Portraits

by Stef Ann Holm

  The revelation immobilized her. All this time, she’d blamed Harlen Shepard Riley, when if what Wyatt said was true, Harlen couldn’t have been responsible.

  Leah lowered her gaze at the carpet of grass, then up at Wyatt.

  “It’s too much to ask you to forgive me, Leah, because I was there. If I hadn’t been, there wouldn’t have been the gunfight.” He adjusted the brim of his hat. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me read the clippings. What was written as an account of that day doesn’t change the outcome, but it helped ease some of the guilt that I’ve carried in my heart.” Pushing away from the fence, he went to the reins and gripped them. He paused and caught her eyes with his, looking deep inside her. “I’m truly sorry, Leah. For everything I put you through all these years. I won’t be here to hurt you anymore.”

  Wyatt clutched the reins and mounted July. Sitting tall in the saddle, he replied, “Tell the children good-bye for me.”

  “Wyatt?” then “Wyatt!” came a shout of boyish glee. Tug came bounding from the side of the house, his broken overall strap hanging behind him and bouncing against his bottom. He charged up to the gate and would have gone through if Leah hadn’t swiftly risen to her feet and caught him.

  “Let me go!” he hollered. “It’s Wyatt!”

  “Tug, no!” Leah held him, but with great effort. She took a fist in the side and a kick on her foot. In an effort to stop him, she said, “Tug, he’s leaving. Wyatt’s leaving town. He won’t be coming back.”

  Tug’s thrashing momentarily stilled as he gazed at Wyatt for confirmation. “Is it true, Wyatt? You’re not coming back?”

  Wyatt’s voice cracked when he replied somberly, “It’s true, Tug.”

  Then Tug puckered up his mouth and spat, “I hate you! Liar. You said you’d find frogs with me and show me how to be a cowboy. You were my friend.”

  Leah’s heart ached.

  Wyatt lowered his chin. “I am your friend, Tug. I always will be.” Without looking at Leah or Tug, Wyatt spurred July into a walk, then a lope down Main Street until the horses’ pounding gait drifted away. The only sound left was Tug’s sobs as he grabbed onto Leah’s skirt and pressed his cheek against her waist.

  “I want Wyatt,” he cried. “I want Wyatt.”

  So did Leah, but she couldn’t have a man who wasn’t real.

  24

  To know one’s self is to know others, for heart can understand heart.

  —Happy City proverb cookie

  The Eternity Tribune’s headline on the fourth of October read:

  $59,524.00 RECOVERED AFTER 17 YEARS!

  The article went on to say that four mysterious leather satchels had been left in the lobby of the Silverton Miners Bank with a note stating that the money inside them was being returned to its rightful customers. There had been no signature, and the bags had been described as being “very weathered and caked with dirt,” as if they’d been buried for quite some time.

  Folding the newspaper, Leah listened to the patter of rain against the windowpanes of the dining room. Her many clocks began their procession of tolling the hour. Chimes and gongs resounded through the empty house, the last to emit its melody coming from the kitchen.

  After the bells had rung, Leah sat in bleak silence.

  * * *

  The talk in Eternity had gone from speculation over who had left the money in Silverton, to the annual Halloween dance coming up in the next week.

  Leah had volunteered herself and the children to help with the decorations, hoping that their involvement would encourage Tug out of his reserved manner. Since the day Wyatt had left, Tug’s schoolwork had deteriorated, and he no longer cared about being a cowboy. He hadn’t worn his chaps, hat, or wooden guns in nearly a month. Leah had found the once cherished items in the bottom of his cedar chest.

  They had all dealt with Wyatt’s departure in their own way. Tug with his I-don’t-care-about-anything demeanor; Rosalure with her numerous questions and subtle implications that Leah hadn’t wanted Wyatt to stay; and Leah with admissions that had come too little, too late.

  “Another cup of tea, Leah?” Leo stood over her table at the Happy City holding a ceramic pot.

  “That would be nice, Leo.”

  Leo leaned forward and poured, steam rising from the spout and cup as the aroma of the hot beverage wafted. Through the bamboo curtain leading to the kitchen, Leah could hear Tu Yan speaking to the new dishwasher, who didn’t speak a word of Mandarin. Leo had hired a young man who looked as if he hadn’t taken a razor to his face yet. But he was pleasant enough when he cleared her table, and talked quite a bit about the mechanics of automobiles and how he knew them inside and out.

  “Could I get you a cookie?” Leo stood back, his white apron around his waist smudged with kitchen stains. “You look like you need a Happy City proverb. I’ll be right back.”

  Leah smiled wanly. It would take a lot more than a proverb cookie to lift her spirits. She’d thought that as time went on she could forget about Wyatt Holloway, but his image had focused in her memory and was as sharp as ever. For weeks after he’d gone, she’d consoled herself with the reminder of who he was and what he’d done, though that knowledge had lost its potency whenever she thought of how he’d saved Tug and brought a smile to Rosalure. Whenever she thought about the burning imprint he’d left on her.

  Her sense of loss had gone beyond tears, and it had taken her weeks to come to terms with the past. In doing so, she now realized that Wyatt had suffered just as much as she. Nothing could bring her mother back, and nothing could change Wyatt’s being there when she died. For years, he’d had to contend with not knowing if he’d been the one holding the gun. Now he knew, and that piece of his conscience had been appeased. By the same token, Leah knew it hadn’t been fair to solely blame Harlen Riley for what had happened. There had been four other men there, as well as detectives. They were all guilty of reckless fire. But only Wyatt had given seventeen years of his life for his part. It was more than anyone else had done.

  Sipping her tea, Leah could not forget a single detail of Wyatt’s face, and his name would always be an echo in the back of her mind. If only she could have had the chance to tell him that she was sorry also.

  But he was gone, and her regrets would never be spoken. Just like the letter he’d written to her and never sent. In her heart she knew the reasons why she could love him still, just as he had kept in his heart his sorrow for what had happened.

  Leo returned with a delicate plate and a cookie that was no longer flat like the first proverb cookies to come out of Tu’s oven. Taking a seat across from Leah, he slid the plate over.

  “What do you think? New recipe.”

  Gazing at the cookie that had been rolled out, then pinched together, Leah nodded. “It looks interesting.”

  “Looks aren’t what count.” Leo’s charcoal-colored eyes glittered. “Before, people were biting into the paper and eating half their fortune. This way,” Leo picked up the cookie and cracked it in half, “the message inside stays out of the customer’s mouth. You take it out before you eat it. Clever, huh? Tu thought of it.”

  Leah smiled, trying to keep her mind from wandering to Wyatt. “What’s my fate now that you have it in the palm of your hand?”

  Scanning the script, Leo’s brows rose, then he handed her the tiny slip of paper.

  Leah took it and read aloud, “To know one’s self is to know others, for heart can understand heart.” Then she gazed at Leo. “I don’t suppose you’d care to translate.”

  “No translation’s necessary. You know what it means.”

  Leah put the paper on the saucer next to the base of her teacup. “I suppose I do.” Toying with her spoon, she lowered her gaze to the piece of silver as she rocked it back and forth on the table covering. She felt Leo’s keen eyes fall across her for long minutes. Without looking up, she asked, “Is there something you want to say?”

  Leo cleared his throat and sat taller. “No.”

  Rais
ing her eyes, Leah said, “I’ve known you long enough to know that there’s something you’re not telling me. You’ve been wanting to tell me for the past few days, because every time I stop by for tea and a chat in the afternoon, you hover around my table, but as soon as I try and engage you in conversation, you run off. That’s not like you. You’re acting as if you’re scared of me. I want you to tell me what’s the matter.”

  “I’m not scared of you, Leah.” Leo tapped the edge of the table with blunt fingernails. “I’m scared of myself. Of saying something that I promised I wouldn’t.”

  “Promised who?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Then don’t say.”

  “But I have to. Because you’re both miserable. I—” He cut himself short.

  “You’re talking in riddles, Leo, and you know I’m not good at solving them. If you don’t want to tell me, there don’t.”

  “I want to tell you.”

  “Fine.” Leah folded her arms beneath her breasts, sa back, and waited.

  Leo smoothed his oiled hair from his forehead, then took a deep breath and expelled it in a whoosh before he could stop himself. “Wyatt’s back.”

  Leah felt as if Leo had just struck her on the side of the head. She couldn’t say anything at first, unable to trust her voice. Then, “Are you sure?”

  “Sure as I can be. He stopped by the restaurant three days ago at closing time.”

  Swallowing, Leah asked in what she hoped was a tone heavy with nonchalance, “What did he want?”

  “To apologize for running out on me. Said he had something to do that couldn’t wait another day. But that he’d taken care of it and had decided he liked the country around Eternity enough to come back.”

  Leah kept her expression bare of emotion. “Where is he?”

  “He wanted me to promise I wouldn’t tell anyone, especially not you. He said that he didn’t want to upset Tug.” Leo slid his fingers to the table’s edge. “But I can’t keep it from you, Leah. Wyatt’s working for Half Pint Gilman over at the Rocky Mountain Ranch. He said he wasn’t apt to come to town so you wouldn’t have to see him.” Pausing, Leo frowned. “Just what happened between you two, Leah? I never asked before, because it was your business, but seeing how desolate Wyatt looked, it makes me wonder if you two can patch things up.”

  Leah bit her lip. “It’s a very complicated story, Leo. I—”

  The lacquered door to the restaurant flew open and Wilene Clinkingbeard dashed into the foyer, practically skidded around the corner, and entered the dining room out of breath. “I thought I’d find you here, Leah, when I didn’t find you at your house!” Wilene’s cheeks were colored a perfect carrot to match her hair. “There’s . . . there’s . . . there’s—” she babbled and clutched her throat to calm herself.

  “What is it?” Leah rose to her feet and braced Wilene by the shoulders. “Is something wrong with Rosalure or Tug?”

  Wilene shook her head, the frizzy curls at her temple bobbing. “N-No. It’s . . . I—I was manning the telephone at the Independent Telephone Company with Tilly and then the call came through for you! All the way from . . . from . . .”

  Leah applied pressure on Wilene’s bony collarbone. “From where?”

  “New York City!”

  Leah traded glances with Leo, then snatched her handbag from the table.

  * * *

  “Hello? Mrs. Kirkland?” The masculine voice on the other end spoke through the scratch of the long distance call.

  “Hello?” she yelled into the mouthpiece, with the hearing implement pressed next to her ear. “This is Mrs. Kirkland.”

  “Mrs. Kirkland.” Static blended with his next words. “Mrs. Kirkland, this is Alfred Stieglitz calling from New York.”

  Leah’s heart thumped stronger and gooseflesh rose across the back of her neck. “Mr. Stieglitz, it’s a great honor.”

  “It’s your work that honors me. I’m . . .” A hissing noise garbled his sentence. “. . . inform you that your entry, ‘Soul of the Fallen Pine’ has taken first . . .” His voice distorted. “. . . Amateur Photography contest.”

  She put her hand next to her heartbeat. “What was that?”

  “You won first place!” He shouted so loud into the receiver that the entire room heard what he said. Wilene Clinkingbeard, Tilly Vandermeyer, and Leo were gathered around.

  “First place,” Leo whispered proudly to Wilene. “I knew she’d win.”

  “Win what?” Wilene whispered back.

  “Mrs. Kirkland? Are you still there?” Alfred’s bellow made her adjust her hold on the telephone.

  “I’m still here,” she said clearly.

  “Mrs. Kirkland, I want you to come to New York to claim your prize money. Five thousand dollars.”

  Tilly stretched her neck and stammered in a low voice, “F-Five thousand dollars. Did he say five thousand dollars?”

  “He said five thousand dollars,” Leo replied.

  Tilly paled and she collapsed into her chair in front of the board pinned with the only cord in use—Mr. Long Distance from New York City.

  “I’ve made arrangements for you to—” A buzzing numbed Leah’s ear and she held the receiver out. “—the brownstone on Fifth Avenue. You’d be my guest . . .—” Buzz “—your husband . . .”

  “What was that?”

  “Do I need to make arrangements for your husband?”

  “I’m a widow.”

  “That keeps things simple then . . .” Hiss. “. . . I’ll send you a train ticket . . .” Hiss. “. . . public announcement on October twenty-ninth, so no time to spare.”

  The shock of his telephone call hit Leah full force. “But Mr. Stieglitz, I have two children and a Halloween dance I’ve got to make decorations for. I couldn’t possibly be in New York in a week.”

  “What was that, Mrs. Kirkland? I lost you. Mrs. Kirkland?”

  “Mr. Stieglitz?”

  “Mrs. Kirkland?”

  The static intensified, and Leah glanced helplessly at operator number one. “I can’t hear him.”

  Tilly jiggled the cord a little. “Try that, honey.”

  Leah brought her mouth close to the black wall telephone. “Mr. Stieglitz?”

  “I can hear you now, Mrs. Kirkland.”

  Relieved, Leah went on, “About the date, I—”

  “I look forward to meeting you in person, Mrs. Kirkland,” Stieglitz interrupted through the static. “New prints from old plates are not quite as rich as they might be, but you show a tremendous step forward technically. With a greater command of your medium, some knowledge of how to do what you want, your spirit will be as pure as ever.”

  Leah’s free hand rose to massage her temple. Overwhelmed, she couldn’t think clearly. Alfred Stieglitz had telephoned her all the way from New York! She should have been dancing on her toes at his offer to come and study at the brownstone. How many times had she fantasized about this moment? She should have been exuberant and jumping at the chance to leave Eternity.

  But she wasn’t.

  “Mrs. Kirkland?”

  “Ah, Mr. Stieglitz, I can’t tell you how happy I am to have won the contest. It’s been my dream to win. And the prize money is very generous.”

  “I’m sure you’ll put it to good use when you get here. With the right equipment, you could be just as good as Austen.”

  Leah’s throat went dry. E. Alice Austen. Stieglitz had said she could be just as good. Tingles rose on her arms, and Leah thought she might cry. “Mr. Stieglitz?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Kirkland?”

  “I’m very grateful you thought my self-portrait was worthy of taking first prize, but I can’t come to New York.” Gazing at Leo through the tears in her eyes, Leah said, “I have people in Eternity whom I love too much to leave.”

  * * *

  An autumn frost had melted off the grasses by noon, but its icy breath remained in the air as Wyatt shoveled manure from the horse corral into a wheelbarrow. It was a nasty job, but all the han
ds were doing their share of nasty jobs before they rode into the high country and rounded up the heifers and their calves.

  Wyatt looked forward to heading into the hills for the change of scenery that he hoped would have an effect on changing his thoughts. Leah. She was always there in the back of his mind.

  Part way to Montana, Wyatt realized he didn’t want to ranch in Montana. He kept on picturing Eternity’s valley, its Main Street, the way the Rockies shot to the heavens, and even that blasted cross on the hill. He’d taken to heart the terrain, the rolling countryside with its verdant valleys, and the way the Aspenglow trickled throughout the region.

  On one of his rides back in August, he’d picked out a spot he would have bought for himself had he the money. It was in a niche just on the other side of Infinity Hill. Aspen and willow grew alongside the creek that ran from the crevices of sandstone. Buttercups had been in full bloom, with black-eyed Susans dotting the meadow grasses.

  Wyatt had imagined himself there many times with Leah and her children, living in a house perched on the hill so that he could look out at his modest spread. His place wouldn’t be anything fancy. He was no Half Pint Gilman. All Wyatt needed were quality steers to keep producing good lines. A simple operation. A simple life.

  But life hadn’t been simple after he’d fallen in love with Leah and she’d found out he was Harlen. He wished he could have erased that day from his memory when Tug had cried out for him. Wyatt’s heart had torn in two. By hurting Leah, he’d ended up hurting her boy.

  If he could have done anything differently, he would have. But the fact was, a man couldn’t change his past. He could only look back, see his mistakes, and try to be the better for them.

  Though Wyatt could never have Leah’s love again, he had had to come back to Eternity. The place was in his heart. He wanted to be able to hear how Leah was doing. Whether she won the photography contest. How Tug and Rosalure were getting on in school. He knew she wouldn’t want him going near her children, and he respected that. He didn’t want her thinking he’d come back to cause trouble. That’s why he’d told Leo not to mention to anyone he was out at Gilman’s place.