Hannah's Dream

by Lenore Butler

She pawned the ring Marian Dawes gave her, but the money she received for it didn't last very long. She looked for work, but honest businessmen, upon seeing her bleached hair and vulgar attire, dismissed her and asked her to leave their shops. She had no choice but to seek a position at Mrs. Porter's.

  When she saw Pierre, she fell in love. He was the most attractive man she'd ever seen. He also found her attractive, and she knew how to please a man. He became a regular customer and the more she saw him, the more she loved him. She had become careless. She was again in the family way.

  "Is that all?" Agnes said.

  Mrs. Porter nodded in Mr. Ross's direction and Agnes returned to his lap.

  After spending the night with Agnes, Mr. Ross left before dawn so he would be home when his children woke on Christmas morning. Agnes slept for a little while, then she got up and dressed, including her coat and hat. She looked at herself in the mirror, making sure every hair was in place, then she left her room.

  The house was quiet as she tiptoed down the stairs. It was half-past eleven. She went out the door and down the walkway to the street. She knew Pierre stayed at a small hotel when she couldn't have him overnight. She moved quickly to keep warm.

  There was no one on the street. Everyone was home for the holiday. The hotel came into view. As she drew nearer, she saw Pierre come out of the hotel and head toward the beach. She hurried her steps but he was too far ahead. She called to him, but the wind and the distance made it impossible for him to hear her.

  She followed him to the beach and watched him trudge through the sand. She knew he liked to go to the beach and enjoyed it best when it was empty. He liked to walk alone. He was heading for the rocks. The rocks went out into the water for several feet. She wondered why he would go there since the water was rough and the waves were crashing over them.

  "What's he thinking?" she said.

  She stopped and called to him. He didn't hear her. He was looking out to sea. If she wanted to talk to him, she would have to climb onto those rocks. She hesitated. She could wait until he came down. It was so cold. The water didn't seem so rough now. It was one of those lulls that lure you in then suddenly pull you under. But Agnes didn't think about that. She wanted to talk to Pierre.

  She pulled herself up on the first rock. It wasn't too wet. She called to Pierre. The wind was loud. She stood looking at the waves. They were at the base of the rocks.

  She took a step forward. He had walked to the halfway point and stopped. Maybe he would turn and see her. He was looking at the sea. She took another step.

  "Pierre," she called.

  Still he didn't turn. The water seemed calm. She took another step. A gust of wind hit her side, but she kept her balance.

  "Not for long," she said thinking of her pregnant belly to come. She'd have gone right over if she was big with child.

  I'll wait for him, she thought. She turned and began to take a walk back to the beach. That's when he turned and saw her.

  "Agnes," he cried.

  She didn't hear him. He began walking back to the beach, moving as quickly as he could. She was creeping along the rocks, afraid she might fall. When he was closer, he called to her again. This time she heard him and turned around. He was walking toward her. She smiled. He waited until he was near her before speaking. He was holding his hat and the wind blew his hair into his face.

  "What are you doing here?" he said.

  "I have to tell you something, but I don't want you to be mad."

  "Just tell me, Agnes," he said.

  "I'm having a baby," she said.

  "So what is that to me?" he said.

  "It's yours!" she cried.

  "There is no way to prove it is mine. You are a slut. It could be anyone's."

  A wave appeared from nowhere and crashed over the rocks. It soaked the bottom of her dress and Pierre's shoes.

  She cursed and narrowed her eyes. "It's yours. You're the only one I let do...I know it's yours."

  Another wave crashed over the rocks.

  "Can we please get off of here?" she said.

  He nodded and they began to walk back to the beach. A large wave hit the rocks and this time it knocked them both into the water. Agnes was struggling to keep her head above the water. Her heavy dress was impeding her as she struggled to swim to shore. Pierre reached for her hand. He couldn't reach it, and she was being pulled further away from the shore. He began to swim toward her, then he remembered what she told him and stopped. She would never leave him alone now. Margaret would find out about the baby and throw him out. He would lose his job.

  He turned and began to swim back to shore. He dragged himself out of the water and turned around. Agnes was gone.

  He tried to gather his thoughts. He looked around at the desolate beach. He wondered if anyone had seen them. He turned and walked to the road. He didn't see a soul.

  He went back to his room. His shoes and clothes were wet, but the desk clerk knew he was going to the beach. If anyone noticed, he would say he was too close to the shore and a wave caught him by surprise. He looked at his face in the mirror. Agnes was dead. She could have ruined his life. She could have ruined his relationship with Margaret. He hadn't wanted her dead. He hadn't planned to kill her. So, why did he feel so guilty?

  If he went to Mrs. Porter's and asked for Agnes, demanded to see her, would they suspect anything? Or would it make a good alibi? He took off his trousers and put on a dry pair. He had brought one pair of shoes so he had to wear them. If Mrs. Porter questioned him, he would say he had been to the beach. But he was being stupid. Why would she ask about his shoes?

  He waited until three before going to Mrs. Porters' This is when he usually arrived. Mrs. Porter greeted him.

  "I'd like to see Agnes," he said. He did that well. He didn't sound guilty at all.

  "She's still asleep," she said. "I'll send the girl to fetch her."

  They didn't know she'd left the house that morning.

  The girl was dispatched to Agnes's room. She appeared at the top of the stairs shaking her head.

  "She's not there, ma'am."

  "What?" Mrs. Porter said.

  "I told you to have her wait for me," he said. He was proud. He sounded properly indignant.

  "I haven't seen her today. I can't imagine where she's off to."

  "Well find her!" he cried.

  "Why don't you come back later?" Mrs. Porter said. "Maybe she's gone to church. It's Christmas after all."

  "Yes, I'm sure she's gone to church," he said. You're doing well, Jean-Pierre, he thought. "You tell her when she comes back that if she does this to me again, I will choose another girl."

  He walked out and slammed the door. He was breathing hard and stopped on the porch to catch his breath. He walked back to the hotel and collected his things. He tipped the livery boy who brought his horse to the hotel and quickly rode out of town.

  Chapter 14

  Marian was at the breakfast table sipping her tea when a knock came at the door.

  "I'll answer it," Becky said as she rushed past Marian.

  A man in a black overcoat and bowler hat stood on the porch. He took off his hat and smiled.

  "May I speak to Mrs. Dawes?" he said.

  "May I ask who's calling?" Becky said.

  "My name is Herbert Ross."

  "Come in," Becky said. She took his hat and coat and left Mr. Ross in the foyer.

  "There's a man here to see you," Becky told Marian.

  "Who is he?"

  "Someone named Ross."

  "That's the lawyer from New York. What on Earth is he doing here?"

  Marian rose from the table.

  "Bring some tea to the parlor," she said to Becky.

  She walked into the foyer and greeted Mr. Ross.

  "Please, come in," she said.

  They walked into the parlor and sat across from each other. He looked very uncomfortable.

  "I received your letter and was planning to come to your office sometime next week," Marian
said. "I assume your visit has something to do with the letter."

  "Mrs. Dawes, I...I guess it's best to just tell you why I'm here. I wanted to find a way to say this, but no matter how I tried, there just isn't any easy way to give you this news."

  "My goodness, Mr. Ross. Is it as bad as all that?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Dawes, I'm afraid it is."

  He sat tapping his fingers on his knee. Despite the chill in the parlor, he began to perspire.

  "You see, I made some investments. Your late husband trusted my judgment and I saw no reason to disturb you, so I used your late husband's money as well as my own."

  "It wouldn't have disturbed me in the least. You could have talked to me about my late husband's money."

  This was not going well. Mrs. Dawes looked peeved. Mr. Ross soldiered on.

  "The railroads were a solid investment. They should have given a healthy return. But construction was halted by certain unforeseen circumstances and the money, well..."

  "Well what, Mr. Ross?"

  "The men have absconded with the money."

  "You mean they've stolen it, isn't that what you mean? You've invested my late husband's money, my money, Mr. Ross, with thieves."

  "I had no idea they were thieves when I gave them the money, Mrs. Dawes. I never would have been so reckless."

  "But you were reckless, Mr. Ross."

  Becky was standing at the door holding the tea tray. Mr. Ross saw her face and knew she had heard. She walked over to the table in front of the settee and put the tray down. She glared at Mr. Ross.

  "Thank you, Becky," Marian said.

  Becky left the room, but she stood outside the door where Marian wouldn't see her.

  "Is there anything left?" Marian asked.

  "The firm has dismissed me, but they voted to give you a settlement."

  "How much money, Mr. Ross?"

  "One thousand dollars."

  Marian sipped her tea. She could feel her hands shaking, but she willed them to stop. She wouldn't let this man get the better of her. She thought about the money. It wouldn't see them through a year. She continued to sip. Let him stew a while. She put down her tea.

  "When will I get this money?" she asked.

  Mr. Ross reached into his pocket and pulled out a bank draft. He placed it next to the tea tray.

  "I had a bit set aside for myself," he said. "I added it to the amount. I know what you think of me, Mrs. Dawes, but I feel terrible about this."

  "I don't think you really know how I feel about you, Mr. Ross, and I'm too much of a lady to tell you. I think it's best you leave now."

  Becky was at the doorway with his hat and coat. Mr. Ross stood and bowed.

  "I am truly sorry," he said.

  "Goodbye, Mr. Ross. Thank you for taking the time to see me in person."

  He took his hat and coat from Becky and left the house. Becky came back to the parlor and sat in the chair vacated by Mr. Ross.

  "I know you heard," Marian said.

  "How much did he add?" Becky said.

  "Becky!"

  "We have to be practical, ma'am. We have to make plans."

  "I can't think about that right now."

  "I'm afraid you have no choice. The bills are due for next month and you know they amount to one-tenth of that money."

  Marian began to cry.

  "What about your brother?" Becky said. "He's always writing you to come and visit. Couldn't he take you in?"

  "You're talking about us leaving this house."

  "Do you have a choice?"

  "Oh, God, what will I tell the children?"

  "You'll tell them the truth. Hannah is a grown girl, and Jimmy is no stranger to the hardships of life."

  "Poor Jimmy. He's been through so much. He was just beginning to enjoy his life."

  "Your brother's would be a great place for him."

  "You act as if my brother had invited us to live with him. I haven't even spoken to him yet."

  "I can't imagine him turning you away."

  "Becky, please, let me be. I have to think."

  "I'm sorry. I just...I've been part of this family for so long. I apologize if I'm too familiar."

  Marian stood and went to Becky. She put her arm around Becky's shoulder.

  "You are part of the family. But I have to make the final decision. You're right. I have to write to James."

  Marian went to the corner of the parlor. Her desk had been moved there when Jimmy took her special room. She sat down and wrote to her brother, James Hughes. James owned a ranch in High Bend, Colorado. He had never married. Becky was right. He was always asking Marian to bring Hannah for a visit. He didn't know about Jimmy, but Marian was sure he wouldn't object to the boy. As she wrote to her brother, tears streamed down her face.

  Chapter 15

  High Bend, Colorado -- Spring, 1897

  The post office in Denver was James Hughes's last stop before heading home. It was his first trip to Denver since the pass opened up and he had brought his wagon so he could replenish his supplies. The postmaster smiled as he handed James his packet of mail.

  "Got two come all the way from New Jersey," he said.

  "Must be my sister," James replied. He didn't elaborate. James' personal letters were none of the man's business.

  "Did your stock make it through the winter?"

  "They made it through just fine," James said. "See you next month."

  James looked at the letters as left the post office. He wondered why Marian had written him twice. He was sure one was a Christmas letter. The postmark on the second letter was two weeks after the first. He hoped it wasn't bad news.

  His horse, Ulysses, loped along at a leisurely pace while James read the first letter. It was a Christmas letter. Marian had enclosed two pictures -- one of his niece, Hannah, and one of a boy named Jimmy. Marian said she had adopted Jimmy, but she didn't say why. He looked like a nice boy.

  The second letter was short. In it, Marian told James that the lawyer handling her finances had lost all her money and she was destitute. Since both their parents were dead, Marian had no other choice but to ask James for help. She would have to sell her house in New Jersey. Would James allow her to live with him?

  James was a confirmed bachelor. He hadn't lived with anyone since he left his parents' home twenty years ago. His father had given him enough money to buy the land in Colorado, build a small house, and buy ten horses. The plan had been for James to create a working ranch and then sell it for a profit after which he would return home to New Jersey. But James fell in love with Colorado and never looked back.

  Over the years, he had added rooms to the house and expanded it to include a porch that ran across the front of the house. From there he had a view of the river and in the evening after supper, he would sit, smoke his pipe, and watch the river roll by while eagles dipped and soared.

  The first floor of the house contained a parlor, a library, and a kitchen. The second floor had two bedrooms, one for James and one for a guest. It also had a bathroom. James had grown up with a bathroom and refused to use an outhouse. He insisted on indoor plumbing when he built the house.

  He thought about having his sister and her two children living in that small house. He'd invited her to visit several times, thinking he could sleep in the parlor if she accepted. But that would be a temporary arrangement. He didn't want to sleep in the parlor for the rest of his life.

  Of course, his niece and the young'un could stay on the first floor. The library was big enough for two beds. But Hannah wasn't a child anymore. She was a young lady.

  The more James thought about it, the more agitated he became. He liked his solitary life. He loved his sister, but having her living in the same house for what might be a very long time just didn't set right with him.

  His ranch was doing well. His father, Harmon Hughes, had left him a small fortune when he died. Harmon believed that Marian would be well taken care of by her husband and had therefore left all the money to his son. There was
more than enough money to build another house. He had plenty of land, and it wouldn't have to be a grand house. James' spirits brightened. He turned his wagon around and headed back to Denver.

  Miles Smiley was an architect and lawyer with a house on East Colfax Avenue. Miles' office was there. James had spent many days with Miles planning his ranch. He'd sipped Kentucky whiskey and smoked cigars with Miles while they talked about horseflesh and blue grass. He trusted Miles. Miles would know what a lady wanted in a house.

  Miles' maid greeted James and led him to the study. Miles, a short, fat man with very little hair on the top of his head and a long fringe of hair covering his ears stood and walked over to James with his hand extended.

  "James, my, God, man, it's been ages."

  "I've been snowed in most of the winter. Just got out here today."

  "Well, sit down and put your feet up. What are you drinking?"

  "I'll have some of that smooth whiskey if you don't mind."

  "I don't mind a bit."

  Miles took a bottle out of his cabinet and took two glasses from the shelf behind his desk. He poured the whiskey and handed one to James, who had taken a seat by the fireplace.

  "Cigar?" Miles asked.

  James waved his hand. "No, thank you."

  Miles bit off the end of his cigar and spit it into the fireplace. He lit it and sat in the chair opposite James.

  "So, what brings you here?" Miles asked.

  "I got a letter from my sister back east. She needs help. She's asked if she can come out here to live with me."

  "Oh, my, oh, my. Sisters. Don't have any myself but I can imagine. Do you get along?"

  "We get along fine. I haven't seen her in a long time, but she was a good sister."

  "You have enough room in your house."

  "She has two kids."

  "Ah, the rub. I see. So, you are thinking of expanding again."

  "I'm thinking of building a whole new house for her."

  Miles puffed on his cigar. "Don't want her in your house?"

  "I'm used to being alone. I like being alone."

  "Well, we could build one close by, but far enough away to protect your privacy. It might be nice to have someone close by now that you're getting older."