Mrs. Gregson, Anora could see by the set of the woman’s lips, wanted to argue. Mr. Hayes had agreed with Mr. Reason, which left the little woman no choice but to comply with their wishes.
Whit came by with more milk after sundown. Anora hadn’t gotten around to taking care of yesterday’s milk. While talking on the back porch, she heard the hall clock strike half-past the hour of seven.
“You sure they ain’t got some sickness?” he asked. “You take care. I don’t like it when folks start dropping off one right after the other.”
“Whit, for heaven’s sake, the baby was stillborn, and Lydia…Lydia contracted a fever because of the birthing, which sometimes happens. Everyone else is very healthy.”
“That little girl…she wasn’t so in the pink just a day or so ago, if I recall.”
“She’s very well today, not even much of a cough. She’s very, very, sad, which is understandable.”
“Yeah, well, you best come home. You can’t be staying on here.”
“No, no, I don’t suppose I should. I’ll have to wait and see, but I think tomorrow would be too soon, maybe the day after. I don’t want to leave too soon because of Isabell.”
“Well, when you’re ready. I’ll come around tomorrow evening, unless I see you before.”
“Yes.” Whit started to leave; she put out her hand to stop him. “Thanks for worrying about me.” He grinned at her, flicked her nose with his finger, and left.
Inside the quiet house, afraid to sit down for fear she’d fall asleep, she decided to go to work on the milk. She had to stay awake, make herself available to Mr. Reason when Mr. Gregson arrived.
A little before nine o’clock, she heard a knock on the front door and answered the summons. Standing aside, she gave way to the two burly men who entered carrying a full-sized, alder wood coffin and maneuvered it through the parlor door.
The front parlor stood open. Mr. Reason had moved the dining room table there. Anora had found a white, damask tablecloth to drape over it to protect the wood and to give the coffin a stately place to sit. The men gawked at her as they left, stumbling over themselves, filing out of the house without closing the door. Mr. Gregson offered her a nod, following the men outside. Anora closed the door behind him.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if Mr. Reason had heard the wagon. And she hesitated to knock on Mr. Hayes’s door, it didn’t seem wise under the circumstances.
In a thoughtful frame of mind, she returned to her butter and cheese making. The hours slipped by, and before she knew it the clock struck the midnight hour. Having tidied up the kitchen, she wiped her hands on her apron and heard a creak on the stairs. Going to the hall, Mr. Reason, his presence nearly lost in the shadows, cradled his wife Lydia, her long dark hair falling over his arm, her beautiful gown fanned out toward the floor.
Anora started to follow him into the parlor. “Go to your bed, Anora,” he said, his tone unusually sharp. “I’ll do this.”
Wordlessly, she backed out of the room. Upstairs, in the dark, she slipped out of her lavender dress and then climbed in under her covers. Isabell’s door stood open. The child wouldn’t go to sleep with a closed door these days. Anora lay listening to the child’s easy breathing and from below, she listened to Mr. Reason’s wrenching sobs.
»»•««
Guilty, because he felt nothing but anger, Hank paced around and around the parlor, stopping before the big bay window to look out through the lace curtains into the dark night, seeing nothing but black. He’d wept so much these last few days, he had a ripping headache that would not go away.
Lydia had left him, as sure as if she’d run off with a peddler. She’d decided the dead needed her more than the living, and for that he could not forgive her.
Worse, he couldn’t forgive himself for whatever it was that he’d not done, for whatever lacked in the love he’d tried to show her—whatever it was that had led her to believe she’d not be needed or missed.
He wanted to scream, swear, break something—then he turned around and there she lay, looking ghostly serene, a beautiful phantom, and the tears, the ache, tore at his insides.
Thoughts of Anora crept into his grieving mind now and then.
She’d hold me, she’d give me comfort. I can see it in her eyes. Did Lydia see it too? Maybe that’s why she thought she wouldn’t be missed.
Paxton, looking bleary-eyed and rumpled, appeared in the doorway. With a half-empty bottle of brandy in his hand, he staggered to the big Morris chair before the fire and flopped down into it.
Wearing nothing but his long underwear, he stared into the flames in the hearth. “I blame myself,” he said. “I lured you and my sister out here with wild promises of a prosperous life. I hadn’t taken into account the remoteness of this place, the lack of modern conveniences, even food. No, I emphasized the beauty, the opportunities, the adventure of the Oregon Territory.” He shook his head and took a long draw on the bottle. “All very well for a man, but not for a woman. Not for a woman like Lydia—beautiful, pampered, bright as a shiny twenty-dollar gold piece, my sister, Lydia.
“For damned sure I’m going to see to it Isabell’s life, and Anora’s life, if she’ll let me, are made easy. We live in a new wilderness, that’s true, but I can afford to keep them in comfort. I vow to see to it they have the best of everything. I let Lydia down. It cost her, her son, and her life. I’ll do better by her daughter, and by Anora Claire,” he said before his head fell to his chest and he passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The days began to take on a routine—Anora rising at dawn, making breakfast for Paxton and Hank before they left for work. For an hour or so, she had time to start the bread or wash, mend socks or sew buttons on shirts, before Isabell rose.
Isabell, listless and fragile, unable to endure criticism or take complicated instruction, worried everyone in the house. The little girl spent a lot of time alone, sitting on the back step, rocking and talking to Charity.
Whit came by every other day using the milk as his excuse. After two weeks had gone by, one evening he came right out and asked her, “What the hell are you doin’? You comin’ back, or what? Looks to me like they’ve made you a permanent fixture around here.”
Stepping off the back porch to get farther away from the opened door to the kitchen, Anora waved her arms over her head. “I can’t just leave, not until they’ve time to adjust. Isabel needs me now. I can’t leave her here by herself. No one is here during the daytime.”
“That ain’t your problem, Anora,” he said in a big voice that carried across the dark yard, and worse, probably into the kitchen through the half-open door.
Flapping her hands at him, she hissed and said, “Keep it down, they’ll hear.”
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn,” he said, projecting his voice in the direction of the kitchen window, which earned him a jab to his upper arm from Anora. “Ouch. Well, you got the whole town talkin’. That old cat at the mercantile is puttin’ it out you might’a poisoned Mrs. Reason so you could move in here and take over.”
“Oh, pish-tosh.”
He bent down, taking her by the shoulders to force her to look into his eyes “You don’t know it, Anora, but she says you got powers. You put a spell on those two boobs in there, poor grieving fools that they are.”
Anora brushed his hands off her shoulders. “She didn’t say anything like that. Why would she?”
He followed her farther out into the yard, sidling along beside her, talking in her ear. “Well, she says you did something. It had to be you ‘cause her remedies never fail. I heard her tell the Pooly woman that as soon as she could, she’d get her daughter, Molly, up here to keep house and send you packin’. You mark my words, Anora, if she had her way, you’d be tarred and feathered and run out of town.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re exaggerating, Whit. I know she doesn’t like me. She still thinks of me as Nuttie Norie Talbot, the half-whit wife of the ferryman.”
Anora stopped to look up at the stars. She wrapped her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet smell of new grass and budding trees.
Whit came up behind her and spoke into her ear. “Hayes is working to take it over, you know?”
Her eyes flew open and she spun around. “Take what over?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, toeing the dust with his boot. “I was in the saloon, Bowdin and some of the others were spouting off about Hayes being a cool one, getting you into his bed, making the ferry and the landing into some kind of way station with a hotel and restaurant, maybe a livery. He’s lookin’ to get ownership of property on both sides of the river. That way, no matter which side the town sprouts, he comes out smelling like a rose.”
“I don’t believe it. Paxton is ambitious, I’m aware of that.”
He took her by the arm. “I tell you, he’s a skunk, a cheap, cheatin’, low-down skunk. Not a month gone by since his sister passes on and he’s plotting and conniving, and everyone knows it, ‘cept you. He’s got you all tucked in here fetchin’ and cookin’, playin’ house. I know you ain’t gone to his bed, but a fella like that, he’ll keep workin’ on you, he’ll get you there. Then, one day, after the challenge wears off, he’ll kick you out into the cold with nothing but the shift on your back.”
She hung her head. “I don’t think he’s as bad as all that, but you’re right. I’ve been pretending, pretending this big house with its fine furniture, pretty dishes, and crystal lamps, comfortable beds and warm rooms, are mine. I’ve been pretending Isabell is mine.”
Silently, to herself, she added for good measure, And I’ve been dreaming that someday, maybe Hank could find it in his heart to love me.
Aloud she said to the stars above, “It’s time to go.”
Whit took her by the arm. “Good.”
Deep in thought, Anora started for the house. Paxton hadn’t approached her for days. A few times she’d caught him looking at her in that way of his that made her want to put on more clothes, but he hadn’t tried to hold her or touch her. But every chance he got, he encouraged her to make his house her home. Now she recognized his smiles and compliments for what they were—bribes.
It didn’t bother Anora, what Tamara Gregson thought of her, or what she said about her, but she didn’t want the gossip to get back to Isabell. Isabell needed to be protected.
Coming to a decision, she said, before they reached the steps to the back porch, “I’ll leave in the morning. Do you know where the Pooley place is?”
“I can find it. I ain’t been there. Barney Ambrose would know, I’ll ask him for directions.”
“Yes, good. Do you think you could get out there tonight and have this Molly girl be here in the morning? I won’t leave unless Molly and Isabell get along. I won’t leave Isabell.”
“I’ll go right now,” Whit said. “What time is it?”
“It must be close to six o’clock.”
“Anora,” Whit said, already headed for his horse, “going back across the river, I won’t…it won’t be like before.” He took up Tansy’s reins and brought her over to the steps.
Anora put out her hand and stroked the horse’s velvety nose. “Thank you. I have to learn how to run the thing if I’m going to make it on my own. You were only trying to teach me. I know that now.”
“I put a shelter up for you,” he said. “I put it by Roscoe and Pete’s style, with a fire pit and everything, so you can stay warm and out of the weather.”
Looking deep into his eyes, she smiled at him and kissed him on the lips. With her arms around his neck, she said, “I do love you.”
Whit blushed; she knew it even in this poor light. He had a way of putting his head down and doing a little shuffle with his feet. In a flurry, he pivoted around and leaped up onto his horse, wheeling her around, putting her to a gallop.
“That one will always be riding away,” Paxton said, his voice a purr, his hand going to her elbow.
Tilting her head to the side, she patted his hand, then pulled her arm free to fold it across her bosom and turned to go back inside the house.
“You can’t love a piece of flotsam like that, Anora,” he said, following her into the kitchen. “I took you for a woman of sense.”
Over her shoulder, she said, “You don’t have to tell me about Whit, I know who he is.”
She put the kitchen table between them, then stopped to face him, her hands on the back of a chair. “Despite what you think, he’s quite lovable. I love him…like I love the wind blowing in the trees on a warm summer night or the sound of the whippoorwill just before sunrise. I know I can never control the wind or cage the whippoorwill, but I love them just the same.”
He shook his head at her, and she added, “Whit Comstock doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He’s always been truthful with me. He’s my friend.”
Paxton sneered, and shook his head. “You don’t seem to realize you’re driving me mad? It’s you, you make me crazy, Anora. It’s all your fault, you know. I want you to come to me…want me…need me, Anora, that’s what’s making me behave as I do. When I come out here, and find you cuddling up to a good-for-nothing like Whit Comstock, wasting yourself on the likes of him, I see red.”
She didn’t know how to respond, but now was as good a time as any to break free. “It’s time I went back across the river, Paxton. It’s time I went home.”
He laughed a mirthless laugh. “You are home. You can’t go back over there to that dingy, dank cabin. I won’t allow you to work that damned ferry. It’s too dangerous. It’s not a fit occupation for a woman.”
She made herself look into his eyes, determined to hear the truth, understand where she stood within his plans for his and her future. “What am I to you, Paxton? And what makes you think you have any right to dictate what I may do or not do? You’ve mentioned I’d have a house of my own. You’d protect me. How? Are you asking me to be your wife, or just your well-kept housekeeper…kept woman…chattel? Or maybe you’re thinking, partner—a very friendly partner—you’d expect bedroom privileges, of course. What would…say…Mrs. Gregson, the folks in town call me? Not to my face, of course.”
“Please, Anora, no one would dare insult you. You’d be a businesswoman, a woman of means and status. You are, after all, still a married woman, so marriage is out of the question. You must agree.”
There, she felt the blow and recoiled; eyes half shut, she groaned with shame.
Running a finger up her arm, he said to her, his voice low, “You should have pretty things. When I met you, I was taken with the tone of your voice, your intelligence. You weren’t born to work like a man, Anora. You’re a fine, beautiful woman, you deserve fine and beautiful things.”
The sight of him made her sick, she had to get away from him. “I’m leaving in the morning,” she said on her way to the hall. “Molly Pooley will be here to help with Isabell.”
Paxton reached for her, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around to face him. “You can’t run the ferry. I saw you. You were scared to death. This town needs that ferry. If you can’t run it, like it should be run, I’ll see to it you lose it, and the land that goes with it.”
At last, Paxton Hayes had revealed his true colors. “Whit is right about you. He thinks you’re a skunk,” she said, no longer bothering to struggle, or caring what she said.
He dropped his hands, arms going to his side. “If you’d be reasonable and listen to me, think about this a moment, you’d realize I have your best interest at heart. You wouldn’t have to be scared ever again. Let me take care of you. Let me protect you. You can have a place of your own, as soon as I can get one up. You’ll have a share in the profits, Anora—see sense. I won’t force myself on you. But in time, in time…”
∙•∙
“What’s going on dow
n here?” Hank asked, rounding the landing at the bottom of the stairs. From the hallway upstairs, he’d heard Paxton’s voice, low and unusually threatening.
Anora met him at the bottom step. “I’m leaving in the morning. Whit’s gone to find Barney. He’s going to the Pooley’s to ask their daughter, Molly, to be here in the morning.”
Facing Paxton, squaring her shoulders, Anora said, “It’s time I got to work on my own place.”
Hank stood aside to let her pass. “We’ll miss you. Isabell will miss you. Have you told her about this?”
Anora stopped on the third riser, gripping the handrail. “No, I’ll go find her, and talk to her. Maybe she could come see me sometime, if that’s all right with you? I’ll miss her too.”
Looking away from Paxton’s angry visage, Hank nodded, “Sure. When I go up to work on the house, I bet she’d rather stay with you.”
She offered him a wan little smile before continuing on up the stairs.
With his hand on the newel post, Paxton watched her go. When he turned to face Hank, he wore a sneer on his lips. “She’ll be back, I give her a week.”
Not wanting to discuss this in the hall, Hank marched out to the kitchen. “What makes you think so?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of Anora’s fine coffee.
Humph, “It wouldn’t surprise me if she came back tomorrow morning. I doubt she can get back across the river.” Paxton held out his cup, and Hank filled it.
“I’ll go with her,” he said.
“No, damn it,” Paxton said, thumping his cup down onto the table. “What are you trying to do? Do you want her to leave? We need her here. I should think you’d want her here, for Isabell?”
Picking up one of Anora’s biscuits off the sideboard, Hank came to the table and sat. “Of course I’d like to keep her here. It makes it easier for both of us, and in time we could almost stop missing Lydia, I suppose. But Anora can’t stay here. There’s no other woman in the house. You and I are bachelors now. Your Mrs. Gregson has set tongues to wagging. Oh yeah, I’ve heard the talk. We can’t put Anora in that kind of position. Surely you don’t want to cause her any more distress?”
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