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April 1, 1874
Despite my bravado in telling Hank that the opinion of others no longer mattered, over the next few days I became increasingly aware of the fact that whenever I entered the general store all conversation stopped. Some of the men who had always greeted me with a respectful nod and a tip of the hat now stared at me openly, and wherever two women or more gathered there was a great deal of whispering as they shared new tidbits of gossip about the scandalous "goings-on" of the local schoolmarm. From the time that I had stepped down off of the train in Colorado Springs I had been seen by the majority of the single women in town as an object of envy and a potential rival. The fact that I had arrived to preside over the classroom being not quite as old nor as plain-featured nor as lacking in social graces as one might hope--given my choice of occupation-- had been seen as a personal affront, but the coup de grace had been when they had somehow discovered that my father was the owner of a financially successful shipping line. Even though I had never shown the slightest indication of being interested in any of the men they had set their caps for, and I lived on my own salary, not my father's wealth, I had never managed to make more than a few friends among the unmarried women my age and younger. Therefore, it didn't surprise me at all when I found myself being snubbed openly by the same small group. Observing my flushed cheeks after three of the local women had pulled their skirts aside when I passed--the same gesture that they made when they encountered one of the Gold Nugget's whores on the sidewalk--Dorothy crossed the street and linked her arm through mine. "I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Why don't you come on over to the Gazette and have a cup?" "I would love to, but Zach went into Denver early this morning, so he's not around to feed the animals for me," I demurred, torn between anger and embarrassment. "I should probably be going on home." "Those animals of yours won't starve to death if you're half an hour late." Quietly insistent, she steered me back toward the newspaper office. Removing my gloves, I held my hands over the stove to warm them. "Just who do those three witches think that they are?" My fury bubbled over. "I should have snatched that pig-eyed, orange-haired Annalee Ray completely bald-headed!" "If looks could kill, Jake would be out there right now, draggin' bodies in off the sidewalk, and I'd be busy writing up obituaries." Dorothy said lightly. "I have had it up to HERE with that particular little clique," I fumed. "And someday I am going to tell those simpering, no-account, ignorant pieces of white trash exactly what I think of them! How DARE they pull aside their skirts when I pass? I've done nothing--absolutely NOTHING--to deserve that kind of filthy, public insult!" "By now you ought to know it ain't about what you do or don't deserve." She took two cups off of a shelf and reached for the coffee pot. "It's about them being jealous." "Jealous of WHAT?" I demanded. "Compared to you they look like milk cows dressed up in ruffles and bows, you got more breedin' in your little finger than they all got put together, and your daddy's money means you can have anything you really want," Dorothy suggested. "To top it all off, you've gone and gotten yourself engaged to be married." "None of those women could possibly be interested in Hank." I couldn't keep from chuckling as I imagined Tilde Weimoritz, whose self-righteousness was matched only by her morbid obesity, lusting after the dangerously attractive, forbidden saloon owner--the kind of man she might have secret fantasies about but never dare to even speak to. "There's not one of them who wouldn't turn and run if he so much as said BOO." "It ain't that it's him. It's you findin' yourself a husband while they're still waitin' around for some unsuspectin' fool to come along and ask." She handed me a cup of coffee. "For the love of God, if all they want is a husband, how hard can it BE to find one in a place where men outnumber the women to the point that they send off for mail-order brides?" I shook my head in disbelief. "I could have married a dozen or more times by now!" "Trouble is, the men around here all know 'em well enough to know they don't want 'em. An' the new ones learn quick enough." "I would be happy to chip in toward the cost of one-way train tickets to somewhere else. ANYWHERE else!" "Problem would be people collecting money on the other end of the line to send 'em right back." She smiled. "What puzzles me is why this keeps getting worse--not better. Now that I've agreed to marry Hank, I should no longer be considered any sort of 'competition' whatsoever." "In some folks' minds, tearin' other people down brings their own worth up a notch or two. It seems to be part of their nature." "As furious as I am that Sheriff Simon won't believe that Hank and I were together at the time when Walker was killed, at least he's had the decency not to spread the word all over town...so what in the world are all of these women gossiping about?" "While I was in Loren's store I heard one of them say that no lady is gonna be willin' to marry somebody like Hank, especially with him havin' murder charges brought against him, unless she's got somethin' to hide. Or she's not all she's s'posed to be," Dorothy responded levelly. "Are you of that same opinion?" I challenged. "There was a time when I might've been," she admitted. "But when my husband died I was locked up for murder 'til Michaela found out he brought it on hisself from drinkin' too much. Then Loren took me in and let me live with him 'til I could afford a place of my own. Now I got half the town callin' me everything but decent for keepin' company with an Indian. You can count me as one who's got nothin' to say about you and Hank." "This is the first time in my entire life that anyone's ever even dared to question my...virtue, and I don't know how to deal with it," I confessed flatly. "Short of you breakin' off your engagement and movin' Zach into the hotel, there's nothing to be done except hold your head up high and go on about your business." She stuck her pencil behind her ear. "Sooner or later somethin' else will come along for them to talk about. It always does." "Do you ever think about moving to a place where it's legal for you and Cloud Dancing to marry?" I asked curiously. "He's got to live his way--and I got to live mine. What we have is what it is--can't be anything else --but if I had to make my choice between bein' some other man's wife and spendin' time with Cloud Dancin', he's the one I'd choose. Besides, we're too old to pick up and start all over. Not that he's asked me to." "You're not that old." "Old enough to be your mother...and finally smart enough to know my own heart and mind." Dorothy's face was serene. "All I ever got from Marcus was my children, heartache, an' a beatin' on a regular basis. Now I got my newspaper, and the company of a man who sees more'n my wrinkles or the gray in my hair or that one of my breasts is missin'. I got somethin' to smile about when I wake up in the mornin' and somethin' to look forward to every day. I'm happy. That's more than lots of folks can say." "It's more than I can say at the moment," I agreed glumly. "There are days when I think that I would forget how to smile, if Zach wasn't around to remind me." "You and Hank are still havin' problems?" "I can't imagine how things could possibly get much worse between the two of us." I swallowed hard. "For the past few weeks he's acted as if he cares nothing for me at all...and I have no idea how to reach him. I've tried everything that I know how to do." "Maybe this all started movin' too fast," she suggested. "Man in his mid-30s never been married, he's bound to get cold feet at least once or twice before you get to the altar." "It's more than that, Dorothy. The longer Hank spends in jail, the more distance that there is between the two of us." I bit my lip, determined not to cry. "Sometimes I wonder if he blames me for the fact that he was caught--because he didn't go ahead and leave here as soon as he knew that Daniel planned to take out a Warrant... And sometimes I think that he truly believes that he's going to hang--guilty or not--and he doesn't want me to be here when it happens. He said as much to me the day that Zach came, although I thought that we had gotten through that. Maybe not. Maybe what's going on is that Hank simply doesn't love me. All I know for sure is that he's pushing me away...for whatever reason. That things are not--going well." The rumble of an approaching train caught my attention, and I glanced at my watch. "The train is ten minutes early. It must not have had to make one of the regularly scheduled stops. I wonder if Zach is on it with good news?" I hurried outside, Dorothy at my heels, and waited while steel wheels screeched and clanked to a halt against the rails, clouds of steam billowing up into the chilly air. Searching for Zach through the windows, I smiled when I saw a familiar blond head at the rear of the coach. I had never dreamed that it would be so easy to love this son that Clarice had given to Hank, but Zach Lawson had quickly begun to feel like something between a younger brother and a child of my own heart. Drawn together by our common fears and despair at Hank's increasingly melancholy moods, Zach and I had formed a bond that grew stronger day by day. He had settled into my household with amazing ease, automatically assuming responsibility for assuring that enough firewood had been cut and split, keeping the animals fed and cared for, and making long neglected minor repairs as he discovered the need. The wagon wheel no longer squeaked for want of grease, loose boards were securely nailed down, and the heavy bags of staples that I had once struggled to drag into the house were easily hefted onto his shoulder. Although his help was welcome, and cooking had become a much more pleasant chore with a hungry male to appreciate my efforts, I was even more grateful for his company during the long, cold evenings that we spent sitting by the fire. I would make popcorn, put the bowl on the table between the two wingchairs, and we would read in companionable silence, or he would sketch at the table while I graded papers. Often one of us would suggest a game of cards, checkers, or chess, and we would end up talking until the lamp burned low. Despite the problems in my relationship with his father, Zach and I could not have been more compatible as housemates. He took the platform steps two at a time, then grinned broadly when he spotted me standing with Dorothy in front of the Gazette. Striding purposefully in our direction, he dropped his leather case to the ground, encircled my waist with his hands, and swung me gleefully around. "Guess what?" "You did it!" I laughed, my hands grasping his biceps for balance when my feet left the ground. "Three books to start." Zach was beaming with pride. "I can't wait to tell Pa!" "He's going to be so pleased--and as proud of you as I am." I smiled up at him. "Pay's good. Better than I expected. And they want at least ten bookplates for every novel." "I knew that if they had any artistic sense at all, they would have to be complete fools not to recognize your talent and hire you, but I've still been on pins and needles all day." "The man I talked to--Mr. Davis--said I draw and do better engraving work than anybody else they got." Zach's pleasure spilled over in rapid speech and a grin that was achingly like his father's. "He told me I could have as many book contracts as I could keep up with." "One of Zach's teachers arranged an interview for him with a publishing house in Denver." Feeling like an excited parent, I turned to Dorothy. "As of today he's a working artist." "That's wonderful." Dorothy met my gaze, her eyes flashing a warning. "Maybe we should go inside so he can tell us all about it?" I felt the blood drain out of my face, my throat dry as I suddenly realized how our exuberant greeting might be misinterpreted by an already suspicious town. "Dorothy and I were having coffee. Would you like to join us?" I kept my fixed smile carefully in place. Seemingly unaware that anyone could possibly attribute our growing closeness to romantic or sexual attraction, Zach jauntily offered me his arm, and I allowed him to escort me over the uneven ground to the newspaper office. But when Dorothy reached into the cabinet for another cup, he stopped her. "I'd really like to go on over to the jail for a few minutes." He glanced from one of us to the other, anxious not to offend. "If that would be okay with you?" "I'm sure that Hank is as eager to hear how things went today in Denver as I was." I nodded. "We'll have time to talk later." As the door closed and his footsteps faded away, I turned back to Dorothy. "You surely don't think that people would..." "I don't think--I know." She shrugged. "Hank warned me...but Zach is ten years younger than I am. Barely out of school," I protested dully. "On top of that he's about to become my stepson!" "Folks talk because they want to. Not because they know what they're talkin' about." "Why can't they just leave us alone?" I closed my eyes for a moment and rubbed my aching temples. "It's hard enough, having Hank behind bars for no reason. Now I have to worry about what dirty-minded people might have to say about Zach and me? He's only EIGHTEEN!" "And handsome as they come," she said quietly. "Don't think the girls around here don't notice how Zach lights up when he's with you. Way he was whirlin' you around out there, it's gonna add fuel to the fire." "What is wrong with this town?" I sank down into a chair and shook my head in disbelief. "Why would anybody try to turn innocent, boyish excitement over getting hired for his first job into something ugly and absurd?" "I'm the only one heard what the two of you were sayin'," she reminded me gently. "The rest of them are gonna fill in the blanks however they feel like it." "I am so tired of this," I whispered, drawing in a steadying breath. "I feel as if I'm living beneath the lens of Michaela's microscope--under constant observation by people who are hoping against hope that I will slip up in some way. But as much as I hate the thought of wagging, malicious tongues, Zach is Hank's son, and he will be a part of my life for as long as I live. Our relationship is far more important than whatever lies they want to tell. Hopefully, this entire episode will soon become nothing more than a terrible memory. Zach's graduation had passed without fanfare, and I was determined not to allow yet another milestone in his life to go by without a celebration. Even though it was already late into the afternoon, I hurriedly invited a group of friends to dinner, then rushed home to begin preparing the meal. Platters piled high with fried chicken, corn on the cob, potato salad, biscuits, and several pans of blackberry cobbler were quickly emptied as our guests balanced plates on their palms, talking and laughing, enjoying the food and each other's company. Leaning against the doorway into the kitchen for a moment to rest, I allowed my eyes to travel over the room, thinking of the contrast between the people who would have filled my parlor a year earlier and the ones there now: a former whore and an escaped ex-slave; a Cheyenne holy man and a blind minister; a newspaper-woman who dared to love outside color lines and a young lawyer who might never learn to love again; a woman doctor who had become my best friend, her mountain man husband, and the unrelated boy that they had raised and were about to send off to college; a beautiful girl child who could very easily belong to the man that I wanted to marry, and a handsome artist, who was unquestionably his natural son; a successful, black businesswoman, and an aging shopkeeper whose silver hair contrasted with the dark brown skin of the sleeping child nestled against one shoulder while Katie curled up in his other arm, neither girl fooled by his seemingly gruff manner. Even though I missed my family and a thousand other things about the life that I had always known at Riverview, these friends that I had met in Colorado had become tangled in my heartstrings so deeply that I no longer knew where I truly belonged...other than lying in Hank Lawson's arms. By 8:30 the last of our guests were gone, the house put back to rights, and I dropped onto the couch, curling my legs up underneath my long skirt. Weary, but not yet ready to go to my room and get dressed for bed, I pulled the pins from my hair and ran my fingers through my braid to loosen it, allowing myself to completely relax for the first time since I had gotten up shortly after dawn. Luna peered around the corner--checking to see if the danger of having her luxurious tail stepped on or pulled was over--then arched and stretched languidly before jumping up into my lap. The flames on the hearth and her steady purr had lulled me into a light doze when the yellow kitten that Zach had named 'Gato' tore into the parlor, scrambled up the back of the sofa and across his mother and me, then made a complete circuit of the room at full speed before perching on the other arm of the couch, staring at me in expectation. "Never shoulda started warmin' milk for the cats when I made cocoa." Zach grinned ruefully as he entered carrying a tray. "Gato's smart enough he's learned to recognize the pot." "He's going to end up seeing how 'smart' he is at avoiding becoming a coyote's supper, if he startles me like that again," I threatened emptily, giving the tiny feline a mock glare. "Only thing you'd willingly give a coyote is lead in its rump," Zach teased, putting down our cocoa and scooping the rambunctious kitten up in one hand. "There could always be a first time." "Cait won't really put you out." Zach pretended to whisper in the cat's ear as he set the eagerly squirming bundle of fur down next to the bowl. "Her bark's a lot worse than her bite." "I had forgotten exactly how--BUSY--kittens are," I confessed, reaching for a cup of the frothy hot chocolate. "Mmmm...thanks. This is perfect--just what I needed." "You wore yourself out tonight." He sat down in a wingchair, plopping his sock-clad feet up on the ottoman. "Much as I appreciate it, you shouldn't have gone to that much trouble just for me." "It's not every day that you get your first job--doing what you've always wanted to do." I smiled. "Besides, you're worth that much trouble and more." "Never had a party like that--it's always just been Pa and me," he confided. "I wish that Hank could have been here." "So do I." We were silent, each of us lost in our own thoughts, and finally Zach reached for the book that he had left on the table, opening it at the ribbon marker. I stared into the fire, my mind not registering the tiny needles of pain as Gato kneaded himself a nest in the fabric of my skirt until after he thrust his small, fuzzy head underneath my palm, imperiously demanding that I scratch behind his ears and beneath his chin. Brought back into the moment, my gaze shifted to Zach. With his head bent over the novel, the light from the hanging lamp made his hair look like ivory-colored silk as it draped in a soft swag against his cheek and back over his shoulder, and I felt a knot in my chest. If things went badly in that courtroom Zach would be all that was left of Hank. The children that I hoped to have someday would never be anything more than a lost dream. "You got that look on your face again." "What look?" I set my empty cup aside to give Gato the attention that he craved. "The one where you're thinkin' about Pa and don't know anybody's watchin'." His eyes studied my face. "I think about your 'Pa' most of the time." "I know. I hear you cryin' at night--through the wall." "I'm sorry." I sighed, allowing my hair to fall forward and partially shield my face from view. "The closer that it gets to the date when the Circuit Court Judge is due to return, the more surly and impossible Hank becomes. He's a very difficult man to be in love with at the moment." "I tried talkin' to him about the way he's been treatin' you-- and he told me to mind my own business." "Please--don't." I raised my head to meet his gaze. "The last thing that I would ever want to do to you is to make you feel caught between your father and me." "For some reason Pa's got it in his head that a murder trial ain't something a lady ought to see. He was tryin' to get me to promise to talk you into goin' on back to Georgia. Sayin' if you did, he wanted me to go, too--make sure you got home safe." "What did you tell him?" "Wild horses couldn't drag you away." "You obviously know me far better than he does." Tears burned beneath my eyelids. "When he starts sharin' the house with us, he'll catch up quick," he predicted lightly. "If Hank had his way, neither you nor I would be in that courtroom-- even though I'm the one person who can vouch for where he was when Walker was killed, and you mean the world to him," I said quietly. "I intend to be there to testify, but after that...I honestly don't know where he and I stand." "May not always seem that way, but Pa loves you, Cait. Once this is all over things'll be different. You'll see." "You can't possibly know how much I want to believe that."
Even though my future bridegroom could not have seemed less interested in the two of us spending a lifetime together, our unofficial engagement appeared to have become general public knowledge, and I suspected that early on Myra and Michaela had conspired to drop a hint about it to Loren, aware that telling him was tantamount to publishing the news in the Gazette. Although it wouldn't pacify everyone, the fact that Hank and I were to be married would serve to defuse some of the righteous indignation that was inevitable when the town learned that we had been alone together in the middle of the night out at the isolated cabin. So far my friends had continued to be close-mouthed, attempting to guard for as long as possible a reputation that had already become slightly tattered and questionable simply because of who my fiance was. But the only way that our secret could continue to remain within that tightly-knit circle was if the actual murderer was caught, and Hank never had to stand trial. The press from far and near would have a field day as soon as the story broke. Lurid, screaming headlines would use the adjectives "rich," "well-bred," and--with their fondess for extreme exaggeration--probably call me a "wanton beauty" in describing my fall from grace as a respected schoolteacher into the arms of an accused murderer and the handsome owner of a saloon that employed 'working girls.' As much as I wanted Hank free--to prove that he was guilty of no crime at all--I was well aware of the price that I was going to have to pay for that to happen. |
