Forgiving

by LaVyrle Spencer

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, you did. And that’s when it happened.”

  “What?”

  “The same thing that’s happening now.”

  “What’s happening now?”

  “My heart is racing.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Isn’t yours?”

  “Yes... but I thought...”

  “What?”

  “I thought the first time you kissed me, I failed a test.”

  “What test?”

  “I thought you were testing me... to see if you liked it, and you didn’t.”

  “You were wrong, Sarah.”

  “I would not have known it. After that kiss, you looked at me no differently than you looked at the men.”

  “I was trying to do what was proper.”

  “I’m not sure this will ever be proper—you and I.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of my sister.”

  “Your sister means nothing to me.”

  They remained close, acclimating to honesty and the reaction they set off in one another.

  “Sarah, would it be all right if I set down these things I’m holding?”

  “If you want to.”

  He squatted and set them on the floor. Rising, he took her by the upper arms and they listened to the faint, fast fall of one another’s breathing. He drew her to his breast and found her mouth once more and kissed her as neither of them had believed would ever happen, with a lush embrace and a thorough blending of tongues. He spread a hand upon the back of her scratchy woolen coat while she did likewise on the back of his rough sheepskin jacket. Buffered by the two garments, they indulged in the time-honored intimacy that rattled them with disbelief.

  They parted as reluctantly as before, still somewhat stunned.

  “Noah, this feels so strange.”

  “I know.”

  “It doesn’t feel as if it could be you and me.”

  Standing close in the dark, they thought about it awhile—their rocky beginning and how they had disliked one another, now this.

  She surprised him by requesting, “Could we do it again, Noah?”

  “Why, Sarah Merritt,” he said with a smile in his voice. “You surprise me.”

  In the darkness he took her head in both hands, and she found her mouth fully inundated, and her senses captivated by the smell of his shaving scent, which had been wooing her across the breakfast table all these weeks. His mustache was soft, his tongue even softer as it touched her, wet and warm, within. She returned his kiss in full while his embrace grew powerful enough to lift her onto tiptoe.

  When her heels once more touched the floor, both of them were slightly breathless.

  “I think we’d better go home now,” Sarah whispered.

  “Of course. It’s late.” He retrieved his hat and the paper roll and followed her out of the building, waiting while she locked the door. They found curiously little to say to one another on their way up the hill. At Mrs. Roundtree’s she climbed the steps ahead of him and paused at the top, a woman uncertain of how such things proceeded. Were doorstep kisses expected now?

  “I’ll go out and find the mica on Thursday,” Noah said, halting her with words instead.

  “Thank you... yes, the children will love it.”

  “I’ll bring it by your office.”

  “All right.”

  She reached for the doorknob but he detained her with a touch on her sleeve.

  “Sarah, I’m not very good at saying things, but...” He released her arm and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It was a good feeling, singing ‘Silent Night’ with you tonight.”

  “Yes, it was. You have a beautiful voice, Noah. Perhaps when we get our church you’ll be in the choir.”

  “If you direct it, maybe I will.”

  It was brighter beneath the starry night sky, bright enough for him to make out her face, though his remained hidden by the shadow of his hat brim. She gave a short smile and said, “Well, I’d better go in.”

  “And I’d better make one more round.” He handed her the paper roll.

  “Good night, Noah.”

  “Good night, Sarah.”

  “See you at breakfast.”

  She prepared for bed slowly, perplexed by her changing sentiments for him. When she’d donned her nightgown she wrapped herself in a shawl and got out her journal in an effort to sort out her feelings.

  I have been kissed, truly kissed, by a man who has carnal knowledge of my sister, a man I once avidly hated. I am the only eligible young woman in this town, and I’ve been trying to be very honest with myself about whether that is the reason for his attentions, but I think not. I believe our feelings for one another are genuinely changing, but to what end I must ask myself now. The women in my family have set a precedent—first my mother, and now Addie. Have I the inborn predisposition to be like them? Does he think I am easy game? I should not like to think so, yet how can the doubt not crop up, considering that I met him the first time in the entry to a brothel? Is this the kind of man I should encourage? What would Father advise? Supposing Noah Campbell’s intentions are honorable, let us even suppose he falls in love with me and proposes marriage. How awkward it would be to lay with him and realize my sister had come before me....

  In the morning she was still confused. Facing him across the breakfast table, she was torn by the wish to meet his eyes and the equally strong one to avoid them. Thankfully, he treated her no differently than at any other breakfast. They lived, after all, in the same boardinghouse, on the same floor, with only two doors between them. By unspoken agreement they observed the same polite conventions they’d shown one another all along. It was the same at supper that evening, and during the following day’s breakfast.

  The afternoon of the second day, however, he brought her the ground mica, as promised. Patrick was working at a table near the front of the office when Noah came in and went directly to Sarah at her desk and handed her a drawstring bag.

  “Here’s your mica,” he said, looking pleased and a trifle expectant.

  “Thank you.” Sarah was surprised to find a tightness around her heart as she accepted it. She glanced at Patrick, easily within earshot, then said to Noah, “I’ve been experimenting with the wings. Would you like to see them?”

  “Sure.”

  She led him to the rear of the office, where three various shaped wings of paste-laden newsprint were drying over barrels. They stopped with their backs to Patrick.

  “I like this one,” Noah said. “If angels really do have wings, I bet they’d look like this.”

  “With mica on them they’ll be even more seraphic. Thank you again for getting it.”

  “It was no trouble. Are you making them all?”

  “No, Emma volunteered to be in charge of the costumes. I’m only making the prototype.”

  A lull fell. He could tell by her downcast face she’d had some sort of change of heart since the last time they’d been in this office together.

  “Noah, I’ve been thinking...” she said quietly, toying with the drawstring bag.

  “What?”

  “About you... and Addie.” She looked square into his eyes. She had not removed her spectacles, and with them appeared vulnerable.

  “There’s no point in you and I... well...” She gestured with one hand and returned her attention to the bag. “It’s pointless, that’s all.”

  “Sarah, I haven’t—”

  From behind them Patrick called, “Sarah, would y’ be wantin’ me to use a cut of a horse and sleigh on this ad for Tatum?”

  “Yes, that would be fine,” she replied, raising her voice; then more softly, “I really must get back to work. Thank you again, Marshal.”

  He studied her somberly for five seconds—so it was back to Marshal again.

  “All right, Sarah, if that’s the way you want it.” Not a muscle moved on his face as he stared at her, then touched his hat brim and left.

  He bow
ed to her wishes between then and Christmas, making mealtime tense as they sat in their customary chairs across from one another. They became adept at passing platters without meeting glances; at joining in the mealtime conversations without exchanging any but the most unavoidable words with each other; at leaving the table at separate times so they need not walk up the stairs together.

  One morning, while it was still dark outside and she’d just rolled from her warm bed, she opened her door and encountered him heading for the same place as she. They froze, each of them disheveled from sleep, with their outerwear thrown on carelessly. The top of his underwear showed behind his sheepskin jacket. She held her coat closed over her nightgown. His whiskers were shady, his hair stood on end. There were sandmen in her eyes, and her hair looked untamed.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Morning.”

  Still neither of them moved. Or smiled. Or breathed.

  Finally, he found his voice. “You go first. I can wait.” He turned and hurried back to his room.

  On Christmas Eve afternoon it snowed. Sarah made a trip to the bathhouse, spread rosewater on her skin and donned her best bustled suit with the polonaise jacket. At home she crimped her hair, added a rat to the back, left tendrils trail at the hairline and pinned her locket at the throat of her high-collared white blouse. Before the small mirror she paused, lifted a wrist to her nose and thought of Noah Campbell, probably down the hall changing clothes at this very minute.

  I miss him.

  She picked up the gift she had made for Addie—a delicate tussie-mussie made of dried flowers tied in a punchwork doily by a lavender grosgrain ribbon. She studied the gift sadly, wondering about the two of them, together up at Rose’s. And how many others, Noah?

  She sighed, stared out the window where the snowflakes fell like goosedown. The sky was lavender, like the ribbon she held. Each time she thought of Noah and Addie it was like touching an old bruise. When had he last seen her? Did he go there regularly? Did he kiss Addie in the same lingering way he had kissed her?

  If she, Sarah, were to allow the kisses to go on, would he expect, in time, to do with her the other things he had done with Addie?

  Despondently she donned her coat.

  Outside, the gulch wore an ermine cape. Miners were arriving already from the hills, leaving their mules at the hitching rails and entering the eateries. Many of them greeted her by name.

  At Rose’s the parlor was deserted. Sarah went straight up to Addie’s room and knocked. Addie was holding Ruler when she opened the door. The sight of her with only the cat for company created a lonely prospect on Christmas Eve.

  “Merry Christmas, Addie,” Sarah said. “May I come in for a minute?”

  Addie stepped back, silent.

  “I brought this for you.”

  Addie looked down at the gift. “I don’t have anything for you.”

  “I don’t need anything. Here... take it.”

  Addie let the cat go and reached for the nosegay. Her face was sad and downcast. “You never let up on me, do you?”

  “It’s Christmas. I wanted to give you something.”

  Addie stared at the tussie-mussie and said nothing.

  “I know that you’ve heard about the Christmas program we’re putting on at the Langrishe tonight. I’m directing the children’s choir and I’d like very much for you to come.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. You simply put on a coat and hat and walk down to the theater with me.”

  “And let them throw stones at me?”

  “No one will throw stones.”

  “You live in a dream world, Sarah. I couldn’t go back to a normal life even if I wanted to.”

  “So you won’t even try?”

  “No.”

  Disappointed, Sarah studied Addie. “Have you seen Robert?”

  “Nearly every day. He won’t let up on me either.”

  “So accept one of his invitations. Become his friend again.”

  “He lives in a dream world, too.”

  “Addie...?”

  Of all the times she’d visited Addie, Sarah had never seen her sister as approachable as now. There was a question she deeply wanted to ask. If she did so at this moment she would get the truth, she was sure. Addie, does the marshal still come here to see you? Her mouth opened to ask it, but the words lodged in her throat.

  In the end, afraid of the answer, she could not ask.

  “Nothing... I hope you like the tussie-mussie. I must get on to the theater. The children will be arriving soon.”

  Addie’s expression grew more forlorn.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “You too.”

  They stood separated by a mere four feet, each longing for something the other could not give. Suddenly Sarah rushed forward and caught Addie in a hug, their cheeks joined.

  “Oh Addie, will we ever be sisters again?”

  For a moment Addie hugged her back.

  “You’d better not count on it.”

  “Please come tonight.”

  “I can’t, but good luck with your program,” she said.

  Sarah spun from the room before she could cry. Sixteen children were counting on her to be exhilarated and smiling. She could not let them down.

  The Langrishe was filled with men in an appropriately subdued mood for the first religious observance ever held in Deadwood. The stage was trimmed with pine boughs. The cradle was lined with straw. The children were scrubbed and eager. The mothers were nervous. The pageant members were in costume.

  The marshal was not there.

  Sarah’s disappointment outweighed anything so far as she peeked from behind the curtain, searching the crowd for his familiar mustache and gray eyes. She saw Robert, and Teddy Ruckner, Mrs. Roundtree, Mr. Mullins, Mr. Taft and dozens of others she recognized. But not Noah. In spite of her misgivings, it was he of whom she’d thought as this night approached, he for whom she wanted the children to perform well, he whose eyes she would seek when she turned to face the audience and direct them in the last song. She supposed he had gone out to the Spearfish to spend the holiday with his family.

  The program began with a rousing rendition of “Adeste Fideles,” sung by all, accompanied by Elias Pinkney on the thirteen-stop organ and the xylophone musician, Mr. Judd, on the eight triangles. There followed an original reading by Jack Langrishe, leading into a series of vignettes of Christmases in other lands. Sarah sat to one side of the stage with her angel choir, watching the door. The reading of the Christmas story had just begun when it opened and Noah came in.

  Sarah’s heart gave a leap.

  His eyes scanned the stage, found her and stopped.

  Hello.

  Hello.

  Their silent communion was unmistakable. For the first time that night she caught the spirit of the season.

  The children sang well. The Robinson baby fussed very little. Everyone loved the chimes. Jack Langrishe’s voice was dynamic and his costumes rich with authenticity. The miners filled the king’s casket with so much gold dust a second container had to be employed.

  And when Sarah turned to direct the last verse of “Silent Night,” she and Noah sang to each other.

  The thunder of applause at the program’s end set forth a round of jubilant hugging onstage and handshaking among the audience. Above the heads that separated them the eyes of Sarah and Noah found each other time and again. Robert located her, gave her a crushing hug and a grand smile, but he had come to seem less extraordinary to Sarah than she’d once thought. Over his shoulder she watched Noah. There were punch and cookies for the adults, and for the children sacks of popcorn and hard candy. The crowd, made up mostly of single men separated from their families, was reluctant to break up and end the evening, so began a round of informal caroling accompanied by the organ. In the midst of the celebration costumes had to be collected and clothes changed backstage. Reluctantly Sarah went off to gather angel wings and find Jack Langrishe to ask abou
t a place to store them till next year, fearing all the while that when she returned to the theater floor Noah would be gone. He was still there, however, and they began working their way toward each other. A cluster of Norwegian men struck up a carol in their native language. A roulette wheel clicked: someone had rigged it up with gifts for the children substituting for numbers. Amidst the singing and the clicking and the sound of happy voices, Sarah and Noah met.

  For a while they only looked at each other without smiling.

  Finally he said, “It was a wonderful program.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The children sounded as good as they looked.”

  “Everyone loved their wings, thanks to you.”

  They tried for timid smiles and found them. The Norwegians ended their song, which sparked another by a group of Swedes, louder than the previous one, so loud it drowned out everything else.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said.

  “What?” He dipped his ear near her mouth. She caught a whiff of something sweet from his skin.

  “I said I thought you weren’t coming. You were late.”

  “I had to wait in line at the bathhouse.”

  “Oh.”

  “Everybody in the gulch must’ve taken a bath tonight.”

  “I got mine early enough that I missed the crowd.”

  “Good for you.”

  A lapse fell while they tried to think of some reasonable subject of conversation to give them an excuse to remain together.

  “I don’t see your family here,” she said.

  “No, they didn’t come. I’m going out there in the morning.”

  “You’re lucky. A lot of these men are missing their families tonight, I think.”

  “Sarah?”

  She waited, with her eyes lost in his.

  “I was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve made other plans.”

  Their silence lasted several seconds while they read the disappointment in each other’s eyes. “Well, maybe some other time.”

  Finally he thought to ask, “Could I get you some punch?”

  “Yes, I’d love some.”

  He went away and returned bearing two cups filled with red liquid, handing her one.

  He raised his. “Merry Christmas.”