Sharon spat in the eyes of her captor —whose name she now knew was Jenkins— as he leaned forward that evening, and tried to reach for her.

He fell back growling, his hand rubbing furiously at his most likely stinging eyes. She scampered back, until her body hit the solid wall behind her.

Having stayed in his house for what she assumed was three days, she had used every weapon within her reach to keep him from defiling her; a chair, a lamp, a portrait, a spoon, a plate, everything! She had inflicted several injuries on him, and considering the fact that he was drunk half the time, he was always too weak to fight back. He had however, emptied the room of its furniture until she was left with no other weapon to use against him... nothing but her saliva.

“You wench!” He roared, brown eyes fixed on her like a shot gun.

It was the early hours of the morning and unlike the last two days when he had practically tried to rape her while drunk, she could tell just by looking at him, that the effects of the alcohol from the evening before had worn off.

She squared her jaw, hoping he would hit her. She had been hoping he would hit her —and eventually kill her— after she had failed to kill herself on the evening she was captured; after hitting her head consistently on the wagon, the only thing she had ended up with was a bruised forehead and a headache. Not a concussion, not a terrible illness, and certainly not death. She had woken up disappointed the next morning. He had cleaned her wounds, and had told her of his decision to have them wed once she was completely healed of her injury. He couldn't have the court thinking he was abusing her —he had smiled, displaying his crooked teeth, seemingly delighted by his own presumed wisdom.

Perhaps that was the reason he did not hit her? Perhaps it was why, no matter how much she provoked him, he did not give in to his anger?

Still, while he was willing to wait for her injuries to heal before taking her down to the courthouse and forcing her to say her vows, he was unwilling to wait for their accursed union, before trying to force himself on her.

Sharon did not know for how long she could continue fighting him. She was exhausted from clawing at him, and her head still ached from hitting it against the wagon that evening.

He began making his way to her, fear clawing at her heart as she watched him approach. While she hoped he would finally give in to his anger and hurt her, she had to admit —she thought, her eyes drifting to his massive hands that swung back and forth as he approached— that she was afraid of how much it would hurt.

He lowered himself before her, and instinctively, she recoiled back against the wall. He reached out suddenly, his fingers entangling themselves in her hair. He jerked her hair forward, the movement threatening to rip her head off of her neck.

With a loud cry, her body fell forward. He grabbed her chin, his mouth smashing hard against hers. He kissed her, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and mouth, causing her stomach to churn in disgust.

She tried to back away, but his hold on her hair and jaw tightened, holding her captive until he had gotten his fill of her.

The kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun, and with it, a sting to her cheek.

Letting out yet another cry in agony, she placed her palm on her stinging cheek, somewhat stunned that he had slapped her.

“Lucky for you, I have work to do.” He gritted his teeth, releasing his hold on her. “But I will be home early, and I will drag you to that courthouse whether you like it or not, dolly.”

“I will die before I am married to you!” She screeched after his retreating back.

He paused and turned around slowly, with his eyes twinkling. “I know that, dolly. Which is why, if you refuse to marry me by this afternoon, then I will have no problem going over to your father's little cottage, and setting the entire building on fire... with your father inside.”

Sharon's body swayed, whether by weakness or fear, she was uncertain. “You woul—”

“Oh, but I would! I will! Maybe I have misled you into thinking you have a say in any of this. I have pampered you for too many days, and have tolerated your abuse. But I can assure you, dolly, that my patience has run dry. I will walk out of those doors, and when I return, you will either be prepared to go down willingly to the courthouse with me and agree to be my wife, or... Well, I do not have to repeat my threat now dolly, do I?” He raised a bushy brow in question.

Unable to speak, Sharon simply stared numbly at him. She was fully aware that he was capable of carrying out his threat of harming her father. She was aware there was very little she could do to stop the impending marriage. She was aware her life was over, and all that was left of the years ahead was misery accompanied by an unhappy marriage to a drunken gambler, as well as rearing of that drunk's children. But so much more than that, she was aware that her miserable life was connected to the continued existence of her father. And while she loathed him completely, she could not bear the thought of watching him die.

She would marry the monster; she had no choice.

~*~

“Do not dwell on it,” Nana Lois touched Matthew's back in the compassionate manner he was accustomed to since he was a little boy.

She had been with him throughout his life, and had transitioned from being his nanny, to being his housekeeper, hence the name, Nana Lois; Nana being his childhood mispronunciation of the word ‘Nanny’. And as the years went by, the name stuck with every member of his family.

He turned around to give the older woman a forced smile, even if he knew she would be able to tell it wasn’t genuine, and shook his head. “I will try.”

She settled on the dining chair beside him and took his hand that was on the table. “Do not dwell too much on it, child. I know things will work out.”

He squeezed her hand. “My father is just waiting for me to fail.”

“And you will disappoint him.” A small smile curved her lips.

“What if I do meet his expectations by actually failing?”

“I have been around since you were nothing but a tiny seed in your Ma's tummy, and I stuck around to watch you become a grown man. In all of those twenty three years, Matthew Christopher Steiner, I do not recall you ever failing at anything.”

“That is not true, Nana!” He laughed, somewhat surprised by his ability to laugh considering the state of his mind. “I failed a lot in school.”

Her smile warmed his heart. “You did. Your Pa was so disappointed you did so poorly in mathematics.” She reached out and touched his hair affectionately. “But you know, you've never failed because you never let anything actually beat you. You just kept at it until you got it. Sure doesn't sound like a failure to me.” She shrugged, and rose to her feet. He watched her pour some coffee into a mug, and turn to him. She placed the coffee on the table before him.

“Thanks, Nana.” He muttered.

Matthew spent the rest of the day —after inspecting the work of his farmhands— in his study, studying the account books. He was nearly penniless, and the farm records brought no comfort. It was frustrating to think that a farm he had started a little over a year ago, had failed.

Commotion coming from outside drifted to him through the window in that second, but he ignored it, thinking his farmhands were arguing again, or fighting. And there was no doubt in his mind that Jenkins was at the center of everything

Jenkins was the farmhand that came to work hung-over, and often times than not, in a sour mood. He got into arguments and fights with the rest of the men, and Matthew was certainly tired of having him around as an employee. But with no means of paying them, Matthew did not think himself worthy of dismissing anyone; he just could not afford that kind of luxury.

Let them fight it out, he thought, his attention returning to the farm records. If they fought, and somebody eventually emerged the winner, perhaps it would deter the others from challenging that person? Perhaps it would afford him a little peace on his farm... If indeed he would have a farm by the end of the week.

“Matthew!” Nana Lois barged into the room, flour staining her green dress and the white apron that was tied around her waist. No doubt she had been whipping up a snack. “You need to come outside.”

“I am unwilling to be forced into separating a fight, Nana.”

“Not a fight, but if you do not come out here right this instance, you might have a dead body on your hands.”

Her words forced him to his feet. “What, whose?” He began making his way to where she stood by the door.

“Jenkins!”

It was a few minutes before Matthew was outside, and a few more minutes before he was filled in on the issue at hand; Jenkins had been caught stealing money from Matthew's safe. A few of the liquor on Matthew's shelf, as well as some bags of grains, had also been found in Jenkins's wagon.

Matthew's eyes ran down the length of Jenkins who was now on his knees in the mud, begging.

“Please, don't hand me over to the Sheriff.” He clasped his hands before him. “I didn't mean to steal from you, Mr. Steiner.” The only problem with that was the fact that Matthew knew quite well that Jenkins was lying.

“Say the word, sir, and we will ensure this thieving bastard gets what is coming.” Stanley growled, visibly upset. Stanley, more than anybody else on the farm despised Jenkins. They had gotten in more fights with each other than Matthew could count.

“How much was he found with?” Matthew asked.

“About a hundred.” Someone answered.

It was half of what was left of Matthew's savings. He was surprised Jenkins tried to steal from him, and even more surprised he knew the combinations of his safe.

“It's for a marriage certificate. I was going to get married this noon.”

Matthew's frown deepened. Married? Who in their right mind would agree to be married to Jenkins?

“Don't believe him Mr. Steiner, Jenkins is nothing but a bloody liar. The only women willing to pay him half a mind —and this for a dime— are the ones in the whorehouse.”

“Shut up, fool!” Jenkins turned his wrath on Stanley. “I ain't marrying no whore, I found myself a lovely damsel willing to marry me.”

“Do you mean George's daughter?” Stanley laughed. “The innocent girl you're forcing to marry you in exchange for the cancellation of her father's debts?”

Matthew would not have thought Stanley's words held any truth in them, if Jenkins's face did not reflect some remorse.

“Is this true?!” Matthew was disgusted. He suddenly pitied the woman who would be forced to endure a lifetime with Jenkins. “You are going to force a woman to marry you in order to cancel her father's debts?!”

“It was mutually agreed upon by her father and me.”

Disgusted, his frown deepened. “And did the woman in question have any say in all of this?!” He yelled.

Jenkins shrank back. “We did not think she needed to have a say. The old bastard owes me a thousand dollars. Won that money fair and square playing cards.”

For a second, Matthew considered punching Jenkins in the face and taking pleasure in watching him bleed. He imagined the drunken fool forcing the poor girl into marriage with him. No doubt Jenkins would be abusive toward her as well once they were married.

He suddenly felt sorry for her. Whoever she was, she did not deserve a husband like Jenkins, or a father willing to hand her over to a man like Jenkins. He wished he could help her. He wished he could pay her debts, and hand her over to her father.

He would most likely give her over to another vile man in order to settle some more debts.

No, he shook his head. Even if he could help her, he could not give her back to her father and run the risk of the same thing reoccurring. Perhaps there was another way?

Marry her.

A slight frown claimed his face as the thought entered into his mind. It seemed like a good idea; he could marry her, thereby saving her from her father, and Jenkins. Marrying her would also solve the problem of trying to find a wife. It would force his father to hand his inheritance over to him.

Still, he knew nothing about her. He couldn't marry a complete stranger, could he? Sighing, his frown deepened. He knew he had less than a week to get married which also meant that he didn't have the luxury of time to court the woman he would marry.

His plan seemed like a good idea, except for the very glaring issue of Jenkins. Would Jenkins hand his intended bride over to Matthew just like that?

“All of you,” he raised his voice so that the gathering of men on the field could hear him. “Get back to work.”

Surprised gasps followed his words, but the men eventually began to break from the circle, and walk away. When Jenkins rose to his feet and made to leave, Matthew stopped him.

“A word,”

Jenkins's countenance fell, but he nodded solemnly.

“I will forgive your crime against me,” Matthew began once he was standing on the field alone with Jenkins. “In exchange for the woman you intend to marry.”