steampunk – Lulu M Sylvian

An Improper Derailment: Chapter 19

Where Mary faces down beasts far hairier than the gentle
sauran she’s come to accept as gentle as the butterfly she is named for.

cows (1)

Catch up with Chapter 18…

Mary picked her way through the tall grass.

Kim, a fair distance to her left grazed and occasionally would cavort. There was really no other word for it. The sauran would bounce and spring, and practically dance in circles. It was rather charming, even if it did make the ground jump.

It was the primary reason Mary was keeping a safe distance from the animal as they continued to travel in a southwestern direction. She didn’t want to accidentally be pranced upon.

Mary stayed near the sauran while the men were out foraging. She was as safe as she could be near the beast. A thought that came naturally to her now. A thought that would have been so foreign a few days earlier.

Kim made a mournful lowing, and Mary glanced up. Kim nosed into the dirt, either complaining that the bug she was chasing had gone to ground, or maybe she had spied one of those prairie dogs.

Mary cast about looking for Marshall or Hanska. Neither man was visible. Clouds gathered low on the horizon to the east, and Mary could make out the faint rumble of thunder. There didn’t seem to be any wind, but she was learning that didn’t mean anything. The air could be still as a statue one minute, and the next it could be roaring so fiercely it could sweep whatever it wanted away with it, people, animals, buildings.

As a precaution, she meandered closer to the sauran. She too seemed to sense something building to the east.

Mary reached out her hand and made the soft cooing sounds Hanska had taught her. The large tric settled and Mary ran her hand over the warm rough skin of the beast’s neck.

The tric lowed and shifted, almost nervously.

“Me too, me too,” Mary said. She didn’t like the atmosphere suddenly.

“Adi, adi,” she said the command for Kim to lower and bend her leg so she could be climbed.
Mary climbed with carefully practiced foot placements.

About halfway up, Kim shifted with a loud grunt.

“No, you infernal beast!” Mary cried as she fell back, landing on her less than her normally padded backside. She had discarded the bustle early on, once their travels left the sophistication of the rail car.

Kim nosed at her.

Mary took advantage of the beast, and wrapped her hands around the nose horn, and allowed Kim’s momentum to lift her to her feet. Once upright, Mary began scolding the animal and brushing down her skirts. She wasn’t exactly sure why she bothered. Everything was already covered in dust. Another layer wouldn’t change that.

The roll of thunder seemed even closer. The impending storm must have upset the animal.

“Adi, adi,” Mary tried again.

She successfully made all the way up Kim’s back, and was just settling herself on the saddle blanket when she heard shouting. Looking up, she saw Hanska running toward them, waving his arms frantically. Mary couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“Well, go on,” she tried to coax Kim to move. It seemed silly to make the man run all the way to them, when with a few steps Kim could cover yards.
Whatever he was yelling, Kim seemed to understand. She bowed so that in a few agile Steps Hanska was crouched on the beast’s back, next to Mary.

“Hold tight,” he directed.

“Where’s Marshall? What’s happening?”

“Marshall is coming. He needs to run faster.”

The rumble of thunder grew louder, and this time the sound was constant and heading toward them. Thunder didn’t stay constant.
Mary stood and held onto Kim’s frill, so she could see what was approaching.
First, she saw Marshall, running like Hanska had been. And then she saw it, them. The cloud masked their shapes, but Mary knew it was cattle.

Hanska barked a command and Kim lowered her head. Mary squealed as the frill lowered, and the surface she stood on lowered. Hanska placed an arm around her middle.

“Brace,” he said.

“But Marshall?”

“He will…”

Hanska’s words were lost to the pounding of hooves as they were surrounded by cattle. Mary had thought the smell of a sauran was offensive. The mass of bovine bodies smelled less like grass and fresh air, as she had come to associate with Kim, but of the reek and stink of manure. But amplified.

Kim bellowed as she faced into the mass of steak dinners on legs, but she did not move.

As suddenly as they were set upon, the onslaught was over.

Mary coughed to clear her lungs of stirred-up dust. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her.

“Marshall!” She yelled.

She couldn’t fathom having lost him beneath the hooves of that running hoard.

Coughing came from somewhere below Mary’s perch on the sauran’s back.

“Down here,” Marshall said between coughs.

Mary slid off the sauran’s back, and tackled Marshall in a hug.

“Hey, take it easy. I made it to safety between Kim’s legs just in time.”

Mary blinked back unexpected tears, but she didn’t let go of Marshall. “She’s a good tric isn’t she?”

“Good girl Kim,” Marshall laughed, and kissed the beast on the side of her leg, and then kissed Mary on the temple.

What perils will Mary face next on her journey to regaining the railway? Find out in the next installment…

©2021 Lulu M Sylvian

An Improper Derailment: Chapter 18

Where Mary learns that a lady needs more than manners and social graces to survive.

Catch up with Chapter 17…

Start the series from the beginning…

The fire danced into the sky.

Marshal crouched on the far side of the fire from Mary as he did something more substantial than just poke at it. With his attention on the flames and the meal he tended, Mary let her eyes rest on his form.

She had watched Janey’s husband poke at a fire a time or two, it never did anything, and he always had to call in the parlor-maid to deal with it. The flames seemed to have spread out under Marshall’s knowledgeable ministrations.
He sat back on his heels. He was a big man, built for action. Yet he had put up with her impertinent attitude much longer than Mary would have. His focus was on the flames, and then on the gutted rabbit speared on a spit.

She admired how deftly he checked and turned the meat with long practically graceful fingers. Had he been born into a family of means they most certainly would have had him musically trained. He would have played the piano most beautifully.

“Mary.”

He would be a lovely singer with the tones of his voice. She particularity found herself enjoying the way her name sounded when he said it.

“Mary.”

Oh, Marshall was saying her name. “What?”

“Shh,” he lifted his finger to his lips. “Your humming was getting louder.”

“I wasn’t…” She hadn’t been humming. Had she?

He pointed behind her.

Several yards away, Kim let out a rumbling sound that Mary had learned was a content noise that beasts of her ilk made. After several days of travel and camping Mary, while still wary of the beast, grew accustomed to the dusty earth and grass smell.

Hanska slept peacefully tucked up next to his sauran. He worked tirelessly, hunting, and keeping Kim under control. He deserved his well-earned rest, especially after bringing in such a feast for their dinner. Not only had he snared a nice big hare, but he found a tree full of plumbs.

“Don’t eat all of these tonight, save some for our breakfast,” he said when he had displayed the bounty.

“Can’t we just go pick more?” Mary had asked.

She realized it had been a stupid question by the expression on Hanska’s face. He had probably walked for miles before he had found the fruit.

“Right,” she said chagrinned.

Both men had kept her safe, fed her, and were making sure she would get to her destination. And all she managed to do was sit around admiring their skills and fortitude. She couldn’t even claim to be halfway attractive at this point. She needed a bath. She tentatively touched her hair, probably permanently tied into a knot on the top of her head. She flinched and began rubbing at her nose, not certain if she cleared away the smudge of soot she was certain was there, or if she was making it worse. She wasn’t even decorative.

Marshall crooked his fingers at her, beckoning her to his side of the fire.

She crawled over the rock she had perched upon and sat in the dirt next to him.

“What’s with the frown? One second you were happy and humming, the next you looked like you want to cry.”

At the sound of his words, Mary did want to cry. She looked at him for a long moment, composing her words.

“I’ve come to the realization that I am completely useless. Without a society to be out in, I have nothing of value. If anything the past few days have helped me to realize society is tenuous at best. How quickly we went from social order to chaos and survival when those bandits attacked the train. And here I am, the woman in this small party, and I have no skills.”

“I was just thinking about how well you’ve been putting up with all of this. And now you go and impress me.”

He wiped a handkerchief across his brow. Smearing more dirt into the sweat on his brow. Mary plucked the square of fabric from his hands and reaching up, wiped his brow clean.

Her breathing stopped and her pulse raced as realization of her actions crashed into her as she placed the handkerchief back into Marshall’s large hand.

His thumb folded over the back of her had, holding it in place. She couldn’t take her eyes from their hands.

With a clearing of his throat, Marshall let go of her. “What do you mean you have no skills?”

“Well, I don’t know how to hunt or fish. I’m sure I could pick fruit or berries, but I have actually never done so. I certainly don’t know how to start or tend a fire. Or cook. I am useless. I have no skills. I can’t even ride a horse.”

“Oh, that can’t be Mary. I’m sure you were raised with the more refined skills that a lady needs to possess. I’d wager you play the piano quite well, and that your needlework is as delicate as the eyelash on a hummingbird.”

Mary didn’t think she had heard anything so poetic in all of her days. She had to blink a moment to clear her thoughts.

“My needlework is atrocious. I’m always stabbing myself and bleeding on the floss, ruining everything. And I’m embarrassed to admit, that while I do enjoy listening to fine musicians I never developed an ear or talent for creating music myself. I cannot play.”

“Not even the piano? Shame, even I can coax a recognizable tune from a piano.”

“I’m sure you can. After all your fingers are so long and skill full. My hands are small with stumps of fingers.” Mary had her hands up, fingers splayed before she realized in her prattling she admitted to noticing Marshall’s long fine fingers. She stared at the backs of her own hands and prayed that he had not noticed her indelicate speech.

He spread his own hands, palms up, and placed them against Mary’s.

“I’d agree your hands are mighty small. But I think I’d use the term delicate before I ever considered stumpy.”

Mary panicked at the touch. She pulled her hands back quickly instead of enjoying his touch as she wanted so desperately to do.

“I think I’d rather have capable hands over delicate ones.”

Marshall didn’t seem affronted by her sudden movement. He lifted the long stick he had tended to the fire with before and handed it to Mary.

“How about we start now,” he said.

“Start what?”

“Turning those delicate hands of yours into capable ones. Have you ever tended a fire?”

“Oh no, that’s not appropriate. That’s what the help is for.”

“Sounds like you’re saying you don’t want this?”

“Sorry,” she gulped. “I was merely attempting to coney my utter lack of knowledge on the subject. I’ve seen the maid poke at a fire and it seems to come back to life. And I’ve seen my dear sister’s husband to the same to no avail. It all simply looks like poking.”

Marshall chuckled. “In a way it is. But you want to poke with purpose. You see fire needs oxygen to burn. It’s like us, it needs air to live. But too much and it goes out.”

As he spoke he directed Mary’s hand to fat stick in the fire. Together they poked and lifted exposing the burning wood.

“What you want to do is find the places the fire is being smothered by ash, and lift it back into the air. Shift things around a bit so that air can get in.”

As they poked, the fire jumped higher. Startled Mary fell back with a small exclamation of surprise.

“There, you got it. Now get back up here.” Marshall held the stick out to Mary.

Showing her how to balance on her feet, so she could scurry away from the flames if need be.

“Don’t stoke the flames too high, we want to roast this hare, not burn it.” Marshall released his guiding hold on the stick and eased back while Mary continued to identify areas that were in need of air.

The work was hot, and smoke got in her face. The feeling of accomplishment was almost as giddy as the feeling she got when she looked over her shoulder to see Marshall grinning at her.

Will Mary dispose of her learned manners and adapt to the ways of living off the land? Find out in the next installment…

©2021 Lulu M Sylvian

An Improper Derailment: Chapter 14

Where Mary discovers just how bad the situation really is…

Catch up with Chapter 13…

Start the series from the beginning…

With a delighted giggle Mary spread out her cards. Ace, King, Queen, and a pair of nines, all hearts.

Marshall nodded, that irresistible half-grin across his face.

“Looks like you won again,” he said as he slid a penny across the table to Mary’s side. She had a collection of pennies gathered near her elbow, a testament to her winning streak.

“This game is easy. I don’t know why Grandfather objected so strenuously to it.”

“Maybe he didn’t win with the same ease.” He folded his cards, and reached for the stack of cards.

Mary’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping his motion.

“What did you have? How badly did I beat you?”

“You thoroughly whipped me.” He continued to pull the cards together.

Mary tugged against his wrist, unrelenting in her desire to see how wide of a spread she won by.

One of Marshall’s cards slipped. She snatched it.

A ten of spades. A decent card to have, but it wouldn’t do him any good if the rest were mix-matched suits and low numbers.

Mary grabbed at his cards again.

He yanked his arm away from her, and held his cards high out of her reach.

With and huff and a determined set to her chin Mary stood up and leaned far over the table, struggling to get to the cards in his outstretched hand.

“Why won’t you let me see the cards?” she asked with a frustrated grunt.

“Why do you need to see them so badly?”

Mary sat with a thump. She crossed her arms and pushed her lower lip out in a curled pout.

“A little bird’s gonna come in here and sit on that lip,” he said with a wink.

His wink flustered her. She sucked her lip back into her mouth and anchored it in place with a bite.

“Damn, if you’re gonna look at me with your eyes all big like that.” Marshall sighed heavily and slid the cards, face down across the table.

Mary squirmed in delight, she had won another battle against the intimidating Marshall Hunt. She grabbed at the cards.

The train rocked with more aggressive force than when it had been buffeted by gale winds of the night before. The passenger compartment went silent. Another hard rock, and several passengers gasped in fear.

“Never mind the cards,” Marshall yelled. “Get your coat.”

“What? But…” Mary looked at the cards in her hands. Spades a royal flush. “You let me win,” she said in a small voice.

Her heavy coat hit her in the face. She looked up at Marshall, his Stetson already rammed down onto his head.

“Put your coat on woman, we’ve got to get out of here before this train comes off its rails!”

Find out how they get off the train in the next chapter…

©2020 Lulu M Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Where Mary lands in Marshall’s lap…

bored-lookingout-train-window

Catch up with Chapter 7

or start from the beginning

Mary’s glorious trip from San Francisco had been an adventure of wonder.

Grandfather had escorted her out himself, and he had spared no expense, renting a private Pullman car, and hiring a traveling companion and a maid.
Mary had spent many pleasant hours in companionable silence reading together with her companion, a widow named Mrs. Vaughn.
Mrs. Vaughn had spent too many years supporting her husband, a forty-niner, who chased his dream of gold. And she had chased her dream of finding a good husband when she had signed on as a mail order bride. Apparently neither Mrs. Vaughn nor her husband found their hearts’ desire.

Now that she was widowed, Mrs. Vaughn was returning to her family in New York. She was pleased to have found a situation that would allow her to travel in good company as far as Chicago, where she was more than certain she wold be able to find another situation as travel companion, or nanny to a family going to New York.

Mary hadn’t been terribly nosey, and Mrs. Vaughn hadn’t shared too much of her life’s story. They would sit and watch the scenery together, with the occasional conversation. Otherwise it was quiet companionship, and the rare moment of hand gripping when the train scaled the side of a mountain and rocked ever so terrifyingly side to side. It was a miracle they did not fall off the tracks.

The private car had afford them privacy, and Mary had a small private bunk with access to her belongings. In the evenings they would dine in the comfort of their car, and once even they made their way up the narrow aisles of the passenger cars to dine in the formal lounge car.

Grandfather had spent the majority of his trip forward in the lounge, conversing with other gentleman.

In no time they had arrived in Chicago, and in glorious splendor Charles and Janey had swept Mary into their realm of influential friends and introduced her to society.

Mrs. Vaughn stayed on for a few days, and as suspected, she found another situation without any problems. Mary gave her a congenial handshake in farewell. The maid, Mary assumed she had been absorbed in to Janey’s household. She hadn’t bothered to pay attention in her excitement.

Grandfather made sure Mary was situated. And she thought he understood that she was interested in accepting a proposal here, and staying here. She especially thought so when he had said, “be sure to find someone to take care of you dear. That big house back home will seem empty without your company.”

He had returned to San Francisco after several weeks, and several business meetings that were none of Mary’s never mind.

This wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

If Grandfather was going to call her home in such an embarrassing fashion, he could have at least made her traveling arrangements to be more comfortable. Well, at least he hadn’t expected her to sit in a public car.
She grew uncomfortable sitting so precisely in her coat and traveling hat.

Marshal Hunt had made himself comfortable enough. He had fallen asleep before the train left the station, and now he slept.

Mary cast about the small space. Maybe she could relax a bit. Nothing as informal as sleeping in this man’s presence, but…

She stood up and shrugged out of her coat. The task involved contortionist skills on her behalf. Mary was not used to dressing, or undressing on her own. She froze, a chill of pure horror grabbed her spine. How was she supposed to sleep tonight? She had no garments to change into? Did that man expect her to actually sleep in his company with no chaperone?

“You had better sit down before you fall over.” His dark voice startled her, and Mary fell back across his legs.

Realization that she was splayed across Marshall Hunt’s lap had Mary scrambling to find her feet.

Large hands wrapped around her waist. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Hold up, you’re all tangled, and you’ll just fall over again.”

With ease and dexterity Mary lacked, Marshall finished removing her coat and laid it out on the seat beside him, over his coat. Mary refused to look at the intimate way their garments rested together.

She started to squirm again, wanting out of this compromising position. His hand snaked around to the front of her midsection and pulled her firm against his chest.

She felt him remove her hatpin, and then her hat followed her coat onto the seat.

“There, that better?” he released his hold of her and helped her to a standing position.

Mary stood distraught in the center of the cabin. She smoothed her hands down her front serval times.

“Mr. Hunt, that was—”

“You’re welcome,” he drawled.

She sat with an indignant huff, and her hand holding her neck. How was she to survive the indelicacies of these traveling arrangements?

“That’s not what I was going to say. Mr. Hunt my reputation is at stake. You must never mention such familiarity with me to anyone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Keep reading with Chapter 9!

©2020 Lulu M. Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter 7

Chapter 7
Where the traveling arrangements are not to Mary’s liking…

steam engine

Catch up with Chapter 6!
or start from the beginning here

Steam billowed up from the engine. Light filtered into the loading platform, obscuring everything from sight. The heavy loader beasts grunted, and hissed.

Being in close proximity to the animals made Mary nervous. It was bad enough having to travel through the streets of Chicago behind an ostrich, she now had to brace herself, knowing they were near by.

Born and raised in a city, and as a proper young lady she did have riding lessons. The biggest animal she was used to having to deal with were horses. Even if the riding stable had trained for the larger saurans.

She followed the porter down the row of train cars to her carriage.

A large shadow loomed through the steam. Mary jumped, heart pounding, afraid that the impending dark that approached her was one of the saurans.

“Miss Dryer.” The voice that rolled out of the cloud calmed Mary more than she cared to admit.

The tension in her back relaxed, and if it weren’t for her corsets, her posture would have slumped noticeably.

He tipped his hat to her, and she found her composure. How dare this man be so familiar with her. She did not know him, she did not care for his company. It did not matter than a million men this afternoon had already tipped their hats in her direction in a gentlemanly acknowledgment of her presence. What mattered was that this brute was here to make sure she got home to be married off to the highest bidder.

She shuddered and let out a low growl. Her grandfather had ruined everything. Pythagorus could probably bank roll whomever George Dryer had cornered into marrying her sight unseen.

She tipped the porter after Marshall took her carrying case from the other man.

“Come with me.” His voice was a gravely command.

With a harrumph she followed him up and into the train. The man didn’t even have the decency to allow her to mount the steps first.

She walked with as much dignity as she could muster down the narrow passage. They encountered another group headed in the opposite direction. Mary began backing up, they would have to make their way to the juncture of the two cars before the others could pass.

Marshall didn’t budge. She couldn’t see his face, but the face of the porter facing him told Mary all she needed to know. He was glowering and being intimidating. She would have to speak with him privately about his behavior if he were to be in public with her. She would not tolerate boorish caveman like rudeness. If he wanted to be that way, he could excuse himself and go ride one of those beastly saurans.

With much fussing the other party backed up. Mary nodded and gave them a weak smile along with her sincerest apologies. “I am dreadfully sorry. Trains are so small, but still so much more comfortable than traveling by horse cart.” She scurried to catch up with Marshall once passed her embarrassing ordeal.

“Mr. Hunt.”

He ignored her and continued walking. Which Mary noticed with some satisfaction, was difficult for him and his broad shoulders in the narrow space. He had to twist slightly to the side and lead with his right shoulder.

“Mr. Hunt.”

He turned his head back to cast a quick glance at her. “Marshall will do just fine. I’m not one of your fancy gentlemen.”

“Obviously. That is what I daresay we need to speak about.” She stopped following him and stomped her small foot. He wasn’t paying her any attention at all. It was infuriating.

He finally stopped and slowly turned all the way back to look at her. He said nothing. He slid open the door to a passenger compartment. He tossed her bag in, and then held up his hand indicating she should enter next.

She stomped her foot again, and with another indignant huff she stormed passed him and into the compartment.

She wasn’t able to stomp far. The room, if it could be called that was barely larger than a wardrobe where she stored her dresses.

“Where is my state room? What is this?” She demanded.

There were bench seats facing each other, with racks above their heads.

Marshal shouldered his way into the small space.

Mary was astounded to silence that the man had the audacity to enter her room without permission.

She stumbled over her own tongue as he took his hat off and placed in on the rack, before shrugging out of his coat and sitting down.

How dare he!

“Mr. Hunt!”

He looked up at her, completely unaware of the affront he was causing.

She pointed her finger indicating the door. “You should leave sir.”

“Sit down,” he told her.

She stomped her foot. “Not until you explain what is going on here. And then exit my room.”

“What is going on here is I am settling in to take a nap. We have a long ride ahead of us, and the lounge car, and open-air observation cars will not be open until we are underway and out of the city.” He squinted at her like he did not fully comprehend her, something Mary did not find unexpected.

“My room, you should leave.”

“No Miss, not your room.”

“Then I should leave, where is my stateroom?” She was shocked he would have let her enter his cabin, but he had tossed her bag in here so unceremoniously.

“Sit down Miss Dryer. This is our room. There are no staterooms available on this train, and your grandfather did not send me with enough funds to acquire a private Pullman car for your feminine needs.” he kicked his rather long legs out, and propped his boots on the plush seat across from where he slouched. “I was able to get us a private compartment. Don’t worry, once the conductor has checked our tickets, I will not be spending my time in here. I have already lined up a card game that will keep me occupied for the majority of our days on this rolling cart. You will only have to suffer my company for a few hours this afternoon. And then at meals, which I will take with you. The rest of the time. I trust you will be comfortable enough in here.”

Mary slowly lowered herself to the seat. Resigned that she was stuck with the brute, she allowed herself to sit, but she would not do away with the trappings of her outer coat in the presence of this practical stranger.

She cast about the small space, there was not room for her trunks.

“Where are my trunks? My traveling items?”

He shrugged. “Baggage car I would assume.”

“And they’ll be delivered when?”

Marshall Hunt let out a sharp derisive laugh. “How did you manage to get from San Francisco to Chicago?”

She sat up straight and lifted her nose to him. “Not with a man in my chambers, that’s how!”

Keep reading with Chapter 8!

©2019 Lulu M. Sylvian

An Improper Derailment Chapter 5

Chapter 5… In which Mary would rather travel without a proper companion in Marshall Hunt’s company than be in the same parlor with Pythagorus a moment longer.

Marshall Hunt took over the entire chamber. Mary couldn’t take her eyes from him. He not only physically filled the space, but his presence also sucked the oxygen out of the room. Mary found it difficult to breathe.

Charles and Pythagorus kept taunting him with stupid questions. They were all stupid questions.

Mary worried her hands together.

How could her grandfather have sent such a man to escort her back to San Francisco? Didn’t that old man understand just how inappropriate all of this was?

“Mr. Hunt,” she finally brought herself to ask the one question that she could not fathom.

“How exactly did my grandfather come to have you in his employment?”

He turned and leveled his gaze on her. She sucked in her breath as those blue eyes looked over her. Her entire body thrummed with the power he emitted. And she was to be in his company for a full week.

This was unconscionable, how dare her grandfather not hire a proper escort like a matronly widow?

“Miss, Mr. Dryer hired me while I stood in his parlor. Our fairs are paid for, and we have separate staterooms. My job is to make sure you get from place A to place B. You will be safe.”

“I think we must object to this,” Janey finally contributed something to Mary’s situation. Unfortunately, she wasn’t effectively helping Mary.

“I could go with. Another person to ensure of Miss Mary’s security.”

Mary cut a hard glare across the room at Pythagorus. Marshall Hunt made her nervous, but Pythagorus now turned her stomach. And to think that even before lunch this afternoon she was considering him as a potential suitor.

“That’s a brilliant idea. Charles, you go,” Janey said. “Mr. Hunt, your services won’t be required as my husband will escort my sister back to San Francisco.”

Charles coughed uncomfortably. “Janey dearest, I would have to rearrange my appointments.”

“Janey,” Mary said in a scolding tone.

None of this was appropriate: her grandfather contracting with a rough man such as this one that stood before her, Charles choking on his own breath trying to get out of traveling as a guardian, and Pythagorus twirling his mustaches in the corner like some melodrama villain.

“Mr. Hunt, would you object if I found a respectable traveling companion to accompany me on the journey? I doubt you will find my conversation to be passing of interest.”

The tall man nodded, and his eyes flashed an unreasonable blue. “Miss if that would serve your needs to ensure the safety of your person, by all means, secure yourself a traveling companion. But mind you, she needs to be responsible for her own actions. I am not some babysitter of the weaker sex. I am a transporter, and you are a package I have been paid quite well to ensure the safe delivery of.”

Mary grasped her hand on her throat in shock. The crassness of this man discussing payment in company such as this.

“Mary,” Mr. Peterson artfully slid his hand into her free one, and lifted it to his lips.

His heavily waxed mustache tickled the back of her hand, and she unexpectedly let out a giggle. She flushed, not in delight of his touch, but in shame that she displayed such a lack of control.

“Allow me to be the one to deliver you back to San Francisco, and safely to the bosom of your grandfather. Together we can experience this vast country.”

Her gut instinct was to snatch her hand away. Pythagorus was not interested in experiencing anything but what was under her skirts. There was no way she wanted that man anywhere near her while confined on a train.

Slowly, and with a coy smile, she removed her hand from his.

“While I do appreciate your offer, Mr. Peterson, I will decline. Just as it is inappropriate for a young lady of my status to travel unaccompanied with a complete stranger as my escort, I believe it would be beyond scandalous for my escort to be a friend such as yourself. You have business here to attend to. No, I will secure myself a proper lady’s companion, and trust that Mr. Hunt is only concerned with my well being, as a package he is to deliver.”

Pythagorus began huffing and making objecting sounds.

Marshall Hunt cleared his throat.

Mary felt trapped between a snake and a hard place.

“How soon do we leave?”

©2019 Lulu M. Sylvian

need to catch up? Read Chapter Four here!

Ready for more? Read Chapter 6!

An Improper Derailment: Chapter 4

Chapter four, where Mary falls…

Mary held a kerchief over her mouth, to protect her delicate sensibilities from the spewing smoke of Mr Peterson’s vile contraption.

Charles and Pythagorus were having a mighty fine time, and that was fine by Mary. The more time they spent oohing and ahhing over the noisy machine the less time Pythagorus Peterson spent vying for her attention.

And to think, she had been hoping for a proposal from the man. He had turned into a positively repugnant human being. And she had thought she had known the man.

He had insulted her at every turn, making insinuations and undesired advances. She pursed her mouth and set her brow, at least she had found out how distasteful of a human he was now. She would never have been able to put up with his misdeed if they had gotten married

Janey sat, not saying a word, but she patted Mary’s hand in sympathy. Of course, Mary figured her sister assumed she was upset over the loss of opportunity at a future connection with the Peterson family, instead of what was really upsetting Mary. Py insulted Mary and no one, not Charles, not Janey, had defended her honor.

She claimed to feel faint to avoid their post-luncheon stroll. However, now she felt trapped on the riding platform.

Py’s carriage crawled along at a dreadful pace. He claimed they were traveling at a brisk ten miles an hour. Mary questioned the validity of his claim, as she watched horses, and people of foot outpace them.

They crawled around the corner, and finally made it to the street with Janey’s house.

Mary’s heart lurched, or maybe that was her ride.

A dark figure lurked in the shadows on the porch. Dark full-length duster, dark hat, dark. Mary’s breath hitched, or maybe that was the ride lurching again.

With a cough and a spit they stopped.

The dark figure descended the stairs.

Charles puffed up his chest and jumped from the platform. His attempt at an aggression display brought a smile to Mary’s lips. Charles was so pitiful.

With a sigh Janey declared, “He is so manly.”

Mary stifled a choke. “He is.” She didn’t mean Charles.

Charles puffed, while the other man loomed. He was a giant of a man, not only tall but broad through the shoulder. His face was hidden by the brim of his hat, but Mary could make out the line of a strong square jaw.

Charles returned to their ride and reached up pulling the step stool down.

Janey reached forward and stepped delicately down with the assistance of her husband.

Mary felt a chill slither up her spine. She turned and faced Pythagorus. In full view of everyone on the street, and those who cared to look out their window, Pythagorus pulled Mary against his chest.

With a gasp, she shoved hard against him before e could open his mouth and insult her yet again.

The action propelled Mary out of his arms and to the edge of the platform.

Her heel slipped. She teetered for what felt an eternity. In slow motion, Mary slid backward. She hung in space, the clouds adorable little animals of puff in a perfectly blue sky.

A scream split the silence.

She fell forever, knowing that this was the death of her. She held her breath waiting for the hard impact as she crashed to the pavement.

The hard crack of her death didn’t come. She fell softly and was lifted, her vision heading back up into the sky.

Suddenly she was upright and held firmly against a wall of leather. Slowly she slid down, aware that on the other side of that leather was a man.

“You all right Ma’am?”

The rumble of voice had a soft drawl to it.

Mary looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The face of her rescuer was rugged, yet majestic, strong yet beautiful.
Breathlessly she answered, “I believe you have saved my life.”

“My pleasure Mary.”

Her name rolled from his lips like thunder and shook her to her toes. A sensation she had only ever experienced during a spring storm full of lightning. His arms still held her close to his body.

She didn’t fight to escape, she didn’t want to.

“You know me? I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”

“Hunt, Marshall Hunt. George Dryer hired me to escort you to San Francisco.”

©2018 Lulu M Sylvian

Come back next month when Mary learns who exactly Marshall Hunt is

Catch up with chapter 3 where Pythangorus shows off

Read the next chapter where Mary is torn between propriety and running away

An Improper Derailment: Chapter 3

Chapter three, where Pythagorus is inappropriate…

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“Oh,” Mary paused as she stepped onto the porch.

Immediately in front of the house, making an infernal rattling noise, and coughing up smoke, a carriage, but no horses rumbled noisily in the road.

Charles climbed up onto the device with the joy of a child.

“Pythagorus, this is astounding!” he called out, loudly so he could be heard about the din.

Py smiled and swaggered to stand next to the contraption.

“Isn’t it just? I’ve the only one in Chicago. I swear the future is steam powered. My uncle already made his fortune thanks to the steam engine. I’m going to make mine with the rail-less passenger compartment.”

“I do believe Charles has found another scheme to invest our income in dear sister,” Janey confided to Mary as the two women stood on the walk gaping in wonderment at the machine.

The wheels, six of them, varied in size from small baby pram sized ones in the front to standard horse carriage ones in the middle to extra tall high wheeler sized ones in the back. Between the largest wheels, an oak barrel bound with shiny copper perched, with what appeared to be a wood-burning kitchen stove attached at the back.

Charles reached down and positively pulled Janey up into the riding compartment, which was barely more than a platform with benches. It was a good thing the weather today was lovely. Mary didn’t think riding this rail-less monstrosity looked to be particularly comfortable. She grimaced at the thought of being hauled up as if she were live stock or having to sit upon it in the rain.. Her face twisted into what she expected to be a most unpleasant continence.

Her sister was married and didn’t need to behave with propriety, but Mary was betrothed to whom she could only assume was a man of position. She needed a means of ascending to the riding platform with decorum. She turned back to look up at Janey’s house. As expected a good portion of the household staff were inappropriately gawping at Pythagorus’s toy.

“Would one of you fetch me a step stool?” she asked the gathering crowd of staff members. A disheveled young boy disappeared in a flash.

“Mary, Mary, Mary why not allow me to raise you to lofty heights in my arms?” Pythagorus lowered his lids to give Mary a positively indecent leer.

Had the subtext of his meaning missed her ears, his expression did not.

“Mr. Peterson you go too far!” Mary reached up and slapped him smartly across the cheek.

“Mary, how dare you?” Janey cried out.

Py chuckled and rubbed a gloved hand over the smarting cheek.

Mary thought she heard him mutter, “Clearly I haven’t gone far enough.”

She shot him a withering glare.

Py gave her a charming grin and made a sweeping gesture at his rail-less metal beast. “I simple meant it is of no consequence for me to lift you aboard. I humbly beg your pardon for my play of words.”

“Miss.” The small scullery lad held up a step stool, presenting his discovery to Mary and Pythagorus Peterson.

“Well done me boy, well done. If this isn’t just the very thing, we’ll take it with us so that when we arrive at our lunch the ladies may descend without difficulty.” Pythagorus swept the stool away from the lad and ruffled the boy’s hair.

He placed the step in the road and held out his hand so that Mary could step up and step again, reaching the platform without incident. Py tossed the stool up before leaping to join his party.

“Hold on my compatriots, we are going to be heading off at the daring speed of almost fifteen miles an hour.”

“I say Py how did you manage to calculate that?” Charles asked. He held onto on the side rails, and leaned forward, not unlike a daring passenger standing at the bow of a ship as it crashed into the oncoming waves.

Janey pulled at his sleeve. “Come back from there it’s dangerous Charles.”

“You know Nate Phillips?” Pythagorus called from the rear of his contraption.

“Nate Nate the one we hate?”

“The very one!”

“Good friend of mine went to boarding school together. Horsey type these days.”

“Precisely, I put the old girl to her paces up against one of his trotters. We took one of his known runners and she was able to match speed.” Py boasted.

“Couldn’t you just as easily timed a measured distance?” Mary asked. Setting up a horse race with this carriage thing seemed like so much fluff and nonsense.

“Where is the fun in that?” Pythagorus turned his attention to some dials and nobs. “Hold on, off we go!”

And with a mighty lurch and a bellow of smoke, the rail-less passenger compartment rolled its way slowly northbound toward their dining destination.

©2018 Lulu M Sylvian

Join us next month when Mary asks, “Who is that man?”

Catch up from the beginning with Chapter 1

Need a refresher on last month and why did Mary change her gown?

Ready for the next chapter?

An Improper Derailment: Chapter 2

Chapter two, in which we learn that Grandfather has ruined everything…

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Mary stood and clasped her hands together. “Have Henrietta prepare my puce gown. Janey, you win. I shall be the one to change, green is now too festive for me to wear. Charles, would you be so kind as to write Mr. Peterson and cancel our luncheon? It is no longer appropriate for me to accept his invitation.”

“Good God girl, what has transpired for such drastic actions?” Charles blustered about the sitting room.

“Maybe we could still accompany Mr. Peterson, and explain to Grandfather?” Janey pleaded. At least she understood the predicament their grandfather had put Mary in.

Mary bit her knuckles and faced out the front window. “How can I?” She faced her sister and brother-in-law in the room so quickly her skirts twisted, and twirled one direction and then back in the opposite direction. Mary grabbed a fist of the acidic green skirts to keep the fabric from further movement.

“Janey, show him.” Mary nodded at the crumpled telegraph her sister now held.

Janey held up her hand with the paper to her husband. “Oh, Charles it is simply horrid.”

Charles took the paper. His eyes scanned over the message more than once. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he chuckled with egotistic mirth.

“Oh Charles, how could you?” Janey collapsed against the arm of the couch.

Mary swept from the room and climbed the stairs to her chambers.

Grandfather had secured and accepted a proposal for marriage from a wealthy man in San Francisco. She didn’t even know the man’s name. All Grandfather’s missive said was that she needed to return to San Francisco immediately, a husband has been located for her.

A husband.

Husband.

She shivered. He was probably one of Grandfather’s cronies, old and fat, and slobbery. He wouldn’t have mustaches as handsome as the young Mr. Peterson.

Mary stood numbly as Henrietta changed the festive green dress for the more simple day dress with a smaller, understated bustle.

She descended back to the main floor of the house only to stop in her tracks. She had distinctly remembered requesting that Charles cancel with Mr. Peterson. There had been plenty of time to jot down a note and have it sent out in the post. But here was Mr. Peterson handing over his walking stick and hat.

“Miss Mary, you look well.” His smile was hidden under his waxed and style mustache.

Mary gathered her senses about her and extended her hand in greeting as she continued down the stairs. She had not intended on making an entrance, and yet, here she was, making an entrance.

“Mr. Peterson, I’m caught off guard. Did not Charles send you a note explaining our situation in this morning’s post?”

Pythagorus Peterson pulled Mary into his sphere of space and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He stepped toward the parlor.

He held up a folded, yet still sealed, envelope. “This came just as I was stepping out to attend you here. I must confess I have yet to read it. Since I have traveled all the way here why don’t you tell me what this says? Whatever the news I would much rather hear it from your delightful lips.”

A sob escaped Mary’s throat. She turned to hide her face against his arm. “Mr. Peterson you are too bold. You make presumptions.” She pulled away and ran to hide behind the sitting couch, unaware that she posed in the sunlight framed but the front drapes.

Janey stood and reached for Mr. Peterson. “Oh, we have had distressing news, Mr. Peterson. We have only now been made aware that Mary had been betrothed and must return to San Francisco.”

“You see it would be inappropriate for me to dine with you this afternoon,” Mary cried into her handkerchief.

“Nonsense, we are old friends, and we are allowed to dine together. I will hear none of this. Charles would you, your lovely wife, and her delightful sister, please join me for lunch today? The arrangements have all been made, and I am starving. And my dear Mary, now that we have been downgraded to merely friends I insist you call me Py.” He smiled brightly at them all.

Mary blinked tears from her eyes, he was charm itself. She would miss his company once she returned to the bay area.

“Janey you are too lovely in my favorite color not to insist that Charles bring you out this lovely day.” Pythagorus extended his hand to her and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped Janey’s hand around his arm and patted it.

“I expect you to tell me everything you know about Mary’s fiancé, do fill me in.” He guided Janey from the room.

Mary stared at Charles with wide eyes. It looked as if they were headed to lunch at the Palmer House after all, and she was wearing puce.

@2018 Lulu M Sylvian

Catch up on last month’s installment, find out why Mary is wearing Puce.

Next month will Py get his cake and eat it too?

Where Mary faces down beasts far hairier than the gentle sauran she’s come to accept as gentle as the butterfly she is named for.