Breathe Today, 2/4.
Title: Breathe Today
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Author Notes: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to Marvel, and anyone else is someone I blended into the story. The original idea for this started over a year ago, when Jessy and I heard about 1872 but Natasha wasn't mentioned at all. Of course, she has since made her appearance, and reblogged panels I've seen are fantastic. This story has nothing to do with the 1872 series at all, and would be better considered a MCU AU or a little side story that could slot into canon, starting with the Red Room days. I borrowed heavily from historical events as much as I could dig up, but let's just assume that none of this actually happened. ;) Title and summary from Flyleaf's "Breathe Today."
Summary: You try your hardest to perfect your explanations
You lie until they've run out of questions
You can only move as fast as those in front of you
And if you assume just like them, what good will it do?
So find out for yourself, so your ignorance will stop bleeding through
Prior chapter:
One - Back To The Past
Two - Getting Acquainted
St. Louis was a fairly organized city, with most of the modern conveniences of the age. Natasha didn't need to pretend ignorance of it as they traveled. The three rescuers were George Haviland, Henry Cutter and Jared Allen, ranch hands that had seen a dust cloud at the edge of the property while taking steer out to the farthest pasture of their boss' property. They returned to check out the source of the cloud once the steer were all accounted for, which was why they had missed the brigands that had attacked her stagecoach and likely killed whoever else was with her. Henry was the leering man in the back, and wondered aloud why she had been left behind. Jared, the silent man of the three, simply stared at Henry. "Would you want to be found carrying a dead woman's body if town folk were coming?"
Apparently, Dr. Strange's spell really did find a good way to insert her into the current timeline.
The men didn't find it strange that she didn't know it was the spring of 1872, just like they hadn't thought it was too strange that she hadn't known she was outside of St. Louis. Knocks to the head in this period often killed people or left them "odd," with "fits" and "brain swellings" that the doctors of the time couldn't fix. A little memory loss was easily explained away.
George seemed to think of himself as her protector, and told her about downtown. The city boasted four hotels: the Southern at Fourth and Walnut Streets, the Planter's House at Fourth and Chestnut, the Everett House on Fourth near Locust, and the Lindell at Sixth and Washington. Each had their own style, and he often preferred to eat at the Everett if he had money and time to spare. "They don't look down on hands coming in for a spell," he explained, and Natasha nodded sagely. Class differences always existed, after all.
Office buildings were concentrated near the courthouse, the focal point of the city's business and political life. Scandals usually surrounded Sheriff Taylor, especially if he tried to collect taxes or sell seized property, which he legally wasn't allowed to do. People shopped at the upper end of Fourth Street, near Washington Avenue, and Scruggs and the Barr Drygoods Company were the most frequently visited. The banking houses were on Olive and Locust Streets, also near Fourth. Vandeventer Place was the most fashionable address, with large homes that dwarfed the rest of the residential part of downtown. The Mississippi could only be crossed by boat, though there were plans for Eads Bridge to cross it.
The men were clearly proud of their city, and Natasha nodded and smiled in all the right places, filing away the information for later. They would only serve as her protectors for so long, after all. She had to strike out on her own and try to track down Anya. It was going to be difficult, given that she didn't know what name or appearance the other Widow was going to take on, but Strange had been adamant that he was sending her to the correct place and time. Entering a large city was easy, and staying hidden was child's play. Natasha was going to have to think like Anya and be clever.
Good thing that was part and parcel of who she was.
The nuns of the Sacred Heart were in the process of opening a college dedicated for the young women and underprivileged of the city. There was also construction on City Hall, so there were many laborers, construction workers, and day laborers moving in and out of the city. Anya would want to steer clear of them. She would be seen as a light skirt, and Natasha knew that Anya had hated the honeypot and seduction missions in the Red Room.
Sister Mary Margaret welcomed Natasha and gave her a place to stay and rest. "George is a good man, he comes to church and volunteers when he can. Such a good man," she murmured. "He mentioned you were looking for someone?"
"My cousin," Natasha said smoothly. "Anya was trying to escape her stepfather. Very mean and abusive, hit her all the time," she said, letting her voice drop into a conspiratorial whisper. "Her mother, my auntie, had consumption, couldn't protect her."
Clucking her tongue in sympathy, Sister Mary Margaret nodded in understanding. "All too commonly seen, even around here."
"My own parents couldn't help, though they tried when they could. My aunt just died, and her stepfather took everything. He's left, and I don't know where he is."
"Do you think he's trying to find your cousin?"
"I don't know," Natasha lied. "But I want her to know, just in case. I don't know what name she would have used when she arrived here, though."
"Poor dear," the sister murmured. "We had a lot of people to help after last year's tornado." At Natasha's blank look, she explained how it had touched down in the downtown area on the afternoon of March 8, 1971 and done considerable damage. Before it left the city, thirty homes had been utterly destroyed, another thirty were damaged, six railroad depots were damaged, and nine people had been killed. Another sixty were injured.
"It was such a devastating time, just as the city was recovering from the cholera epidemic," the sister clucked, shaking her head. "No one had any idea that the storm was even coming. It just happened right out nowhere! So now you understand why there's so much building and repair work in the city."
Natasha nodded, taking it all in. "My poor cousin. She would've been arriving here right around then, too. She must've been so frightened."
And it made perfect sense. Using some kind of magic artifact, when she had no idea how to use magic or what it could even do, probably upset the balance of reality. Of course it would wreak havoc on the city. Of course there would be chaos.
That would make it even easier for Anya to hide. No one would be motivated to see past the lies that she told to fit in, either.
She sat back and took stock of her thoughts. Dr. Strange had sent her back because her mission was to find Anya and bring her back to the Red Room. But he also fully expected her to live in the past as a way to escape them as Anya had done. He wouldn't be upset if she took this opportunity to never return.
How many other girls would suffer in her absence, though? How many would fall under Madame Bolishinko's temper? How many others would be sent into the Himalayan mountains to look for her and Anya?
More importantly, how much was that magical gem worth?
Red Room handlers would likely think that a few lives were acceptable losses. Natasha had no illusions about how dispensable the girls were. They were only as good as their skill set, and only the best had resources allocated to them. If not considered worthwhile enough, girls would get shunted aside and possibly even used as cannon fodder.
Sister Mary Margaret was so eager to be helpful that she was too easy to manipulate. Saying that she wanted to help the nuns as recompense for aiding her brought the requisite protests, but Natasha insisted on it. The Sister wasn't very good at recordkeeping, and Natasha immediately beamed and offered to handle the books for the sisters for a time. "It will keep me from being idle," she said with a pleasant smile. "And I will need to learn more about the city if this is going to be my new home."
Natasha really hadn't believed that she would find Anya right away in the records that the nuns kept; how often would they have actually written down the names of those they helped? After all, they never wrote down the name she gave them. Still, she pored over them, meticulously reorganizing them and rearranging them into an easily cross referenced system.
From there, Sister Mary Margaret introduced her to faculty at the school, who felt she would make an excellent instructor. "Rather like the girl last year, actually," the dean commented, stroking his beard. Perhaps he was trying to look like Sigmund Freud, thinking it made him appear worldly and intelligent. Natasha thought he was rather officious, but politely refrained from saying so.
"What girl last year?"
The dean was startled a bit by her question. Perhaps he had thought she was the type to remain silent and accept all his words as divine gospel. "Oh, our students and staff helped people after the wreckage from the tornado. One poor girl was so devastated, memory loss and lack of funds, and no home to go to." He shrugged. "One of the lawyers we've employed for getting the permits for our school had need of a governess. She was quite skilled at languages and numbers, from what I recall."
She refused to hope that it would be this easy. It could merely be a coincidence. "What was her name? Do you remember?"
"Annie something, I think," the dean said dismissively. "Perhaps she's in the roster, since she did also teach French here for a time."
One of the secretaries helped her, thinking nothing of finding the girl's name. "It's good to know respectable ladies in town," she said, nodding. "When you strike out on your own, it's so easy for unscrupulous men to take loathsome advantage. Young ladies have no idea of the risk, and then they're fallen, unable to recover their reputations."
Natasha thought the old woman was an overbearing spinster, likely jealous of the young women in her charge, but again kept her opinions to herself. She merely smiled and nodded in all the right places as employment records were pored through. The woman was slow, peering through her spectacles and still squinting.
"Have you had many instructors?" Natasha asked.
"Well, once girls are married, they are busy with families and no longer work outside of their homes," the woman sniffed, blinking at Natasha and patting her white hair, smoothing it back toward her bun. Not a hair was out of place, not a spot or wrinkle was on her black dress. For a moment, the motion reminded her of Madame Bolishinko, and she froze. "There are those that think it's a waste to educate the young ladies, because of that. But educated ladies become proper helpmeets for the men of the city, and raise respectable children. It's better for the city as a whole if they can read and do simple tasks. I've heard quite a few men think it's silly, that they'll instead read novels, and their entire moral character would fall apart."
"Oh, no," Natasha said in mock horror. The secretary nodded, thinking her serious.
"Exactly. And the young ladies associated with our school absolutely cannot be loose in character, or it ruins it for the girls that are serious about their education."
"There are some rumors of the suffrage movement-"
"There is such a thing as taking education too far," the secretary sniffed, turning back to her papers and shuffling through them. "To be mannish undermines the very nature of ladies."
"Just so," Natasha murmured, feeling her spine itch in annoyance. "Perhaps if you tell me what to look for, I can assist you. I would hate to take you away from your important work."
That mollified the old woman enough to give her some of the enrollment and employment books; apparently, she had brought all of them to the desk instead of just the employment records that the dean had talked about.
There. Anna Markova, written in the neat, tidy hand that most of the girls of the Red Room employed. She was listed as a French teacher in the summer and fall of 1871, before resigning the post to become the governess for the Grimes family. The dean had remembered it wrong, but that was just fine. At least what had happened to her was written down, and Natasha could always track down the Grimes family.
This had to be magic. So rarely did information gathering yield so much in a single day.
Then again, this was also a much simpler time, and information was easy to dig through once she knew where to go to find it. Plus, the people around the courthouse were eager to talk about the Grimes family. Well, most of them seemed friendly and ready to talk about the city, its history, who was who and the "right" people that Natasha should get to know. Luckily for her search, the Grimes family fell under that category of "right" people.
Michael Grimes was a lawyer with an office at the Temple, a building one block south of the county courthouse, at the northwest corner of Fifth and Walnut Streets. It was a big office building, and there were large meeting rooms on the top floor, which were rented out for various conventions and uses in need of space. Grimes had been in practice for nearly ten years, and was fairly well respected in the community. He did business and real estate law, and businessmen tended to like him. He had been married to Gretchen for eight years, after a nearly three year courtship due to her poor health, and they had two daughters. Agnes was five years old and Emily had turned two three weeks before Natasha's arrival.
If Gretchen was that sickly, it would make sense for the Grimes family to have live in help in the form of Anna Markov. Natasha could imagine the name came to Anya the same way her own had come to her. It was similar enough to her own name that she could respond to it, though she was trained in ways to maintain deep cover. Anya had received the same training. Could she really be happy with taking care of little girls? She didn't think she could do it.
The Grimes family lived in a row house on Olive Street, near Washington University. It was part of the expansion of the city, with more churches and some stores in the neighborhood. To the west was a more rural landscape, though horse car lines along Grand Avenue was making travel easier into the area. The mansions of Vandeventner Place still had large tracts of land around them, and were relatively isolated from the growing city.
Natasha was duly impressed by the row house, as it was far more elegant than the University Club or the halfway house that the nuns had set her up in. This neighborhood was quieter and cleaner than downtown, with the hustle and bustle of business, industry and politics. It was very much an ideal place to raise little girls, and again made her wonder why in the world would Anya want to stay there. It wasn't the Red Room, but surely there were other places where she could have gone to ground?
Knocking on the door, Natasha almost expected a uniformed butler to open it. Instead, a young woman with blonde hair pulled into a braid down her back, green eyes and a round, open face looked back at her. She was dressed in a simple calico dress, lace at the collar and little golden hoops in her ears. It took Natasha just a moment to recognize her as Anya, though it was the same amount of time for Anya to recognize her as well.
She stuck her foot in the doorway and smiled sweetly even though Anya tried to slam the door shut. "Anna," she said, keeping the same flat accent that the locals had. "My dear cousin! I've traveled all this way to make sure you were all right."
Anya narrowed her eyes at Natasha. "Did you?" she asked coldly.
"My aunt-your mother- has died, my parents as well. I don't know where your stepfather is, but I know he has no idea where you are."
The older girl quickly caught the gist of Natasha's story. "And he sent you to find me, is that it?"
"That doesn't mean I would tell him."
"Why not?" Anya challenged. No, she should think of this as Anna now, because the girl was fully ensconced in her role as governess now.
"Perhaps you had the right idea of it, running away." She blew out a slow breath as Anna eased back from the doorway. "But this land is still unfamiliar to me. It could be that I may be of use to you. Or perhaps I need to be elsewhere."
Anna compressed her lips together tightly, contemplating Natasha. They both had the same training, and she could have been lying to the older girl. They both knew that.
Ultimately, it was Mr. Michael Grimes himself that took the decision out of Anna's hands. He came up to the foyer, newspaper in hand, dressed in his work trousers and shirt, suspenders keeping the trousers up. He had an impeccable and forthright look to him, with skin that was painfully pale from being indoors all day. That made his dark hair and eyes look even darker, and there were deep lines in his face on either side of his mouth. It could have been laugh or frown lines, but at the moment he was frowning at Natasha.
"Who's this?"
"My cousin," Anna began, making a faltering gesture with her hand.
"Natasha Roman," Natasha supplied helpfully, smiling. "I've only arrived in the area a few days ago myself. The coach had been attacked outside of the city."
"You hadn't said anything about a cousin," Michael said to Anna.
"I had said that home life had been... difficult."
Michael nodded at her, and looked from Anna to Natasha, waiting patiently for an explanation from them for Natasha's sudden appearance on his doorstep.
"Her mother died," Natasha said quietly, infusing her voice with grief. "And her horrible stepfather went missing. I don't think he knows where Anna went, but I couldn't bear the thought of him possibly tracking her down."
An understanding expression crossed Michael's face. "Well, then. You may come in. The girls are stirring from their nap," he said, directing the last part to Anna.
"Of course, sir," she replied, nodding. She gave Natasha a nod as well, and then slipped past Michael to get to the girls' room.
That left Michael hosting Natasha in the parlor, making small talk about St. Louis and where she had come from, which Natasha found easiest to lie and say New York City. All sorts of people lived there, and most of the films she had watched as a child had centered on there. Even if it didn't match up with Anna's lies exactly, saying they were cousins meant that they didn't necessarily grow up in the same household. She also found it interesting how closely he hung on her words, how engrossed he was in anything related to Anna.
"Is it proper to ask what your intentions toward my cousin are?" Natasha asked at one point.
Startled by that, Michael sputtered and shot to his feet. There was a sickly flush in his cheeks, and he looked about helplessly.
Anna returned with the children, who appeared sleepy and curious to see the redheaded Natasha in the parlor. "They wanted to see our guest," she explained.
The girls had dark hair like their father, and the same dark eyes. Their upturned noses had less of a patrician slant, and their cheekbones were higher. Both were likely features from the sickly Gretchen. They seemed to be short for their ages, though Natasha wasn't a good judge for the normal ranges of heights. Perhaps Gretchen was short. Agnes had an arm around one of Anna's legs as she stared at Natasha. Emily had her thumb in her mouth and a rag doll dangling in her other hand, but seemed less hesitant.
"They're lovely," Natasha said with a fond note to her voice. Michael relaxed a bit with that statement, but still was tense.
"Perhaps we should visit your mother," Anna suggested to the girls. "She should be done with her rest, and we can all have tea together."
Emily toddled forward, toward Natasha, looking up at her with big eyes. "Red," she said, thumb still in her mouth, pointing at her with the doll dangling from her hand.
Natasha smiled and approached, squatting down so that she was closer in height to the toddler. "Do you want to touch it?" she offered, pulling out a few of the pins that kept her bun in place on the top of her head. It was such a silly but common hairstyle that was considered proper in this time period, but the pins gave her a headache.
As her hair cascaded down past her shoulders in waves, the little girl grinned around her thumb, revealing a few crooked teeth growing in where her thumb seemed to be permanently parked in her mouth. With the doll still in hand, she reached out and touched the shining red hair. Natasha didn't even flinch when her fingers tangled in a few twisted locks of hair. She looked over at the older girl with an encouraging smile. "Did you want to see, too? I know red isn't a common color, but that's what I was born with."
With a gentle nudge from Anna, Agnes came closer. "It's wavy," she said, not quite touching it.
"There needs to be a lot of pins to keep it flat on my head. I don't like that much," she admitted when Agnes frowned.
"I don't either," she said, lips pulling down in the corners. "But Mama says I have to."
"And you must listen to your mama," Anna said in a gentle tone. "We have everything set up for tea, and there are little cookies."
"I wouldn't want to interfere with your schedule," Natasha said smoothly, untangling Emily's fingers from her hair. "I just wanted to be sure that you were well."
"I am," Anna replied quickly. "We have a nice routine here."
The door to the parlor opened, and a petite blonde woman with limpid blue eyes came in. Her clothing was exquisitely tailored, and she had delicate features that matched the girls'. She carried herself hesitantly, tentatively, as if she wasn't sure if she even belonged in the room, instead of being assured as mistress of the household. Interesting.
"We have a guest?" she asked, her voice a weak warble. "I knew something was different when you didn't come back for tea," she said, looking at Anna in curiosity.
Natasha again repeated her litany of lies, adding appropriately abashed smiles in places. Michael still watched her closely, as if he was nervous about something. Gretchen didn't seem to notice, and simply came closer and took Natasha by the arm. "Well, of course you care for your dear cousin. I would if I had any, too. You can stay for tea and visit. Michael, perhaps you can go to one of your clubs? In a house full of ladies and little girls, our conversation will no doubt be quite dull for you."
Ah, there was a bit of a backbone in the fragile woman after all. Natasha could appreciate hidden depths in women.
Though he obviously wasn't thrilled about leaving a stranger at home with the ladies, Michael did ultimately leave. They all settled in the dining room, the girls crumbling their cookies and sipping milk instead of tea. "I must say," Gretchen began gently, "that I'm glad Anna has family after all. And caring family."
"There were..." Natasha's eyes skipped over to the girls at the table. "Very not nice things that happened," she said finally. "I understand why Anna left and doesn't want to return."
"She'll always have a place here," Gretchen assured her with a firm nod. "Even if I am not, she will always be."
Putting down her teacup, she frowned at Gretchen. "What do you mean?"
Gretchen put down her teacup as well. "I am aware of my physical limitations." Her gaze skipped over to the girls, who were playing with the cookies more than eating them, chattering away with each other. Anna gently was reminding them to eat and drink so they could have energy to play in the afternoons. "I nearly died in the birthing of them, and I am held to be something of a failure in not giving Michael a son." She turned back to Natasha. "Should I pass on, I've already told Michael that he should marry Anna. She loves the girls as if they were her own blood. And I'm sure she'll love a third child as well."
Natasha gaped at her. "But-"
"I'm easily overlooked," Gretchen said quietly. "I heard what you asked Michael. He hasn't behaved in an untoward manner. He wouldn't, he's not that kind. But I want my children cared for when I die. I care for Michael, he's been very kind to me. But my children matter the most, and Anna is a wonderful caretaker for them. So you don't have to worry about your cousin, Natasha. She is well cared for now, and even in the event of my death."
She leaned back and contemplated the petite woman. "Thank you, then."
"Have you any plans for your own welfare?"
Natasha shook her head. "I have much to think about."
"I will allow you to stay here for a time, of course. So you can see for yourself that Anna will be safe here, and not simply take my word for it."
Giving Gretchen a wry look, Natasha shook her head. "I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. What your body lacks, your will more than makes up for."
Gretchen gave her a smile, likely the first genuine one in her direction. "We all have different strengths, Natasha. We do what we must to survive, to keep on breathing."
"You don't like your arrangement?" Natasha asked in surprise.
"It's as good as any I could have hoped for, but it wasn't my decision."
"I suppose few decisions are in a woman's hands in this day and age."
"Unless you're a Suffragette, in which case, there's always the struggle for more," Gretchen replied with a shrug. "Miss Phoebe Couzins, I'm sure you've seen her name in the papers, has devoted herself to the cause rather than continue with her work as a lawyer. All that time in school, and she only kept her office near Michael's for two months!" She shook her head. "It is just as groundbreaking to be the first woman lawyer in our fair city, but no, she believes in her causes and thinks women should vote."
"What do you think?"
Gretchen looked at her girls again and heaved a sigh. "Whatever makes their lives easier than mine is what I would campaign for. I don't know if the vote will help them or harm them. I simply want the best for them."
"Then maybe making it so that they aren't dependent on men?" Natasha suggested.
"Difficult not to be," she replied with a sniff.
Though she wasn't sure this was a good move, Natasha leaned in close to Gretchen. "I lived out east and through very unsavory situations," she said, voice pitched low enough that Anna and the girls wouldn't hear her. "Perhaps we can help each other, then."
"How so?"
Natasha picked up the butter knife, testing its edge. Fairly dull, yet she could still make it useful if she needed to. "I would not boast of such things before authorities, but this can still be a weapon to defend your person." She tapped the sharp tip. "This helps."
Eyes wide in surprise, Gretchen leaned back. "There is much you haven't said."
"And by your lack of horror, I think there is much you haven't said, either."
Settling back in her seat, she looked back at her daughters. "Then perhaps we may start speaking of these things, and decide how best to proceed."
***
***
To Chapter Three - Decisions To Make
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
Author Notes: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to Marvel, and anyone else is someone I blended into the story. The original idea for this started over a year ago, when Jessy and I heard about 1872 but Natasha wasn't mentioned at all. Of course, she has since made her appearance, and reblogged panels I've seen are fantastic. This story has nothing to do with the 1872 series at all, and would be better considered a MCU AU or a little side story that could slot into canon, starting with the Red Room days. I borrowed heavily from historical events as much as I could dig up, but let's just assume that none of this actually happened. ;) Title and summary from Flyleaf's "Breathe Today."
Summary: You try your hardest to perfect your explanations
You lie until they've run out of questions
You can only move as fast as those in front of you
And if you assume just like them, what good will it do?
So find out for yourself, so your ignorance will stop bleeding through
Prior chapter:
One - Back To The Past
Two - Getting Acquainted
St. Louis was a fairly organized city, with most of the modern conveniences of the age. Natasha didn't need to pretend ignorance of it as they traveled. The three rescuers were George Haviland, Henry Cutter and Jared Allen, ranch hands that had seen a dust cloud at the edge of the property while taking steer out to the farthest pasture of their boss' property. They returned to check out the source of the cloud once the steer were all accounted for, which was why they had missed the brigands that had attacked her stagecoach and likely killed whoever else was with her. Henry was the leering man in the back, and wondered aloud why she had been left behind. Jared, the silent man of the three, simply stared at Henry. "Would you want to be found carrying a dead woman's body if town folk were coming?"
Apparently, Dr. Strange's spell really did find a good way to insert her into the current timeline.
The men didn't find it strange that she didn't know it was the spring of 1872, just like they hadn't thought it was too strange that she hadn't known she was outside of St. Louis. Knocks to the head in this period often killed people or left them "odd," with "fits" and "brain swellings" that the doctors of the time couldn't fix. A little memory loss was easily explained away.
George seemed to think of himself as her protector, and told her about downtown. The city boasted four hotels: the Southern at Fourth and Walnut Streets, the Planter's House at Fourth and Chestnut, the Everett House on Fourth near Locust, and the Lindell at Sixth and Washington. Each had their own style, and he often preferred to eat at the Everett if he had money and time to spare. "They don't look down on hands coming in for a spell," he explained, and Natasha nodded sagely. Class differences always existed, after all.
Office buildings were concentrated near the courthouse, the focal point of the city's business and political life. Scandals usually surrounded Sheriff Taylor, especially if he tried to collect taxes or sell seized property, which he legally wasn't allowed to do. People shopped at the upper end of Fourth Street, near Washington Avenue, and Scruggs and the Barr Drygoods Company were the most frequently visited. The banking houses were on Olive and Locust Streets, also near Fourth. Vandeventer Place was the most fashionable address, with large homes that dwarfed the rest of the residential part of downtown. The Mississippi could only be crossed by boat, though there were plans for Eads Bridge to cross it.
The men were clearly proud of their city, and Natasha nodded and smiled in all the right places, filing away the information for later. They would only serve as her protectors for so long, after all. She had to strike out on her own and try to track down Anya. It was going to be difficult, given that she didn't know what name or appearance the other Widow was going to take on, but Strange had been adamant that he was sending her to the correct place and time. Entering a large city was easy, and staying hidden was child's play. Natasha was going to have to think like Anya and be clever.
Good thing that was part and parcel of who she was.
The nuns of the Sacred Heart were in the process of opening a college dedicated for the young women and underprivileged of the city. There was also construction on City Hall, so there were many laborers, construction workers, and day laborers moving in and out of the city. Anya would want to steer clear of them. She would be seen as a light skirt, and Natasha knew that Anya had hated the honeypot and seduction missions in the Red Room.
Sister Mary Margaret welcomed Natasha and gave her a place to stay and rest. "George is a good man, he comes to church and volunteers when he can. Such a good man," she murmured. "He mentioned you were looking for someone?"
"My cousin," Natasha said smoothly. "Anya was trying to escape her stepfather. Very mean and abusive, hit her all the time," she said, letting her voice drop into a conspiratorial whisper. "Her mother, my auntie, had consumption, couldn't protect her."
Clucking her tongue in sympathy, Sister Mary Margaret nodded in understanding. "All too commonly seen, even around here."
"My own parents couldn't help, though they tried when they could. My aunt just died, and her stepfather took everything. He's left, and I don't know where he is."
"Do you think he's trying to find your cousin?"
"I don't know," Natasha lied. "But I want her to know, just in case. I don't know what name she would have used when she arrived here, though."
"Poor dear," the sister murmured. "We had a lot of people to help after last year's tornado." At Natasha's blank look, she explained how it had touched down in the downtown area on the afternoon of March 8, 1971 and done considerable damage. Before it left the city, thirty homes had been utterly destroyed, another thirty were damaged, six railroad depots were damaged, and nine people had been killed. Another sixty were injured.
"It was such a devastating time, just as the city was recovering from the cholera epidemic," the sister clucked, shaking her head. "No one had any idea that the storm was even coming. It just happened right out nowhere! So now you understand why there's so much building and repair work in the city."
Natasha nodded, taking it all in. "My poor cousin. She would've been arriving here right around then, too. She must've been so frightened."
And it made perfect sense. Using some kind of magic artifact, when she had no idea how to use magic or what it could even do, probably upset the balance of reality. Of course it would wreak havoc on the city. Of course there would be chaos.
That would make it even easier for Anya to hide. No one would be motivated to see past the lies that she told to fit in, either.
She sat back and took stock of her thoughts. Dr. Strange had sent her back because her mission was to find Anya and bring her back to the Red Room. But he also fully expected her to live in the past as a way to escape them as Anya had done. He wouldn't be upset if she took this opportunity to never return.
How many other girls would suffer in her absence, though? How many would fall under Madame Bolishinko's temper? How many others would be sent into the Himalayan mountains to look for her and Anya?
More importantly, how much was that magical gem worth?
Red Room handlers would likely think that a few lives were acceptable losses. Natasha had no illusions about how dispensable the girls were. They were only as good as their skill set, and only the best had resources allocated to them. If not considered worthwhile enough, girls would get shunted aside and possibly even used as cannon fodder.
Sister Mary Margaret was so eager to be helpful that she was too easy to manipulate. Saying that she wanted to help the nuns as recompense for aiding her brought the requisite protests, but Natasha insisted on it. The Sister wasn't very good at recordkeeping, and Natasha immediately beamed and offered to handle the books for the sisters for a time. "It will keep me from being idle," she said with a pleasant smile. "And I will need to learn more about the city if this is going to be my new home."
Natasha really hadn't believed that she would find Anya right away in the records that the nuns kept; how often would they have actually written down the names of those they helped? After all, they never wrote down the name she gave them. Still, she pored over them, meticulously reorganizing them and rearranging them into an easily cross referenced system.
From there, Sister Mary Margaret introduced her to faculty at the school, who felt she would make an excellent instructor. "Rather like the girl last year, actually," the dean commented, stroking his beard. Perhaps he was trying to look like Sigmund Freud, thinking it made him appear worldly and intelligent. Natasha thought he was rather officious, but politely refrained from saying so.
"What girl last year?"
The dean was startled a bit by her question. Perhaps he had thought she was the type to remain silent and accept all his words as divine gospel. "Oh, our students and staff helped people after the wreckage from the tornado. One poor girl was so devastated, memory loss and lack of funds, and no home to go to." He shrugged. "One of the lawyers we've employed for getting the permits for our school had need of a governess. She was quite skilled at languages and numbers, from what I recall."
She refused to hope that it would be this easy. It could merely be a coincidence. "What was her name? Do you remember?"
"Annie something, I think," the dean said dismissively. "Perhaps she's in the roster, since she did also teach French here for a time."
One of the secretaries helped her, thinking nothing of finding the girl's name. "It's good to know respectable ladies in town," she said, nodding. "When you strike out on your own, it's so easy for unscrupulous men to take loathsome advantage. Young ladies have no idea of the risk, and then they're fallen, unable to recover their reputations."
Natasha thought the old woman was an overbearing spinster, likely jealous of the young women in her charge, but again kept her opinions to herself. She merely smiled and nodded in all the right places as employment records were pored through. The woman was slow, peering through her spectacles and still squinting.
"Have you had many instructors?" Natasha asked.
"Well, once girls are married, they are busy with families and no longer work outside of their homes," the woman sniffed, blinking at Natasha and patting her white hair, smoothing it back toward her bun. Not a hair was out of place, not a spot or wrinkle was on her black dress. For a moment, the motion reminded her of Madame Bolishinko, and she froze. "There are those that think it's a waste to educate the young ladies, because of that. But educated ladies become proper helpmeets for the men of the city, and raise respectable children. It's better for the city as a whole if they can read and do simple tasks. I've heard quite a few men think it's silly, that they'll instead read novels, and their entire moral character would fall apart."
"Oh, no," Natasha said in mock horror. The secretary nodded, thinking her serious.
"Exactly. And the young ladies associated with our school absolutely cannot be loose in character, or it ruins it for the girls that are serious about their education."
"There are some rumors of the suffrage movement-"
"There is such a thing as taking education too far," the secretary sniffed, turning back to her papers and shuffling through them. "To be mannish undermines the very nature of ladies."
"Just so," Natasha murmured, feeling her spine itch in annoyance. "Perhaps if you tell me what to look for, I can assist you. I would hate to take you away from your important work."
That mollified the old woman enough to give her some of the enrollment and employment books; apparently, she had brought all of them to the desk instead of just the employment records that the dean had talked about.
There. Anna Markova, written in the neat, tidy hand that most of the girls of the Red Room employed. She was listed as a French teacher in the summer and fall of 1871, before resigning the post to become the governess for the Grimes family. The dean had remembered it wrong, but that was just fine. At least what had happened to her was written down, and Natasha could always track down the Grimes family.
This had to be magic. So rarely did information gathering yield so much in a single day.
Then again, this was also a much simpler time, and information was easy to dig through once she knew where to go to find it. Plus, the people around the courthouse were eager to talk about the Grimes family. Well, most of them seemed friendly and ready to talk about the city, its history, who was who and the "right" people that Natasha should get to know. Luckily for her search, the Grimes family fell under that category of "right" people.
Michael Grimes was a lawyer with an office at the Temple, a building one block south of the county courthouse, at the northwest corner of Fifth and Walnut Streets. It was a big office building, and there were large meeting rooms on the top floor, which were rented out for various conventions and uses in need of space. Grimes had been in practice for nearly ten years, and was fairly well respected in the community. He did business and real estate law, and businessmen tended to like him. He had been married to Gretchen for eight years, after a nearly three year courtship due to her poor health, and they had two daughters. Agnes was five years old and Emily had turned two three weeks before Natasha's arrival.
If Gretchen was that sickly, it would make sense for the Grimes family to have live in help in the form of Anna Markov. Natasha could imagine the name came to Anya the same way her own had come to her. It was similar enough to her own name that she could respond to it, though she was trained in ways to maintain deep cover. Anya had received the same training. Could she really be happy with taking care of little girls? She didn't think she could do it.
The Grimes family lived in a row house on Olive Street, near Washington University. It was part of the expansion of the city, with more churches and some stores in the neighborhood. To the west was a more rural landscape, though horse car lines along Grand Avenue was making travel easier into the area. The mansions of Vandeventner Place still had large tracts of land around them, and were relatively isolated from the growing city.
Natasha was duly impressed by the row house, as it was far more elegant than the University Club or the halfway house that the nuns had set her up in. This neighborhood was quieter and cleaner than downtown, with the hustle and bustle of business, industry and politics. It was very much an ideal place to raise little girls, and again made her wonder why in the world would Anya want to stay there. It wasn't the Red Room, but surely there were other places where she could have gone to ground?
Knocking on the door, Natasha almost expected a uniformed butler to open it. Instead, a young woman with blonde hair pulled into a braid down her back, green eyes and a round, open face looked back at her. She was dressed in a simple calico dress, lace at the collar and little golden hoops in her ears. It took Natasha just a moment to recognize her as Anya, though it was the same amount of time for Anya to recognize her as well.
She stuck her foot in the doorway and smiled sweetly even though Anya tried to slam the door shut. "Anna," she said, keeping the same flat accent that the locals had. "My dear cousin! I've traveled all this way to make sure you were all right."
Anya narrowed her eyes at Natasha. "Did you?" she asked coldly.
"My aunt-your mother- has died, my parents as well. I don't know where your stepfather is, but I know he has no idea where you are."
The older girl quickly caught the gist of Natasha's story. "And he sent you to find me, is that it?"
"That doesn't mean I would tell him."
"Why not?" Anya challenged. No, she should think of this as Anna now, because the girl was fully ensconced in her role as governess now.
"Perhaps you had the right idea of it, running away." She blew out a slow breath as Anna eased back from the doorway. "But this land is still unfamiliar to me. It could be that I may be of use to you. Or perhaps I need to be elsewhere."
Anna compressed her lips together tightly, contemplating Natasha. They both had the same training, and she could have been lying to the older girl. They both knew that.
Ultimately, it was Mr. Michael Grimes himself that took the decision out of Anna's hands. He came up to the foyer, newspaper in hand, dressed in his work trousers and shirt, suspenders keeping the trousers up. He had an impeccable and forthright look to him, with skin that was painfully pale from being indoors all day. That made his dark hair and eyes look even darker, and there were deep lines in his face on either side of his mouth. It could have been laugh or frown lines, but at the moment he was frowning at Natasha.
"Who's this?"
"My cousin," Anna began, making a faltering gesture with her hand.
"Natasha Roman," Natasha supplied helpfully, smiling. "I've only arrived in the area a few days ago myself. The coach had been attacked outside of the city."
"You hadn't said anything about a cousin," Michael said to Anna.
"I had said that home life had been... difficult."
Michael nodded at her, and looked from Anna to Natasha, waiting patiently for an explanation from them for Natasha's sudden appearance on his doorstep.
"Her mother died," Natasha said quietly, infusing her voice with grief. "And her horrible stepfather went missing. I don't think he knows where Anna went, but I couldn't bear the thought of him possibly tracking her down."
An understanding expression crossed Michael's face. "Well, then. You may come in. The girls are stirring from their nap," he said, directing the last part to Anna.
"Of course, sir," she replied, nodding. She gave Natasha a nod as well, and then slipped past Michael to get to the girls' room.
That left Michael hosting Natasha in the parlor, making small talk about St. Louis and where she had come from, which Natasha found easiest to lie and say New York City. All sorts of people lived there, and most of the films she had watched as a child had centered on there. Even if it didn't match up with Anna's lies exactly, saying they were cousins meant that they didn't necessarily grow up in the same household. She also found it interesting how closely he hung on her words, how engrossed he was in anything related to Anna.
"Is it proper to ask what your intentions toward my cousin are?" Natasha asked at one point.
Startled by that, Michael sputtered and shot to his feet. There was a sickly flush in his cheeks, and he looked about helplessly.
Anna returned with the children, who appeared sleepy and curious to see the redheaded Natasha in the parlor. "They wanted to see our guest," she explained.
The girls had dark hair like their father, and the same dark eyes. Their upturned noses had less of a patrician slant, and their cheekbones were higher. Both were likely features from the sickly Gretchen. They seemed to be short for their ages, though Natasha wasn't a good judge for the normal ranges of heights. Perhaps Gretchen was short. Agnes had an arm around one of Anna's legs as she stared at Natasha. Emily had her thumb in her mouth and a rag doll dangling in her other hand, but seemed less hesitant.
"They're lovely," Natasha said with a fond note to her voice. Michael relaxed a bit with that statement, but still was tense.
"Perhaps we should visit your mother," Anna suggested to the girls. "She should be done with her rest, and we can all have tea together."
Emily toddled forward, toward Natasha, looking up at her with big eyes. "Red," she said, thumb still in her mouth, pointing at her with the doll dangling from her hand.
Natasha smiled and approached, squatting down so that she was closer in height to the toddler. "Do you want to touch it?" she offered, pulling out a few of the pins that kept her bun in place on the top of her head. It was such a silly but common hairstyle that was considered proper in this time period, but the pins gave her a headache.
As her hair cascaded down past her shoulders in waves, the little girl grinned around her thumb, revealing a few crooked teeth growing in where her thumb seemed to be permanently parked in her mouth. With the doll still in hand, she reached out and touched the shining red hair. Natasha didn't even flinch when her fingers tangled in a few twisted locks of hair. She looked over at the older girl with an encouraging smile. "Did you want to see, too? I know red isn't a common color, but that's what I was born with."
With a gentle nudge from Anna, Agnes came closer. "It's wavy," she said, not quite touching it.
"There needs to be a lot of pins to keep it flat on my head. I don't like that much," she admitted when Agnes frowned.
"I don't either," she said, lips pulling down in the corners. "But Mama says I have to."
"And you must listen to your mama," Anna said in a gentle tone. "We have everything set up for tea, and there are little cookies."
"I wouldn't want to interfere with your schedule," Natasha said smoothly, untangling Emily's fingers from her hair. "I just wanted to be sure that you were well."
"I am," Anna replied quickly. "We have a nice routine here."
The door to the parlor opened, and a petite blonde woman with limpid blue eyes came in. Her clothing was exquisitely tailored, and she had delicate features that matched the girls'. She carried herself hesitantly, tentatively, as if she wasn't sure if she even belonged in the room, instead of being assured as mistress of the household. Interesting.
"We have a guest?" she asked, her voice a weak warble. "I knew something was different when you didn't come back for tea," she said, looking at Anna in curiosity.
Natasha again repeated her litany of lies, adding appropriately abashed smiles in places. Michael still watched her closely, as if he was nervous about something. Gretchen didn't seem to notice, and simply came closer and took Natasha by the arm. "Well, of course you care for your dear cousin. I would if I had any, too. You can stay for tea and visit. Michael, perhaps you can go to one of your clubs? In a house full of ladies and little girls, our conversation will no doubt be quite dull for you."
Ah, there was a bit of a backbone in the fragile woman after all. Natasha could appreciate hidden depths in women.
Though he obviously wasn't thrilled about leaving a stranger at home with the ladies, Michael did ultimately leave. They all settled in the dining room, the girls crumbling their cookies and sipping milk instead of tea. "I must say," Gretchen began gently, "that I'm glad Anna has family after all. And caring family."
"There were..." Natasha's eyes skipped over to the girls at the table. "Very not nice things that happened," she said finally. "I understand why Anna left and doesn't want to return."
"She'll always have a place here," Gretchen assured her with a firm nod. "Even if I am not, she will always be."
Putting down her teacup, she frowned at Gretchen. "What do you mean?"
Gretchen put down her teacup as well. "I am aware of my physical limitations." Her gaze skipped over to the girls, who were playing with the cookies more than eating them, chattering away with each other. Anna gently was reminding them to eat and drink so they could have energy to play in the afternoons. "I nearly died in the birthing of them, and I am held to be something of a failure in not giving Michael a son." She turned back to Natasha. "Should I pass on, I've already told Michael that he should marry Anna. She loves the girls as if they were her own blood. And I'm sure she'll love a third child as well."
Natasha gaped at her. "But-"
"I'm easily overlooked," Gretchen said quietly. "I heard what you asked Michael. He hasn't behaved in an untoward manner. He wouldn't, he's not that kind. But I want my children cared for when I die. I care for Michael, he's been very kind to me. But my children matter the most, and Anna is a wonderful caretaker for them. So you don't have to worry about your cousin, Natasha. She is well cared for now, and even in the event of my death."
She leaned back and contemplated the petite woman. "Thank you, then."
"Have you any plans for your own welfare?"
Natasha shook her head. "I have much to think about."
"I will allow you to stay here for a time, of course. So you can see for yourself that Anna will be safe here, and not simply take my word for it."
Giving Gretchen a wry look, Natasha shook her head. "I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. What your body lacks, your will more than makes up for."
Gretchen gave her a smile, likely the first genuine one in her direction. "We all have different strengths, Natasha. We do what we must to survive, to keep on breathing."
"You don't like your arrangement?" Natasha asked in surprise.
"It's as good as any I could have hoped for, but it wasn't my decision."
"I suppose few decisions are in a woman's hands in this day and age."
"Unless you're a Suffragette, in which case, there's always the struggle for more," Gretchen replied with a shrug. "Miss Phoebe Couzins, I'm sure you've seen her name in the papers, has devoted herself to the cause rather than continue with her work as a lawyer. All that time in school, and she only kept her office near Michael's for two months!" She shook her head. "It is just as groundbreaking to be the first woman lawyer in our fair city, but no, she believes in her causes and thinks women should vote."
"What do you think?"
Gretchen looked at her girls again and heaved a sigh. "Whatever makes their lives easier than mine is what I would campaign for. I don't know if the vote will help them or harm them. I simply want the best for them."
"Then maybe making it so that they aren't dependent on men?" Natasha suggested.
"Difficult not to be," she replied with a sniff.
Though she wasn't sure this was a good move, Natasha leaned in close to Gretchen. "I lived out east and through very unsavory situations," she said, voice pitched low enough that Anna and the girls wouldn't hear her. "Perhaps we can help each other, then."
"How so?"
Natasha picked up the butter knife, testing its edge. Fairly dull, yet she could still make it useful if she needed to. "I would not boast of such things before authorities, but this can still be a weapon to defend your person." She tapped the sharp tip. "This helps."
Eyes wide in surprise, Gretchen leaned back. "There is much you haven't said."
"And by your lack of horror, I think there is much you haven't said, either."
Settling back in her seat, she looked back at her daughters. "Then perhaps we may start speaking of these things, and decide how best to proceed."
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To Chapter Three - Decisions To Make