Chapter Fifteen


She stepped out and down the hall to prod the girls awake. They were both still dressed, just dozing. Returning to her room, she set out the bottle and glasses, and she waited. The wind was rising, rattling the shutters. The rain spattered across in lashes against the roof. After ten minutes had passed, there were footsteps outside her door. A soft knock pushed it open slightly. Sam stood without, in his fine wool pants, pulling his suspenders over his spotless white shirt. His smile was polite and gracious and genuine. The boy has a gift for clean, she thought. He carried a wallet, and had the oilskin bag on the floor beside him.

"Good evening, Mister Sam Winchester," she said in her best hostess fashion, grateful that her professional courtesy allowed her to smile politely to his sweet young face while thinking bawdy thoughts about which one of the brothers was actually the Knight of Wands.

"I saw your light on, Miss Rose. I apologize if it's too late…"

She was seated at the small parlor table at the end of her commodious bed. She gave the chair opposite her a tap with her foot. Sam entered, making sure the door remained open, leaving the bag outside. He took the chair opposite. "It's Sam, please. I'm sorry about the deception, ma'am. It's a long story."

Those riverdeep doe eyes would be the death of any woman that hadn't had practice dealing with many, many men, and Tully. Marie-Rose dropped a shot glass in front of him, and splashed whiskey into it. She set the bottle down with a thump, and picked up her own glass.

"Got time."

Sam studied the glass. He smiled a cautious smile, thoughts moving behind his bright eyes. After a brief moment, he took up his glass. Before he drank, Marie-Rose raised her glass towards him.

"To the day gallant strangers came to Gilead." She drank in a head toss. Sam looked sheepish and did the same.

"Thought you didn't hold with liquor, Sam."

"I just let Dean think that. Otherwise I have to buy." They shared a smile at that. She studied him, this boy, this man, because he clearly was both as the situation required. His hair was gleaming wet, combed smooth. She waited for him to reveal the situation here.

"Everything to your liking?"

"Yes, ma'am, perfect. Dean's taking his time in the tub."

"That's fine, then." She waited.

"I wanted to make sure it was okay if I stayed here tonight, and to settle the bill. We have to leave at first light."

Marie-Rose tilted her head. "I thought nothing else, of course you'll be staying here. The idea."

He smiled. It was different from this brother's smile, which tingled; this one sighed.

"Settle the bill? There's a thought."

"I didn't want you to think we were skipping out if we have to be away by dawn. We may have a, uh, limited window of opportunity…"

She nodded, letting him have his head. "I can tally you up now, if you'd like, though I can't imagine charging you for half of what you've done for us. We'll be sore sorry to see you go."

"Things should be better now, ma'am. The church… Well, the source of the trouble is gone."

"God sends his blessings." They shared a smile at the irony. "Such as you two. Shall we drink again, or are you more measured in your acceptance of praise as a hero of the day?"

He near to blushed at her words.

Sam looked down at the table. Still not ready. Good Lord, full grown and can't get to the point? Maybe his brother's jibes about him being raised a Puritan weren't just ribbing.

Marie-Rose spoke carefully. "Paying for the both of you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sam sat carefully in the chair too small for him. Like a school child facing a stern master.

"Anything else?"

"Yes, ma'am." And there he stopped, like a slow-footed mule perfectly content to stand stock still in the road never mind the provocation. His fingers were worrying the fringe on the lace tablecloth. Marie-Rose wondered if she should just ask him outright, put the boy out of his misery.

"Is there another room available? I can go downstairs…"

"The room is unsatisfactory?"

"No…"

"It's the biggest bed."

"Oh, no, um, no ma'am. We don't fit in one bed." He shifted a bit.

"There is another, across from Clara. I see that you mightn't. Still, you seem powerful glad to find each other. Think you'd want to stay close."

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Where are you from where brothers don't bunk together? Kansas, was it? Do you intend to take up crochet?"

He tried to smooth out the knots in the lace. "We did as kids. It's not so easy now." Sam smiled a secret smile. "Born in Kansas, yes. Lawrence."

"Aha, so you say. Upright Presbyterians." She sniffed, refilled his glass, and her own. "Bad business in Lawrence during the War."

"We traveled when we were young, so…"

"That a fact? So whereabouts might be Tombstone?"

"Tombstone? Oh, Arizona. Uh…"

"Fair piece away. You travel here from there?"

He laughed a bit then. "A bit farther, actually." She waited.

"Well, there was something else." He cleared his throat. And grabbed his whiskey and downed the contents in a gulp.

And she took pity. "Mister Winchester, may I ask you something personal?"

Sam blinked big grateful watery eyes, and nodded.

"Sam, please."

"Sam, have you ever once transacted business at a house of pleasure?"

He coughed. "No, ma'am."

Lord love him. "Well, you should have come out and said instead of sitting there all fretful. Miss Clara's been right impatient."

Those big eyes got bigger. "Not me, Miss Rose, Dean. I mean, the—" He put his hand on his wallet, and then put his hand back in his lap. Now she knew what was required: a bell mare to lead a skittish colt through a field of snakes and gopher holes.

"Miss Lisabet more to your fancy, Mister Winchester?"

Sam shook his head. "Not for me, ma'am, for Dean. Please, call me Sam."

"If I'm to call you by your Christian name, Sam, which would be irregular as we are conducting formal business, I don't expect to be ma'am'd for my trouble. I shall allow it, as you're in unfamiliar territory without a guide."

He brought up a smile, and nodded. "It's a deal, Miss Rose."

"Not yet, it isn't. Let's just sort out your brother, who I might say doesn't seem to share your delicate constitution. Which of the ladies of the establishment do you think he'll fancy, then?"

The lamplight was low, and so was his voice.

"Well, um, Miss Rose, if you were to ask him, I don't think he'd be able to choose between them." The skittish colt took careful steps.

Marie-Rose held her smile. "Both together?"

"I hope that's not an inappropriate request." So, not blue-nosed prudish, just well-mannered in foreign territory.

"In fact, that very arrangement had already been so proposed."

"And within our budget…" He cleared his throat.

"To haggle would be terrible bad form. We owe you our very lives."

"You don't owe us for that, Miss Rose, it's what we do. We like to pay our way, when we can."

"First-class gentlemen, both of you."

He blinked. Perhaps he found the subject matter incompatible with that compliment.

"I hope we can afford, um, the house for the night."

"You are something, young man. So you desire to empty the stable? "

Sam looked puzzled. Marie-Rose waited. She raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I'd have enough, I asked O'Malley—"

"O'Malley runs the bar, look to me about the other business. Did you wish to contract for the entire house?"

He was baffled. And then he wasn't.

"Oh! I didn't mean—Not —" He looked to choke.

She raised the other eyebrow. "Am I so past it then? Save me."

"God, no! It's not that you aren't— I meant for Dean…"

"Ah. So the girls for brother Dean, and for yourself?"

Sam blinked rapidly. "No. No, really, Miss Rose. I wasn't implying that. It would be an honor, really, but I couldn't—"

She let him fumble for a moment. This boy was spun gold. An honor. He slugged back another whiskey. He started to speak, halted. She started to wonder if he might have been partial to Tully after all. He stared a hole in the table. She waited.

"I need to study the books we brought back from the church. To get us home. I know it sounds weird."

"I saw those books, Sam."

"It's hard to explain…"

"I am Jean-Marie-Rose Rillieux Dumaine of Belle Chasse, Louisiana, Sam Winchester, and I am well acquainted with what can and cannot be easily explained."

He held still outside, and twisted inside.

"I put myself as far away as roads would take a body to escape it, but never mind. Just look me square in the eye and tell me you intend nothing blasphemous."

He did look her in the eye then. Steady and serious.

"I swear, Miss Rose, I just want to get us back home. I need to figure out how. After that they go into the fire."

She studied him with all the world-weary, flint-hearted, seen-the-worst judgment of character she could bring to bear.

"I believe you," she said. His tension drained.

"Thanks."

"Now tell me the rest of it."

He gulped. She sighed. Much to her disgust, she found that in the duel between her desire to press for more and her professionalism, the latter was prevailing.

"After we're done with other business."

His relief was palpable.

"Am I to believe, Sam, that you take no delight in the company of women? For that would strain my considerable credulity and be a capital misfortune to women."

That got a small smile from him at least.

"It's not that." He shook his head, regretful, and took a deep breath before continuing. "I lost someone recently. A while back, really, though…"

Marie-Rose changed her demeanor at once. "And it's still fresh. I'm most sorry to hear of that, Sam."

They sat for a moment, him in his thoughts, her feeling shameful for playing with him, mistaking reticence for being overly corseted. He came back to himself with a shake.

"Sorry to be such a wet blanket."

"What a thing to say!"

"Dean always calls me a—well, he thinks I get overly emotional. Unattractive in a guy, he says."

"I might give him argument on that."

"Thanks."

"And he may make sport of you in many ways, but I can't believe he'd make light of such a thing."

"No, he doesn't, really. He worries, that's all."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "You take your own time with these things, that's the way of it." He took a breath, nodded, and she returned to the subject at hand.

"Now are you telling me you want to spend the night nose in a book while your brother is pirootin' to High Heaven?"

Sam nodded. "Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last."

"Well, there's a thing. I see from the heft of your wallet that you have sufficient means to cover all bills outstanding and the price of the services we have been discussing."

"You're being too nice, Miss Rose."

"Am I not allowed? My conscience is awakened from its seven-year sleep."

"I can't ask—"

"And you haven't. I am offering. And we'll take your money, no fear there. But we can't leave you empty of pocket for your journey, and the town of Gilead owes you considerable. So you just be settled in that."

He allowed a smile through his abashment. He inhaled deep, and let it out. "I'd better get to work. I didn't mean to sit here drinking your whiskey and spinning tear-squeezers." He made to stand.

Lisabet's voice came from the open doorway. "Well, that were pulling teeth."

Sam jumped, bumping the table.

Marie-Rose looked sideways at her. "Little pitchers. Where might Clara be?"

"In her room, I expect. Waiting."

Sam showed discomfiture under Lisabet's potent gaze.

Marie-Rose said, "As you may have been absent for some part of our conversation, you may inform Miss Clara Howland that Mister Sam Winchester has been recently aggrieved."

Lisabet's expression changed to concern. "I'm truly saddened to hear that, Mister Winchester. As will Clara be."

"So she need no longer bewail the desertion of her womanly charms," Marie-Rose continued. "She was ready to put herself out to pasture, the way you kept her off." Sam looked more dismayed, which was piling up a sight on his sweet face.

"I am happy to report that Mister Sam Winchester tells us that his brother, the esteemed Mister Dean Winchester, is feeling sportive. Sit back down, Sam." Sam did.

"Mister Sam Winchester thinks his brother deserves rewarding for his valiant work this day on behalf of our town. And it is not too fanciful to suggest that he wants the best for his brother, am I right about that, Sam?"

"Yes, please." His face couldn't decide on an expression. His eyes had a bit of wet to them, though that could be from the whiskey.

"Isn't that just the sweetest thing," murmured Lisabet. She entered the room, which of course caused Sam to stand up again.

"Lisabet, you go fetch Clara and make Sam a nice present for his brother."

"Shall we expect—"

"Sit down, Sam," interrupted Marie-Rose, "It is our considered opinion that it will take a concerted effort from you both to satisfactorily reward the worthy Mister Winchester Senior, who I expect to be an enthusiastic and even exuberant patron."

Marie-Rose exchanged a look with Lisabet, who smiled to Sam. "And not a bit undeserved, no, not a bit. So that we might best provide for him, what might we know, Mister Winchester?"

"Please, call me Sam. He's in the tub…"

"Figured that. What particulars?"

Sam cocked a puzzled head; Lisabet held his gaze.

He flushed as he caught up with her question. Marie-Rose stifled a smile.

"The normal stuff…"

Lisabet's pout expressed immediate dissatisfaction with that response, and she waited.

"I don't know!"

Marie-Rose spoke matter-of-factly. "'Course you do. All fellows know a thing or two about each other. Perfectly commonplace." She was glad she hadn't let the mule's bridle drop entirely.

Sam sat frozen for a moment and looked at Lisabet to confirm that indeed, she considered the question entirely routine. He held for a tick of the clock, then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. One hand awkwardly came up to touch his neck just behind the ear. Then an abrupt gesture, his other hand twisting upwards and around in a particular motion. He took his seat again with a thump and thrust his shameful hands under the table and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. But now he was grinning.

"And he likes— his—" Another gesture, a cupped hand. He collapsed back in his chair laughing. He had a gorgeous, rich laugh that filled the room entire.

Lisabet smiled and nodded. "Jiggle the giblets?"

Sam leaned forward, near to putting his head on the table, shaking with laughter and amazement. "Sorry, never had a conversation about—"

"You get a wiggle on, girl," Marie-Rose said. Lisabet's eyes twinkled, and she vanished down the hall.

"And Sam, you and I should get to those books, which I am thinking are not the Book of Concord and hymnals."

Suddenly serious, he looked at her in wonder. She stood, moved to the door and took up the satchel from the floor. Shutting the door behind her, she returned to the table, dropping the satchel and its foul contents in front of Sam.



Back
Chapter Sixteen