“He was with Delilah that night,” Janey said, and Anne couldn't be sure if Janey was taunting her or warning her.
“I know. He's...it's complicated.”
“Not if you fuck him.”
“Janey!” Stella cried.
“Well, it's true. She's a lady, he's a gentleman. If she fucks him, they have to get married.”
“I don't want to have to do anything,” Anne said.
“Ah,” Janey said. “But you do want to fuck him?”
Anne couldn’t control her blush. “I… can I ask you a question?”
“Oh,” Janey said, her eyes wide with delight. “This oughta be good.”
Steven woke up with a start.
In a dark room, in unfamiliar sheets that smelled of…
“Anne?” he asked into the shadows, but the room was silent. Still.
He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. His bare chest. The memories coming back to him in pieces.
She'd been exactly as he’d imagined she would be. Soft and wild. Curious and excited. And he’d been, in the end, desperate on the edge of that precipice—crude. And perhaps unkind. She’d been scared, and he’d been selfishly focused on his own fleeting and previously believed extinct pleasure.
Shit.
He’d come.
And that was a victory. But it was tarnished by what he’d asked from her to get there—before she was ready.
He stood and lit the lamp on the bedside table, then reached into the pocket of his vest for his watch. Eight in the evening. He'd been asleep for three hours.
Quickly he dressed, trying to imagine what version of Anne he’d find when he went downstairs. What kind of explanation his fierce, independent friend would accept from him.
How, frankly, he would manage to put all that he felt and all that had happened into words.
He, who was as forthcoming as a turtle.
She’d always been the better of the two of them. Could he lean on that again? Expect her to understand?
Downstairs, all was dark. The house was silent.
“Anne?” He checked the exam rooms and the parlor. Even Dr. Madison’s empty rooms. The back garden was empty and so was the front.
“You already messed it up?” It was Elizabeth, standing in the hallway from the kitchen, holding a cooing baby in her arms.
“I don't... Maybe?” He rubbed his hand over his face while Elizabeth chuckled. “Do you know where she went?”
“Not for certain,” Elizabeth said. “But I'm guessing she'd check on Stella. Or maybe the doctor.”
“You're saying she went to Delilah's?”
“I'm saying that's where I think she'd go.” She turned back into the kitchen, humming under her breath to her baby.
Steven knew Annie, and he was sure Elizabeth was right.
He grabbed his coat and nearly ran through the night toward Delilah's.
The whorehouse was dark and quiet. A man sat out front, in a chair tipped back against the side of the building. He had a shotgun across his lap. A bottle of whiskey at his feet.
“We're closed,” the man said.
“I can see that.” Steven pushed his hat back on his head. “I'm looking for Anne Denoe.”
“Yeah?”
Steven gave the man a long look. “Is she here?”
“Who wants to know?” the man asked, unaffected by Steven's stare.
“Steven Baywood,” he replied. “I'm a friend.”
The guy tipped his own hat back. “You're the soldier that tried to talk to Sam through the door the other night.”
Steven nodded.
“My name is Kyle.” Kyle held out his hand, and after a moment Steven shook it. The familiar ripple of distaste rolled over him, but he hid it. “Mrs. Denoe is here, but she's upstairs with the girls.”
“Everyone okay?”
“Yeah. Just needed a day, I guess. You want to wait for her, you're welcome to grab a seat. I’ll even share my whiskey with you. It's not the good stuff, but it will do the job.”
Steven glanced over the door into the dark building. He could see the stairway in the murk.
“You ain't going up there,” Kyle said.
“But—”
“Whiskey?” Kyle's teeth flashed white, and Steven realized he was beat.
Whiskey on an empty stomach didn't seem like the best idea, but he figured why not. If he was going to wait, he might as well have something to do with his hands.
He took the seat next to Kyle and took the shot glass full of whiskey he was handed.
“What outfit were you fighting with?” Kyle asked. “In the war.”
“West Virginia,” he replied. The whiskey burned as it went down.
“New York Sharpshooters,” Kyle said, and took a belt of his own whiskey.
Steven wanted to leave—every instinct in his body insisted he stand up and leave instead of exchange old war stories with this man—but Anne was inside, and he could not let her walk home alone simply because he was uncomfortable talking about the war.
“How'd you end up here?” Kyle asked.
“Nothing left of the family farm,” Steven said. “Nothing left of my family. The West seemed like as good a place as any.” He took another sip. “What about you?”
“I was captured at Weldon Railroad. Spent two years in Salisbury Prison. I met a jayhawker who'd been blinded in battle. When we finally got out, I came with him to Kansas to help him look after his farm.”
“Colorado Territory is a long way from Kansas.”
“I suppose it is,” Kyle said. There was obviously more to the story, but Steven didn’t push.
“I was in Andersonville,” Steven said, the words coming out of the ether.
Kyle looked sideways at him. “I'm...real sorry to hear that.” He lifted the bottle, and Steven handed him his shot glass.
“It was a long time ago now,” he said, because he figured he needed to say something. The silence between them was broken by two men yelling in the saloon across the street. A dog barked in the distance.
“Some days it feels like yesterday, don’t it?” Kyle said.
“Yeah.”
“Rumor is you’re a part of the railroad.”
“An investor.”
“I imagine there’s only going to be more opportunities like that.”
“I imagine. Denver is growing. You looking to invest?”
“Could be,” Kyle said. “Delilah and me both.”
Somehow he found himself talking about smelters. And the rock oil refineries back east. His back against the whorehouse, his Anne inside… he just kept talking.
It didn't solve anything. Or change anything. But it was a distraction, and Anne was right. It was nice.
Chapter 13
“He won’t touch you?” Stella asked.
“No,” Anne clarified. “He touches me, he’s just uncomfortable when I touch him.”
“Uncomfortable how?” Janey asked.
“He flinches.”
“He got beat up when he was a kid?” Stella asked.
“No…it’s… I think it’s the war.”
The girls were all silent, sipping their drinks. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Stella said. “I thought I could help Sam.”
“Jesus, we’re back to Sam,” Rose muttered.
“I’m just saying… all those boys that survived… they’re not the same. Nothing is the same since the war,” Stella said, tears in her eyes again.
“Oh Lord, can we talk about something for ten minutes without you crying!” Janey yelled.
“Janey!” No one had noticed the door opening while they were talking, and they all looked up to see Delilah standing in the doorway, the flickering candles making her face look fierce.
Everyone went silent, and Anne realized it was time for her to go, despite the fact that she was just getting the answers she wanted.
“I should go,” Anne said. She handed her tea cup back to Stella, who found a spot for it on the table. “It's
getting late.”
Stella stood with her, and the two hugged one more time. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
And ask incredibly personal questions about sex, she thought.
“Come back,” Stella urged. “When you have a longer time to visit.”
“Stella,” Janey said. “She’s practically a doctor, she’s not going to come visitin’.”
“I will,” Anne said, ignoring Jane. “I’ll be back. Another day.”
“We get Sunday mornings off,” Stella said. "Tonight was special, you know, on account of Sam."
“I don’t… I don’t even know what day it is. Isn’t that strange?” Anne asked.
“I feel like my life’s been torn in half,” Stella said with a nod.
“Me too,” Anne said. By Sam. By Steven. Nothing was the same after the last few days. Least of all her.
Anne squeezed the girl’s hands again and said goodbye to everyone else, promising to come back next Sunday morning. She wondered in some small way if this was how soldiers felt when they crossed paths, as if in the whole wide world the only people who really understood the darkest things that had happened to them were other soldiers.
Delilah walked with her to the door, and once they were out of earshot of the girls, she murmured, “Nothing happened between me and your soldier.”
Anne blinked. “He told me.”
“He was here because of you.”
“He told me that too,” she said.
In the dark doorway Delilah handed Anne Steven's coat. “My husband came back from the war and he was blind,” she said.
“I'm sorry,” Anne whispered.
“I wasn't. I was just so happy to have him home. To be able to hold him in my arms when so many women were still crying themselves to sleep at night.” Delilah looked completely different talking about her husband. Younger and older at the same time. “I won't say it wasn't difficult, because it was.”
“I’m sure.”
“But I think… I think it was made more difficult by the fact that we tried to pretend nothing was different. That everything was the same. That… we were the same. If I could change one thing in my life, it would be that.”
“I’m so sorry, Del—”
“I’m not interested in your pity. I’m telling you this because Steven wants to make things work, but he doesn't know how. You're going to have to show him.”
“I...I don't know how either.”
Delilah rolled her eyes at Anne.
“I don't,” Anne said. “I've... no experience with this.”
“I leave you alone in here for an hour and you didn't pick up any tips?” Delilah asked. “Just tell him what you're going to do, how you're going to touch him, so he's not surprised. Keep the lights on. Be bold. Be kind. But most of all be patient. And talk. Keep talking. Don’t pretend.”
“I...I can do that,” Anne said, heartened by the advice. By the practical nature of it.
“I know you can.”
Delilah walked down the steps with her, holding the lamp high overhead so Anne could see her way down in the dark.
“Thank you,” Anne said, standing at the door.
“Anytime,” Delilah said. “Good luck.”
Anne pushed open the door and to her utter astonishment, Steven was sitting out front next to Kyle and both of them were laughing.
She hadn't heard Steven laugh in a long time, and the sound held her transfixed.
“Anne!” Steven said, coming to his feet with a smile on his face. He wobbled a bit and braced his hand against a post to keep himself upright.
“Steven.” She could not help but smile back. It was so disarming to see him this relaxed. “I believe you're drunk.”
“I'm not,” he said. “I just... well, maybe I am.”
“It's my fault, ma’am,” Kyle said.
“You poured it down his throat, did you?” she teased.
“I haven’t had any supper,” Steven admitted. “Tends to make the whiskey work better.”
“How did you know I was here?” she asked him.
“I woke up and you were gone, I figured you were checking on Stella. That’s where I’d be if I was you.”
She glanced sideways at Kyle, wondering how much of this information he was storing away for gossip at a later point. But he was pouring himself another drink, his eyes focused down the road. Giving her the impression at least that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in their sleeping arrangements.
“Well, you were right,” she said to Steven with a smile.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.
“I am,” she said, and she realized she had his coat in her arms. “Here,” she said. “This is... from Delilah.”
That seemed to pull Kyle’s attention, but he quickly looked away again, pretending disinterest.
She handed Steven the coat. Their fingers brushed in the exchange and he recoiled slightly, and she was grateful for the darkness that hid her blush.
“Let's go,” he said.
They said their goodbyes to the bartender and set off side by side down the boardwalk toward home. The moon was barely a sliver in the sky, so there was not much light to see by. She stumbled, catching herself on her cane, and Steven held out his arm.
But she hesitated.
“Come now, Annie.” His husky voice slipped out of the darkness. “We are past this, aren't we?”
“Are we?” she asked.
“Well,” he sighed, the good-natured sigh of a happy drunk. “We're working on it.”
She smiled and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“I'm sorry I fell asleep earlier,” he said.
“It's understandable. You hadn't slept all night.”
“No, but... I would have liked to talk to you. About what happened.”
“I would have liked that too,” she said.
“I want to thank you,” he said.
“I'm not sure for what.”
“Really?” he asked, and she could feel him looking at her.
She pulled her coat in a little tighter. The night was cold. And Steven beside her was warm.
“I don't have any parameters with which to measure the experience,” she said. “But for you... at the end... it did not seem... pleasant.”
“It was. It was more than pleasant. In a way that sex has not been for me since the war. But what I asked of you… to get there. It wasn’t fair.”
“I was happy—”
“Anne.” He stopped. “You were scared. I saw it on your face. I saw it, and I still asked you to do it.”
Anne began walking again, leaning on her cane.
Steven caught up with her, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat.
“Have…have I scared you away for good?” he asked. “No!” she said.
“That’s a start.”
“Have I scared you away?” she asked.
“No. You couldn’t. Not ever.”
She took advantage of the dark and the focus it took to make their way home. “Delilah gave me some advice,” she said.
“You asked Delilah? About us?”
“No, I asked Janey and Stella and the rest of the girls, but they didn’t have very good answers.”
“And Delilah did?”
“She did.”
“You are an amazing woman. Let me make that clear.”
“I’m glad you think so,” she said, pleased and shy all at once. “She says in matters—” She stopped as he made a low laughing noise. “Steven, this isn't funny.”
“Anne, we both went to the same madam to get advice about sex. With each other. If it's not funny, at least you can admit it's ironic.”
She smiled and then laughed. “I suppose you're right.”
“Suppose?”
“Do you want to hear her advice or not?”
“Of course I do.” He was only pretending to be serious. Drunk Steven was quite endearing.
“She said I should leave the ligh
t on. And tell you... how I'm going to touch you.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“It does?” She stopped to look at him, even though she couldn't seem him that well. The white glimmer of his teeth, the shine of his hair where it hung down beneath his hat.
He leaned forward in the dark, and unerringly his lips found hers.
How does he do that, she wondered, sighing into the kiss. Stopping herself from sinking completely against him. Aware, every moment, of his boundaries.
“Shall we find out?” he asked.
“Should we get some food in you first?”
“I don't want to wait that long,” he breathed and kissed her again.
They made it back to her home in record time, and she opened her door.
“Someone didn’t lock it,” she muttered.
“Someone should give me a key,” he whispered. His breath playing with the hair at her neck. Sending ripples across her skin.
They stepped inside and she closed the door behind them, only to be pressed up against it by Steven’s weight at her back.
“Oh,” she gasped, leaning against the door, the cool wood against the side of her face. His heat at her back.
She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the careful removal of her bonnet—the satin ribbons at her neck sliding across her skin as his fingers pulled at them—wasn’t it.
After he set her bonnet aside, he reached around her to undo the two buttons that kept her coat fastened. His fingers brushed her breasts, but did not linger.
He hung up her coat.
“Do you want my shoe hook?” she asked, trying to tease.
“I want you to go upstairs,” he said. He stepped away from her so she could turn, staring right up into his eyes, which were fever-bright in the dark hallway.
“Come with me,” she breathed, holding out her hand.
After a breath he took her hand, lacing their fingers together so their palms touched, the inside creases between their fingers—it was profoundly intimate.
And very exciting.
He led her up the stairs to her room. And both of them began the work of creating as much light in the room as they could. He stoked the fire and she lit the lamps and the candles until the room glowed, and when he turned to look at her, still drunk, he seemed to sparkle. He was a great big man. Cole, Steven’s brother, told her once that they used to call Steven the Bear. The blond bear.
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