands, ripped apart. I panicked as I destroyed the only piece of Charles I had to hold onto.

The silky shred of my innocence slithered pitifully through my cold hard fingers as the last two strands of the ribbon gave up. The rest had frayed outward and away; the damage had been done. Just Charles and I had been one and then separated, I was holding onto the memory of him when it did me no good. I just needed to sever myself from him completely and continue through the world as half a being, half a ribbon.

That was my resolve until I realized that this was
not
all I had left of Charles.

The last time I saw Charles as a girl of only thirteen, the last time I was under my mother’s roof and
my
Abby was smiling and cooking for me, he gave me a present in exchange for my ribbon. He sat it on the counter, and there it stayed because I had forgotten to take it with me.

If Abby knew that Charles had left it for me then surely she would’ve put it somewhere safe so that she could give it to me when her niece got me to her through the railroad.

Abby was alive, Thea said so herself. She said that Old Lou Girthwright had gotten her safely to the next home in the path to the north. Maybe, by the scrape of my teeth, that box had survived. If I could find her then maybe I could find the only earthly presence of Charles I had left.

I had direction, even if it was miniscule and literally hanging on two strings of a dream, and that feeling alone made me feel like a child again, sitting by my small window beside the vanity waiting for Tuesday evenings.

Though I had figurative direction within my grasp, I had no earthly direction. I was alone in a thin tree line bordering a clear desert as far as my new eyes could see. I had no idea which direction was which. I had always been told that moss grew on the north side of a tree, but there was no moss here to reference. The trees were bare, nearly leafless, and there was no wind across the barren sands.

I was lost. I had no idea where to even begin.

As I trudged along the line between the empty desert and the thin trees, there came a clatter. A horse-drawn cart slowly made its way along the flats. There was an older gentleman riding point, nearly asleep in his seat as he encouraged the horses to keep pushing on. As I drew closer I could see his weathered features, his crow’s feet and the other crevices along his face, as well as his exhausted, bloodshot eyes.

‘Woah,’ he reined in his steeds when he caught sight of me standing in his path. The horses reared back frantically, they didn’t dare come near. ‘Jesus, woman, where on god’s green earth did ye come from?’

His Irish brogue carried the scent of his last meal, which turned my stomach. My first instinct was to leap forward and snap his neck, and for a moment I felt my body tense for the strike, but I willed my bones to bind themselves for the time being. I needed him.

‘Lord almighty, what happened t’ye?’ he asked. He saw my bloodstained gown and wild, ragged hair.

‘Please,’ I began, but my voice was higher than usual. I adjusted my tone before I pressed on, and he quickly hopped down from the wagon. ‘Can you help me?’

‘Of course darlin’, just tell me what happened,’ he said. ‘What happened t’ye? What are ye doin’ out here on yer own?’

‘I was… attacked,’ I said.

‘It’s those damned injuns, innit?’ He growled. ‘Let me take ye into Thomas Town,’ the man said.

‘Thomas Town?’

‘Well, the new folk’re callin’ it Lubbock, but ye’ll find help there. Are ye hurt? Is that yer blood?’ he asked.

‘No, no, I’m fine. I just need to know which direction is north and south,’ I said. I could be on my way much faster if I didn’t have to ride with him and his slow horses.

‘Listen here, ye’re in no place or position t’be wanderin’ around on yer own. Now let me help ye on the cart an’ that’ll be the end o’ that,’ he said.

I didn’t argue because I didn’t want to accidentally kill him. I had no problem slitting another throat, and I was disturbed by that fact alone. I had no problem with killing people, men, woman, and children alike, and that bothered me.

I sat on the bench of the wagon and he climbed aboard. The horses were off as soon as he rolled the reins along their backs with a crack.

‘Was there anyone else with ye?’ he asked.

‘Everyone else is dead,’ I said. I saw the faces of Evonne and her family. Yes, everyone else was as dead as dead could get.

‘What’s yer name? I’m Thomas Saltus Lubbock Jr, merchant extraordinaire. Me Da, he’s the one who settled Thomas Town. Great man, he died 1862, year o’the drought, god rest him.’

‘Wilhelmina,’ I said.

I tried to concentrate on the fluent motion of the four horses moving as one, the heavy struggle of their plodding hooves through the sea of sand, but all I could hear was his beating heart. I could smell his blood, and his flesh.

‘Well Wilhelmina, we’ll be in town by sun up. I’ll be blowin’ through, just droppin’ off a shipment, but I’ll stay long enough t’make certain that ye’re taken care of.’

‘Where is Thomas Town?’ I asked.

‘O, a little further north,’ he said.

‘Then we’re heading north?’ I asked.

‘Northeast.'

‘Do you have a map?’ I asked.

‘Aye, in me satchel behind the bench. Ne’er leave home without it, can’t afford to. I travel far too much for a man at my age. Thirty five is too old t’be a roamin’ dog, I tell ye that, too old.’

Thomas Saltus Lubbock Jr spoke his last words as I reached over and crushed his neck. It was purely impulse, I hadn’t even realized that I had killed him with the flick of my wrist until I was nearly done draining his body of blood. I felt so full, and slushy inside as I sat back and looked at his head sitting atop his mangled neck, staring back at me. His eyes lulled as his body died with him. The horses were too busy running to panic properly. All I could hear were their cries and jeering.

'I'm sorry, Thomas,' I said. I meant it - though his rambling wore my patience thin, I didn't want to be this creature of death.

I snatched his satchel and leapt off of the cart, landing effortlessly on the cool desert sand beneath my feet. I unfurled the map, trying to get as little blood on it as possible.

North, south, east, and west. I compared the tracks in the sand and gained some sense of familiarity with the directions. The map only covered a very limited region of the western Texan planes, but it was enough to get me started on my journey back to sweet Louisiana.

I was going back home, to my father’s house in Fremont. I hadn’t been there in four years, but it felt like a lifetime. Because it had been just that; a lifetime. I lived a new life as a different Wilhelmina, one who had been tamed and broken to servitude. My identify held no traces of the child I used to be.

I would be just another stranger there, like any other passerby.

Though my body felt odd and full, like I’d consumed too much human life and it was on the verge of bursting through my tight skin, my journey was a swift one. I wasn’t making anywhere near a timely schedule as Gregor and I did on our way to the Governess’ secret family home, and that was because I didn’t know just where I was. I also knew that I would be reaching the edge of the regional map soon and flying solo in the dark. As long as I knew the direction I was pretty sure that I could make it on my own. I knew that I could, I just knew it.

My hair was wild and free, whipping swiftly behind my shoulders. I could feel the winding serpentine coils meandering as they rode the wind like fiery ghosts in the night. Once I came across the great watery bed of the Sabine Pass the terrain became somewhat familiar. The proverbial willows and marshy wetlands of my homeland was something I could recognize in an instant.

I ran through the daylight, wondering just when I would feel the need to sleep. Would I ever sleep again in purgatory? Or was this the dream, an undying vision pieced together by all of the secrets and memories in the depths of my soul?

I finally passed through parishes I’d never seen before, as well as familiar parishes like the accursed woodlands of my imprisonment during the last days of my life. I ripped into my Fremont, my beloved hometown and childhood queendom where I was the weaver of my own world in my chair beside the window.