Chapter 1

Wyoming, United States of America, 1880s

Everyone was speaking, but she couldn’t hear a word. They were all smiling and laughing and drinking themselves into the circus, but she didn’t notice. Upon their arrival hours earlier they’d greeted and nodded and bowed and spoke of her ravishing beauty, but she only felt hollow. Her name was Ivory Irons and it was always amongst a ballroom full of people that she felt well and truly alone.

One of the many servants of the estate, Rufus, danced amongst the members of the crowd with a tray of champagne, stopping at Ivory’s side. She smiled upon spotting him and took a glass, immediately putting it to her lips and tilting it back for a few moments. When she’d finished, Rufus had yet to leave and was smiling at her.

“What a lovely party,” Rufus said, the deep scars on his dark face coming to life in a grin.

Ivory stared into the sea of dresses and tuxedos, the shiny jewelry and greased over hair, the paintings which lined the walls into the staircase at the far corner of the room. “Looks like a slaughterhouse from where I’m standing,” she said, laughing softly.

Rufus would have rather not laughed, but he could not help himself. They stared in silence a little while longer before the aging man excused himself, she watched his maroon jacket fade from view before disappearing altogether. And then suddenly her eyes began to fill with salt and moisture, so she finished off the last of her glass and made for the bar.

The urgency mattered not to the couple who stopped her halfway. Mr. and Mrs. Hooverton. Thomas Hooverton, an aging mass of drunken noise, was one of the many lawyers who represented her father Henry Irons and his gun factory, Irons’ Arms. The dame on his arm, Vanessa Hooverton, was a reformed woman of the night and thirty years younger than her husband.

They complimented Ivory and her pearly dress, to which Ivory was obliged to thank them despite knowing they were just drunk and didn’t give a damn about her dress. Thomas boasted of “the wonderful things to come” for the Irons estate and for all those who stood by its side. You mean on your knees, Ivory thought to herself while having not allowed her smile to falter even slightly.

Vanessa laughed and moaned in delight over her new riding, speaking so proudly of her stud horse and gay instructor who always had something nice to say about her outfit. Ivory’s smile grew slightly, masking the thought of an empty lightbulb whenever she found herself listening to Mrs. Hooverton.

“I’m afraid this is where we depart!” Thomas said, nudging Ivory with his drink hand, face so puffy and red. “Lots of faces to see and rumps to roast!” He stepped away with his wife, roaring in laughter as if he were the first man in history to get away with a joke having to do with buttocks. Ivory could almost hear the hinges of her face creaking as the smile dropped.

Then just a few moments and a few steps later, she was at the bar with a glass of champagne in her hand. It didn’t taste like anything, that sensation had disappeared many glasses prior, but she finished it anyway. She set the empty glass back on the bar and nodded at the man who took it away, glancing back into the empty world of high society.

And then she saw him: the man with the salt and pepper hair and handlebar mustache to match, the man with wide shoulders which tapered into a non-existent waist, the man in black with red buttons on his cuffs, the man who she called her father. He kissed her cheek once he was close enough and leaned into the bar with his elbows on the wood.

“Bartender,” Henry said, every cigarette he ever smoked coming out with each sound, “whiskey, double.” Once the bartender nodded, Henry turned to face his daughter who was already looking at him.

“Having fun, my sweet daughter?” He asked.

“Delightfully bored,” Ivory laughed, putting her hand on his. “Your lawyer spoke to me not long ago.”

Henry laughed when he asked which one.

“Hooverson. He told me there were great things on the horizon.” Pause. “Mom would have been proud of how far you’ve brought the company.” A genuine smile came over her mouth.

“I certainly hope so,” he sighed. “I think of her every morning when I wake to the empty space beside me, and then most of the day most days.” He turned and grabbed the whiskey, took a sip. “She was with me from the beginning, you know? When there wasn’t a pot to piss in, let alone one to bathe you in,” he laughed and so did she. “Now look at us, on top of the world looking down on everyone else.”

Ivory’s skin crawled every time he said something to distinguish himself from those “below” them, and this time was no different. In fact she turned a moment to hide the nausea on her face. He wasn’t looking at her when she turned back to face him. “Go,” she was smiling, “go do what you do best, father.”

Henry kissed her on the forehead. “If you need anything at all, give me a scream.”

Ivory smiled and watched her father stalk away with his glass. But before Ivory was able to escape further, the eldest maid, Maybella, came up beside her with a big smile.

“How you doin, baby?” Maybella said, taking Ivory’s small hand in hers. “You havin a good time?”

Ivory lowered her face and brought it up with a smirk slashed across it. “Oh yes,” she lied, “I never want tonight to end, for here is where I belong and where I wish to remain for all of eternity.”

Maybella laughed softly for a moment. “I ain’t old enough to believe those lies yet, try again in a few years.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” A pause. Her words grew long and blue, “Lotta fancy faces here tonight. I hope my father knows what he’s doing to keep all of them fancy and glorious. Strange times we live in.”

“Your father is a lot of things, but one thing he ain’t is incompetent, Ivory,” Maybella took her hand and held it tight. “Don’t you go worrying about your father, ya hear? Worry about twenty-three-year-old woman things, worry about finding your prince charming, been alone far too long.”

“I like being alone.”

“Right now, and only cuz you ain’t met the one that’ll make ya realize how beautiful life can be.” Maybella’s eyes were growing wet. “They’re out there, baby, I promise, you just gotta be open to finding them. And who knows, maybe he’ll find you.”

Ivory scanned the room for any face that looked something in the way of kind and loving, but saw none. When she saw one man she heard the call for dinner, another man she heard the demands for coupling, another man screaming for more whiskey after slapping her face. Such an empty room for so many people, then she looked back to Maybella who was smiling.

“Maybe he will.”

Maybella kissed her hand. “I better be going now, child, lotsa work to still be done in that kitchen of yours.”

Ivory watched yet another person close to her disappear into the crowd, leaving her alone at the bar to ponder her next move. But it was not thought over long as she made a dash for the side exit of the room and into the main corridor where there were a number of people collecting their things or handing them to the staff of the house. She made it out into the cool night air without having to greet a single soul.

She didn’t look back once as the land before her grew darker, the bellowing light from the lively estate growing dim as she reached the edge of the property line. But it wasn’t enough, for she still felt so disconnected from the world around her, and decided to kick off the heels which brought nothing but ache. The stumbling walk turned into a galloping jog and a smile formed almost immediately after.

As she ran, she thought of her mother. Like old times, hand-in-hand with the woman she remembered so little of but knew so well.

And then there was a hand holding hers, then one on her waist, but they were neither kind nor gentle as she remembered her mother’s to be, but rough and full of force and angst. A split second later she was rolling and tumbling about on her feet, but she could not see what was happening or the fist that slammed into the side of her head above the ear.

The force of the blow threw Ivory to the cold ground below, within moments her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and the horror became clear. Working with hard, greedy hands, was a pair of men doing their very best to keep her from squirming further. Her scream might as well have been a whisper as it was cut so suddenly from an open hand across the face.

An immediate blur overtook her as the pair of drunk, stinky men began tearing at her clothes. For a moment she did not fight as her world was taking a moment to piece itself back together. Upon feeling multiple hands tearing between her thighs she began to kick and scream, so helpless under all that brute weight.

She bit at the hand which worked to cover her mouth, sending a manly howl into the air. She pressed down harder upon tasting his blood. A second hand full of fat fingers wrapped around her throat and all resistance began to fade with her consciousness. The last remains of her energy was channeled into two bursts, a small flurry of hands slapping up into the dark outline of the men wishing to do her harm, and the second was a scream:

“Help me, somebody!”