Chapter 2

Evansgrove, Dakota Territory (Present day South Dakota)

April 1870

Two weeks stay in this little hovel had yet to impart any sense of importance to Luc.

Perhaps thirty years ago, it would have been an asset to the Hive’s holdings. Today, it was simply a mystery as to why anyone would want to live here. Luc and his associates had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to discover why the Hive had procured the failing Perry Fur Company. When they had arrived by steamboat, they had stepped onto the muddy banks of the river’s edge and looked around in collective horror.

Cuddled on the western bank of the river, the sun’s harsh light had revealed a town on the brink of folding up. Scattered buildings made of crudely hewn timber showed signs of neglect. Mongrels trotted to and fro along the ragged, dusty streets. The mercantile carried little inventory and the saloon had been boarded up.

In the past, the place had been well fortified as a fort. Such defense was long gone. The walls that surrounded Evansgrove had fallen down in places, allowing would-be intruders unencumbered entrance into the town.

Intruders would be welcomed in this sad place.

During the tour of the trading post conducted by a mountain of a man called Friar Jack, they discovered an empty building at the far end of the business district. It housed several empty rooms, and they were each able to claim one. Luc’s space carried the faint, but odious scent of dead animal. Looking at the walls, seeing dark stains on the surface and patches of fur, straw, and other debris, he guessed this room had once been the place where fur trappers came to trade.

Luc dug his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets as he sat in his ‘office’. In the short amount of time he’d been here, he found himself becoming more frayed at the edges. He snapped at most people, was short-tempered, and found his underlings in New York completely incompetent.

Now, in three days, the wife-to-be that Mevrouw ter Bane had selected would arrive in Evansgrove to join him in holy matrimony.

“Ridiculous.” He pushed away from the wobbly table. The narrow window let in meager light, showing tiny particles of dust floating in the air. Across from the stained wall where fur pelts once lay, some colorful Indian circlet steeped in some sort of mysticism rested there. He’d no idea what it was and for the moment, he didn’t care.

How could a man bring a woman to this place?

He had to. Luc and the rest of his associates had no choice.

Could things get any worse?

Someone banged on the door and he groaned. The last thing he wanted was company.

Sucking in a breath, he let it out slowly and then lifted his voice. “Come in.”

The door opened and Sybrand poked his head around it. “You got a moment to talk?”

Luc eyed the stack of papers on the desk, representing the haphazard record keeping of the previous owner. The sight of disarray had him shaking his head. Father would have rapped his knuckles for such atrocity. “Nee, come in.”

Sybrand lurched inside and collapsed into one of the two rickety chairs. Luc brought his own chair back to the table. “What do you need?”

“I need ideas, Luc.” Sybrand rested his elbows on the edge of the table. “How am I gonna make this place profitable?”

“That has been the topic of conversation for some time.” Luc grimaced. Sybrand’s constant inebriated state was becoming tiresome. “You would know that if you chose to live your life in some sobriety.”

The other man blinked. “You don’t have to worry about losing your share of the company if you don’t find a way to make this place lucrative.”

“True, but at least you don’t have to get married to keep your share.”

“Woe is Luc!” Sybrand mocked, his bleary eyes narrowed. “Let’s trade our predicaments. I’ll go find a wife and you figure out a way to turn dirt into gold.” He grinned. “I’ll tell you which I prefer.”

Luc swallowed and shifted uneasily in his seat. “In any case, drowning your sorrows in drink isn’t going to help matters.”

“And snapping at everyone who passes isn’t helping either.”

Luc snorted. “Is that what you came in here for? To tell me to be a good boy and play nice?”

“Nee, I came here because we need a way to—”

“You are the one burdened with the task, Sybrand, not me. Now, I will help. I’ll take care of the accounting, horrendous as it is, and will provide any information I can find. But the remunerative aspect rests on you.”

Sybrand’s cheeks flushed, darkening from the rosy hue of light drunkenness to a deeper red of temper.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you? Enjoyed spouting your superiority over me?”

“Not that again.” Luc slapped his hand against his forehead. He had heard that complaint their entire lives. “It’s not a question of superiority, Sybrand. It never has been.”

Sybrand blinked like an owl. “Then what is it?”

Luc thrummed his fingers along the table. “You’ll have to determine the answer for yourself.”

Quiet settled between them for a moment. Sybrand looked as if he were trying to figure out a difficult problem. Maybe he was.

“That’s the curious thing.”

“What is?”

Sybrand pushed away from the table. “The vaders gave the rest of us tasks related to the Hive and its operations and ventures in order to keep our percentages of controlling interest. Why do you think your vader gave you an ultimatum that threatens your leadership of the Hive?”

Luc flinched as if Sybrand had punched him in the gut. Trying to regain his composure, he moved the stack of papers from one corner of the table to the other. “That’s none of your concern.”

“It is interesting, to say the least.” Sybrand stood and then wobbled. “Keep your ideas to yourself, Luc.” He frowned. “But I expect to have a report from you very soon about the financial state of this ... whatever this is.”

Luc blinked. That was the first time Sybrand had ever given him a command in memory. For most of their lives, Sybrand had spent it in some form of drunkenness or worse. To see him like this, decisive and insistent, was strange.

“All right, Sybrand. I’ll make sure you get some sort of summary by tomorrow.”

Sybrand’s jaw slackened. “You’re not going to assert yourself? Tell me I can’t order you about?”

Luc massaged his temples. “Not in this case. The vaders must have had some reason to buy this company. I’m glad I don’t have to be the one to figure it out.”

His associate went completely still, his eyes wide. “That felt good,” he breathed out in a wondering voice.

“What did?”

“Telling you what to do.”

Luc let out a reluctant laugh. It was as alien to him to take orders as it was to Sybrand to give orders. “Don’t become acquainted with it. I am still the major shareholder of the Hive.”

Sybrand laughed as well. “No promises.” He shrugged. “Just think. In three days, we will all have the pleasure of meeting your bride-to-be.” With that, he tottered out of the room like an unsteady foal, leaving Luc enclosed in animal odor and unwanted thoughts.

Three days.

An uncontrollable trembling overtook his hands. He clamped them together. With a sharp intake of breath, he leapt up from the desk and stalked the four corners of the room.

A wife.

He’d never wanted one. What did a man do with a woman besides bed and sire children? Surely, one didn’t need a wife for either, did one? What meaning, what value did marriage bring?

“I’ll present you a bride who will be content to marry quickly and bear your heir. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.” Mevrouw ter Bane had promised a few days before his departure.

“I leave the selection up to you. I’ll expect to hear your progress by week’s end.” If he had to approach marriage, he might as well approach it as he did every other thing in his life, as a business acquisition.

His footsteps thumped harder on the floorboards. He thought of his mother. That last day, he’d entered the parlor room of their opulent apartment to wish her well. White sheets covered all the windows, a tradition rooted in some obscure practice to ward away evil spirits.

Luc paused in front of the Indian circlet, seeing his mother’s clear face and sad eyes. The stark contrast of her white hair against her dark mourning clothes.

Her last words before he’d left for this forsaken town echoed in his head.

“You can’t keep running, mijn zoon.”

“Running? What exactly are you referring to, Moeder?”

His mother had shaken her head. “It saddens me that you don’t want to know what I think you are running from.”

“Do stop talking in riddles.”

“I’m not, liefje. And that saddens me more.”

Why had Father forced marriage upon him? They had talked extensively over the years about his desire to never wed. The line of de Jeu’s would end with Luc, but the Hive would remain. Father had accepted this. So why had he changed his mind?

The shaking worsened. It cascaded over his body and lay claim to every limb. Luc braced his hands on either side of the Indian circlet, grinding his teeth to contain whatever this was. As he stared at the bright colors and beads interwoven in the thread of the circlet, images flashed in his mind.

Father hunched over a desk. Gold-lined spectacles perched on the end of his nose. An open ledger with neat scrawl. Blue eyes calculating and cold.

Mother sobbing.

Something clawed at Luc’s insides at the last image. A thing of great force ripped and tore at some inner part of him he barely acknowledged. It clamored for release, beat and thumped its talons. Although he didn’t quite understand what this emotion was, he knew, he knew, if he allowed it exit, it would consume him.

Luc hammered down the images which had burst in his mind, stuffing them into a mental coffin. Slammed the lid and nailed it shut. Shoveled dirt to keep it buried.

His mouth hurt. It was then he became aware he’d been grinding his teeth for some time. He blinked, coming back into the present. He pushed away from his prolonged stance in front of the circlet. His hands throbbed from the pressure he’d exerted against the wall. Backing away, he turned to see the sunlight had slanted. How much of the day had he lost? It was unlike him to lose track of time.

Shuddering, he fisted his hand in his hair and tugged. Why did he suddenly think of Mother crying? He’d forgotten about that time when...

He let out a loud breath and loosened the grip on his hair. His scalp throbbed.

Enough of this nonsense. I have work to do.

Luc stomped back to the table and with pertinacious will, went through the records. An hour later, he gave a crisp nod, and set the pen down after he signed his signature on the summary report. Sybrand would be pleased.

He straightened the records and then stood. Taking in the miserable little room, inhaling the loathsome fumes, furious with the world and everything within it, he nonetheless felt forlorn. His fingers longingly rifled the edges of the wrinkled pages.

He almost wished he could stay there, lose himself in his work and not have to think about ... anything.

Luc shut the door to his office and made his way to the mercantile where the owner had let rooms to them. Currently, he shared a space with Ties, Gerrit, and Guus.