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admirable that her gaze never wavered from his, especially when it gave so much away. She wanted nothing to do with him. She was drawn to him against her will.
"I wish to have my gun returned because it is mine and I take comfort in the paltry possessions which I can claim as my own," Noble said quietly, with a civility he had heretofore lacked.
She sighed heavily but gave an equal measure of ground. Almost. "I'll give you the gun. But no bullets, okay?"
"It is not 'okay.' But as they say, beggars cannot be choosers, and I am done begging for so much as your pardon this night." He disliked himself for letting that last bit of poison slip out. But clearly not half as much as she disliked him for having said it.
"Fine," she said curtly as she stalked to the door. She paused long enough to say icily, "while I get your gun you can pick up your clothes in the bathroom. Consider it your first lesson in modern civilization. Women actually have lives that don't revolve around taking care of a man, and hell if I'm about to clean up after you!"
Noble silently applauded her exit. It was more than he could do for his horrid behavior. But it had served its purpose, released him from the overwhelming magnitude of what he would rather shun than confront.
Avoiding it still, he went in search of Lori's bathing room. There on the floor, his clothes were piled in a heap.
Discarded, outdated.
A burning metaphor for life as he once knew it.
Chapter 7
Noble stroked his pistol in the night shadows of the bedroom Lori had said he could use for however long it took him to adjust, get a job, and fend for himself.
Though he replied that the sooner the better, he had wanted to beg her to stay, not to leave him alone with the mayhem of his thoughts. But here he was, forcing himself to face this perverse fate thrust upon him.
How would he survive? he wondered. Lori had said that people no longer rode horses in the streets, but relied on horseless carriages known as automobiles or cars. And even if he learned to use one, how could he afford the purchase? He would have to earn money somehow; yet who would employ a lawyer a century behind in his legal expertise?
Those were, he knew, the easier questions and all without ready answers. But he would learn to survive in this strange new world. Only, to what purpose? Ah, there it was, the thing he shuddered to confront. His purpose in life no longer existed, and without it, he was adrift in an amorphous sea of no meaning, with no reason for being to guide his path.
His quest for justice was gone. His thirst for revenge would never be quenched. And his vow to uphold family honor? Like so much sand in a shattered hourglass.
He felt as if he were floundering, being pulled under by dark despair. The walls seemed to close around him, and he got up, paced the room, trying the shake off this horrible sense of suffocation.
Noble touched the clothes he'd laid out to dry. Lori had offered to show him how to do it quickly by putting them in a drying machine. Though he had refused with a show of disdain for her modern contraptions, in truth he simply had not wanted to part with what little he had.
Not even the wanted poster he had found sealed to the inside of his coat and had carefully peeled away. Instinct had advised him to destroy the evidence of his crimes lest Lori find them out. Something, some fragment of memory he couldn't quite catch, warned him her reaction would be severe.
Still, he had been unable to relinquish even the poster's destructive link with his past.
By the moon's light Noble again traced the likeness of his face, the crude block lettering offering a bounty for his head. No longer soggy, the rough grain of the paper held a talismanic feel beneath his fingertips. As did the other articles he stroked, one by one.
He gathered his possessions to him, pressed his face to the worn leather and wool and sheepskin and fur. And then he went about rearranging his things at the
"I wish to have my gun returned because it is mine and I take comfort in the paltry possessions which I can claim as my own," Noble said quietly, with a civility he had heretofore lacked.
She sighed heavily but gave an equal measure of ground. Almost. "I'll give you the gun. But no bullets, okay?"
"It is not 'okay.' But as they say, beggars cannot be choosers, and I am done begging for so much as your pardon this night." He disliked himself for letting that last bit of poison slip out. But clearly not half as much as she disliked him for having said it.
"Fine," she said curtly as she stalked to the door. She paused long enough to say icily, "while I get your gun you can pick up your clothes in the bathroom. Consider it your first lesson in modern civilization. Women actually have lives that don't revolve around taking care of a man, and hell if I'm about to clean up after you!"
Noble silently applauded her exit. It was more than he could do for his horrid behavior. But it had served its purpose, released him from the overwhelming magnitude of what he would rather shun than confront.
Avoiding it still, he went in search of Lori's bathing room. There on the floor, his clothes were piled in a heap.
Discarded, outdated.
A burning metaphor for life as he once knew it.
Chapter 7
Noble stroked his pistol in the night shadows of the bedroom Lori had said he could use for however long it took him to adjust, get a job, and fend for himself.
Though he replied that the sooner the better, he had wanted to beg her to stay, not to leave him alone with the mayhem of his thoughts. But here he was, forcing himself to face this perverse fate thrust upon him.
How would he survive? he wondered. Lori had said that people no longer rode horses in the streets, but relied on horseless carriages known as automobiles or cars. And even if he learned to use one, how could he afford the purchase? He would have to earn money somehow; yet who would employ a lawyer a century behind in his legal expertise?
Those were, he knew, the easier questions and all without ready answers. But he would learn to survive in this strange new world. Only, to what purpose? Ah, there it was, the thing he shuddered to confront. His purpose in life no longer existed, and without it, he was adrift in an amorphous sea of no meaning, with no reason for being to guide his path.
His quest for justice was gone. His thirst for revenge would never be quenched. And his vow to uphold family honor? Like so much sand in a shattered hourglass.
He felt as if he were floundering, being pulled under by dark despair. The walls seemed to close around him, and he got up, paced the room, trying the shake off this horrible sense of suffocation.
Noble touched the clothes he'd laid out to dry. Lori had offered to show him how to do it quickly by putting them in a drying machine. Though he had refused with a show of disdain for her modern contraptions, in truth he simply had not wanted to part with what little he had.
Not even the wanted poster he had found sealed to the inside of his coat and had carefully peeled away. Instinct had advised him to destroy the evidence of his crimes lest Lori find them out. Something, some fragment of memory he couldn't quite catch, warned him her reaction would be severe.
Still, he had been unable to relinquish even the poster's destructive link with his past.
By the moon's light Noble again traced the likeness of his face, the crude block lettering offering a bounty for his head. No longer soggy, the rough grain of the paper held a talismanic feel beneath his fingertips. As did the other articles he stroked, one by one.
He gathered his possessions to him, pressed his face to the worn leather and wool and sheepskin and fur. And then he went about rearranging his things at the
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