by J. T. Marie
What are we talking about again? Oh, yes—a wedding that will never take place.
Lucy, we need to talk.
After dinner, Boss Daddy retires to the parlor for a smoke, and because I’m going to be family now, I’m expected to follow. I feel like a puppy chasing after its master, running from here to there, going where I’m told. Everything still feels unreal to me, dreamlike, as if I’ll wake up in my bed at Miss Barbour’s at any moment and blink sleepily in the light of day. Me, marry his daughter? How silly! How crazy! What a weird dream.
Only I’m not dreaming, and I don’t wake up. The pungent smoke from Boss Daddy’s cigar burns my eyes and makes them water, and when I blink away the tears, nothing has changed. I’m still in his parlor. Still engaged to Miss Lucille.
I really need to leave Junction as soon as possible.
Eventually, Boss Daddy draws in a deep breath and sighs, a sound with some finality to it that tells me it’s time to leave. Miss Lucille walks me to the door, her hand delicate in the curve of my arm, but we still aren’t alone—a servant lingers in the hallway, another mans the door. Out on the porch, the light from the windows reaches out into the darkened evening like a spotlight focused directly on us. I keep Miss Lucille’s hand pressed against my side as I guide her down the porch steps for a little privacy.
I need to tell her, I do, but now that we’re alone, the words won’t come. They’re stuck in the back of my throat like a chicken bone, threatening to choke me.
“Lucy,” I start, my voice aquiver.
Her hand squeezes my arm affectionately. “Well, Nat Allen, you finally have me all to yourself. What’s all this nonsense about you can’t marry me?”
I swallow hard, suddenly sad. My eyes water again, but not from smoke this time. Helplessly, I say, “I’d love to, I would. But you don’t understand…”
She stops and turns towards me, taking my hands in hers. Her eyes glisten in the faint light thrown from the house. “What? Tell me.”
When I draw in breath to say it—I’m a woman, too—I hear hinges squeak and the front door opens wide. “Lucy!” Boss Daddy hollers out at us. “Say your goodbyes already. Nat has work to do in the morning, so he best call it a night.”
Miss Lucille harrumphs, then stands on her toes to press her lips against mine. This isn’t one of those quick kisses I’ve grown used to, but something in the same vein as the one we shared at the creek. Not too intimate, with just a hint of tongue, but enough to keep me warm all the way back to Miss Barbour’s. “Tell me later,” she whispers, her breath hot on my mouth. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out, you’ll see.”
Then she dashes up onto the porch and inside, leaving me burning—with want of her, to be sure, but also with shame for not telling her the truth.
Chapter 27
The temperature has dropped drastically now that the sun has set. As I walk into town, a thin sheen of sweat rises on the back of my neck and almost instantly cools, chilling me into shivering a little. My hands are tucked down into the pockets of my dungarees, bunched into fists at the uselessness of my situation. If the train was running tomorrow, this would be my last night in Junction. I need to leave, no matter how much it hurts. Miss Lucille will get over me soon enough, I reckon, but I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget her, or how soft her lips are on mine, or how sweet she smells pressed so close against me.
The sky above is clouded over, not a star in sight. The only light is the distant golden glow from the saloon, though on a Monday night, the only people inside are probably Maddy and Stubs. I debate stopping in for a drink, but the swill is more water than beer, and Boss Daddy’s right—I best call it a night, even if I’m not planning to return to the ranch tomorrow. I have other work ahead of me, such as packing what little I own and buying a ticket on the next train out of here.
My boot heels are heavy on the wooden steps leading up to Miss Barbour’s porch. I’m so lost in my own confusing thoughts, I don’t realize I’m not alone until I hear a glass bottle chink against wood, someone setting down a drink. Then Charlie’s voice spits out at me from the darkness. “You bastard.”
So he knows. I shouldn’t be surprised—when Miss Lucille came into town earlier, she probably announced our engagement to anyone within earshot, and those who didn’t hear it from her direct found out through gossip. Boss Daddy’s little girl getting married would be big news in a town like this. The Steinwitzes at the general store probably helped spread the word on their way to cable in the fabric order. I’m sure everyone between here and Kansas City knows already.
With a sigh, I reach for the door knob. “I’m not in the mood for more of your bullshit tonight.”
I hear him stagger to his feet, kicking the bottle in the process and sending it clattering across the porch. “She was mine,” he cries. “You stole her from me!”
He’s more inebriated than I thought. “Be reasonable. She doesn’t even know who you are.”
His boots shuffle over the boards, as if he’s trying to do the two-step and can’t quite manage it, then I feel his claw-like hands scratch at my shoulder. I move away, from the door and from him. “Charlie, you’re drunk off your ass—”
“She was mine,” he says again, adamant. Fumes of liquor waft over me and I turn away from his horrible breath. His hands scrabble at the front of my coat, seeking purchase, but I brush them off. “C’mere an’ fight me like a man.”
Anger flares through me. What’s that supposed to mean?
The next time he lunges for me, I duck under his arm and come up around behind him. He staggers into the porch railing as I elbow him between the shoulder blades. With a cry of pain, he flails like a captured bird, arms flapping, legs scratching for purchase. I kick the back of one knee, sending him to the ground, then throw a punch to his temple to keep him there.
One hand weakly cups my boot, but I stomp on it and step away. “You’re the bastard, Charlie,” I snarl. “Keep away from Miss Lucille, you hear? She ain’t interested in scum like you.”
His attack almost makes me want to reconsider my decision to leave. A jerk like Charlie would rush down to the ranch the moment he learned I was gone, eager to fill my place, preying on a poor woman with a broken heart.
But Miss Lucille is stronger than most women. She’d see right through him, if she even agreed to see him at all. Maybe I should step aside, let him try to win her over. Watch him fall apart in the process. Lucy would chew up his sorry ass and send him packing.
That image makes me smile. I love that woman, I do. But I shouldn’t—I know I can’t, so I won’t.
If only it were as simple as that.
From somewhere below me, Charlie lets out a ragged snore, succumbing to both the drink and the fight. I kick him in the leg for good measure, then head inside.
Chapter 28
In the morning, I’m up and dressed before I remember I’m not going to the ranch today. Or ever again, if I can help it. When I come downstairs for a cup of coffee, Charlie sits at the kitchen table, head down, a heated towel covering his sweaty hair. He glances up at me as I pass, but only groans and ducks down lower over the table.
Serves him right.
If Miss Barbour notices I’m running late, she doesn’t say anything. I’m usually gone before the sun rises, and today I dawdle in the parlor, reading a book there instead of in my room so I can smirk at Charlie. He ignores me, which is just as well. By nine o’clock, I figure the depot manager should be open for business, so I head down the street to buy a ticket.
Though I pay for my own room and meals, I have quite a nice little bundle of cash set aside. I don’t squander my money on booze or women, like many of the other ranch hands do. So I have enough for a one-way ticket heading just about anywhere. When I step up to the window, though, the depot manager squints at me through his small spectacles and chews on the long ends of his mustache. “Leavin’ where?” he squawks.
I shrug. “Anywhere’s fine. When’s the first train tom
orrow?”
He pushes his glasses up on his nose and peers at me. Whatever he sees makes him nod sagely. “This about Miss Lucille, ain’t it?”
Of course he would’ve heard about that. “No, no I—”
“She know you leavin’?” he queries.
I hesitate. If I shake my head, then she’ll find out as soon as this old coot rushes out to spread the news. If I nod, though, word may still get back to her.
Turns out I don’t need to answer anyway, because my silence says it all. With a nod, the manager says, “Yep, that’s what I thought. ‘Morrow’s train heads west towards Laramie. If you’re looking to go farther, you can buy another ticket there.”
He quotes a price I think is a little high, but I’m not in the mood to haggle. I hand over the money, take the ticket, and tuck it safely into my back pocket. “Be here noon sharp,” the manager tells me. “More ‘n one bag’s gonna cost you extra.”
“I only have the one,” I assure him.
With my ticket, I now have a way out of Junction, and out of this damned wedding. I really wish it didn’t have to come to this, but it’ll be better in the long run, for everyone concerned. Or so I keep telling myself as I retrace my steps back to Miss Barbour’s. It’ll hurt at first—hell, at the moment, I feel as if my heart is slowly tearing in two—but I’ll get over it eventually. Miss Lucille will move on without me.
Chapter 29
I spend the day packing everything I own into the same haversack I carried with me when I first arrived in Junction. In the year I’ve been here, I haven’t managed to accumulate many items—a book Miss Barbour said I could have off her shelf, pocket change, a new comb because mine broke, a second pair of dungarees Mrs. Steinwitz sold me when the rear seam on mine needed to be mended. I’ve been traveling light my whole life. I had only Bernie’s clothes on my back and my small bag of personals when I left Philadelphia all those years ago. I outgrew the clothes within a few years, and I lost the lady’s pistol somewhere along the way. The photo of my mother is all I still have with me; it sits tucked in the corner of the mirror above my dresser, her stern expression belaying the love I imagine I see shining in her eyes. What would she have thought of how my life turned out?
I have no idea, but I like to think she would’ve indulged me. I was always her little tomboy, and until I overheard my father’s new wife say otherwise, I never knew there was anything wrong with being that way.
By supper time, my clothes are folded neatly into my bag, and my mother’s photo rests in Miss Barbour’s book, nestled on top of my clothing. The dresser drawers are empty, the bottom one jutting out a bit to show the bare interior because it skipped off the track and I don’t want to fuss with setting it right. The money I’ll owe for tonight’s lodging is counted out on top of the dresser, the key to my room on top as if to hold the dollars down. I haven’t told anyone I’m leaving, except the depot manager who sold me my ticket. I wonder how long I have until everyone else finds out.
Like Chavez, or Boss Daddy.
Or Miss Lucille.
As the sun starts to set, I head down the street towards Stubs’. My last meal at this damn saloon, and I’m not surprised it’s as tasteless as all the rest. Maddy pushes a broom around the floor in a desultory manner. Every time she works her way over near the piano, she pings out an off-key tune with two fingers before Stubs hollers at her to knock it off. The cowboys from Friday night are all back at the ranch, waiting for their next payday to come out for drinks, and Maddy must be pretty worn out from all the attention she received over the weekend because she doesn’t even try to talk me into laying with her tonight.
Or maybe my impending nuptials are the reason she keeps her distance. I catch her eyeing me a few times, but whenever I smile her way, she’s suddenly interested in her sweeping again.
After dinner, I stroll down the boardwalk to the far end of the street, hands in my pockets, my pace leisurely. The night has settled in around the town, a smattering of stars overhead barely illuminating my path. When the boards end, I cross the dirt road to Miss Barbour’s. No one waits for me on the porch this evening, and my footsteps are heavy thuds as I take the steps slowly. In my mind, I’m trying to picture me on tomorrow’s train, but I just can’t do it. This time tomorrow, where will I be?
I hear her voice as soon as I step into the foyer. “You haven’t seen him all day?”
Miss Lucille.
I close the door behind me as quietly as I can and tiptoe over to the wall. In the parlor, I hear the rustle of skirts, the gentle chink of teacups, and then Miss Barbour’s reedy voice says, “I’ve told you, Miss Tate. He left for the ranch this morning, same as he does every day. I ‘spect he’s down at Stubs’ for dinner. He should be back shortly, if you’d like to wait.”
Damn.
If Miss Lucille knows I wasn’t at work today, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, the women sit silently—for a minute or ten, I don’t know. I hold my breath, sure they’ll hear me breathe or move. My mind whirls. If I can just get upstairs without being seen, I can probably avoid Miss Lucille completely.
After a moment, Miss Barbour asks Miss Lucille about the wedding. How many guests might she expect to board for the occasion? There’s a brightness in Miss Lucille’s voice when she replies—she’s happy about our engagement, and that happiness shines through in every word she says. Just hearing her speak breaks my heart. I can’t stand here listening; if I do, I’ll never have the courage to leave her.
And I should. I know I should.
While they talk, I carefully step out of my boots, one hand on the wall to steady myself so I don’t fall against anything and make a ruckus. Boots in hand, I tiptoe across the cold wooden floor of the foyer in my stocking feet. I make it to the base of the staircase without a sound. Slowly, quietly, I start up to my room.
I’m halfway there when I dare to glance back. From this angle, I can see a little ways into the parlor—Miss Lucille sits on the sofa, facing the foyer, while Miss Barbour is in the wingback chair, facing the fireplace. Neither notice me; they’re too deep in conversation now, talking about fabrics and flowers and food for the wedding.
But the next step I take squeaks under my weight, and I freeze. Miss Lucille’s gaze snaps in my direction, only the faintest falter in her words indicating anything amiss. Quickly I take the rest of the stairs, no longer trying to be quiet, hurrying up to my room where I can shut the door and hide away. Downstairs, I hear teacups again, and Miss Lucille says, “You know, maybe I’ll wait for Mr. Nat in his room, if it’s all the same to you.”
Miss Barbour gives a shocked little gasp. “Miss Tate! That’s hardly proper…”
“He’s my betrothed,” Miss Lucille reminds her. “We’re going to be married, so I don’t think it matters now whether we’re alone together or not, do you?”
Footsteps follow after me. Even as I duck inside my room, I know there’s no escape. Lucy knows I’m here.
Chapter 30
When she knocks on my door, my first thought is to stay quiet. Maybe she’ll go away.
She doesn’t. Another knock, and I glance at the window. Unfortunately, it’s a sheer drop to the ground from here; the porch doesn’t wrap around the house and wouldn’t break my fall.
The door knob rattles. I locked it after myself out of habit. Miss Lucille’s voice is muffled but clear through the wood. “Nat Allen, I know you’re in there. Open up this instant.”
I let out a sigh and the fight goes out of me. I trudge over to the door and unlock it. Miss Lucille turns the knob in my hand and pushes against the door even as I open it for her. A few strands of hair have escaped her bun to flutter around her face, framing the rosy anger high in her cheeks. Her eyes flash at me in warning. Without waiting to be invited, she storms into the room and turns on one heel beside my bed. I see her catch sight of my packed bag, and her nostrils flare.
This isn’t going to be good.
I wait by the door, ready for the tongue-lashing I know will
be forthcoming. I brace myself for it. She knows about the ticket or she wouldn’t be here. I had hoped to leave before she found out.
When she speaks, though, her voice is soft and disarming. “Close the door, Nat, would you, please?”
I think about arguing, but what would be the use? Carefully I shut the door, my fingers automatically engaging the lock without me even realizing it. “Lucy, I can explain.”
“I should hope so.” An edge creeps into her voice, but she draws in a breath, tamps it down, and tries again. “Well? I’m waiting.”
But now that I have her alone, I don’t know where to begin. I start simply, “I can’t marry you.”
Miss Lucille sighs. “So you keep saying. I know this is all a bit sudden, but I know you feel the same way I do. I see it in your eyes when you look at me. I feel it in your touch. If this has anything to do with the ranch or Boss Daddy—”
“No, nothing like that,” I assure her.
“Well, what is it then?” she wants to know.
I hesitate. I need to tell her, I have to, and this is the perfect opportunity, but suddenly I can’t.
Miss Lucille studies me a moment, then sits on the edge of my bed. “Mr. Grayson told Daddy you bought a one-way ticket out of Junction.”
There’s no use denying it. “I did.”
“Because you don’t want to marry me?” Her eyes fill with tears, and I fight the urge to rush to her side and take her in my arms to comfort her. “Nat, I thought I meant something to you.”
My heart twists in my chest. “You do, Lucy. More than anyone else in this whole world.”
“Then why won’t you marry me?” The words come out in a wounded voice.
I tell her, “I want to, I do, but…”
“You can’t.”
I nod, yes.
Miss Lucille sniffles daintily. “Why the hell not?”
I have to tell her. What’s it matter now? Tomorrow I’m leaving this town and all the people in it behind. I’ll start over anew somewhere else, I’ll be Nat Allen again, I’ll work on another ranch, or maybe in a mine or a farm. Someplace that needs hard-working men, somewhere I can blend in again. But she needs to know.