Her Wyoming Man

by Cheryl St. John

  “You’re my wife now,” he told her. “You’re an important part of everything.” He hugged her against his side and kissed the top of her head. His deep voice resonated through his chest when he said gruffly, “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  She rested her hand against the front of his shirt.

  “Maybe by this time next year, we’ll have another little Lantry joining us,” he whispered against her ear.

  The thought terrified and thrilled her at the same time.

  They rested like that while the stars popped out in the heavens and townspeople gathered on their separate squares until the hillside looked like a patchwork quilt under the bright moon.

  Ella had watched sporadic fireworks from the balcony at the parlor house on July Fourth evenings, but the only reason she knew the night was a holiday was because the house was so quiet. A few regulars came in during the late hours, but Ansel Murdock had never visited her. He’d been with his family, attending a celebration similar to this one, she suspected.

  That whole part of her life seemed so distant now, she could hardly relate it with her time in Sweetwater. If only Gabrielle had never existed and that time had never happened. If only she’d had an upbringing like the people here…like these children. Safe and protected from unpleasantness and crudity. At the time she’d been growing up and living in the parlor house, she hadn’t known anything different. That life had seemed normal. It hadn’t been until later, when she heard the other girls talk of families and plans to leave and start new, until she’d become aware that other young women could shop and walk through town without scorn that the reality of her sordid existence came into focus.

  Colorful bursts lit the night sky to the appreciative exclamations of all, including Ella, who watched with wonder and fascination. She turned to observe Nathan’s strong handsome profile tilted upward. She was going to do the right thing and tell him the truth.

  If he truly loved her the way she hoped he loved her, her past would make no difference. They would spend their years together, raising children and attending Independence Day celebrations until they were old.

  Eventually, the last explosion lit the sky, the embers fading as they fell toward earth. She tucked away the memory of this day like a precious keepsake.

  Tents had been erected around a square consisting of several wooden platforms assembled for dancing and the bands. “The tents are for sleeping children,” Nathan told her. “The women take turns sitting with them.”

  “I’ll take a turn,” she offered quickly.

  He directed her to Sarah Pickering, who sat at the opening to a tent. Ella’s assignment was the first time slot, so she and Nathan settled Grace and Robby down on their blankets and she took her turn. She had a baby in her charge, and he fussed until she awkwardly picked him up and rocked him in her arms.

  The little fellow was surprisingly heavy, but soft and warm and smelled like milk and talcum powder. She’d never held a baby before and hoped she didn’t do something wrong, but his eyelids closed and he drifted into peaceful sleep. The feel of his plump little body lying against her breast brought untested mothering instincts to life. He had tiny features, a wet rosebud mouth and a soft tuft of hair atop his head. He was the sweetest thing she’d ever held. Thoughts of holding a baby of her own were only natural.

  Maybe by this time next year, we’ll have another little Lantry joining us, Nathan had said. It was her dearest wish, next to remaining with the Lantrys in Sweetwater.

  On the hour, a young woman who introduced herself as Donetta Jones and the baby’s mother arrived to relieve her. Ella grudgingly handed her the baby and went back out into the night to find Nathan and Christopher. They were seated on planks that ran alongside the dance floors.

  “Here she is,” Nathan said with a smile.

  “I held a baby,” she said softly.

  Nathan gave her a smile. “How was it?”

  “Nice,” she replied.

  “May I have this dance?” Christopher asked as though he’d been coached.

  She took his hand and they found an opening among the couples moving to the music. Eventually, Nathan took Christopher to the tent to join his sister and brother for sleep and returned to Ella.

  He took her elbow and led her to the dance floor, where they fell into step. Ella hummed along with “Sweet Genevieve.”

  “We could take your phonograph down by the stream and dance under the stars later tonight,” Nathan said.

  She leaned back and stared up at him. “What a romantic idea!”

  “I have a lot of romantic ideas in my head right now,” he told her.

  Heart swelling, she rested her head against his shoulder. After another song, the tempo changed, and a rousing rendition of “Little Brown Jug” ensued. “I wonder what the ladies are thinking of this song,” Ella said to Nathan with a laugh. “I’m sure it’s highly improper.”

  She followed Nathan’s gaze to the sidelines where Tom Bradbury sat on the planks with a few other men. This was the first time she’d seen him all day, and his presence at the evening festivities surprised her.

  Nathan drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “There’s beer in a tent behind the bandstand,” he said. “I think I’ll head back there for a mug. Do you want anything?”

  “You go ahead. I’ll join the ladies for lemonade.”

  Nathan walked around the deserted bandstand, away from the noise of the dancers and the music.

  “I’ve been wondering where you were.”

  He turned at the voice and squinted into the darkness.

  Lena Bradbury strolled toward him. He hadn’t seen her all day or evening, so her appearance now surprised him. “If you’re looking for Tom, he’s back there by the dancers.”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “What for?”

  She walked right in front of him, blocking his path and stood uncomfortably close. “A diversion, I guess you could say.”

  Nathan took a step back, but she took a step forward. He glanced around. Anyone could be coming this way and see them.

  She reached out and laid her hand on the front of his shirt in a flirtatious gesture. “Nervous about something?”

  He took her wrist and removed her hand. “This is inappropriate, Mrs. Bradbury.”

  “No one has to know,” she said. “What do you say we slip a little farther away from the crowd and…get to know each other better?”

  “You’re my friend’s wife, and even if you weren’t, I’m a married man.” He detached himself from her hold again and moved away.

  “Well, aren’t you the pious one?” She twirled a tress of hair around her index finger and glared at him in the light from the moon and the lanterns strung along the path. “Think you’re too good for me, do you?”

  “Of course not. But Tom’s a good man. He can make you happy if you give him a chance.”

  She laughed derisively. “There are too damned many good men in this town if you ask me. The bad boys are a whole lot more fun.”

  “Why did you marry him if you weren’t going to try to make your marriage work?” he asked. “Why’d you come here at all if you didn’t want to settle down and be a wife?” He changed his mind about the beer and turned back toward the festivities. “Excuse me. My wife is waiting.”

  “Oh my, yes, you’re such a gentleman,” she said. “Hurry back to your delicate flower before she wilts.” And then she called a little louder as he walked away, “Or until she turns her attentions on some richer man.” She followed him. “She likes the rich ones, she does. Oh, yes. Only the best for Gabrielle.”

  Nathan had reached the clearing where the dance floor and the band was, and the musicians paused between songs, so Lena’s next words rang out from behind him.

  “All of you think you’re so much better than I am. You and your fancy houses and your carriages and your clothes and your ridiculous parties.”

  In front of him, people turned to see who was sho
uting.

  He paused at the corner of the dance floor.

  Murmurs carried through the crowd.

  Nathan turned his head and found Tom, who was now slowly rising from the bench. The man had already been forced to suffer enough indignities. What was wrong with that woman?

  “Lena,” a woman said in a kind tone. “Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll go somewhere and talk?”

  He recognized Rita Thomas, one of the other women who’d come West with the group of brides. She’d married the liveryman.

  “What are we going to talk about?” Lena asked. “Old times?”

  Rita paused in front of her.

  Nathan searched for Ella, finding his wife standing not far from where he’d left her, her hands clasped in front of her, wearing a look of distress.

  “Maybe if you gave your friends a chance,” Nathan said. “You’d see that they want to help you.”

  “Friends?” she asked, her voice shrill. “Those—women—are not my friends. They were the competition where we came from, and they’re the competition here. Nothing changed—except the men in our beds.” Someone gasped.

  Rita reached for Lena, attempting to comfort or silence her, he wasn’t sure which, and Lena jerked away from her touch. “Get your hands off me! You’re no better than her.” Lena jerked her head in the direction where Ella stood. “You all think you’re better than me. All of you. Well, you’re not!”

  She stood in a circle of light from a nearby lantern, her posture stiff with anger. She turned her rage on Nathan. “You, Mr. High and Mighty city attorney. You’re just like every other man who ever set eyes on that woman. You’re blinded by her French perfume and that sensuous voice she has perfected.” Lena closed the distance that separated her from Nathan and glared up at him. “You’re drawn to that silken pale hair and her soft delicate skin. Do you have any idea how much it costs to make a woman look like that? Nothing was ever spared on her, because she was special.”

  “That’s enough, Lena.” Celeste Adams had left her husband’s side and come to urge Lena away from Nathan and into silence. “Come with me.”

  “This one,” Lena said, shaking her finger at Celeste, “never escaped a Friday night without a black eye, so she’s pleased as punch to be here, hobnobbing with the likes of you.”

  “Lena, shut up,” Celeste said in earnest, her glare a warning.

  “But not our lovely Gabrielle. Oh no, not our rose among the thorns. Not our musically gifted lady, the one reserved for only the richest client. No, not our beautiful French whore.”

  The word left stunned silence in its wake.

  Lena laughed then. An odious sound that made the bystanders visibly uncomfortable. “You’re all so easily duped.” She raked a glance from one shocked face to the next. “You brought a wagonload of whores into your uppity little town! All the way from Dodge City, Kansas, yes-sir-ee, where the cowpokes never stop piling in on Saturday night and the wind never stops blowing up dust, brought them directly to your doorstep. And you married us!” she added gleefully, then laughed again.

  She rounded on Nathan and looked him in the eye. “You, Mr. Big Shot Councilman, married yourself a whore.”

  Her words sank into Nathan’s mind, swimming about in confusion, seeking verification…while Rita and Celeste glared at Lena…and a buzz moved through the crowd. He sought Ella and found she’d moved closer, but still stood a dozen yards away, frozen to the spot, staring at him with a look of dread that drove shards of unease into his heart.

  A hundred little pieces of a bigger puzzle swirled into place and snagged his awareness. Ella had no skills in cooking or sewing or other domestic chores. She had no experience in anything a young woman is normally taught. She could play the piano like an angel and speak fluent French, over which he’d always marveled. She’d never been timid, never shied away from him…in fact she’d initiated and sought physical encounters.

  She’d been a warm and enthusiastic bed partner.

  No wonder she’d been so willing. No wonder she lacked restraint if she was no stranger to intimacies between men and women. He’d been so foolishly naive and blindly enamored that he’d imagined her desires were all because of her feelings for him.

  Rita finally caught Lena by the arm and led her aside, where another woman joined them.

  Paul went to Celeste, wrapping his arm around her supportively, and the two of them studied Nathan’s reaction.

  People on all sides spoke in hushed tones as he strode toward where Ella stood, her blue eyes wide and full of fear. He stared into those eyes and everything else faded into the background. He wanted her to tell him it wasn’t so. He wanted it more than he wanted his next breath.

  He couldn’t bear for everything he believed about her to be a lie. Fixing her with a harsh stare, he demanded to know, “Is it true?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ella stood trembling, but faced him. “Yes,” she answered. “I was going to tell you.”

  He stared at her, his world collapsing inward. “What were you going to tell me?”

  “The truth,” she said. “All of it.”

  “And exactly what is the truth?” he asked.

  The crowd had dispersed, many of them gathering their children and their belongings and heading for home. The musicians packed their instruments. Nathan and Ella were soon left standing alone.

  “I was going to tell you that there never was a Miss Haversham’s Academy for Young Women,” she said. “We made that up after we saw the newspaper and decided to make a run for it. Celeste had already answered the ad. The rest of us joined up with her.”

  “And you weren’t from Illinois.”

  She shook her head. “I grew up in Dodge City. In a parlor house run by Madame Fairchild.”

  “The first time we were together, you weren’t a virgin.”

  She locked her gaze with his, and a heart-stopping moment passed before she said, “No.”

  The night air threatened to suffocate him. His chest hurt. Nathan turned toward the tent where his children were, vaguely aware of her behind him. He woke them, picking up Robby and taking Grace by the hand and setting off toward their street.

  Christopher mumbled sleepy questions behind him, but Nathan didn’t really hear them. Ella must have been back there, too, but he only turned once to make sure his son was keeping up.

  A hundred confusing thoughts tumbled through his head, and Lena’s words kept coming back to him. Accusations he’d expected his wife to deny. Expected someone to deny. Accusations he needed someone to deny.

  She hadn’t.

  She’d looked at him like someone who’d had all their dirty laundry spilled out in public and who wanted to run the other way. She’d looked guilty.

  He shifted Robby on his shoulder.

  Mrs. Shippen heard them arrive and helped lead the children up the stairs. “Will you see them to bed?” he asked her.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Without another word or acknowledging that Ella had accompanied him home, he loped down the stairs and headed out the door, snapping it shut behind him.

  Ella stared after Nathan. Her chest ached so badly, she couldn’t draw a breath.

  What had she done to him? It was bad enough she’d lied and hurt him, but she’d just destroyed his standing in the community and his political aspirations.

  She stepped out onto the porch and stared into the darkness, wondering where he’d gone. He would come back. This was his home. His children were here. His life was here.

  She was the one who would have to leave.

  She stumbled to the top porch stair and lowered herself to a sitting position before she collapsed. She’d never wanted anything before. She’d never dared to hope for a future or a home or a family. Hope wasn’t for women like her.

  All the same she’d wanted to start fresh here.

  She’d spent her youth and her young adulthood carefully guarding her mind and her heart from feeling anything…simply single-mindedly surv
iving the best she knew how. When Ansel had handed her that bankbook, she’d glimpsed a whole new world…and dared. Dared to leave Dodge behind and make a new life for herself.

  She’d made friends. She’d discovered the joy of a family. She’d tasted freedom. She’d walked the streets of this town without ridicule or persecution.

  She’d fallen in love.

  She’d been utterly foolish.

  Freedom and safety had been an illusion. Her weeks here had been merely a life based on deception. What had she imagined would happen? Had she thought no one would ever be the wiser?

  Perhaps if she’d just smartened up and told Nathan sooner. Told him herself. Maybe he could have accepted the truth if it hadn’t been thrown in his face in front of all of his friends and all the voters.

  Ella’s stomach lurched. She stood, ran down the stairs and around the side of the house and vomited behind the rosebushes. The looks on the people’s faces earlier that evening swam before her eyes. Shock. Revulsion. Betrayal.

  She had betrayed every person she’d met in Sweetwater, every person who’d shown kindness and extended friendship. She remembered the women talking about Bess Duncan in the mercantile and how they’d considered her unworthy of shopping in their stores.

  When her stomach had settled and her knees were able to carry her back up the porch stairs, she entered the house. In the kitchen, she poured cool water into a pitcher and carried it upstairs. She’d been sleeping in Nathan’s bed, but most of her things were still back in the space she now used mostly for a dressing room, so she closed herself into the first room she’d occupied upon her arrival. She removed her dress and washed up before donning a silk dressing gown and perching on the edge of the bed.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she considered how many people were affected by what Lena had done tonight. What were Rita and her liveryman husband doing at this moment? The other women and their situations crossed her mind.

  The only relationship not in turmoil was Celeste and Paul’s…because she’d told him the truth. Celeste wouldn’t be welcomed back to the choir, however.