3
The hound was stocky and ferocious, with a giant bulbous head and a body rippled with muscle. It reminded her of a bulldog, only bigger. Much stronger and angrier.
Melody caught its gaze right away and maintained steady eye contact. Though her experience with dogs was limited, she knew enough not to look away. Outwardly she remained confident. Her expression portrayed strength, even defiance.
Inwardly she was absolutely terrified.
It snarled again, but she held still her ground. The dog’s eyes remained fixated on her. It raised its snout, sniffing the air, then curled its lips all the way back… revealing a nasty set of yellowed, slavering jaws.
Another growl started up, this one even louder and angrier than the first. A second dog stepped out from behind the woodpile…
She ran.
There’s no way I’m making it!
It wasn’t even a question. Melody could run fast — faster than anyone she knew — but this was totally different. First, she was wearing shoes not sneakers, and she was dressed in a ball gown. And these were dogs. They were built to run.
She got up to speed and maxed out quickly. Even so there was nothing else to do, the house was simply too far away. She could put her head down and dig deep, maybe gain an extra step or two, but already she could hear the animals racing up behind her. Two sets of paws, digging hard into the dirt. Growing louder. Growing closer…
She fell. It happened in an instant, and Melody was up again just as fast. Without checking her pursuers she broke through the line of oaks and emerged onto the hard road. Her shoes made loud clacking noises against the surface of the old pavers. She considered kicking them off.
As the snarls grew louder she risked a quick look back. If they were going to catch up with her, she might as well be prepared for their spring. Maybe she could fight them off. Maybe she could—
THWAP!
The sound was followed by a loud squeal, and the heartbreaking cries of a very wounded animal. Melody looked again and saw a man standing over one of the dogs. He was tall and well-built, with thick blonde hair and a square-set jaw. In both his hands he held a long, wood-handled axe.
“HI-YAAAA!”
His shout was loud and fierce and stopped the other dog in its tracks. It skidded to an ungracious stop, its paws slipping on the worn brick path. The man raised the axe again and the dog turned and bolted. It scrambled back the way it came, disappearing beneath the thick canopy of trees.
The man lowered the axe and turned to face her immediately. “Are you alright?”
Melody had her hands on her knees, still gasping for breath as her savior approached. Apparently her track-running days were a lot further behind than she originally thought.
“Y—Yes…” she breathed. “Thank you… so… much…”
He held out an arm, offering her some support. She took it gratefully.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I saw you fall.”
“I’m fine,” she gasped. “But I think I… might’ve torn my dress.”
“You did,” he said, kneeling before her. “But only a little.” He held up a scrap of material in one palm, split down the middle. “Man you run fast!’
She chuckled nervously, half amused, half still terrified, all pumped with adrenaline. Now that she was safe her eyes went to the fallen animal. It was twitching on the pavement a moment ago, whimpering, but now it lay still.
“Don’t look at that,” the man said. He put an arm around her and turned her toward the house. “It’s… not good.”
There was blood, too. Blood on the ground. Blood on the blade of the—
“Where’d you get that axe?”
The blonde man shrugged and pointed back at the woodpile. “Found it sticking out of there.” Sure enough, a small pile of freshly split wood lay scattered around a large stump. “Lucky, eh?”
“Very,” she agreed.
Without realizing it, they’d begun walking together. Moving slowly in the direction of the house.
“I’m Eric,” he said amiably. “Eric Hanham.” He offered his hand.
“Melody,” she smiled back, taking it. “Melody Larson.”
“Pleased to meet you Melody Larson.”
She sighed and shook her head in disagreement. “Not half as pleased as I am to meet you.”
The road to the house was fully shaded, and it felt good to be out of the sun. Melody was still sweating, still shaking. But at least she was safe.
“I’m okay,” she said finally, as she took her arm from Eric’s. “Thank you.” He smiled and nodded. She was moving deliberately slow, and appreciated the fact he was kind enough to match her pace.
They passed a mortared stone well on one side, the carriage house on the other. A noise came from the barn area — the rhythmic sounds of metal striking metal. Blacksmithing was something they would’ve done back when the place was built in the late 1700’s. Apparently, with the plantation restored, it was going on again.
A man stepped out from the barn just as they passed by, one with dark wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. He was shirtless and glistening — every stretch of exposed skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It made his chest stand out. His arms even more. As she watched, he upended a bucket of water over his head, drenching himself completely.
His eyes blinked open and he caught Melody’s gaze. The man did a double take, as if surprised by her sudden appearance.
She waved at him to say hi. Reluctantly at first, sheepishly, he raised one big arm to signal back.
“Who’s that?”
“Hell if I know,” said Eric.
The man was still staring at her awkwardly. He had striking blue eyes. A stubbled chin. Eventually he dropped the bucket and turned away, heading back in the direction of the barn.
“Where’d you come from anyway?” Melody asked as they walked. It was odd that the question had only just now occurred to her.
“Stepped out from behind one of these trees,” Eric said with a short laugh. “Remember? You were there.”
She looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. He wore a gentleman’s coat and vest, all black with gold buttons. Shoes with silver-washed colonial buckles. Everything he had on was period dress, just like her.
“I know that, but why are you here?”
He smirked at her. It was a knowing smirk. “I could ask you the same thing actually,” he said.
“I’m an invited guest,” Melody told him. “There’s a ball tonight.”
“There’s a ball every night,” he laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Eric said dismissively. He gestured at his own outfit. “Look at me. I’m an arriving guest, just like you.”
Melody gave him another once-over but said nothing. There were almost to the house now. Her legs had finally stopped trembling.
“Listen,” he said, leaning in confidentially, “I’m just like you. I’m here for the same thing you are.”
“The cotillion?” she asked innocently.
Eric’s gaze shifted back and forth for a moment before falling back on her own.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m here for the egg.”