by Carré White
Maria appeared in the doorway. “You missed breakfast, Mrs. Clark. Do you want me to bring you lunch?”
“No. Can you just go away, please?”
“Yes, Mrs. Clark.”
It was peaceful under the blankets, with the window open, bringing in the breeze. Later in the day, necessity forced me to leave the room, my feet in slippers, as I wandered to the outhouse. Once I returned, I slipped silently up the stairs, crawling into bed. Nathan wasn’t with me that night, or the night after. In the late hours, coyotes and crickets serenaded me, while during the daytime, the men shouted in the fields as they worked. I stayed in my room, mostly in bed all day, listening to noises outside. Maria brought up food, which I picked at, but my appetite wasn’t significant.
She sometimes stood at the door. “We’re going to church, Mrs. Clark. Are you coming?”
“Go away.”
“Yes, Mrs. Clark.”
I lay in bed listening to the wagon, as I imagined Nathan drove it, bringing Jerry and Maria to Denver City. I had no desire to see people—people who stared at me with sympathy, their faces mirroring the way I felt, but it seemed magnified when it came from someone else. I hated to be looked at with pity. Everyone I knew had a husband and a family. I had no one.
Aware that the house was empty, I stumbled from the bed, my hair hanging limply around my shoulders. I hadn’t cried in more than a week, but the tears fell now. In fact, the sudden onslaught knocked me off my feet, as I collapsed onto the wood floor. Not being able to see anything through the veil of tears, I crawled around, my hair tangling in my hands, while my body shook with emotion. I could feel my face contorting, my stomach clenching with each sob, the floor wetting beneath me. At the stairs, I slid down one step, then two, still wearing my nightgown, which I hadn’t removed in days.
Not having eaten much, I was weak, the effort to cry and crawl had exhausted me, and I slipped down the remainder of the steps, landing on my belly. I lay there crying, the pain nearly unbearable. During a lull, I managed to work my way to the kitchen, grasping a chair and hauling myself to my feet. Things had been put away neatly, and there was freshly baked bread on the table, along with salt and pepper.
There were shelves above the sink filled with glasses and plates. The medications that Doctor Caldwell had prescribed for Frank were there as well, and my eyes fell upon an amber colored bottle with a small cork lid. Knowing what this was, I grasped it, pulling out the top. I poured water from a pitcher into a cup. Fat droplets of medication fell into the water. I’d been told how much to administer to Frank, but I gave myself more.
Drinking the concoction, I grimaced at the bitter taste. I sat at the table, waiting to feel better, and it didn’t take long. A heady rush went through me, warming me from the inside out, leaving a sense of wellbeing in its pleasurable wake.
“Now…that’s more like it.” My voice sounded thick, distant.
As I rubbed my nose, my face felt numb. My body seemed to turn to pudding, the arms falling to the sides. I wasn’t certain how long I sat this way, but I eventually got to my feet, feeling as if a warm, snuggly blanket had been placed upon me. In the parlor, I lay on the sofa, my head rolling from side to side. My mind had stopped spinning; the ceaseless chatter had halted. I was fully at peace for the first time since I had lost my husband, and it was as if I didn’t have a care in the world. I’d closed my eyes, but I wasn’t sleeping. The euphoric state continued…blissfully so. I barely heard the sound of talking, although I sensed I wasn’t alone now.
“What’s she doing down here?” asked Maria.
“I don’t know.” Arms grasped me. “Hannah?” It was Nathan, who stared at me, his eyes taking me in. “Are you all right?”
“F-fine…”
“What did she take?” He shook me. “What did you take?” Now he was angry.
“I think this.” Maria handed him the small glass bottle.
“Dammit!” I was in his arms, as he lifted me. “No! You’re not doing this. Throw it out. Get rid of it now!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Blast it, Hannah. No! You’re not going down this road. I should’ve known better than to leave you in bed all week. Son of a gun!” He brought me to the stairs, taking the first steps. “I gotta put a stop to this right now.” In the bedroom, he placed me on top of the blanket, leaning over me. “I’m not going to watch you waste away to nothing. Do you hear? Do you hear me?”
“I…feel better.”
“No, you’re drugged outta your mind, woman. That’s not feeling better. I’ve seen what that garbage does to people. It’s not the road you want to take, honey. Trust me.”
“I hurt, Nathan.” My speech was slurred.
He sat on the bed, his face filled with concern. “I know you hurt, honey. I’m sorry for your pain, but it’ll get better. You’re gonna feel better.”
“God took everything from me.”
A deep sigh escaped. “No he didn't. Life just happened. Sometimes it’s a load of horse manure.” He ran fingers through his hair. “I’m not gonna watch you waste away to nothin’. I’m sorry, but that ain’t gonna happen.”
“I’m…fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
My hand reached for his. “Don’t leave me, Nathan.”
His look was pained, as he swallowed with effort. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”
Chapter Eleven
I wasn’t allowed to stay in bed all day long again. Nathan appeared in the doorway the next morning; his expression was grim. “We got work to do. Get dressed.”
My head felt fuzzy from the day before. “You can’t bark orders at me. This is my farm.”
“And you’re gonna milk your own blasted cow. Now, get dressed.”
Knowing that I would be outdoors most of the day performing manual labor, I dressed in a simple calico outfit with a thin shift and stockings. There was no sense in going through all the trouble of putting the corset on, and I certainly wouldn’t be wearing a cumbersome crinoline. After fixing my hair and placing a bonnet on my head, I was ready for whatever Nathan wanted me to do, although my mood was more than a little sour. How dare he order me around on my own farm!
“We're harvesting the hay for a few days,” said Jerry, who had entered the barn an hour later.
I glared at him. “Wonderful.”
“Mr. Weaver says you’re to go down the line and fix the nails in the fence.” He handed me a hammer.
“Surely you jest?”
“No, ma’am. All you gotta do is hit the nail back in place. Easy as pie.”
“What about this pail of milk?”
“I’ll take it to Mrs. Hermosa.”
“Thank you.”
It was strange being outside after all the time I had spent indoors tending to Frank and then stewing in my pain. I hated having to pound nails in place, but most of them only needed a little tap. By the time I had made my way to the end of the first row, I was ready to tackle the nails down the other side. This simple task allowed me to think, but the thoughts were unpleasant images of Frank drifting through my consciousness. Then other thoughts came, my mind twisting and turning, fresh worries arriving with each passing minute.
What would become of me now? Would I die an old widow? The thought of never having children was distressing. I needed a respectable man, someone of my own standing, who was educated and employed in a profession that would allow him to care for me. A man such as Nathan, who enjoyed drink and gambling…among other things, was not someone I would ever consider marrying.
By lunchtime, I helped Maria with the laundry, rinsing the clothing after she scrubbed it against the washboard.
“You look so much better today, Mrs. Clark.”
“Thank you.”
“Mr. Weaver is a good man, no?”
That question was strange. “Yes, he is.”
“He’s a hard worker.”
“I suppose.”
“They cut hay all day. It’s hard work.”
“Yes.”
“He is a handsome man. Tall and strong.”
I stopped to stare at her. “Does this conversation have a point?”
“Oh, no. I’m just talking.” She used a lump of soap to lather up an ample amount of suds, scrubbing a man’s shirt vigorously. “These men make things so dirty.”
“Where is your family?”
“California. My son is with his brother looking for gold.”
“Do you have any girls?”
“Yes. My daughter has her own family.”
“Oh.”
“I see them after the harvest. They might mine here.” She shook her head. “It’s loco there. People killing each other for gold. It’s stupid.”
“From what I hear, it’s all played out anyhow.”
“Yes, but they thought they found some in a creek bed, but it was not much.” She sighed. “It’s a sickness for them, I guess. But…they come home soon.”
“Will you live in Denver City?”
“Or the mountains. My sons want to prospect there.”
“I see.”
“I wait for them. I have nothing better to do.” She glanced at me. “I worried you’d never get out of bed, Mrs. Clark.”
Truth be told, if Nathan hadn’t forced me to get dressed, I would have stayed in bed all day. “Well, I hardly had a choice.” Her smile was slight, and I wondered what she was thinking.
“I’m almost finished with this now. You should go inside and have some lemonade. It’s too hot to be in the sun.”
“I’ll make you a glass too.”
“Thank you.”
Later that evening, after dinner, I was about to take to my room, but a hand wound around my arm, halting me at the stairs. “Not so fast.” I turned to see Nathan, who had bathed recently, as his hair was wet. “You can’t go to bed just yet.”
“Sir,” I snatched my arm from his grasp, “you forget yourself. This is my house. This is my life. How dare you tell me what to do.”
A hint of a smile played around the edges of his mouth. “There’s the fire I’ve been missing.”
“What?”
“We’re playing musical instruments, Mrs. Clark. Come listen.”
“You play an instrument?” This was stunning.
“I’ve been known to pick the strings of a banjo now and again. You’ve already heard Jerry with the harmonica.”
“All right, but only for a little while. It’s been a long day.”
Jerry brought in one of the kitchen chairs, while Nathan took a battered, cushioned wingback chair. I was on the sofa, waiting for the amusements to begin, expecting to hear something dreadful. As Jerry began to blow into the harmonica, Nathan strummed the banjo, tapping his foot.
“Okay, let’s show Mrs. Clark that we’re serious musicians. From the look on her face, I’m gettin’ the feeling she has doubts.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“Hit it!”
A lively tune began, that sounded vaguely familiar. The harmonica was the strangest accompaniment to a banjo, but it wasn’t as atrocious as I thought it would be. Maria came to stand in the doorway, wearing an apron. An enormous smile split her face. She began clapping, while tapping her toe. It had been ages since I’d heard music; although the sound was slightly rough, it was wildly entertaining. Nathan grinned, while he plucked at the strings, the music increasing in tempo.
“Oh! You’re good, Mr. Weaver! Play it faster!” cried Maria.
She began to dance around in a circle, her skirt lifting from the rug. It was difficult to pretend that I didn’t appreciate their attempts at entertaining me, as the happy sound of festive music filled the house. When one piece ended, another began, but this one was slower than the first. I sat and listened, my foot beating out the time, although it was hidden beneath my dress. It was another hour before we disbanded, Maria taking to the stairs, while I lingered, glancing furtively at Nathan. He placed the banjo in a leather carrying case.
“You play very well.”
His smile was keen. “Thank you.”
“I’m heading out,” said Jerry. “Good night.”
“Thank you, Jerry,” I said.
“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Clark. It’s good to see you smile.”
I faced Nathan, not wanting him to leave. “I was hoping you…would…stay with me.”
“Still having trouble sleeping?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“All right…but…”
“What?”
“Never mind. I gotta hit the privy, and I’ll be up.”
That would give me enough time to wash and change. “Good.”
I’d just gotten the nightdress over my head, when he appeared in the doorway. The sight of him sent a pleasurable thrill through me, knowing how wildly inappropriate such an arrangement was. I had been sleeping horribly lately, and, last night, I had been out of my mind on laudanum.
Nathan glanced at me, his expression oddly blank. Turning down the lamp, I lifted the sheet, sliding beneath the covers. Once he was on the bed, I moved towards him, pressing my nose to his chest. He smelled of soap with a hint of manly musk.
“Hannah?”
“Um…”
“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to keep doing this.”
“Why not?”
“You gotta ask?”
“It’s just until I can sleep again.”
“If word got out, it could hurt your reputation.”
“Who’s going to say anything?”
“Jerry or Maria could talk. You never know. Stuff like this has a way of getting out.”
“They can all go to blazes.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, but it’s your reputation that’s gonna be ruined.”
“Okay, but let’s just be like this tonight.” He sighed, his hand drifting to my hair. I snuggled closer, pressing an ear to his chest, where his heart thumped noisily.
“I might have a solution.”
“What’s that?”
“You could marry me.”
“Oh, no,” I giggled. “Don’t be silly.”
He stiffened. “Come again?”
“I’m in mourning. I can’t marry anyone for at least a year.”
“This isn’t proper society. This is homesteading, woman. It’s plain stupid to be out here without a husband or protection.”
“I have you and Jerry and Maria. I’m hardly alone.”
“Are you serious?”
“About what?”
“You won’t even consider marrying me?”
“Certainly not.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a drunkard and a gambler and…other things.”
“What other things?”
“You frequent…parlour houses.”
“Blasted hell!” He sat up, flinging the sheet back, while sitting on the edge of the bed.
I reached for him, feeling his back. “What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter? I’ve never once offered marriage to a woman before in my entire life, and she doesn’t even think about it before shooting me down. Jesus.”
“You shouldn’t take His name in vein.”
“You should quit being pigheaded.”
“How dare you!” Now I was riled up. “That wasn’t a serious marriage proposal, was it?”
“Yes, it was,” he grated. “Why else would I bring it up?”
“I just lost my husband. I’m in no frame of mind to be discussing marriage, especially not with you.”
“I’m not a drunkard. I haven’t gambled in weeks. The last time I gambled, I won fifty bucks. What do you think I’ve been living on? You sure as hell haven’t paid me.”
I could tell he had turned towards me. “Oh, Nathan.”
“You’re driving me insane. I can’t be in the same bed with you. Just marry me.”
“It’s unseemly to marry so soon. I haven’t even started grieving yet. Frank’s body isn’t cold in the ground. It’s…far too soon.”
/>
He touched my face; his hand felt rough. “I…oh, never the hell mind.” He sounded angry again. “Go to sleep.”
“Are you leaving?” This thought alarmed me.
“No. I’ll stay cause I like torturing myself like this.” He lay down, turning towards me.
I rolled into him, finding the happy spot that was his chest. “Oh, good. Night, Nathan.”
He grumbled in reply.
His mention of marriage managed to stick in my mind, like an annoying stone caught in a shoe. I knew what his intentions were, but that hardly changed a thing. Frank had been refined and educated; he knew all about science, arithmetic, and politics, and he had read extensively. I wasn’t even sure if Nathan knew how to read. He did have a point, though. I would most certainly think about my reputation, as it was the only thing I had to recommend myself.
I’d taken on the task of milking the cow in the morning, which was exasperatingly tedious, but it was enough to get me out of bed, otherwise I might have seriously considered sleeping all day, every day. A melancholy had descended upon me, a constant reminder that I had suffered trauma. I was a long way off from making peace with my new situation.
As the days wore on, I sometimes succeeded in being productive, and at other times I failed. After church on Sunday, I went for a walk, but I was overcome with grief, sitting against a tree at the end of one of the fields, weeping for a long time. When I returned to the house, supper had been waiting, and later, bed. Nathan wasn’t in my room, and I expected him to arrive, wondering what was taking so long. He was always with me at this time of night. Irritation and curiosity propelled me to my feet, as I left the bed. I wore slippers, and I thrust my arms through the robe, tying it at the waist.
In the hallway downstairs, I strode to the door, opening it a crack. Nathan sat on the porch, holding his head in his hands. “What are you doing?” The moon shone overhead, offering muted illumination.
“Go to sleep.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Oh, that again?” I went to him, sitting on the top step. The night air was cool against my face. “Please, come to bed.”
He glanced at me, his expression earnest. “How long do you think is proper before you can marry again? A month? Two?”