Chapter 4

The crowd roared for more, men and women alike; throwing food, drink, and obscenities around as they saw fit to earn what they paid for. The barn, that barn, wherever the hell it was Joshua had been dropped off at, was full up that night with some one-hundred people, all wanting to see the same thing:

His blood spilled.

He circled away from the red-bearded brute’s power shot, one he’d been caught with once before and had suffered quite a wound above his left eye; the blood continued to ruin his vision and he was wiping at it constantly. Whenever the lumbering mountain of a man got too close, Joshua would pepper him with three or four quick punches and flee back out.

But his attacks seemed to just bounce off the man’s puffy, bloated face and his thick, fat gut. The man had seemed to have blown his best shots early in the fight as for the past several minutes had resembled a waddling balloon.

Every time Joshua’s fists landed, anywhere, he thought of what Brody had told him earlier that day when he brought up this stupid idea of prizefighting in a barn for drunken townsfolk and bored travelers: fifty bucks for the winner! As he dipped and dodged a slow wave of heavy blows he thought of all his winnings having to go to the doctor after the fight; Brody would get his share and he would get shit on.

Joshua stepped back to the ropes of the foul excuse of a ring and let the big man lumber towards him, measuring his time and movement. Then he saw it: a flash of those two men trying to assault Ivory, her screams for mercy and worse off, the reality if he hadn’t showed up. Joshua’s blood ran cold and his eyes went black. He twisted at the trunk and snapped foward, letting his fist fly through the air:

Boom! Direct hit, shattering the button of the man’s nose which brought him to his knees instantly. The crowd booed and shouted as their champion’s blood sprayed those closesst to the action, their excited distaste and rage only grew as Joshua hit the man multiple times to put him on his back for good. Joshua stood over the man who was gasping for breath and mercy, and raised his arm to declare himself the winner.

Within moments, Brody stumbled into the ring and demanded to meet the “fine promoter” outside to collect winnings and the details of the next fight where the new champion would defend his crown against the best opponents brought to offer. To Joshua’s pleasant surprise, there wasn’t a riot and once the reason for rage and fury was gone, the people calmed and even congratulated him on their way out.

An hour or so would pass before Joshua found himself alone in the corner, drinking from a bottle of something, watching the blood in the ring get cleaned up by a pair of young boys. Laced within the fingers of his free hand were several notes adding up to fifty dollars, an amount he’d never held all at once until then.

The money, that crisp paper ruffling in his grasp, made him think of Ivory. But not only Ivory, but of her father and what a group of his ilk must have sounded like around the table of a fancy meal. He knew all too well of the words they’d speak if they saw him, let alone met him, and the garbage he’d be regarded as; he would surely get lesser treatment than the animals kept for slaughter, at best being allowed to eat scraps from the toilet.

What would Ivory say if she were there? Would she keep quiet or stick up for the man who saved her at her most desperate time? Joshua’s face grew tight as his jaw clenched, right before tearing the bills within his grasp in half.

Ivory found herself seated in the chair before the mirror in her room, hair freshly wet from a long warm bath, clad in a pearly nightdress. In her grasp was her trusty diary, the other gripped a busy pen. She wrote of her day at the factory with her father and just how foreign he seemed to her, never had she seen the side of him which brought them the world they lived in.

He was so ruthless and unresponsive to his fellow man. How can I trust him to never turn that rage towards me? Am I worth more than his goddamn factory, his goddamn money? He never comes home angry, almost never, and has never shown any disgust about his worklife, how hard must it be to keep the two sides of his life separate. Did losing mom make him this way, or was he always such a general? I dare not ask.

She closed the diary and slid it into the open drawer and set the pen on top before closing it. She watched herself in the mirror, breathing in and out, telling herself she would never be like him to be in business; it had never even occured to her to join him or follow in his footsteps, as a matter of fact if she were asked she wouldn’t know what to say about what to do with the rest of her life. At the very least, she knew exactly what she didn’t want to do…

Ivory had grown up watching women live their lives around their husbands, or the needs of their children. Including her own mother. Dress when told and how, sit when told to sit and how to speak or keep your mouth shut. She wanted a husband, she wanted kids, but she didn’t want to be locked into servitude. I have something to offer, don’t I? She could have cried right then and there, realizing that in all actuality she didn’t know what she could do outside of what had been laid out before her.

She had been taught to support, to be maternal, table manners, and dress. What she hadn’t been taught, let alone be introduced to, were skills and knowledge and ability to move oneself further along the line. The only difference between her and those “small minds” which her father spoke of was indeed Henry himself, the rich father to keep her from ever having to worry about anything. But perhaps, she thought, she was worse than “small minded,” because unlike those men in the factory, she wouldn’t last a day without the luxuries afforded to her.

She’d been locked in a box, a box most would murder for, but a box for her nonetheless.

Ivory thought of her mother, what she found appealing about being confined to the will of others her entire life. Was it just normal because that’s all she knew? Was it forced onto her for so long that she grew weary and accepted the fate that was given to her? Was there true love between her and her father and was where she indeed saw herself was at the front of the home?

There was no doubt of the love between her parents, but Ivory had never questioned their dynamic until that very moment. From what little memory she had of one Mrs. Irons, there were smiles, and dates, and nice meals every night of the week; for the holidays they had big parties full of laughs and cheer. I don’t know if I ever heard mother raise her voice, surely I would remember so.

Ivory had only grown further away from being tired, but stepped away from her desk anyways towards her bed. She kept the light on and slipped under the blankets, staring up at the ceiling and the pretty little white spirals which decorated it. The spirals made her think of swans, which made her think of a wedding, which made her think of Joshua Barker.

She giggled out loud and blushed, putting a hand over her mouth to keep any nosey mice from hearing. Within moments she heard church bells ringing and the laughing of a million guests who had nothing but smiles on their faces and drinks in their hands, and her dress, oh her dress, was made of angel feathers and a mile long!

Henry would walk her down the aisle, so proud of her and unable to disagree with her choice of man, the man named Joshua who was waiting for her in a dark suit which hugged his muscles.

Ivory giggled into her hand once more.

The priest would speak of gathering here today and everyone would be smiling and full of tears and Ivory would look like a star in the night sky. The Father would continue, speaking of any reason why and no one would object and then the bride and groom would exchange vows and kiss and the entire world would cheer for their marriage. And then, later that night, Joshua would scoop her off her feet and walk them to the bedroom and then they would–

Ivory was laughing and gushing at the same time, slapping herself silly. “Get yourself together, Ivory,” she demanded, “you’ve seen him twice and met him once!”

She sprung out of bed and made for the lightswitch at the far end of the room, making it back to bed quickly in the dark. Once more she bundled up under the covers and rolled onto her side, smiling at the night’s fantasies. For all that had felt wrong that day, this sensation of ending the night feeling right made it all worth it for the young lady. So right in fact, Ivory knew exactly what she would do first thing in the morning…

Go visit Joshua Barker.