Chapter 10
Castleton was a small village, with just three streets and narrow, crooked brick houses hunched into each other. Several houses doubled as shopfronts: a butcher, a carpenter and a tailor.
Upon the horse, Eva squinted in search of the wheelwright. Curious eyes peered up at her. Children playing with a hoop and stick, maidservants dumping buckets of slop into the gutter, the men with their farm tools in hand. All of them stopped and stared.
A shiver ran down her spine. She did not know whether they stared because she was on a horse with a man in a kilt, or because she sat astride instead of side-saddle. Maybe they stared because she and Elias were strangers to the village. In this century and in a small village, there were many reasons for the locals to stare.
She spotted the wheelwright’s shopfront and Elias guided Bram to a nearby post.
Elias swung his leg over the saddle and slipped down to the ground. In an instant, her hand was in his, and he helped her down as he had once done months ago.
“No cracked skulls or broken necks,” he said with a wink.
“We could still run headfirst into a tree,” she responded, recalling their conversation from the day they first met.
“Aye, I suppose that is a possibility, given yer sudden need for a thrill.”
She was too unnerved by the odd vibe in the village to laugh at his reply. She looked at the gathering people who had stopped across the street to stare.
“I want to do this quickly,” she said. “Let’s go to the wheelwright, get your new wheel and return to the campsite. Never mind the beer.”
Elias secured Bram to the wooden post. “Why the sudden rush?”
“There’s just something about this village … I don’t know. Is Bram tied up? Can we go?”
“Aye, we can go.”
Eva hurried by Elias’s side toward the wheelwright’s shop. More heads turned to them, with a mixture of appalled, offended and slightly horrified expressions.
“Eva,” Elias said. “How often do ye come to the village?”
“I’ve only been once.”
“And did ye wear trousers?”
“Phoebe never let me.”
As soon as she said the words, Eva understood why the villagers stared. She was a woman freely wearing pants in the nineteenth century.
“Yer a walking scandal,” he grumbled.
She took in a deep breath, but it did not help the incoming panic. She should have known better than to wear pants in a public setting. Why didn’t she think of this earlier? Because you were once used to it. Because you so desperately wanted to be the old Eva from your modern world.Because you wanted to fight for your independence.
The silence became heavy.
Near the wheelwright’s shopfront, a small crowd had started to form. There were wide eyes, gasping women and men shaking their heads. The judgment was growing stronger by the minute.
Elias’s fingers curled around her upper arm and he pulled her toward the shop door.
She looked at him. “What are you doing?”
“Keep yer head low. If we’re lucky, we can hurry in without—”
“Halt!”
Eva’s stomach dropped.
Two policemen broke through the parting crowd toward Eva and Elias.
“I said ‘halt’!” one of them shouted.
Eva and Elias came to an abrupt standstill in the centre of the road. Elias stepped forward, hiding Eva behind his wide frame.
“Gentlemen, is there something I can help ye with on this fine sunny day?” Elias said.
“Sir, that woman accompanying you is committing an act of indecency.”
“Indecency?” Eva exclaimed.
Elias’s hand found her forearm and squeezed it as if telling her to shut up.
The shorter, thinner policeman, with beady eyes and a thick black moustache shaved into a perfect rectangle above his thin lip, stepped forward. “Precisely!” he said, rolling his r dramatically. “You, madam, are cross-dressing, and that is a serious misdemeanour.”
“Of course it is,” Eva muttered to herself.
“She is not harming anyone with her decision to wear trousers,” Elias said.
“Good God, not harming anyone? Sir, it harms the women and children,” the blond policeman said, gesturing to the gathering crowd.
“How? How can it possibly harm them? It libera—” Eva’s voice broke. Using the word liberates would only get her in worse trouble. Her throat was growing tighter by the second. “Gentlemen, with all due respect, I am not committing an act of indecency … if anything … I’m more covered than if I were wearing a skirt. Look, you can’t even see an ankle!”
Both policemen looked at her as if she had just committed the worst crime of the century.
“Good God.”
“Madam, you are certainly crossing more than one line.”
To her annoyance, tears of frustration blurred her vision. “What kind of line? I didn’t mean to come across as rude or indecent with my remark—”
“Sir, is this lady your wife?”
Elias looked at Eva. A frown marked his features.
They would ask the man whether she was his property. Eva wrinkled her nose in humiliation and stared at the ground, stewing in silent fury.
“I said, is she your wife?”
“No,” Elias finally said. “She is not my wife, only a colleague.”
“And you allow her to gallivant around like an indecent cross-dresser?”
Eva’s gaze shot up to the policeman. His leering stare was perfectly slappable. For a moment, she was tempted to fight back. She wanted to yell at him, to stand up for her rights, but she knew it was a losing battle. Besides, her emotions were out of control. The strong Eva she once was had crumbled into a weak little thing, only capable of crying like a child at the drop of a hat. She wouldn’t be able to defend herself without bursting into tears.
“We are scholars on an expedition. It is easier for her to roam and climb the rocky terrain without skirts,” Elias said. “We have come to the village to fetch a new wheel for our broken carriage, that is all.”
The rail-thin policeman shot a look at his partner. “A female scholar wearing trousers. Now, that is something we certainly cannot have influencing the good, hard-working people of England. Madam, if you would accompany us to jail where we can process you for public mischief.”
“You can’t be serious,” she stammered.
“Entirely so.”
That was all it took for the tears to overflow down her cheeks, which were burning with humiliation. Her head spun in confusion.
“Gentlemen,” Elias said, his tone pleading. “I am sure that isn’t necessary. Surely, my colleague has learned her lesson. Tell them, Eva. Tell them ye have.”
“But I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Eva said, her chest aching from the pain of not being able to stand up for herself. “It’s pants, just stupid pants.”
“It is against the law,” the policeman said.
She brought her hands to her hips in one angry swoop. “Whoopdie fucking doo. Stealing is against the law, killing is against the law, not women wearing trousers. Are you all insane? I’ve never heard of anything so ridicul—”
“Good God, what a mouth on her.”
“All that cursing certainly adds to her public-mischief sentence.”
Elias brought his mouth to her ear. “Dinnae antagonize them.”
Her hands reached for his shirt, frantically pulling at the soft material. “But it’s not fair. None of this is fair. Tell them that; they won’t listen to me because I’m a woman.”
“I ken it’s not fair, but I dinnae want ye arrested, lass,” he said, his warm breath brushing the inside of her ear. “Tell them ye understand, and ye will never cross-dress again. It’s all pretend, like the time at the doctor’s clinic when ye cracked yer skull.”
Pretend.
That was the keyword she needed to hear to accept the unfairness. With a trembling breath, she pulled away from Elias’s strong arms and faced the police.
A familiar voice called out her name. Through the parting crowd, Rich’s round, friendly face came into view. He hurried forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Eva? Are you all right? What is the matter?” he said.
“They’re trying to arrest me for wearing pants,” Eva said.
“The lady is cross-dressing, a most indecent act,” the policeman said.
Rich’s gazed at Eva’s outfit, and he made a gruff sound. “Mr. Walsh.” He turned to face one of the policemen. “I can assure you that Miss Quinn is a respectable woman.”
“Are you acquainted with her?”
“She is a niece, my brother’s daughter, from America,” Rich said. “She has come to visit with her…” He looked at Elias uncertainly.
“Colleague from university,” Elias said quickly. “As I mentioned, we are on a naturalist expedition.”
“Indeed,” Rich said with a nod.
“Hmm.” Mr. Walsh scrutinized Eva. “That explains the accent and abhorrent behaviour. One cannot entirely fault an American to not understand the customs of civility.”
Eva stilled, her fist shaking.
“Mr. Randall,” Mr. Walsh said. “Due to your good standing in the community, I will allow this mishap to slide. I hope your niece understands how lucky she is to have such a respectable uncle. Madam, I advise you to return home and change at once.”
As the policemen waited for her response, she refused to acknowledge them. She held still in silent protest, glaring at the tufts of moss between the cobblestones.
“And perhaps a good whipping is in order,” the second policeman muttered, “lest she frighten the children with her sailor’s tongue.”
“Good day to you, sir,” Mr. Walsh said.
“Yes, good day,” Rich said meekly. “Thank you.”
The policemen walked off, and the crowd trickled away, grumbling about Eva’s lack of modesty. This sound of degradation sent a powerful wave of distress through her.
She could not move or speak; shock had turned her blood cold.
A hand touched her arm, but she barely registered the soft pressure. “Eva?” Rich said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Bastards, the lot of them,” Elias muttered.
“It’s a small village with hardly any crime. All it takes is the sight of a woman in trousers to rile these folks,” Rich said.
“Thank you for standing up for me,” Eva said. “Both of you.”
“It is little bother.” Rich looked at Elias. “Are you the Scottish lad my wife threatened yesterday?”
Elias held out his hand. “Elias McKenzie. Am I to assume ye are Phoebe’s husband?”
“I certainly am.” Rich smiled as he clasped his hand around Elias’s. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Aye, and you too,” Elias said. “Shall we continue this discussion away from prying eyes?”
***
Eva sat in one of the pub’s booths facing the window and watched village life pass by. The window’s patterned pane distorted the shape of the people in the street. The view briefly darkened as Elias returned from the bar with two pints of frothy beer. He slid into a seat opposite Eva and handed her a tankard.
She wrapped her fingers around the cold pewter but hesitated bringing it to her lips. Despite wanting to drink away her nerves, she was not sure whether bringing alcohol into this mess was a good idea. And by mess, she meant herself.
Eva, the emotional wreck.
Her cheeks were still crimson from the police altercation. Alongside the public humiliation, she was ashamed she had cried and had to be rescued by men. If she had been alone, she would not have stood a chance. It was a rude awakening to the realities of this century. She realized she was glaring at her pint. With a deep exhale, she looked at Elias.
“Thank you,” she said weakly. “For the beer, I mean.”
“A promise is a promise.” He pushed a coin across the table with his index finger. “And here is your shilling.”
She picked up the coin and studied the young face of Queen Victoria. It was odd to see a figure other than Queen Elizabeth II. She wondered how much a shilling was worth in 1881, and then she realized she knew nothing about British currency, neither in this time nor in hers.
God, you’re useless. How will you survive this world?
Elias leaned back on the bench. His cheeks were flushed by the sun, his hair was ruffled back in messy waves, and his expression had hardened to one of concern.
“Rich apologizes for not joining for a beer. He had to tend to a patient,” he said. “Good news is the wheel will be ready by midday tomorrow. We will leave then to continue our journey north.”
She nodded.
After the police drama, she had hidden in the darkness of the pub while Elias and Rich talked business with the wheelwright. Despite weary glances from the bartender, she felt at ease in the furthest corner of the two-century-old, crooked building, instead of outside where she would be subjected to more scrutiny. At two in the afternoon, the pub was nearly deserted.
Elias drank his pint, eyeing her.
He was obviously waiting on an answer to his invitation to join them on their journey to Scotland. Isn’t that batshit crazy? She frowned. No, crazy is staying near a village with people who want you arrested for cross-dressing. If she stayed at the farm, she might as well give up being Eva, the strong-willed woman, and become a rural peasant in a tattered skirt with fewer rights than a dairy cow.
That is exactly your future and you know it.
With horror, she dropped her nose into the froth of her beer and drank.
Elias’s invitation had stirred ideas – the need for adventure, a journey of self-discovery, a path to complete healing. Long ago, even before the drama with the Ashefords, she had been searching for an opportunity to discover who she was and what she wanted in life. She needed that more than ever. To heal, she had to keep walking, and ever since she regained the freedom to walk, the need to fly away was strong. Besides, she couldn’t stay at the Randall farm forever.
She downed her pint until nothing but foam remained. She set the tankard down hard onto the table.
“I’m considering your offer,” she said.
“Ye are?”
“Where would I sleep?”
“We have a spare tent.”
“A tent,” she said.
“If ye dinnae like it, we can stay in village inns for the night.”
“No, no, a tent is perfectly fine. In fact, I think it’s exactly what I need. Am I expected to cook and clean for you all?”
“Not unless ye want.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I can pull my own weight around the camp, fix things that are breaking down, but I can’t cook, nor am I a particularly good cleaner. Truth be told, I’d make a terrible housewife.”
He chuckled. “No one said ye had to be a housewife. Duncan does the cooking usually, and Arthur likes to keep things prim and proper.”
“And you? What do you do?”
“I catch things.”
Her brows pulled together. “Like what?”
“Moths, hunting or fishing critters for meals. The fun, manly things.”
“Right,” she said. “Because catching moths is the definition of manly.”
“I’d much rather be catching something with fangs and claws, but I cannae decide what creatures make a leap in their evolution.” He brought the rim of his glass to his mouth. “Although, moths may still prove difficult. The wee buggers are not so easy to catch this late in the summer season.”
She shook her head, bewildered. “Okay, so we catch moths, the adventure ends, and then what? Everyone returns to London?”
“We go our separate ways. I will stay in Edinburgh until the new year, at least. It is yer decision whether to stay in Scotland or return to the Randall farm. There is a train from Edinburgh to England. Ye can always find yer way back.”
A train back to England? That made the proposal much more appealing. If anything went wrong on the road, she could always jump on a train and return to the farm, but for that she needed money…
“I have no money for a train ticket,” she said. “I would need a job.”
“Be my assistant.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Help me document our findings, and I shall pay ye a weekly wage. After four weeks on the road, ye would have enough to purchase a month’s worth of tickets.”
“Documenting findings involves what, exactly?”
“Preserving the specimen, whether dead or alive, and labelling them with specific details in a book.”
Mulling over Elias’s words, her gaze lingered on the passers-by outside.
Distorted figures dressed in drab greys and browns walked past. To hell with being Eva, the peasant in a tattered skirt. She wanted to be Eva, the pants-wearing warrior or, as Elias said earlier, a wee soldier fighting for independence.
“Will you let me wear pants?” she said.
“Och, lass, ye dinnae have to ask me for permission,” he said, his eyes glinting like hard emeralds. “Ye can wear my kilt if ye’d like. It isn’t my business to dictate how ye dress.”
Unconsciously, she smiled without constraint. She thought her facial muscles had lost this natural ability. She would be crazy to ignore what had brought her smile back: Elias and his proposal for independence.
She clasped her hands on the table and leaned toward him.
“I accept your offer, Mr. McKenzie, with one exception,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Can I help you catch moths?”
A crooked grin spread across his face. “Ye can help catch as many wee beasties as ye’d like.”
She held out her right hand. “Then you have a deal.”
He met her hand with his. It was warm, strong, yet gentle. As they shook hands, she barely noticed the burning sensation across her palm.