“Why, of course. When you get married those things just happen.”
“But would you want them? My house and my family?”
The idea was new. She needed some time to think about becoming a mother. She would be as green at it as Addie was at housekeeping, yet who was there to teach her?
“Noah, one hour ago we were both rebelling against the idea of falling in love with each other, now we’re discussing details that... that... oh Noah, I don’t have answers for everything. Not this quickly.”
He stepped back, feeling rebuffed. “All right, we’ll let it ride for a while. Would you like a locket or a pin or anything like that?”
A puzzled frown crinkled her eyebrows. “A locket or a pin?”
“To seal the engagement? There’s enough gold in this town to make you whatever you want.”
He wasn’t so much different from his brother after all. He suddenly seemed in a hurry.
“You want to make it official? You’re sure?”
“If you do.”
“Very well... a locket or a pin.”
“Which one?”
“You choose.”
They remained awhile, feeling some of the joy dribble out of the moment. “But Noah...” She touched his sleeve. “I would have to hide it for a while, otherwise Addie might feel she was holding me back.”
His disappointment grew. He’d always imagined betrothals occasions for great celebration. Hell, if it were up to him he’d be proud to have her print in her newspaper that Noah Campbell and Sarah Merritt were engaged to be married and would do so as soon as the town got a preacher.
Nevertheless, he had to admit, “Yes, that’s probably a good idea. I need time to tell my family first, too. Arden is going to be upset.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it, how this all started? You with my sister and me with your brother while you and I found each other intolerable?”
“Well, somehow things worked out, didn’t they?”
The sound of “a whinnying horse carried to them on the wind while they stood in the shelter of the building, close enough to touch, but refraining.
“I’ll miss you at the boardinghouse,” Noah said.
“I’ll miss you, too,” she replied.
Her blue eyes wore an expression of longing that set off a reaction in his heart; still he waited, tethered by self-imposed restraints, afraid to assume he had the right to kiss her, even as her espoused.
“I’ve wanted to tell you something for the longest time,” she whispered.
“Te—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Tell me.
“I think you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh Sarah...” They moved as one, into a swift embrace, her arms around his neck, his around her back, kissing open-mouthed while impatience pressed upon them like a gale. She clung, fitting her tongue to his, and her body to his, and her will to his. The first kiss ended and he held her head, taking a journey across her face with his mouth, strewing it with tiny bites and kisses.
“Oh Noah,” she whispered, her eyes closed, her head thrown back as he kissed her throat. “All my life I thought I would live alone. I thought I would never have this... that no man would ever ask me to be his wife. I was so afraid of being unloved.”
“Shh... no... no...” he whispered. “There’s so much good in you it makes others good, and you’re pure and fine and bright and brave. And you have the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”
She opened her eyes and encountered his at close range. “Really?”
“Really.” He smiled, still holding her head in his gloved hands.
A sluice of joy struck her. She beamed, and kissed him once more in celebration... then in yearning.
When their mouths were wet and their propriety threatened, he drew back, breathing erratically, and put distance between them.
“You’d better go inside now, Miss Merritt, and I’d better go back to work.”
“Must we?”
“Yes, we must. But Sarah?”
“Hm?”
He kissed her nose. “Please hurry and get your sister settled.”
They exchanged an intimate look that said the wait would be long, regardless.
“I’ll try,” she answered, and bidding him a reluctant goodbye returned to the newspaper office wondering how the others could possibly miss the glow that must be radiating from her like a nimbus.
CHAPTER
17
Craven Lee found them a house with miraculous speed, eliminating the need for Sarah and Addie to take up temporary lodging at the rear of the newspaper office. A man named Archibald Mimms had moved into the gulch the previous spring and built the house for his wife and family who were to follow. In the meantime his wife had taken ill and been unable to travel. Two days after Christmas Mimms received a telegram bearing the news that his wife had died back in Ohio, and he left on the stage the next day to return to his children. To Craven Lee, he said, “Sell it with everything in it. I ain’t never coming back to this hellhole. If I hadn’t left Ohio in the first place my wife would still be alive.”
The house had two rooms up, two down, and was cubic and unglamorous. Mimms had furnished it with only enough to get by, though he had taken advantage of the plastering craze in hopes of pleasing his wife. The plastered walls cut down drafts and added brightness, but the place lacked any other charm. One bedroom and the parlor were totally bare. The only covered windows were the two in the bedroom Mimms had used; they were covered with sacking that had been nailed to the window frames. The kitchen had a sparse collection of tinware and dishes, an oak table and four chairs, a dry sink and a good Magee range.
Sarah took one look at the place and decided two women with a sizable chunk of inheritance money could certainly dress it up enough to make it homey. Mimms had the gold dust in his pocket before he left on the stage, and four days after Christmas Addie and Sarah were outfitting for domestic life. More accurately, Sarah was outfitting, for Addie refused to accompany her sister when she went uptown to make purchases.
“The men all know me,” Addie said, standing in their room at the Grand Central Hotel.
“So what?”
“They act strange when they see me away from Rose’s, like I’ve got two heads or something. And there might be women in the shops.”
“Addie, you have as much right to be there as anyone else.”
“No...” Addie shrugged sheepishly. “You go.”
“But Addie, what good did it do to break free of Rose’s if you make yourself a prisoner here?”
“I’m not a prisoner. I’ll go... sometime soon, but not just yet.”
Sarah felt disappointed, but realized she could not force her sister back into the mainstream of life overnight. “Very well, I’ll go alone. May I get you anything?”
“Some yard goods for dresses. Robert made me leave all mine behind. And some thread and chalk and needles. And buttons, I guess.”
“There’s a tailor in town. Why don’t you just go see him?”
“I’d like to try making them myself. I can’t do much—I can’t darn Robert’s socks—but after all the samplers Mrs. Smith made us stitch, I think I can make a dress. But I want you to use my money, please, Sarah.”
They’d already butted heads about buying the house with the inheritance money, which Addie claimed she didn’t want, but there was no other answer, of course. Still, Sarah understood Addie’s necessity to cling to some figment of pride. “All right, Addie, I’ll try to pick out something you’d like. Something blue if Andrew has it.” Addie had always loved blue.
“Blue would be nice.”
Sarah waited while Addie fetched the money from beneath her pillow. Accepting it, she tried to think of it not as tainted lucre, but as a contribution toward Addie’s solid future.
“I’ll have arrangements made for everything to be delivered to the house later on this morning. You’ll be there?”
“Yes.”
&
nbsp; It was almost a test for Addie to leave the hotel all by herself and walk the few blocks to their house: in the five days since she had left Rose’s this would be the first time she was left totally alone.
Sarah had her hand on the doorknob when Addie said, “Oh Sarah, please... one more thing?”
Sarah turned.
“Could you bring something to bleach out this dye?” Selfconsciously, Addie plucked at her coarse black hair. “Robert just hates it.”
Sarah returned to Addie and embraced her, feeling hopeful and happier than she had since Addie ran away from home. “I’ll bring back the whole apothecary!”
Before she was done, Sarah had to enlist the help of Josh and Patrick to rent a wagon at the livery and bring it around to Tatum’s General Store, followed by Parker’s Apothecary, the meat market, Emma’s bakery and the Grand Central, where they collected Sarah’s possessions.
Mimms’ clapboard house was located about halfway up the hill toward Mt. Moriah on the side of the gulch that caught the afternoon and evening sun. Mornings, it would be shrouded in shadow until ten o’clock, but at two o’clock when Sarah and her entourage arrived, it was awash in sunlight, reflecting off the snow. Smoke lifted from the chimney, and inside, Addie was happily washing windows while Ruler nosed the water in the bucket.
Patrick and Josh greeted her with smiles, carrying in a carved maple bed. “Hello, Miss Addie.”
“We’ve nearly cleaned out Tatum’s!” Sarah announced, breezing in behind them, “to say nothing of the apothecary and Faraum’s Store.”
Sarah had bought a wagonful. For the kitchen, a rocking chair, washtubs, a copper boiler, a hand wringer, Pearline washing compound, castile soap, brushes, floor oil, a broom, a supply of rags from Henry Tanby and Skitch Johnson, a willowware set of nested baskets, a pie safe, a good iron spider, a spice mill, a granite roaster, a set of Marlin dinner-ware, a bone-handled carving set, tinned steel tableware, a glass vinegar crewet, and for the wall, a tin matchbox with matching comb case painted with crowing chanticleers in bright reds and oranges on an ecru background.
For the front room, a three-piece upholstered parlor suite, an oval piecrust table, two banquet lamps, a large Smyrna rug, a library table, and to drape it with, a tapestry table cover, complete with tinseling and tasseled edge.
For upstairs there was new furniture for Addie’s room, plus pillows, blankets, linen sheeting, brass wall hooks, bedwarmers, a peerless enamel chamber pot and Scotch crash for toweling.
For Sarah’s own bedroom (the one previously used by Mimms) a fine drop-front desk and a center-draught bracket lamp for the wall beside it.
As Addie watched it all being carried in, her eyes grew wide. “So much! Should you have bought so much, Sarah?”
“Father did very well in St. Louis. He would have wanted us to have a nice home here.”
Addie’s face became expressionless as she stooped down to brush the seat of the divan.
The men came through and said, “Well, that’s it!”
“Thank you, Patrick and Josh,” Sarah said.
“We’ll get that wagon back to the livery.”
When they were gone, Sarah said, “Addie, come see the sewing supplies I bought you.”
For the only occupation in which her sister had expressed an interest or a hint of confidence, Sarah had admittedly overindulged. There were twenty yards of white goods, a length of woolen druggeting in ink blue, another in deep cranberry with tiny flecks of bone-gray, some plain homespun in two designs, tinted muslin, a small piece of beaver cloth cloaking, satin surah for lining, buttons, dress braids, hooks and eyes, ribbons, cording, elastic, dress reeds, lead dress weights, brass pins and an ebony sewing box containing eight spools of cotton, a thimble and a pincushion shaped like a strawberry.
When the packages lay strewn about the parlor, Addie seemed pleased and said, “Thank you, Sarah. I’ll try to do Mrs. Smith proud.”
“I’ve bought us each something special—something just for ourselves.”
Addie rose, sweeping a hand over the collection. “This isn’t special?”
“No, not really. This is mostly things we need, and they’re not nearly as good as anything we had in St. Louis. I’m only sorry I couldn’t buy you a spinet. But if the railroad ever comes through here, you can be assured I will. Meanwhile, I thought we should each have something very elegant and personal to remind us that we were brought up among good taste and fine things.” Sarah held out a package. “For you.”
Addie reached out reluctantly.
“Oh Sarah...”
“Sit down on our new divan and open it.”
Addie perched gingerly on the dusty-rose divan and placed the parcel in her lap. From its wrapping of cotton wadding she withdrew matching glove- and handkerchief-boxes of fine, translucent opal glass. On their covers hand-painted florals were surrounded by raised, gilded rococo ornamentation. When Addie had run away from home she had left behind many such pretties, gifts from their father, or from Mrs. Smith, or from Sarah herself. The pieces were expensive and finely crafted. She ran her fingers around and around the gilded rim of one cover.
Watching her, Sarah said, “Two times now you’ve been forced to leave your personal belongings behind. These you’ll have for keeps.”
“Oh Sarah, they’re beautiful.”
Across the cluttered room, Sarah felt a wisp of maternal care just as she’d experienced many times after their mother left, in those days when she would try in any small way to make up for the loss. Addie truly wasn’t very bright, but she had always loved bright things and had felt comforted by having them around her.
“Addie...” Sarah called quietly. Addie looked up from the handkerchief box. “I’m sorry I said what I did about you being spoiled and not having to work at the newspaper office when we were young. I loved it there, truly I did, just as I knew you didn’t. And I was good at it, just as I knew you weren’t. What I said was cruel and self-serving. Forgive me.”
Addie set down the handkerchief box and replied, “It doesn’t matter. It’s all behind us now.”
Abruptly shifting moods, Sarah said perkily, “Would you like to see what I got?”
Addie found her smile. “Not a glove or hanky box, I’m sure.”
Sarah laughed. She had never been the glove-box type. From another roll of wadding she took a flint-crystal writing set with two silver-capped ink bottles and a pair of fine pens on an embossed silver base.
“For my new desk.” She held it aloft.
“It’s very pretty,” Addie said. “But I’m glad I got my handkerchief boxes instead.”
Again they laughed. With the good mood restored, Sarah put her writing set on the library table, pushing aside other items. Turning, she searched the parcels on the floor. “And I did stop by the apothecary as you asked.” She found the correct bundle, dropped to her knees and began rooting through it while the inquisitive cat came to investigate the crackle of paper and paw at the tangle of string. “I’m not sure what will get rid of hair dye, so I brought everything...” Item by item, she set them on the floor. “Salts of lemon, oxalic acid, lye, Borax, salts of tartar, dry ammonia, carbonate of soda, Fuller’s Earth Water, and if none of those work, something called Magic Annihilator, which Mr. Parker said truly does work miracles—if it doesn’t rot your hair out of your skull.”
“I can’t wait! Will you help me, Sarah?”
“As soon as we get our house in order.”
The two women set about unpacking the purchases, putting their furniture in place, making a home out of a house. They put dishes on Mimms’ crude kitchen wall shelf, food in the pie safe, a blue and white checked cloth on the kitchen table. In the late afternoon they made a pot of coffee and spread lard on slabs of Emma’s bread, cut cheese and shared their first repast. Afterward, they sat down with needles to hem sheeting for their beds, then made them up in tandem. They hung Sarah’s new wall lantern, filled it and a table lamp for Addie with coal oil, set out their new ornaments and
stood back to admire their rooms. On Sarah’s new desk the pen set reflected the lamplight. On Addie’s new bureau the glass boxes added a touch of femininity. Ruler had already curled up on Addie’s bed.
She stood in the doorway, perusing the room, genuinely excited for the first time since leaving Rose’s.
“A room of my own...”
From the opposite doorway Sarah added, “And a room of my own. Now I won’t have to spend so many evenings at the newspaper office.”
Addie remarked, “We need some rugs.”
“We’ll get them, and some curtains and maybe even some wallpaper when spring comes and the freight wagons start rolling again.”
“And we’ll plant some flowers around the kitchen door the way Mrs. Smith used to.”
“Absolutely.” Sarah took it as a good sign: Addie was planning a future.
Addie turned to Sarah and asked, “Now could we work on my hair?”
With evening fallen and the lamps lit, they hung sheeting over their kitchen windows, stripped Addie down to her shift and set about bleaching the dye out of her hair. First they tried plain glycerine soap; next, oxalic acid mixed with salts of lemon. The rinse water looked murky, but Addie’s hair remained black as tar. Next they tried the Magic Annihilator. It smelled like it could rot the heads off nails but removed no more dye than the other solutions had. Finally they dissolved lye, Borax, salts of tartar and dry ammonia in hot water. It stung Addie’s eyes and nearly stopped her breath, but the color began fading. Addie leaned over the dry sink while Sarah dipped cup after cup of the acrid mixture over her hair and massaged it through the strands.
“Addie, I think it’s working!”
“Is it really?” Addie said, upside down.
“Look at the water!”
“I can’t. If I open my eyes I’ll go blind.”
“The water’s all black. Wait—I’m going to dump it and make another batch.” Sarah took the basin and slung it in the yard. She mixed up a second batch of the fetid brew and watched it grow darker and darker with each trip through Addie’s hair.
During the third batch she reported enthusiastically, “You’re getting gray, Addie! And grayer and grayer!”
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