Before long, Belle realized that the spoon was a lost cause and she would have to consider other measures.
Before daybreak, through tears, Belle whispered her secret to Charley Hemphill as they sat under a bare light bulb in the saloon’s kitchen. A long painful silence grew between them before Belle finally mumbled, “It isn’t fair.”
“You were born into the wrong world, Belle, if you’re looking for fair.” Charley filled their coffee cups and returned the pot to the wood stove. “Getting through life is a job. One hurdle after another.”
“But what am I to do?”
“No one can make that decision for you, Belle.”
“But, there’s no good decision to make.”
“That dirty bastard. It’s a damn shame. But Belle, you have to do the best you can, given the situation. Think about it this way. Whatever you decide will be the best you can do. Weigh the consequences. Once you have made your decision, never look back. Wallowing in what might have been is a waste of time and can only cause misery. Somewhere along the line we choose to be happy or we choose to be miserable. It is my conviction that misery comes from wallowing in regrets. No place else.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Belle puckered her forehead. Leaning on the table, she cradled her chin in her hands.
“Well, maybe the logical thing to do is make a list of the pros and cons. Do you want some paper?” Charley said as he pulled a little notebook out of his pocket.
“I don’t want to have this baby, Charley.”
“Is that your decision?”
“I think so.” Her eyes grew sad and her voice dulled with hesitancy.
“No. Be firm about it. One way or the other.”
“Yes. Yes. That’s what I want to do.”
“Fine. You’ll get through it. Wish we could talk longer,” he said as he gathered up a mop and bucket. “I’ve got to clean up a mess out there. Someone threw up on the dance floor last night. I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks for listening to me, for helping me.”
“Take care of yourself,” he called over his shoulder and he headed for the dance floor.
Telling herself over and over again that she was doing the right thing, with Flo beside her, Belle headed down the streets of Cheyenne looking for Dr. Rathbone’s office.
“This is scary, Flo." Belle stopped dead in her tracks. “Why would a doctor have his office in this dark alley?”
“So people won’t know what it is he does, I think. Some doctors will do it but it’s not legal.”
“I wish there was some other way. What do you suppose he’ll do to me?”
“It will be all right, Belle. It won’t take long. Come on, get it behind you.” Flo shoved Belle toward the door.
Once inside, they found the room small and dirty. Dust balls rolled across the floor and the room smelled heavy with cigar smoke, and urine. There was no nurse, only a sign on the wall:
BE SEATED.
THE DOCTOR WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY.
Belle’s heart pounded as she waited. Was she doing the right thing? What would her father say? If only she could talk to him, or at least to Meg, who was almost a mother to her, but she would have to forge her way alone. There was no way in the world she could have Du Cartier’s baby, yet this seemed so wrong. Her head ached. Maybe it was just a bad dream, and she’d wake up.
“Are you here to see me? I’m Doctor Rathbone.” A man with bushy eyebrows and piercing eyes glared down at her.
“Yes."
“Come with me,” he said, leading her through a door. “What can I do for you? Are you sick?”
“I’m, I’m . . ." Belle couldn’t say the word. Putting her hand on her stomach, she looked at the doctor hoping he’d understand.
"So you want to get rid of the fetus?”
“Yes. That’s what I want to do.”
“I need your name and address.”
“Isabelle Mackay and I reside at the Silver Slipper.”
“Oh. Well, that figures,” he said as he wrote on his chart. "Do your parents know you’re here? Are they aware of your condition?”
“My mother’s dead and my father is in Scotland.”
“Same old story. When did you have your last menstrual period?”
“It’s been quite a while. It’s never been very regular--it’s been months, I guess.”
“What makes you think you are going to have a baby?”
“I’ve felt it move in my stomach.”
“I see. Then you’re quite a way along. You look like a nice girl, not like a tramp. Take off your clothes. I’ll need to examine you.”
As Belle tried to process what he said, she felt an anger that she didn’t know how to deal with. She wanted to leave but she didn’t know how she could.
“I’ll go out in the other room while you disrobe. Call me when you’re ready.”
Belle undressed; she couldn’t hold back bitter tears. How could it have come to this?
She held her skirt in front of her as she peeked through the crack in the door to tell the doctor she was ready.
“Lie down on the table,” he instructed.
Hesitantly, she crawled up on an old painted table trying to cover her nakedness with her skirt.
“You’re a pretty little thing. It’s always the pretty ones that get into trouble. My notion is that you have more to tantalize young men with. You tease them until they go crazy with desire and then nature takes its course. You can’t blame the young bucks. I’m not so old that I don’t remember how girls lead boys astray.” He yanked her skirt down to her waist and put his cold stethoscope on her bare skin. She shuddered. Then he put his hands on her breasts and kneaded them as though they were bread dough.
“Why are you doing that?” Belle pushed his arms away.
“I’m examining you, you silly twit. Now hold still.”
His long dirty fingernails clawed at her legs forcing them apart at the knees. Her muscles tightened. She panicked.
“Decent girls know how to keep their legs together. If you’d done that you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Now, spread your legs.” He held an instrument in his hand that looked like a giant button hook.
She couldn’t allow him to touch her there. It was wrong. “I’ve made a mistake. I can’t do this. Let me up,” she demanded.
“What’s the matter with you?” He pushed her back on the table. “It will only take a few minutes and you’ll be rid of it."
“No. Let me up. I want to leave.”
“Don’t be foolish. What will you do with a baby? You loose girls, you’re all the same. You’ll be sorry if you leave.”
Belle was on her feet and pulling her skirt around her as the doctor sputtered. She threw her arms into her coat and wadded up her under things, her stockings, her blouse, and put on her boots. She hurried to the door, across the anteroom and out into the street with Flo racing behind her.
“I’m glad it’s over.” Flo said as she chased Belle down the muddy alley. ‘‘Are you all right?”
“I didn’t let him do it. I couldn’t. He was awful and something inside kept telling me to leave. I don’t know what I’m going to do Flo but I can’t go back there. It was just too horrid.”
“Nothing can be as bad as carrying that monster’s baby, Belle.”
“Flo. You’ve got to understand. It’s my baby, too.”
“But, Belle?”
“There’s no good answers, don’t you think I know that? I’ve got to make the best of it. I’ll work my way through it, a little at a time.”
“You mean you’re going to keep the baby?” Flo asked.
“I don’t know. Yes, I guess I am. It’s the only way I can live with myself.”
As soon as the girls reached the Silver Slipper, Belle went looking for Charley. “Charley. I didn’t go through with it. I couldn’t.”
“I’d been surprised if you had.”
“What?” She shouted. “How about making the decision?”
&n
bsp; “I just heard you say you are going to carry your baby, didn’t I? That’s a decision. Maybe you rode the fence for a while and almost went the other way. That’s all right. What isn’t all right is to fail to make the best of it now you have.”
Belle withdrew her eyes and then looking up at Charley, she said, “I hope I’m up to this. There are no miracles to save me from bearing this child.”
“You’ve done a lot of growing up since you left Scotland. Give yourself some credit.”
It was the end of March before Belle began to show. Her days of procrastination were over. She could no longer dance at the Silver Slipper. The time had come for her to move on. Up before the sun, she sipped coffee with Charley in the Silver Slipper’s kitchen.
"And Ben, what about Ben?” Belle asked.
“Don’t shortchange that southern boy. He might surprise you. He’s a man in love.” Charley looked Belle in the eye.
“I know. But I can’t do this to him. He’s entitled to plant his own seed. He’s too good to be part of this. If he knew--"
“Maybe it’s for him to decide.”
“No, it isn’t,” she snapped. “He’s nothing to do with this. I’ll be leaving here alone.”
“Belle, if there’s anything--?” Charley asked as he took Belle by the shoulders. “I know I’m too old for you and not good enough. But we’ve got a lot in common.”
Belle moaned. “Ye’ve got that backwards. I’m the one who’s not good enough. I’m the one that’s flawed. I’ll miss ye, Charley.” Belle didn’t dare give him a chance to say any more. “Ye’ve been a good friend. How can I ever repay ye for all ye’ve done?”
“We all belong to the same club, Belle. If you help someone else along the way, that’s all I could ask for.”
“I’ll not forget ye, Charley Hemphill.” Before she knew what was happening she was in his arms and he was kissing her. It wasn’t a fatherly kiss. It was right on the lips and she could feel his passion all the way down to her toes. Then he let go of her as quickly as he had taken her. Her mind was swimming but this wasn’t the time to even consider how she felt about Charley.
“You won’t get despondent and do something foolish, Belle?”
“Ye know me better than that. I’ll be fine. I have to be. That’s how it is."
Belle packed her grip. She wanted to be gone before Ben showed up and that could happen any day. She checked the fare to Idaho and found she had enough money and some to spare. Signs of spring were in the air. Slipping a note under Flo’s door, she walked down the elegant stairway of the Silver Slipper for the last time.
Charley carried her grip to the railway station. As they walked along, she realized how she hated to leave him. They kissed on the platform as though they were lovers. He looked down at her belly. “It will be fine, Belle. You’ll be a good mother. Any kid would be lucky to have you for a mom. Make it work.” He turned and walked away without looking back.
Just at daybreak, the Union Pacific heading west stopped for coal and passengers leaving Cheyenne, and before the girls at the Silver Slipper knew it was morning, Isabelle Mackay boarded the train for Idaho.
Chapter Six
The wasteland rolled slow motion by the train window, repeating itself to the harsh sound of steel against steel. Wyoming’s desert held little promise for sustaining life yet there was serenity in it. The rawhide earth caught the pastels of morning, those elusive colors you’d not notice unless you wanted them to be there. A flat cloud hovered, casting purple shadows that interrupted the desert, making something where there was nothing.
How she would miss those folks who had become her friends at the Silver Slipper. Imagine, Isabelle Mackay spending a winter in such a place. It was a relief to be out of there. How she’d hated to compose letters home and not reveal where she was living. Angus Mackay would have taken a grim view of it, if he knew. She didn’t like deceiving him. She thought of Charley and closed her eyes and felt his kiss again. How strange that had been, like a bolt out of the blue. Her life had grown too complicated already. No, she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on thoughts of Charley Hemphill.
But what about Ben? Was it right to leave before he returned? He’d ride into Cheyenne on Blue with those border collies tagging close. He’d head straight away for the Silver Slipper, expecting to find her there. She had Flo’s promise not to tell him what had happened. She could count on Flo. Leaving without saying goodbye was bad enough, but if he knew about Du Cartier, it would break his heart.
Scrambled thoughts drummed in her head. Men held notions that women invite such attacks from men. She certainly hadn’t done that. No matter how it happens, the disgrace falls on the woman, although the man is the one who has disgraced humanity. Why can’t people see that? If a man beats a dog, is it the dog’s fault it is wounded? Not in a pig’s eye.
What would go through Ben’s mind if he knew? She didn’t want the humiliation of explaining to him. Whatever he might think didn’t matter now; she had made her decision. She’d moved on without him and that was that.
“Mind if I sit here?” An older man, maybe thirty-five, with a full beard stood looking at her. He was dressed in heavy leathers. A familiar smell of animal fat, the kind used in tanning, came with him. His lower lip was stretched around a wad of tobacco.
“Help yourself, I only paid for one seat,” Belle said.
Harlow Pruett was his name. He had boarded at the junction. “I’m on my way home from Provo, Utah,” he said.
“Where’s home?” Belle asked.
“I’ve got mining claims on the Payette River just north of Boise. Been up there eight years now. Etta and I homesteaded there.”
“Where is Etta now?” Belle asked.
“I just took her back to Utah--for good this time.” Removing his black felt hat, he brushed the dust off of it and he ran his fingers through thinning blond hair. Etta missed her mother and wanted Harlow to go move back to Utah, but there was nothing there for him anymore. He’d had an amusement park on the lake in Provo once and made enough with the boat rides and the carousel to stake his move to Idaho. “Things were going good for me in Idaho, except for Etta. She hated it and I didn’t want to go back to Utah, so there you have it. I don’t have much use for the Mormons and Utah had as many as a dog has fleas.”
Belle felt there was more to that remark than he was telling her but she quickly got the feeling she shouldn’t pry.
Harlow told how he’d filed claims up and down the river. “I’ll strike it rich some day; I know I will.” He reamed out his pipe with a jack knife and filled it with tobacco. “I traded my mule team for a couple of Clydesdales. They have the muscle I needed to get things done. Naw, I don’t need Etta.” His pensive tone made Belle think he was trying to convince himself
Etta was a mama’s girl and the backbreaking time he’d spent fixing up the place to suit her wasn’t enough to keep her there. She didn’t have the gumption to be away from home. Eight years he’d tried, but no more. He loaded her up, bag and baggage, and took her home. “Her ma and pa weren’t too wild about having her back but I couldn’t put up with her anymore. Let that silly woman strangle on her mother’s apron strings for all I care,” he said. He didn’t need her--he didn’t need anybody. He lit his pipe and settled back in his seat.
“So where you headed?” he asked.
She looked down at her stomach. “I’m going to live with family friends. Their name is Doig. They have a place between Boise and Nampa.” Belle unfolded a map and showed it to Harlow. “Do you know where that is?”
“Yep. It’s good farming country.”
“They are sheep ranchers. They don’t know about this,” Belle said patting her tummy. Belle lowered her voice. “I’m not married,” she blurted. Why was she telling this perfect stranger? “It was . . . I was . . ." She bit her lip, groping for the right word.
"Assaulted?” he whispered, careful to avert eye contact. Belle nodded.
His eyes rolled back to meet hers. They were
kind. This man was understanding. Before she had decided to do it, she heard herself blurting out her story. She was telling this stranger things she didn’t think she could tell a soul. Likely, more than he wanted to know. But it was too late now.
Harlow Pruett had a dream and she liked that. He wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. He was a hardworking man, she could tell by his gnarled hands.
As the day wore on, Harlow entertained Belle with bear stories. “Up Easter Creek, in a place we call Garden Valley, high above the canyon in the pine woods, ol' Frank Jenkins was out to get his elk. He’d set up camp and started supper when a bear smelled his sausage cooking and lumbered in, spooking Frank’s saddle horse. Frank spied the bear and climbed the nearest tree. With one swipe of his paw, the bear knocked the skillet off the fire and sniffed the sausage until it didn’t burn his snout, then ate Frank’s supper while Frank watched him do it.
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