Serenity

8. A Man's World

Caroline Ashbury had not slept well. In fact, she hadn't slept at all. Her father's voice echoed through her mind, never ceasing for a second. His rough, unkind words on the day before he died still rattled her.

"You're only a weak woman. Go home to your mother. There's no place for a spoilt little child here. This town will swallow you up and spit you out. Pack your things and stop pouting at me like that. I'm doing you a favour."

Caroline swiped away yet another trickle of tears. She sighed heavily and pushed herself off the soft, eider down bed.

With reluctant footsteps, her bare feet carried her to the plush-curtained windows. She pulled back the thick, purple material and allowed sunlight to slip through.

She blinked and gathered herself. Today would be a long day. She somehow had to pluck up the courage to take charge of her father's bank.

It would not be easy.

No doubt the staff expected her to turn tail, run back to New York and put herself on the first ship home to England.

The good Lord only knew how much she missed her mother. Even with the woman's constant mithering and condescending attitude, Caroline still wished she could be with her.

From what she'd seen so far, the town of Serenity had very little to offer her, much like the sparse contents of her late father's larder. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. It kept her company while she watched the world go by her window.

The stooped figure of a stocky middle-aged man hurried along the main street. The thickness of the window pane blurred his movements, reminding her of herp children's toy lighting up her nursery wall, back home. The toy where the pictures came to life when you span the cylinder fast. Her breath caught as she remembered the excitement of seeing the images for the first time so long ago. A new vision of her same, boring world.

Another man came into view from the opposite end of the High Street.

This man walked taller and took longer, more confident strides. Yet, once again, the window pane transformed this man's motions into strange, erratic movements.

The two men met in the middle of the street, passed a few moments in conversation then the taller, younger man brought his head up to stare through the net-curtained windows of Caroline's room.

The decisiveness and velocity of his action startled her. Could he have intended that?

 Biting down on her bottom lip, Caroline drew in a deep breath and returned the stare of the tall man in the street outside. Even if he couldn't see her properly, she wanted to send the message that she wouldn't be a pushover. No matter what her banging pulse rate told her.

The two men separated and hurried to various points along the road. One to the Canteen, the other to the overhanging porch of the Sheriff's office under her window. 

She shuffled backwards, banging her heel against the solid bedstead. Cursing, Caroline stretched her slim arms above her head. She wished she could pull out all the tension that waited there, coiled up like a snake for the new day. She prayed that her steady train of thought would continue within the hours to come. Along with a regular heartbeat.

Her mother had taught her some techniques. To take a deep breath, hold it, count to three, slowly, then release it and start again.
A slow, intentional rhythm. Anything to bring her anxiety back to a reasonable level. Perhaps her mother had experienced the same kind of issues throughout her life with her father? He certainly hadn't been an easy man to get along with, in her view.

And in the opinion of many others, she suspected.

The twenty-two-year-old swallowed dryly and dropped the curtain. She'd had enough of watching.