The Feud

She walked home, a hollow roaring filling her ears, Janey's shocked expression and Mabel's sad nod of agreement fixed in her mind.

She lay awake all night, listening to the raucous sounds of the Green Room, then the cold winter silence. She was going to die, she knew he would kill her. Like Gramma said. She always knew she'd die at the Devil's hand. Maybe that's what she'd really been waiting for these last seven years. She had nothing, really. Her room had a few knick knacks, a couple books. Heck, all her clothes would fit in one suitcase. Not much to live for.

It wasn't a conscious decision, really; no epiphany. Still, she felt peaceful and calmer than she'd been in years. She'd face her fate; she wouldn't hide from it.

The next night she walked into Green Room with eerie calm. The bar wasn't as crowded, and she immediately saw what she expected. Devil Amos sitting at the same table, with the same drink, facing the same empty chair. Staring right at her. Just like she knew he would.

Ella walked to the bar, and got a tumbler of whiskey from a leery Mabel, then walked directly to the empty chair and sat down facing him.

"Devil."

"Firebug."

So they sat, staring at each other, sipping whiskey and not saying a damn word. The sound of the crowd couldn't seem to reach them. They were shared a silent world of their own creation.

She looked, really looked, at his face for the first time. His eyes had never lost their intensity.

He seemed to be studying her just as carefully.

After forever, they both finished their drinks at the same time. And by mutual unspoken agreement, they left the table.

A pale Janey came up to her. "Are you crazy?"

"I dunno, it seemed like I had to do it."

She found herself facing Devil in the bar the next night. And the next. For weeks. Until Christmas Eve.

Devil sat with two glasses and two bottles of Mabel's best whiskey in front of him. He'd obviously been drinking hard already. She sat across from him and grabbed the full glass, angry at the change in their ritual. He looked at her, the impassivity replaced with something sadder, deeper, swaying slightly in his seat.

"Merry Christmas, Firebug."

"Merry Christmas, Devil"

He was drinking serious, and she tried hard to keep up. With her small size, she was soon as unsteady as he was. Mabel watched warily, and the crowd seemed to sense the disturbance, miners pulling their chairs further away from the hard-drinking pair.

They were barely upright in their chairs when the last of the whiskey emptied from the last bottle.

Devil pushed himself upright with some difficulty. Ella did the same.

He lurched out the door into the street. As the door opened, Ella heard carols coming from the church.

She flushed with drunken anger. Goddammit. Of course. Christmas Eve. She weaved out the door, barely able to stand; walking was a monumental achievement.

She fought through her confusion as she walked, the world a swirling twisting thing. Finally coming to the door and pushing it open.

***

A hazy dream. Ella woke in the dark room, confused, clinging to the man in bed with her.

She couldn't even remember the guy's name – one of the miners, she figured. A big guy. She moved her bare thigh across him. And felt her "itch" flare dramatically. A big guy in more ways than one, apparently. She slid her thigh over him until he was ready, then pulled herself over on top of him. A very big guy. As wet as she was it was still difficult to get him inside of her. She felt him begin moving with her... a confused, fumbling, but gloriously filling event...

***

Dim winter light streamed through the window, momentarily blinding Ella. She rolled toward the edge of the bed, and blinked several times. Then rolled back toward the big miner and the warm spot on the bed. She looked into his face and gasped, the warmth and lazy sleepiness replaced with a deadly cold alertness. She was standing on the cold floor instantly, grabbing the first thing that came to hand – some kind of odd-looking hammer off a dresser next to the bed. Backing up, she stumbled over a pair of heavy boots, but kept her footing, trying to look around frantically, without taking her eyes off him.

Devil's eyes blinked open, and as soon as he saw her he rolled to his feet on the other side of the bed, eyeing her warily, slightly crouched. Ella pointed the hammer at him as if it was a talisman.

"Stay back!"

He stepped back silently, and straightened up. Ella suddenly felt foolish holding the hammer as if she could really hurt him with it. She'd seen a circus strongman once, and Devil Amos made him look like a helpless child. And she was alone with him. In his cabin. The one she'd burned to the ground with him in it. Still, she kept the hammer and started to cast about for her clothes.

Devil slowly raised one huge arm to point wordlessly toward the floor behind her. She backed up until she could see their clothes piled together, as she did, she vaguely remembered bursting through the door and stripping her clothes off, although what on Earth she'd been thinking or what happened afterwards was unclear. Except the throbbing ache between her thighs. That didn't feel hazy at all.

Devil moved back toward the opposite wall, finally sitting in a chair along it. Ella struggled to pull her dress up past her almost non-existent hips. Then one arm in at a time. She couldn't see her underwear, but really didn't give a damn right now. She managed to step into her shoes. She needed to get out of here – get somewhere safe.

Devil looked at her. "Ella. Take my coat. It's snowing hard."

Ella. He'd called her Ella again.

She glanced out the window to see the truth of his statement, then back at him quickly. He hadn't moved at all, in the increased light she could see scars. Like frozen flames, red and angry, on the right side of his heavily muscled torso, Other scars. Oddly round. Bullets, she suspected, on the other side.

He pointed slowly and deliberately to her right, where she could see a heavy oilcloth coat hanging.

She pulled it down, although that took a couple tries. Damn it was heavy. She managed to put it on her shoulders and found that the coat was almost to her feet. She edged over to the door and opened it behind her back. A blast of cold and snow wrapped her legs.

She gave him a last look. He nodded.

"Merry Christmas, Ella."

She could only respond: "Merry Christmas, Jack."

She darted out the door, slamming it behind her. And ran. Almost colliding with a surplus jeep parked by his cabin. She didn't look back until she reached the main road. He'd pulled on pants and was standing shirtless and barefoot in the snow just outside the door, watching her leave.

She was locking the door to her room in the back of the store before she even realized she still had his odd-looking hammer. She was shivering, but not from the cold.

***

It was after New Year's before she could bring herself to go back to the Green Room. She tried to resist longer, but she was drawn inescapably in, a ship caught in a whirlpool. She found him just as she expected – sitting at the table, with a bottle and two tumblers. She sat down.

He didn't register any real emotion that she could see, but his greeting took her off guard.

"Ella."

She paused for a long moment, considering. But finally answered.

"Jack."

After she went back home, she tried to reflect on what it meant. She'd given herself up for dead already, but she wasn't sure what was going to happen now. She'd been, well, comfortable, in a way, knowing what was going to happen, and that it was inevitable. Now she felt more than a little unsettled. She was afraid to take hope out of his use of her given name, but something had changed. She just didn't know what it meant.

She heard rumors about him. He'd gone to school they said, and learned to assay ore and rock. Worked for companies to determine how much their holdings were worth. That's what he was doing here.

They returned to their nightly ritual, only the change in names to signify whatever had happened. Her equanimity, her calm, returned to a certain degree, although not quite as solid as before Christmas.

Nearly a full month later she was walking out to the Green Room, passing the bus station. She'd been feeling poorly lately – a touch of a bug of some kind. Having trouble keeping food down. The liquor in the evenings seemed to feel okay though, and she was glad her queasy stomach had let up some since she'd started the day. She wondered if, maybe, she was drinking too much, although she'd never had a problem with it before.

A fearful thought passed her mind. She'd always been so careful, but not on Christmas. Not with Jack.

She walked distracted and lost until low rumbling voices caught her ear. Just as she passed the bus stand.

"That has to be her. That's gotta be the Firebug."

"Maybe. Not exactly what I was expecting."

She spun on her heel, ready to tear into whatever damn fool mine guard thought he was being funny.

And froze.

Two huge square-jawed Indians in faded Army jackets stared directly at her. They were damn near as big as Jack.

As she fought to find her speech, the closer one smiled slightly at her.

"You must be Ella Mae Simms."

She nodded, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'not what you were expecting,' Chief?"

The other spoke, "I was picturing more of a Lana Turner with red gold hair."

The first chuckled deeply. "Gotta agree with that. No offense, but from Cap's description I figured you would be more... well, just more."

"Who the hell is 'Cap,' and why would he describe me?"

"The Captain, our Captain. We were in the Airborne with him. Hardest bastard ever made, climbed all the way up from Private to Captain. In it all from Kassarine to the Bulge. Hard as hell. Asked him one time what made him so damn hard, he said it was a woman. Murdered him, he said. Burned him up. Soul and all."

"He told us about you."

The other grinned, a bit like a tiger would. "That also cleared up why he always called our flamethrower guy 'Ella Mae' when he was pissed at him."

The bus stuttered to a start.

The first Indian looked at the bus, then her. "That's our ride to New York." He paused. "You know, none of my business, but he did say what made him so hard was hate. Betrayed by the only woman he ever loved. Never got over it. The girl of his dreams from the day he first laid eyes on her. Said he'd never met anyone so beautiful – hair like spun gold."

With that, they boarded the bus and were gone.

Ella watched the bus pull away. Then began walking unsteadily to the Green Room.

Jack was in their usual place.

She sat down.

"Ella."

"Jack."

She paused, then spoke again, "You have visitors today?"

He shrugged, obviously puzzled by any attempted discussion. "Couple of guys from the war on their way to New York."

She nodded slowly.

They sat silently, drinking slowly until the whiskey ran out.

As Jack left, Ella trailed behind him. He glanced back and saw, then stopped right there at the edge of town, where the road turned to rock and the long walk to his cabin began. He turned and faced her, looking puzzled.

She walked toward him, steady and firm, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Jack. I didn't know. I didn't know you were in the God damn house. I didn't know what you thought of me. I didn't know." Almost shouting now.

She collided with him and wrapped her arms around him, feeling his clasp in return, her tears finally breaking free in violent wracking cries.

He let her sob. Just standing there, just holding her. She felt a huge, hard, hand tentatively brushing through her hair.

She finally wound down, feeling drained, but not empty.

"I'm tired of this, Ella. These people. This place. Always fighting over something – families, unions, mines. There's so much more out there. God. There's a whole world out there. Oceans, beaches. Summers that seem to last forever down South. But I can't leave as long as you're here."

Ella felt her grip tighten on his jacket.

A creeping fear slid over her. What if he didn't believe her? "There's been nobody else since months 'fore you came back..." She heard her own voice trial off.

He chuckled, soft and low. "I know, Ella. I know. I could see it on you. You looked a little sickly lately and I asked around."

"I'm the Devil's girl. Guess I always was."

"I'd hate to have my baby born here, in this place."

"I don't want to be here either. Tired of being Firebug. You know, everyone calls me that now. 'Cept you."

"Maybe we'd best just leave Firebug here then."

And so, on the edge of town Firebug died. In the arms of the Devil.

But Ella? She and Jack packed her few belongings in his surplus jeep without a word to anyone and headed South until the sun melted the last of the mountain cold from them.