CHAPTER ONE #3
But, whether Red Fox had come back to their ranch or not, she did not know. She had, instead, been whisked away in the early morning hours before the dawn of the next day, and she had been placed into Frederic's charge to be boarded upon a steamship heading east and south to St. Louis.
She'd had no chance to escape since the steamboat had set sail as soon as she had come on board. Then, once the ship had landed at the village of St. Louis, she, her brother and his family had made their way by carriage to New York. She had cried most of the way.
Of course, this journey had all been planned out and arranged in advance. Both her brother Frederic and her father were intent on "giving her the chance" her sister, Czanna, and her brother George had never had.
Little had her father, her mother and Frederic realized how Briella would be made to suffer in the East, being the butt of many jokes.
She recalled it now: she had been an enigma to those New Yorkers she'd met.
She had dressed differently than they, her upbringing being more cowgirl and Indian than what it might have been had she grown up in the East. She had spoken crudely and laughed loudly when other women were more discreet.
Why, she had even walked differently than they, her own gait mimicking one who had just dismounted from a horse.
Oh, Frederic had tried to give her lessons about the city's social graces. And, she couldn't count the number of days she'd been forced to walk with a book on her head. But, had all their work changed her?
Well, in the end, she supposed it was true that one could take a girl out of the West, but one could not take the West out of the girl.
But, over the period of a few years, she had been worn down, at least outwardly. She now spoke softly, walked with a grace that felt more like floating than simply placing one foot in front of the other. She could even now hold a tea cup on her knee without spilling the tea.
Yes, outwardly she had changed: she now wore the latest fashions, smiled with an elegance she little felt and allowed her hair to be pulled up into curls on top of her head, some of those curls falling down onto her shoulders.
She spoke softly, she did not venture her opinions on important matters and in general she was bored beyond compare.
In truth, Frederic had known a slight bit of success in regards to her: after all, this morning she had donned her green and bone-white day dress with a slender dropped waist in front, so popular in the East at this time.
And, at the back of the dress, as much as forty yards of the finest silk faille puffed out at the hips, the material trimmed in all manner of flounces gathered in back and at the sides of the gown, all of them in the latest shade of green silk.
The material tied around her neck was a lightly colored blue-green silk to complement her dark, auburn hair.
But, the biggest problem she had encountered with all this kind of clothing was the tight corset she'd had to wear in order to present the slim image required for the fashion.
While the corset was usually made of whale bone, she had insisted hers be made of leather, hoping the discomfort would be less.
But, it was still so tight, she could barely breathe.
She wore a small bonnet upon her head, made with the same green silk material as her dress.
And, beneath her dress she wore a chemise, drawers and a special kind of petticoat, one allowing the back of the skirt to puff out by use of a bustle.
The boots on her feet were high heeled, made of leather and squeezed her toes so greatly, she could barely walk.
Indeed, she often wobbled as she tried to stroll as others did.
Yes, she had given in to the beauty of the dress and the hairstyles now popular in New York City. But—and this was probably why she had become the kind of person who was shunned by many—she would not under any circumstance give up wearing her holster and gun around her waist and hips.
She could have cared less that this "style" had caused a stir amongst the very rich and refined people of the city. And, since she hadn't come to New York City to impress people, she wouldn't give up what she considered to be a girl's right to self defense.
Of course, there was that one party where she had spoken up on what the people in the city had called the "Indian problem."
What problem? She had lived with Indians for most of her life and could find no truth in what was disgustingly called the "Indian problem."
Or perhaps it was the use of certain words or concepts she used that caused the sophisticated people in the city to consider her to be little more than a poor relation.
After all, cultured ladies didn't speak of the "necessary" in mixed company, nor explain in detail how to geld a horse or track a buffalo and cut up its meat for a meal.
In other words, regardless of her wealth, her dress or her titled family's fame, she had not been acceptable by any means.
Men avoided her, perhaps because of the gun. Frederic's wife, Marsha, had done her best to explain why women in New York City did not openly wear guns.
It hadn't done any good. When going out for the evening, after ensuring Marsha was nowhere about, Briella had always strapped on the gun. And, why not? Some habits, she figured, were there for self-protection and were not meant to be broken.
But then, just as she had given up hope of attracting a suitor—it being necessary so she could return home—she had met James Maximillian III, a banker who required a European title of rank in order to inherit the position of President of the Livingston Bank.
Of course, he had come with a mistress he had no intention of giving up. But, this hadn't bothered Briella.
After all, she didn't intend to live with him in the big city of New York. Instead, once she returned home, she hoped to convince Red Fox—if he were still not married—to live with her without the requirement of matrimony.
Would he do it? It would be quite a sinful proposal she would make, which she was well aware would require her to confess the deed to the nearest priest, and as soon as possible. But, perhaps Red Fox might allow it, and if he did…
However, of one matter she was quite certain: she would never return to the city of New York. Never. And, this being so, what did it matter if she married James Maximillian III? She would never see him again after the prenuptial agreement was made and the marriage vows were said.
Indeed, she would fulfill the duty her father had impressed upon her, and then, once all was said and done, she would live the life she was meant to live…a life with Red Fox. That is, she would do so if Red Fox would oblige her, and, importantly, if he were still unmarried.
"Sister, what are you doing here on the hurricane deck of the ship when there is breakfast awaiting you in the Grand Saloon?" Her brother Frederic spoke up from behind her.
And, when she turned around to face him, she managed to smile at him before saying, "I was merely admiring the countryside before seeking my breakfast."
"Capital. Capital," acknowledged her brother as he stepped to her side and offered his arm to her. "I, too, have not yet indulged in the first meal of the day. Let me escort you there now, where I believe we shall be treated to the American breakfast of ham and eggs."
Briella had placed her hand upon his arm as he extended it to her, his elbow bent just so, as she knew was expected of him.
Then, gazing up at him in his ever-proper black top hat, white shirt with notched collar and small bow tie, waistcoat, black dress coat and his light-gray trousers, Briella said, "Soon, Frederic, I will go there, but not at this time.
Perhaps you could escort me back to my suite, instead.
I did not sleep well, and I fear I am in need of a rest."
"Of course I will do as you ask, m'dear.
But, first let us walk about this deck on the ship where we can speak to one another quietly.
There are very few people enjoying the view from this deck at this time of day, and I think we might be able to speak privately.
There is a matter of some urgency I must relate to you. "
"Oh? Then, of course, let us walk."
"Capital, m'dear. Capital."