“I won't know what to do.”
“I'll show you.”
Land rolled all around them, soft sloping fields bordered by towering trees. They passed freshly cleared land of new homesteads, drove through cold gurgling streams. Morning dew muffled the horses’ hooves and discouraged dust.
“I won't know what to say.”
“Say no thin'.”
A series of structures dotted the horizon. Middleton. A new, limited general store. A livery stable. A post office. A church.
It wasn't until he reached up to help her down from the wagon that John William realized Gloria's protests were born not of stubbornness but of fear. She was firmly on the ground, but she kept a grip on his arm as if to save her very life.
“They won't like me.”
“They don't know you.”
“But I don't belong—”
“Everybody belongs in God's house.” He tried to adjust his tone from one of chastisement to reassurance, but her frozen expression told him he hadn't soothed her at all. One arm wanted to fold her to him and bring shelter from whatever unkindness she anticipated, the other wanted to yank her through the doorway. Luckily, the warm, welcoming voice of Josephine Logan kept him from doing either.
“Gloria? Oh, Gloria, I'm so glad you could join us this morning.”
“G'mornin’ Mrs. Logan,” John William said, touching his fingers to his hat.
“Mr. MacGregan,” Josephine said. She gave an eager look around before asking, “Where are the babies?”
“At home," Gloria said, with more than a little resentment in her voice. “Mrs. Brewster is watching them this morning. Kate had a bit of a sniffle.”
“So you are staying at the Brewster place,” Josephine said. “How kind of her to stay behind this morning.”
“Oh, yes," Gloria said, her voice dripping sweetness. “She is kindness itself.”
Just then Reverend Thomas Fuller stood on the top step and called out, “Come and worship! Let us gather in worship!” and the crowd began to move toward the door.
John William cradled Gloria's elbow and steered her inside. He took them to the last row of seats, right up against the back wall, and settled in with Gloria sitting on the aisle.
“You may leave any time you wish,” he whispered in her ear.
Gloria turned and said, without whispering, ‘I know that.’
“But I'd like you to stay!”
When the congregation stood to sing, Gloria stood with them, stoic and silent by his side. John William always loved to sing; he rather vainly enjoyed the admiring looks given over the shoulders of the people in front of him. Gloria had told him once that he had a very nice voice, and when he asked her to sing, she'd laughed and said, “The only songs I know would make your ears turn to fire.” He'd caught her humming to the children and trilling nonsense verses countless times. But now she made no sound. He held the hymnbook between them, ran his finger along the lines of text, but she just stared at a point on the floor somewhere, and he remembered she couldn't read.
The songs were followed by a time of prayer. At Maureen's, they'd developed the habit of joining hands, so John William reached for her, only to realize that both her hands were folded into her crossed arms. He brought his hand back, allowed one to clutch the other, and bowed his head.
Reverend Fuller was five minutes into his sermon when Adele walked in.
“I'm sorry, father,” she said quietly as she passed in front of the pulpit and made her way down the aisle. The smile on her face said she was completely aware of every eye on her. Her wide silk skirt brushed against the pews as she made her way to the back, to the very back where John William and Gloria sat.
“May I sit here?” she said.
John William nodded and slid down the bench.
“I guess she didn't hear me,” Adele whispered. At least that's what John William thought she said, for she was sitting to his right, the side with his badly damaged ear. Soon the smell of Adele Fuller's lavender water engulfed Gloria's clean, soapy scent. Her silk-clad arm brushed against his as she opened her Bible. When he turned his good ear toward the pulpit in order to hear the sermon, his peripheral vision captured the lace ruffle that rose and fell with her breath. So he scooted over one more inch, faced straight ahead, and allowed the preacher's words to disappear.
It was a long ride home.
“Can we go any faster? I'm starving,” Gloria said. They'd been riding for nearly thirty minutes, and these were the first words spoken.
“We could have stayed for the dinner.”
“I need to get home. I know you're anxious for me to be on my way, but the babies—”
“Who said I was anxious for you to leave?”
“You did. If I remember correctly, we were sitting in the house of God when you reminded me that I was free to leave at any time.”
John William sighed. “I meant church. That you could leave church. I saw how uncomfortable you were.”
“So you don't think I belong there either?”
“Oh, for Pete's sake.” John William slapped the reins causing the horses to lurch ahead. Gloria had to grab the seat in order to regain her balance.
“You said you wanted to speed up,” John William said.
A few moments passed before Gloria said, “What was her name?”
“Who?”
“The woman you were sitting with.”
“I wasn't sitting with her.”
“What was her name?”
“Adele Fuller. She's the reverend's daughter.”
“Ah,” Gloria said.
“You didn't move with me,” John William said. “You just sat there.”
“I didn't know I could move.”
John William laughed out loud. “Didn't know— That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. When someone comes in you move down. Make room.”
“And how was I supposed to know that?”
“It's common sense,” he said, and immediately wished he hadn't. Nothing about this was common to Gloria. He'd made her feel abandoned and alone—exactly what she had been afraid of all morning. Transferring the reins to one hand, he brought the other over to touch her arm, but she bristled and pulled away.
“If you remember,” John William said after a while, “I also sat in the house of God and said that I'd like you to stay”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before she came in. Before she sat down.”
Then it hit him, what this was all about. An intense, amused warmth spread through him, bringing with it a triumphant smile. He pulled the reins to bring the team to a halt and turned to face her.
“Gloria,” he said, “don't tell me you're jealous.”
She wrinkled her nose and scoffed. “1 most certainly am not jealous. I am simply a practical woman—”
He laughed out loud at that.
“And as a practical woman, I realize that Adele Fuller is perfect for you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. She's pretty and clean. She's the reverend's daughter so she probably knows the Bible backwards and forwards…” Gloria gestured nervously as she spoke. “Can we keep driving, please?”
John William clicked to the team and let the reins fall gently on the horses. Their pace was now a leisurely one, perfect for allowing thoughts to settle in.
“Plus,” Gloria said, “it's obvious that she wants you.”
“Obvious, is it?”
“There were other seats, but she headed right for you.”
“I wonder why that is?” John William said, assuming a tone of true curiosity
“Well, she must think you're handsome.”
Handsome. He let the word sink in, enjoying the sound and thought of it.
“You really think so?”
“Well, I don't think so, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I mean, your hair's so long, makes you look like an Indian or a gypsy.”
“
Maybe I'll ask Maureen to cut it.”
“I know you're concerned about your ears,” Gloria said, “but they're really not horrible. Take off your hat.”
For some reason, he complied.
“Now, let's see.” Gloria raked his hair behind his ear. “There, that's not so bad. Maybe if we trimmed it just to here…” Her finger grazed just below the swollen mass. “And the beard covers up some of the scars, but maybe you could trim it just a bit so you don't look like some wild mountain man.”
“Maybe Adele Fuller likes wild mountain men,” John William said, plopping his hat back on his head. He turned to Gloria and grimaced and growled, getting close enough for the longest of his whiskers to graze her skin.
“Stop making jokes,” Gloria said. “It's been six months since your wife died. It's time you start thinking about…”
“Another woman?”
“Not just a woman. A wife. And I just thought that since Adele—”
“Stop," John William said. “I don't want to hear another word about her.”
“But she's—”
“She's nothing.”
Over the course of their months together, John William had mastered the tone that would end an argument. He used it now, and the only sound was the clomp of the horses and the rattle of the harness. The occasional rut in the road urged a groan from the wheels, but other than that there was silence.
Maureen's property was in sight, the bright blue door beckoning. He tried to picture making this trip with Adele Fuller, tried to envision her riding beside him in this wagon, but as long as he'd owned this rig, Gloria was the only woman who had ever shared it with him. Somehow Adele's silk and lace just wouldn't seem right against the rough wood seat. She'd make them ride in some fancy black buggy
“I hate them things,” he said out loud.
“What things?”
“Nothin'.”
He wondered if Adele Fuller had ever held a child. Would she laugh if Kate tugged at her perfect curls? Would she let Danny amuse himself by making paste with a bowl of flour and a spitty hand? Would she let them roll around, healthy and brown, wearing nothing but diapers? He pictured walking into the parlor, both children dressed in little white lace gowns, sitting perfectly still and straight, tied to the chairs.
“They're just babies.”
“What about the babies?”
“Nothin'.”
Then, before he could stop himself, he was thinking about Adele herself. The woman. He conjured her face, but no matter how hard he tried to hold the image, Adele's cat-like green eyes became soft and round and blue. Her cunning smile became one of openmouthed joy. Her complicated auburn coif softened, became the color of ripened wheat, and fell around her face, tumbled down her back. Soon, she wasn't a pristine preacher's daughter sitting beside him at church, but an earthy temptress, fresh from sleep, looking at him through a canvas flap, a blanket draped loosely about her bare shoulders. In his mind's eye, he reached out, slipped one finger underneath the blanket, felt the glide of her skin as he—
“Finally” They were stopped in front of the house, and Gloria was already standing up, getting ready to step down from the wagon. “I didn't think we'd ever get here.”
John William reached out a hand and grasped Gloria's arm.
“Gloria,” his voice choked on the word. “Let me—”
“I can manage just fine, thank you,” Gloria said, wrenching her arm from his grasp. She reached a foot down to step on a wheel spoke, but when she swung the rest of her body around, a portion of her skirt was caught in the seat spring, and a resounding ripping sound accompanied a large tear in the fabric.
“Oh, no," she said at first. Then, when she saw the extent of the damage, she let forth a stream of curses.
“Don't talk like that. It makes you sound like a—” By the time he got to the end of the sentence, he was on the ground looking at her.
“Like a what?" Gloria's hands were planted firmly on her hips. “Like a whore?”
“I've never called you that.”
“But you haven't forgotten that's what I am,” Gloria said. “You can dress me up and take me to church, but that's not going to change what I am inside, is it?”
“Have I ever,” John William said, measuring his words, “ever treated you like a, like a…”
“Whore!" Gloria opened her arms wide and screamed the word. ‘You can't even say it, can you? You can't face that part of me.”
“That's not how I see you.”
“Of course it is.”
He had never in his life raised a hand to a woman, but now he grabbed Gloria's shoulders and turned her so that her back was pinned to the wagon. He released his grip and planted both palms on the wagon bed, hemming her in. She need only duck under his arm to escape, but by sheer will he forced her to stay and meet his gaze.
“Do you really want to know how I see you?” he asked. He took her silence as consent to hear an answer. “I see you, God help me, as the mother of my children.”
“Child,” Gloria said. The spite behind the word shocked him.
“No, Gloria, children. Katherine was the mother of my child. But I've come to think of Danny as my own, and I've seen how you've taken to Kate. And for the life of me I can't imagine them without you.”
“You make it sound like something horrible.”
“No, Gloria, you make it sound like something horrible. Every day you talk about leavin'. 1 can tell that every time one of ‘em takes a bite of food you're countin’ the days till you can go. And now, today, you're talkin’ about dumpin’ Adele Fuller on me. Well, maybe I don't want Adele Fuller.”
He took three full breaths before his next words tumbled out.
“Maybe I want you.”
For just one heartbeat, he expected her to melt into a smile and throw herself against him. He loosened the tension in his arms in anticipation of an embrace. But Gloria remained steel.
“You don't want me. You told me, back in Silver Peak, that you wouldn't need me forever. That you wouldn't want me for a wife.”
“And you're clingin’ to that? That was months ago, Gloria.”
“So I'm good enough now?”
“I don't know.” John William ripped his hat off his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “No one's ever good enough for anything. We just do the best we can.”
Just then the blue door flew open and Maureen emerged with a fussy Kate on her hip.
“Back so soon?” she said, jostling the baby. “You must not have stayed for dinner.”
“No,” they said simultaneously.
Thankful for the diversion, John William turned away from Gloria and took his daughter into his arms.
“Well, then,” Maureen said, looking from one to the other. “I'll fix us something.”
“I'm not hungry,” Gloria mumbled. She breezed past Maureen and disappeared inside. John William tried not to look at the exposed petticoat peeking through the torn skirt, but his eyes would not obey.
Maureen caught him looking, and a mischievous grin spread across her face.
“You two have a quarrel?” she asked.
“You might say that.”
“What about?”
He sighed, tried to think of an explanation, and decided to go with the truth.
“Adele Fuller,” he said.
Maureen laughed. “Hoo, boy Nothing like a redhead to light a fire under a woman, is there?”
John William gave her a sideways scowl.
“I think it's a good thing we got the harvest coming on,” she said. “You look like you'll need something to occupy your mind.”
“My mind is fine,” he said. He looked through the kitchen window and saw Gloria slathering a slice of bread with blackberry preserves. Not hungry, he thought, smiling.
“She's a beautiful woman, isn't she?” Maureen said.
“She is at that.”
“But sometimes she seems almost…well, like a child.”
“She's scared.”
>
“Yes, 1 suppose that's it. Tell me, about this bargain between the two of you. Do you really think shell leave?”
“I didn't think so until today”
“And just when did you decide you wanted her to stay with you?”
He held his daughter close and searched for an answer. Kate had ten grubby fingers tangled in his beard. She tugged and giggled and tugged some more, and his mind flashed back to that first night, the chilled, lifeless little body he had carried into that tiny warm cabin.
“The moment she held Kate, I suppose,” he said. “Is that awful?”
“Awful? Why would it be awful?”
“Because Katherine, Kate's mother, she was just…had just…”
“And you were doing what you had to do for your child. There's no shame in that.”
Until that moment, John William hadn't realized just how much shame he felt, leaving his dead wife in the early dawn, handing their child over to this woman Katherine held in such disdain.
“Now let me ask you this,” Maureen said. “When did you fall in love with her?”
“I'm not—”
“Now there's no shame in that, either. 1 know 1 loved her the first time I met her. She gets to your heart, doesn't she?”
“I guess you could say that.” John William took another glance through the kitchen window where a seemingly satisfied Gloria licked the remnants of jam off her fingers. “But I've prayed for God to guard my heart. My thoughts.”
“And it's a good thing you did, all that time alone together, just the two of you in the middle of nowhere half the time.”
“You know I never, never touched her.”
“I know, son,” Maureen said. “But things have changed, haven't they?”
“Not so much.”
“It's all right, John. It's only natural. She's a beautiful woman, she's mothering your child. God brought you together for a reason.”
“She's not seekin’ God's will.”
“Maybe not. But she is seeking God, don't you think?”
“I don't know,” he said. “Sometimes I think she realizes how lost she is, and other times she just seems so bitter.”
“Not bitter. Scared.”
“But I've tried to tell her. Tried to protect her and make her feel safe.”
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