Chapter 8 - Phanny Hot Potato

"Whoa, Amelia. Wait a damn minute." Wilder uncrossed his arms and moved away from the wall. "You can't just decide that on your own."

"Well, what's the problem? She's going north. You're going north. Why not just go together?" Amelia turned innocent eyes towards Wilder.

"Clearly," he said, "she doesn't have a clue where she's going. She only said north because you were pressuring her."

"Look, Wilder, I don't see the issue either." Burns stepped forward, too. "You've got money enough, and a good, dependable horse. Why not take the lass along a little of the way?"

Wilder clenched his jaw. "I travel alone, Burns."

"What a piss-poor excuse," mumbled Burns, almost to himself. "At least I've got practicalities to consider."

"You want to talk about being practical? Have you seen this girl? It'd be like travelling with a toddler." At Wilder's words, the room fell quiet.

Phanny looked down. Now, that one, shot an arrow straight to her heart. And she thought she and Wilder were starting to become friends. She thought she was starting to become friends with everyone. But here they were, trying to pass her around like a hot potato. For the first time since sitting down to supper, it dawned on her that she was among strangers. She was farther away from these people than she was from her stepmother. It was a plain fact. It shouldn't have cut her even deeper, but it did.

"That's exactly why you should take her," said Amelia. "A young girl can't possibly travel any great distance alone. She'll need some caring for."

"I'm not a child." The words were quiet, but sharp. Sharper than Phanny intended.

"I know you mean well, Amelia," she pushed on, still looking down. "But I don't want to be a burden to anyone. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, my dear girl," Amelia took Phanny's face in her hands, the warmth of a rough hand on her cheeks reminding Phanny so much of her mama that she had to wince from the sudden flash of pain. "I just simply won't be easy in my mind, knowing you've got no one to look after you."

Phanny fought back the surge of tears. She couldn't cry now. It would just be another humiliation heaped on top of a whole mountain of it. The thing was, she wanted her own people. And she wanted to believe, in that moment, that Amelia was one of them. But how could she be when they only met that afternoon?

The truth of the matter was, this evening might have created the illusion of family, but Phanny was still all alone in the world.

"I'll be fine." She assured Amelia, her voice sounding so steady that she convinced even herself.

"Like hell, you'd be." Wilder muttered.

Phanny's eyes snapped up to his in a glare. What was this jerk's game?

"Pardon?" She said through clenched teeth.

"You don't even have shoes," was his response. "And look at this," he nudged his boot against Phanny's book of fairytales.

Earlier, she had fussed over the thing. Looking it over for any severe damages and placing it by the fire to dry. She had let it stand up on its spine, with the pages fanning out at an angle, facing the fire. Now, the terrible black boot let it fall back on the wood floor with a soft thud.

"You're running away, and this is what you bring?" In his defense, Wilder didn't know how close he was to waking the dangerous temper that had been in a deep, years-long slumber within Phanny. He was merely stating what he believed to be an objective assessment of the girl's chances of surviving on her own.

"Those happen to be my only possessions in the world, and I'd thank you to keep your dirty boots off them." She was on her feet in a moment, raising her voice for the first time in five years.

She picked up the book from the floor and dusted it off, staring Wilder squarely in the face. "Furthermore, Mr. Wilder, I seem to recall you refusing to help me, just a moment ago. So, I don't understand to what purpose you're bothering to contradict me now."

Wilder's lips twitched. He saw now that he'd hit a nerve. "Forgive me, 𝑀𝑠. 𝑁𝑖𝑐𝑒, if I offended. I was merely putting forth an observation."

Was the clod pole mocking her? "An unnecessary one, and a completely, incorrect conclusion. I assure you, sir, that I'm perfectly capable of keeping myself alive with no help from anyone, much less from you."

"I'm sure if you're so confident, madam, that you have reason to be. Perhaps you would enlighten me as to your plans in heading north?"

"Well," here, he got her. She had absolutely no plans at all, but she was relying on the sudden comeback of her temper to carry her through this conversation with as little damage to her dignity as possible.

"Well?" He raised an expectant brow.

"I don't need to go north at all," she said, struck with inspiration. "I can just stay here."

For a moment, she had him dumbfounded.

"Here?" He knotted his brows dubiously. "What would you do for food?"

"I- I'll forage in the woods for nuts and berries-"

"Nuts and berries!" He threw his hands up in exasperation.

"-And I'll go into the river to catch fish!"

"But you're afraid of water." He reminded her.

"I'm sure the threat of starvation will give me enough courage."

He laughed, a short, frustrated laugh. "No, you'll die here. Hell, you'll die anywhere you end up."

"No, I won't! I'll live longer than you," she promised, her nose scrunched up at him. He thought she probably imagined it as a menacing expression.

"The best chance you've got is sticking with me and you know it." He took a step closer to her.

"Well, so? Are you offering?" She stepped closer, too.

"Yes."

"Alright, then, fine!"

"Fine!"

There was a beat before he realized what he just agreed to. He must be losing his mind. Now, how in the world did she do that?

Phanny was not quite sure how it happened either. She only knew that this man dared to attack her precious book and she started to see red. Looking around now at the shocked, curious faces of the other people in the room, Phanny blushed.

"Sorry about that." She said, walking back to her position on the quilt.

"Well, it's settled then," said Amelia. Her surprised face slowly melting into a knowing smile. "Thank the gods for that."

✦ ✦ ✦

Phanny tossed and turned. Amelia, Burns and the children, were fast asleep in the large cot on the other side of the room. On a far corner facing the wall, Wilder lay on his side motionless.

It must have been past midnight. For anyone else, the night would be perfectly quiet. No sound would be heard but the crackling of logs in the fireplace. Phanny, however, was suffering through sound torture. The river and the lake were singing a chorus, more insistent than any other bodies of water, save the ocean, that Phanny has come across. It was as if they knew she was hanging right above them.

She pressed her hands over her ears as hard as she could, but her hands could have been empty air. They did nothing to soften the sound.

It was cold on the floor, too. She shivered despite being near the fire. The doorway leading to the terrace let in the cool night air, and she could almost feel wind whistling beneath her, through the cracks on the floor.

"What is it?" Wilder whispered across the room.

Phanny saw that he had sat up.

"I can hear the river through the floor," she said. Her voice sounded high and shaky, like she'd been crying.

Wilder knotted his brows in confusion. "You mean, the rushing water?"

She shook her head. "It's whispering to me."

"You're cold, too. Your teeth's chattering." He stood up dragged his bedroll closer to the middle of the room, then he started to clear away Phanny's things in front of the fire. Sloppily folded up Phanny's blue dress, took her fairytale book, Mama's old diary, and the satchel, and stacked them all up to the side.

"What are you doing," she said, voice still shaky.

He ignored her as he laid out the bedroll right next to the fire. "Get in here."

She didn't need to be asked twice, quickly abandoning the old quilt and linen blanket to snuggle inside the bedroll. She sighed in relief. It was much warmer than the quilt, made of canvas tarp on the outside and thick, soft wool inside. It was also already warmed up from Wilder's body heat.

"How do you survive the winter." Wilder muttered as he dragged the old quilt right beside the bedroll. Phanny allowed him his little dig because she was grateful for the warmth.

He lay down beside her, his feet too long for both the quilt and the linen blanket he pulled over himself. The big, dear things poked out comically in the air.

"Thank you," whispered Phanny, feeling guilty.

"Go to sleep," he said, turning his back on the girl, "neither of us will get any rest if you keep tossing and turning."

She tried her best to keep still for a few minutes, but the river wouldn't stop whispering. She squirmed.

"For fuck's sake." Wilder let out an aggravated sigh.

"I'm sorry, it's just so loud!"

"Alright, hush." He turned to face her, and lifted the corner of the bedroll that covered her cheeks. "Try this."

He reached out a warm, rough hand and placed it beneath her cheek, letting the side of her head lay against it like a pillow. He covered her other ear with his other hand.

"How's that?" He asked.

Phanny nodded. Somehow it was working. The water's whispers retreated to a dull and distant murmur.

"Thank you," she said again.

"Alright then, just go to sleep," he said. But his voice was much gentler.

Slowly, her body relaxed, and her eyes closed over the sight of Wilder's sleeping face.