Chapter 1

The following characters appear through the entire story:

Grace O’Malley

Heroine, former prostitute, 5’-2’’ tall, 110 pounds, 34D-22-34, 21 years old, alabaster skin, long flaming red hair, bright green eyes, some freckles, very cute, has a large but untrained Talent and no knowledge of Magic

Owen

Blacksmith, occupier of the house, 5’-9’’ tall, 150 pounds, 25 years old, light auburn hair, gray eyes, quite handsome, has a large but untrained Talent and no knowledge of Magic

Grace’s Terror:

“They’re still behind me,” I thought in desperation, as I continued to hurry through the deepening snow. They had been following me for some time now even though I had taken many turns and crossed many streets, but still they followed me. I could sense them behind me even now.

The storm had intensified since I had left the last shelter in the city. I had tried all of the women’s and children’s shelters, but they had all been full because of the storm. I had even tried all of the men’s shelters, but had been rebuffed at them also and for a good reason.

“No, girly, you can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be healthy for you,” those in charge had told me, as those there had leered at me. I had even tried the various churches in the downtown area of the city and the Salvation Army, but none of them were allowing anyone to remain there overnight anymore because of previous vandalism. I had even tried the new YWCA, but not only were they full, they would want money to stay there, money that I didn’t have.

I had been followed to all of those places, but nothing had been done by those following me because of the presence of the people in those locations. However, I was aware that the number of those following me had increased while I was thus engaged.

Now with all of the attempts to lose them, I was thoroughly lost, and the storm was making it very difficult to see even a short distance ahead of me. The snow swirled around me in the constantly shifting wind and settled on everything only to be swept up again by the constant wind. My high top, button up shoes were soaked already, and my feet were frozen making it difficult to walk on the snow-covered ground especially since I was unable to see the patches of ice under it, patches which increased the difficulty of walking.

There was snow in my hair, and it covered the small hat that I wore. It also covered much of my wool coat and because of my body heat had it begun to melt into it as well.

Beside the swirling snow, there was the dense fog that hampered vision. It also made it dark enough that it was impossible to tell where I was. I needed to find shelter of some kind, or I would surely freeze to death tonight, and that presumed that those following me hadn’t caught up to me by then. I wasn’t sure which would be the worst alternative.

I knew that I needed to keep moving and trying to find shelter ... any shelter. I clung to the carpet bag that held my few other possessions. I would need the dry clothing in there if I ever found a place to stay and could get out of the wet ones that I was wearing now and dry them out.

By now, I was so tired and cold that I didn’t know if I could go any further when suddenly the storm seemed to slacken and the fog to melt away some allowing me to see where I was, but I had never seen anything like what was in front of me in the city before.

The House:

What I could now see was a number of small houses on a snow-covered street. There appeared to be other rows of houses behind them, but they were more difficult to see since it was foggier behind the first row of houses. Even at that, most of those in the first row appeared to be empty at present. There was only a light in the first house of the row, and I could see smoke coming from its chimney. I hurried toward it and the protection it offered.

As I drew closer, I could see that it wasn’t really a regular house, but what would have been called a cabin where I had grown up in Kentucky. Still, it was a fine looking cabin with regular wood siding, a chimney with smoke coming from it, and several windows, one of which was the one at the front of the house with the light visible in it.

There were two snow covered steps that led up to the deep porch that ran across the front of the house. The porch was somewhat less covered in snow than the steps were, especially back near the door. I gained the porch with only a little difficulty, and moved to knock on the outer door there. My hands were so cold that it hurt to knock and the thin gloves that I had on diminished the sound of my knocking.

I was ready to remove the glove on my right hand and knock again when I heard someone moving inside the house and shortly the inner door creaked as it was opened, and a man appeared.

“Please, sir, could I come in for a short time to warm up?” I pleaded. He smiled and pushed the outer door open against the thin layer of snow that far back on the porch.

“Please do come in, Miss,” he invited, “It’s much too stormy to be out today.”

“Thank you,” I breathed in relief, hoping that those following me wouldn’t see me enter the house, and come after me.

“What’s your name, Miss?” the man asked as I entered.

“I’m Grace O’Malley. I’m afraid that I became lost in the storm,” I told him. The house seemed very warm to me, having just come in from the cold and the storm outside, but I saw that he was dressed in a heavy wool shirt and thick corduroy pants as well as felt house shoes. I also noticed that he was tall at about 5’-9’’, but was not overly heavy. His light auburn hair was a bit darker than my red hair, and his eyes appeared to be gray in the lamp light.

“Thank you for allowing me into your house. How should I address you?” I finally remembered to ask him.

“I’m Owen, as to the house, that’s a bit of a tale I’m afraid. Come in and sit by the stove after you remove your coat and hat, and I’ll tell you about how I came to be here,” he told me, indicating the stove sitting at the back of the large room that constituted the main part of the house. He also brought the kerosene lamp that had been by the front window with us as we moved toward the warmth of the stove, which was the type that I had seen used to heat the main parlor in many houses.

I could see that the cabin was divided into a number of areas. There were several chairs gathered near the stove and there was a table for food preparation and eating near it as well. A small counter contained the sink and the water pump. On the opposite side of the cabin was a large bed, a small chest of drawers and a blanket chest which sat at the foot of the bed. There was also a set of screens for changing clothes behind, folded now against the wall. A small door led to a separate area where I presumed the toilet facilities were located.

Near the front door was a small sofa with a bookcase that the lamp had been on plus there were a number of books in it. I however was only interested in the stove and the heat that it produced. As we approached the stove, I could see that it was a Glenwood Parlor Stove and that it could burn either coal or wood. Owen had further questions for me as we neared it.

“May I take your coat and hat? I’ll hang them behind the stove and its chimney pipe to dry out,” he explained. Being near the heat of the stove, I quickly agreed, and he assisted me in removing my coat. I removed my gloves and hat myself and handed them to him.

“Please take the comfortable chair nearest the stove, Miss Grace,” he asked as he hung up my coat and placed the gloves on a separate wooden hanger and the hat on another to hang them near the stove pipe also. I eased down onto the cushions of the large chair there by the stove and nearly passed out, as I hadn’t realized that I was so tired. The relief that I felt at being out of the storm and away from those pursuing me was so tremendous that I was nearly ready to cry. And I was more tired than I had thought. I had dropped the carpet bag near the chair and he noticed it there.

“Do you have anything else that requires drying out?” he asked, as he returned from hanging up my other things. I was about to tell him that I didn’t when my nearly frozen feet called my attention to them.

“I should remove my shoes so they can dry out also,” I told him.

“Certainly, and probably your stockings as well. They are probably as wet as the shoes appear to be,” he said from beside my chair.

“Yes, I have other stockings in my bag,” I told him, as I bent to remove my shoes. However, my fingers were still so cold that I couldn’t work the many small buttons on the shoes loose, and I started to cry in frustration, disgust, and anger at my inability to unbutton the shoes.

“Here, allow me to help you,” he requested seeing my problem.

“Yes, please, my fingers are too numb to work the buttons,” I answered in frustration. He knelt and began unbuttoning my wet shoes. He soon had them off.

“I’ll set these over neat the rear of the stove so they dry out, but not too near so they don’t shrink being leather. You should change your stockings and perhaps your dress as well since the bottom of it is also rather wet,” he told me.

“Yes, can I change behind the screen?” I inquired.

“Surely, give me a minute, and I’ll have it set up for you,” he answered, moving over to set up the screen after finishing with my shoes. In the meantime, I had pulled off my cold wet wool stockings and hung them on the arm of the chair temporarily.

Owen soon returned with a towel and another pair of felt house shoes.