“Yes?” Angel asked.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Nathan said. “I wish you hadn’t have had to see that.”
When Angel didn’t speak, Nathan continued. “Clark and I have our own differences with my father. You’d think that would be enough to help us get along—give us something in common, anyway. Funny how the one thing we have in common is the one thing we dislike the most about each other. My father.”
Angel could almost see him shaking his head on the other side of the door.
“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
Again, Nathan paused, waiting for Angel to speak. She hesitated, uncertain whether he was seeking reassurance or condemnation, unsure whether he would accept the former and unwilling to give the latter. She chose middle ground and offered neither.
“Please don’t dwell on this, Nathan.”
“I want you to feel comfortable here,” Nathan protested. “I don’t want you to think—”
“I am comfortable here,” Angel said firmly, cutting him off. “I’m not worried about Clark and Olivia, and I don’t think less of you.”
Nathan digested her words, then softly said, “Thank you.”
They sat quietly until a giggle broke the silence.
“What?” Nathan asked.
“You should have seen your face when Olivia invited us for dinner. You and Clark both.” Angel laughed. “You both looked so terrified.”
“Olivia has that effect,” Nathan muttered.
Usually Angel felt it was she who drew out these late-night conversations, but this time it was Nathan who lingered at the door. So, Angel asked the question that had been on her mind since Clark and Olivia had left that morning.
“Nathan, what happened to your mother?”
Nathan was silent for a long moment before he finally answered, “Nobody really knows.”
“Nobody knows? But when you were talking to Clark, you said—”
“I know, I said my father probably killed my mother. And he probably did. But I guess nobody knows for sure except for him.”
“What do you think?” Angel prompted.
“I think if you listen between the lines of the gossip that goes around town, you’ll eventually hear enough partial truths to guess what really happened.”
Angel closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door. “And what exactly was the talk that went around town?”
Nathan exhaled slowly. “Oh, that she was always throwing herself at other men, that she was never happy with my father, and that she had probably been unfaithful to him. That he must have found out and killed her for it. They found her at the bottom of a cliff down by the river. It was a strange spot to have fallen. They never found any real evidence that my father had anything to do with it though.”
Angel was beginning to understand that the more brusquely Nathan spoke, the more the words he was saying bothered him.
“And you think that’s why he wouldn’t go to the graveyard—he was afraid of seeing your mother’s ghost because he killed her?”
“Seems like a good reason to me.”
Angel pondered this thought, then shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
“Yeah,” Nathan agreed.
“Do you really think that your mother would have done all those things?” Angel asked.
“I don’t know what to believe.” Nathan sounded tired on the other side of the door. “I know what my father was like, and it’s hard to believe any decent woman would have wanted to marry him.”
“Olivia would have known her better than anyone. Maybe you should ask her about your mother.”
“I am not talking to Olivia.” Nathan’s tone was carefully even.
“Why not?” Angel asked. “Clark and Olivia are the best chance you have at any sort of real answer.”
“I don’t want answers from them,” Nathan insisted stubbornly.
“Even if they are the only ones who might have the answers you are looking for?”
“They left me with my father,” Nathan said slowly, enunciating each word. That one fact, in Nathan’s mind—and it was apparent he thought Angel should agree—was clearly more than enough reason for him to want nothing to do with his aunt and uncle, but he added, “Besides, Clark didn’t seem any too eager to offer any answers while he was here.”
“But they’re your family,” Angel said softly.
“So is my father”—Nathan laughed without humor—“and I would be glad if I never saw him again.”
“You seem to get on well with Felicity.”
“Felicity is not like Clark and Olivia.”
Angel was silent. She could feel Nathan’s frustration radiating from the opposite side of the door. The lull in conversation lasted so long Angel was nearly ready to stand and crawl beneath the warm covers of her bed when Nathan spoke. “Do you mind if I ask you something, Angel?”
“I suppose not,” she answered hesitantly.
“It’s just, you never really talk about your life before you came here, even when you were still living with your uncle. I don’t blame you for not talking about it much, but if you don’t mind, sometime I’d like to hear more about it—what it was like growing up at the saloon.”
Angel supposed she should have expected Nathan to ask sooner or later, but the question still caught her off guard. “Why?”
Nathan shrugged. “Almost everything I know about you is from seven years ago, what you told me when we were sitting out in front of the saloon. I guess I’d like to know some of what happened in between.”
Exhaling a long breath of air, Angel leaned the back of her head against the door. Nathan was right. She hadn’t spoken of the saloon often, primarily because she preferred not to think of the saloon often.
Nathan spoke quickly. “It’s fine if you don’t want—”
Angel interrupted him. “No. I don’t mind telling you. Is there anything in particular you’d like to know?”
Nathan shook his head. “No, I guess not.”
Angel thought for a moment, sifting through and discarding memories. “I did a lot of laundry while I was there. I cleaned. I learned a lot about medicine—that was the part I enjoyed most.
“My father was a doctor before he died, and when I was very young, the doctor in town would sometimes show me what he was doing when he worked on some of the women at the saloon. He was the one who showed me how to make the salve I put on your back when you and I were children—he told me he learned it from a Sioux medicine man.”
Here Angel stopped speaking, but Nathan remained silent, waiting for something more. Angel shook her head at herself. Nathan knew about her nightmares, her attack, her uncle’s murder. He knew about the death of her parents and her history at the saloon. He knew so much about her life, and yet it was still hard for her to answer his question the way she knew he wanted, instead giving him impersonal details of her day-to-day life. She took a deep breath and spoke the first memory that came to mind.
“When I was younger, right after I had moved there to stay with my uncle, the girls at the saloon fairly fawned over me. They loved dressing me up and doing my hair and makeup. I think they thought of me almost as a life-sized doll. Tom ignored it for the most part.
“Then when I was twelve, things started changing. I remember one night the girls dressed me up. I thought I looked beautiful. They walked me down the stairs to show me off, and every man in the saloon got quiet. Most of them were looking at Tom. Then one of the men in the saloon whistled and Tom lost it. He threw that man out of the saloon, yelling at him to never set foot in his establishment again. He was so furious, he yelled at all the girls, asked them what they were thinking, told them they had no right, said they were never to do anything like that again. After that, nothing was the same. I think the girls hated me because Tom had made me different. They started talking about how I was giving myself airs and thought I was better than them . . .”
Angel’s voice trailed off. She was suddenly
acutely aware of the deep silence on the other side of the door. Why had she chosen that memory?
Nathan seemed stunned and was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, “You said you stayed at the saloon all those years because you didn’t have anywhere else to go. What about now? Are you staying here because you want to, or because you don’t have any other options?”
Both the earnestness of Angel’s reply, and the quickness with which it came, surprised her. “I’ve been more glad to stay than you will probably ever know.”
From the other side of the door, Nathan’s voice was so warm Angel could almost see the smile on his face as he spoke. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”
Again, Angel waited for Nathan to speak, but when he didn’t, she followed her wandering thoughts, and then laughed into the silence.
“What are you laughing about?” Nathan asked.
“Clark reminds me of someone I used to see around the saloon.”
“Clark wouldn’t let himself be caught dead in a place like that,” Nathan protested.
“Probably not,” Angel agreed. “But all the same, he reminds me of someone there.”
“And what sort of man was he—the one Clark reminds you of?”
Angel shrugged. “The kind that falls in love with one of the girls and is lucky enough to actually have it all work out through sheer, stubborn belief in the impossible.”
“So in this story, that would make Olivia a saloon girl?” Nathan sounded amused at the idea, and Angel snorted inelegantly.
“You can tease me all you want, but when I was a girl, I used to sit on the stairs in the saloon and watch the men and women dancing and drinking, talking on the floor below. You learn people real fast that way.”
“Tell me about some of the other people.”
Angel thought. “There were some men who would come in and be belligerent from the start. They always caused trouble, but we knew they would, so it wasn’t so bad—they were predictable.
“There were others who would come in real smooth, smiling, not doing anything wrong but making everyone uneasy for some reason no one could explain. They’d do and say all the right things until something didn’t go their way, and then in an instant they’d go from smooth talking to making threats you knew wouldn’t wear off with the alcohol. But the thing is, you never knew what would set them off.
“The belligerent ones weren’t so bad. They mostly only broke glass or furniture. The smooth ones liked to break people.”
“Do you remember my father at all?” Nathan asked.
Angel hesitated, then reluctantly said, “Yes.”
“What type was he?”
Angel hesitated still longer before answering, “Mean.”
There was a long silence, and then Nathan spoke. “And me—if I were a person at your saloon, what type would I be?”
Angel smiled. “You’re the kind that sits outside and talks to a ten-year-old girl rather than going inside.”
Angel could hear a slight smile in his voice as he replied, but his words were serious. “Maybe. But Clark wouldn’t go in either, and you still said he was a type. What type do you think I would be?”
Angel swallowed before she answered. She refused to let sadness, or wistfulness, or hopefulness, or any other -ness color her words. “You’re the type who comes in for a drink almost every day at the exact same time. You don’t laugh or swap stories with the other men. You don’t gamble. And you’re completely oblivious to the fact that one of the girls is in love with you, even though she tries to talk to you every day you come in.”
“That’s a type?” Nathan asked incredulously. “What sort of man doesn’t realize a girl’s in love with him when they talk every day?”
“Yes, Nathan, that’s a type. And you would be surprised.”
Chapter 11
I forced the woman who would become my brother’s wife. It wasn’t her fault. I was angry with my brother—jealous. As soon as I sobered up enough to realize what I’d done, I went straight back to the saloon to drown my conscience. And it worked, until I sobered up again. After that, the drinking became more than just my vice. It became my life.
***
The following Sunday morning found Nathan and Angel, once again, on their way to church. This time, however, it was Nathan who fidgeted on the way to town, jiggling his left leg so rapidly that the wagon seat shook more from his restless movement than from that of its wheels jolting over the frozen, uneven road. Nathan did not want to be in the same room as Clark and Olivia, he did not want to be preached to by Clark, and he certainly did not want to eat Sunday dinner with them.
As they walked through the church doors together for the second time, Nathan thought he must be feeling some of the same anxiety Angel had felt that first Sunday. He was more aware of the scrutiny of those around them, and as Clark moved, stepping forward to speak, Nathan hunched down in his seat, afraid of what Clark’s message would be.
Clark took his place at the front of the room, and then, looking in Nathan’s direction, began to speak. “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”
Nathan jerked his head up with a jolt and scowled at Clark, who continued speaking, unfazed. Nathan couldn’t tell whether Clark’s words had been intended to be an apology or a condemnation. All he knew for sure was that those opening words had been directed at him and Angel, and he wasn’t inclined to give Clark’s motivations the benefit of the doubt.
He found himself wishing Clark would have hit him when he and Olivia had visited the cabin those few days ago. Then Nathan could have done what he’d wanted to do for some time—although most of the time he wouldn’t admit it to himself—and split his knuckles against Clark’s face. He wouldn’t have had to feel guilty about fighting Clark. They were evenly matched, and he figured Clark would have been about as glad as Nathan himself to finally have it out.
The sad thing, Nathan thought, was that if he and Clark were ever to fight, they might be hitting each other, but they would be throwing fists at his father. Nathan shook his head in disgust, looking back up at Clark, who met his eyes and nodded just barely. Nathan raised two fingers in mock salute, and Clark’s face darkened. Still holding his uncle’s eyes, Nathan smiled. Clark held Nathan’s gaze long enough to show that he recognized the challenge, then broke eye contact. Not once did Clark falter in his speaking.
***
After the service was over, Nathan and Angel made their way to Clark and Olivia’s home—Angel with far less reluctance than Nathan. Nathan eyed Angel as they came to the white fence that bordered his aunt and uncle’s house, almost envying her. She seemed relaxed, and even though Nathan suspected Angel was maintaining her distance from his relatives for his sake, he knew she was looking forward to seeing Olivia.
As they approached the front door, Nathan raised his hand to the door to knock, then paused and exhaled heavily in resignation. Angel lightly touched his arm, and when he turned to look at her questioningly, she smiled encouragingly.
Nathan had scarcely knocked on the door once before Olivia answered the door with a cheerful and welcoming smile.
She said, “I’m so glad to see you both,” and ushered them into the house. Constantly moving about the kitchen, Olivia talked while she checked a temperature here, set a place there.
“Supper is still a few minutes out, but we should be eating soon. Please make yourselves at home. Angel, would you please fetch that serving platter from the shelf over there? Nathan, Clark is in the back room. You might want to visit with him and let him know supper will be ready soon.”
Olivia was still chatting when Nathan walked out of the room. He slowly walked down the hall until he came to a door that was cracked open. It creaked as Nathan pulled it open further, and Clark turned to face him, expressionless. Clark watched Nathan in silence until Nathan finally spoke, his voice low and flat. “Oliva asked me to tell you supper’s almost ready.”
Without waiting, Nathan turned to walk back to the kitchen. He heard C
lark stand behind him and then begin to speak. “Nathan—”
But Clark’s words were cut off by the sound of porcelain shattering and the heavy thud of a body falling to the floor.
“Clark,” Olivia’s sharp voice called, “come now.”
To his credit, Nathan thought, Clark almost moved faster in that moment than Nathan himself. They arrived at the kitchen together, both breathless with fear of what they might see. Olivia was kneeling frantically beside Angel, shards of what must have been the serving platter strewn across the floor.
***
Angel woke with Clark, Olivia, and Nathan kneeling anxiously beside her. Olivia’s hand rested on Angel’s forehead, and Nathan and Clark were quietly arguing about whether or not one of them should fetch the doctor. As they saw that she was awake, Clark and Nathan silenced their bickering, and Olivia asked, “How are you feeling, dear? Can I get you something to drink, something to eat?”
Angel slowly raised herself onto her elbows and looked around. The porcelain platter lay scattered across the floor in pieces—a sight that felt uncomfortably familiar, especially when Nathan shifted, accidentally crushing a piece of porcelain beneath his foot. Suppressing the urge to hug her knees to her chest, Angel closed her eyes against the memory of another day she had woken on the floor, disoriented and surrounded by shattered glass. As she pushed the memory away, embarrassment flooded over her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to break your plate.”
Horrified, she realized tears were welling in her eyes, and she covered her face with her hands.
Immediately, Olivia took Angel’s hands in her own. “Please don’t worry about that, dear.” She waved a hand. “It wasn’t anything important anyway.”
Nathan raised an eyebrow, an expression Olivia diligently ignored as she asked again, “Would you like something to eat?”
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