West of Paradise

by Hatch, Marcy

  They ate out on the porch where it was cooler, neither of them saying much, and afterward Katherine took the dishes out to the well and washed them, a task made difficult for the lack of soap or anything that might be considered abrasive—until she hit on the idea of using dirt and a rag, which worked surprisingly well.

  She could see the sun beginning to set out along the horizon, the sky turning a shade darker than robin’s egg blue. The sheets were dry and she brought them in to make up the bed, tucking them in as tight as she could.

  Back outside, toothbrush in hand, she found Jack at the well, brushing his own teeth with a small tin of white powder, which he offered to her as soon as he saw her. “Baking soda,” he garbled.

  “What a wonderful idea,” Katherine said, surprised she hadn’t thought of it on her own. She took a pinch and smeared it on her brush, finding it terribly salty but refreshing.

  Jack helped her bring in the dry dishes and before darkness fell everything was clean and in its place. Jack lit the lamp on the mantle and got out a bottle of whiskey, offering Katherine a cup.

  She accepted and sat down in the rocker by the remains of the fire, untying her boots and kicking them off.

  “You sure don’t like wearing shoes, do you,” Jack commented, having taken the other chair a few feet away.

  “No, I never have,” Katherine admitted, thinking of her closets and all the shoes she had but hated to wear. Clothes she loved, but shoes . . . nope. She rolled down her stockings and tucked them in her boots.

  Jack shook his head but didn’t say anything and Katherine stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes. She took another sip of the whiskey, wishing for tonic water or ice.

  So many things to miss, she thought, glancing over at Jack who was watching the embers burn, still purposely not looking at her. The light from the lamp accentuated the highlights in his hair, and she wondered how it might feel beneath her fingers, what he might taste like . . .

  A shiver of longing ran straight down into her belly. Her breath caught in her throat as her imagination went further. What if she got up and went over to him? She took another bigger sip from the cup and set it aside, rising and going over to stand before him. She began to unbutton her blouse.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, almost choking.

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  He shook his head, rising, stopping her with his hands. “You don’t have to . . .”

  “But I want to—unless of course, you don’t.”

  “Oh, I do, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very.”

  “Then let me,” he said, unbuttoning the next, his fingers surprisingly agile with the tiny flat buttons.

  “I take it you’ve done this before,” Katherine said.

  “A couple of times,” Jack said with a smile, slipping her blouse off, letting his hands skim lightly over her shoulders and down the length of her arms. “You?”

  “I was married, remember?” she smiled.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Well, almost,” Katherine amended.

  “Then this won’t be the first time you’ve been kissed.”

  But it felt like the first kiss the way he brushed his lips against hers, slowly, teasing, and when his tongue came to part her lips she couldn’t help but sigh, pressing closer to him, wanting to feel him against her. Her arms twined up around his head, her fingers in his hair, those golden strands.

  Jack’s hands slid down to her hips, pulling her against him hard while his tongue moved down to her neck, making her shudder. She hardly noticed when he released the hooks from the back of her skirt, never saw it fall in a puddle of blue at her feet, leaving her in the thin chemise and drawers. He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom, laying her down on the bed. He started to unbutton his own shirt but she put a hand on his chest.

  “My turn,” she said, crooking a finger at him.

  He obliged, edging himself up to the bed and she rose on her knees, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, kissing his chest, amazed at how hard and smooth he was, with fine light hair that was almost invisible covering his chest, trailing down to the top of his pants. But she didn’t let her fingers stop there and she heard Jack suck in his breath when she began to unbuckle his belt.

  “You’re going to make me embarrass myself again,” Jack said.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. We’re both going to be naked in a minute.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said with a little laugh, letting his own fingers roam, untying first the laces of her chemise, and then her drawers, slipping first one off and then the other.

  “You are just as lovely as I thought you’d be,” he whispered, kicking his pants and boots off and laying down beside her.

  “Hmm, I seem to remember you saying you’d seen better,” Katherine said.

  “I lied,” Jack said, kissing her again, softly at first, then deeper with passion. He kissed her face and neck, lingering there, his hands in her hair, wrapping the silken strands about his fingers.

  Katherine sighed as his lips moved down, his tongue burning a fiery trail across her skin.

  “Oh, my, you have done this before . . .”

  ❧

  The first birds began to sing when Katherine sat up, suddenly aware that Jack was gone. It had taken her a while to notice his absence, being unaccustomed to his presence. But now she felt it, felt alone in the bed, the sheets askew, the single pillow somewhere, and the bed moved away from where it had been when they’d first arrived. Where had he gone?

  She rose, feeling her skin prick with the chill. She stumbled in the near dark, rummaging about until she found her drawers and chemise. She tied the laces by feel, and stepped out into the main room, listening.

  The house was quiet. The fire had long since gone to ash and she thought she remembered Jack getting up to blow out the lamp, after the first time. Outside the wind brushed against the trees, and she could smell something, a fragrance unfamiliar but pleasant, like fresh mown hay. An owl hooted nearby, and beyond the yard grasshoppers and crickets chirped. The sky was vast above her, huge and black and starry. The ground was cool beneath her feet as she walked toward the back of the house.

  Jack stood near the clothesline, looking up at the sky.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, shivering a little.

  He nodded, but it was too dark to see the expression on his face.

  “Are you . . . are you sorry?” she asked next, bracing herself for the answer.

  He turned to her, wearing just his pants, and she wanted to reach out and touch him but was suddenly afraid for her earlier bravado.

  “Are you? I . . . I don’t usually do this sort of thing and . . . well, if anything should come of it, I would take whatever responsibility you wanted . . .”

  It took Katherine a moment to realize exactly what he was talking about.

  “Oh!” she said, a little surprised. “You don’t have to worry about that, I can’t . . . I can’t have children.” Not entirely true, she thought guiltily, but mostly. Once the vaccine wore off she would be able to conceive, if she wanted, or be revaccinated if she so chose.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite,” Katherine said, hoping he would leave it at that.

  Which he did, much to her relief, stepping closer.

  “Then we could . . .”

  “Fool around some more?” Katherine suggested.

  “Only if you wanted to.”

  “I might be willing to participate in such an endeavor,” Katherine said primly.

  Jack bent close, keeping his hands behind him, and kissing her ever so lightly on the lips once, before moving down to her neck. A small sound escaped her
and Jack whispered, “I suspect you are slightly more than willing.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, silencing anything she might’ve said with a kiss that made quite clear his intentions before he scooped her up and carried her back inside.

  ❧

  On Sunday next, Jack woke first to the sun filtering in through the curtains and the sound of birds outside, including the chickens, which had found their way onto the porch. He rose and dressed, leaving his boots and socks aside. But before he left the room he looked at Katherine admiringly. She was naked and facing away from him, offering an enticing picture of her round bottom and the sweet curve of her hips. With a sigh he turned away and went out to the main room where he quickly made a fire and shooed the chickens out and off the porch. He closed the door, glad that it was cooler.

  The smell of the coffee roused Katherine and she came out dressed in the blue skirt and yellow blouse that had started everything.

  “Anything besides coffee?” he asked.

  “What’s left?” Katherine asked, taking the cup he offered.

  “Not much, I’m afraid. There’s still some flour and raisins, lard. If there are any eggs I might be able to manage something.”

  “Let’s go see,” Katherine suggested, rising and offering him her hand.

  Jack took it and they walked out to the barn together, a comfortable silence between them.

  It was a wonder to Jack. He’d never met anyone quite like Katherine. She was different, in a good way. Sometimes he attributed it to her upbringing, which had obviously been unconventional. Other times he plain didn’t know. But he didn’t care. She had a sly sense of humor, magnificent breasts, and she wasn’t afraid to initiate a roll in the hay. He wondered if that was because she didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Of course, admittedly, he had not had a real relationship with a woman in a very long time, not counting the few prostitutes he’d visited when the need for a little female companionship proved overwhelming. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure she wasn’t like the women he knew. And that was okay. Good, in fact, he decided.

  They found three edible eggs in the barn and a number of broken ones lying outside the nesting boxes. There were also a dozen little chicks running around, peeping and pecking. Katherine picked one up.

  “I can’t believe how cute they are,” she said.

  “Not for long,” Jack said.

  “I know,” she said, letting the chick down to scurry after its siblings, peeping loudly.

  Off in the distance a rumble sounded and Jack’s gaze turned to darkening sky. “Storm coming,” he said.

  Katherine’s eyes followed his to the horizon where storm clouds had gathered; a deep heavy gray, as if the weight of them any moment would cause them to drop.

  “Rain?”

  “And thunder and lightning, I’ll wager.”

  Katherine shivered a little.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Jack said, putting an arm around her and hugging her close. She hugged him back and it felt good, comfortable.

  They went in and Jack made something that might have passed for some kind of coffee cake, using the last of the flour and raisins. It was pretty bland even with the molasses. Now there was nothing left. Harlan was days late. They had already talked about walking to Hays City or striking out in the other direction. But Jack didn’t know what was there or how far away. They had decided to give Harlan one more day.

  And then there was that small voice, the one Jack argued with, the one that asked, what if Harlan didn’t come? What then, Jack? And he would play out the various scenarios in his head, write the scripts, imagine the setting—until he told himself to stop.

  They were sitting on the steps, drinking their second cup of coffee when the wind rose up and changed direction. Within minutes the clouds rolled in: big, dark, heavy clouds followed by heavy raindrops. Just a few at first, spattering the dirt, tapping the roof, and then more and more until it was raining in earnest and the wind was blowing and the sky was the color of slate. The chickens had all disappeared and Jack and Katherine went inside, shutting the door and windows.

  They made love again, and afterward Jack held her and told her stories until the storm passed and the clouds blew away and the sun came out to dry everything. They had almost finished getting dressed when they heard a noise they’d been expecting. It was the sound of a horse drawn wagon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alanna

  Alanna was pleasantly surprised by the accommodations. She had been worried about the lack of amenities so far away from the east coast. But she found the Grand Hotel to be one of the finer establishments she had stayed in, tastefully furnished and adorned with a number of fine oil paintings.

  Chandeliers hung from the lobby ceilings, illuminating a luxurious dining room with walnut tables covered in linen and cut glass, the latest style of cutlery, and cloth napkins formed in the shape of roses. A wide staircase with a heavy black banister wound up to the second floor where all the rooms were carpeted, the beds with a spring mattress, and every window with a view. Even better was the availability of hot water for her bath, which she enjoyed while Mrs. Pratt took young William for a walk after dinner.

  She waited until they had both settled down for the evening before donning a peach watered silk gown with velvet embossed organza. She wore pearls at her ears, long black gloves and carried a small beaded purse. She wished for a full-length mirror but the truth was, she didn’t really need it; she knew she looked spectacular.

  She could feel eyes on her as she walked past the ornately carved bar in the Oriental Saloon, which was lined with crystal glasses and colored bottles, all sparkling beneath the brilliance of the suspended chandeliers. The Brussels carpet was soft and plush beneath her heeled shoes as she made her way toward one of the faro tables. The pungent smell of cigars and whiskey hung in the air and the room was abuzz with talk and laughter and the sound of cards being shuffled.

  A tall gentleman in a black frock coat and neat tie rose, offering an appreciative smile and a bow.

  “Ma’am,” he said, “care to play?”

  “I would, thank you,” Alanna said, giving him one of her most brilliant smiles.

  The remaining players all rose while she took her seat, laying her little black purse on the table.

  She had been playing for nearly an hour when she noticed a young man at the bar who kept glancing at her. She was well accustomed to men staring at her, and the low cut dress she wore did everything to encourage such behavior. However, this particular young man was not gawking at her with desire but rather with something else. It took her a moment to remember what it was, and as soon as she did she cursed herself and him, whoever he was.

  She played another round before collecting her modest winnings and thanking the gentlemen for the entertainment. The man in the frock coat, a banker, quickly rose. “May I walk you home, wherever that may be?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid I have an appointment to keep but perhaps another time?”

  “I will look forward to it.”

  Alanna turned her gaze toward the bar where the young man had been standing not a moment before. He was halfway to the door, glancing back nervously as he went. She carefully kept her eyes averted, not wanting to alarm him, and casually made her way toward the bar as he exited, then veered away, walking as quickly as she dared without drawing attention to herself, her stomach churning into small knots.

  Outside the air had turned cool and crisp, reminding her of autumn in Boston. There were a surprising number of people about despite the lateness of the hour, and she could hear music drifting from the other saloons. She looked left and right, spotting the object of her search crossing the street. She hurried after him, following him halfway down Fifth Street before he stopped at a door, fumbled with the lock, and entered.

  Alan
na took a deep breath and crossed, walking slowly now that she knew where he had gone, taking note of the street and the businesses, the blackened windows, and the dark alley next to the building the young man had entered. A sign said Tombstone Epitaph in old English lettering.

  She walked to the end of the block, crossed the street again, and turned around to retrace her steps, this time hugging the buildings and keeping to the shadows until she came to the Epitaph. The door was not locked.

  She opened it ever so slowly, and heard a sound she did not immediately recognize, a tap-tapping noise, like fingernails on a hard smooth surface.

  Her eyes narrowed darkly as she reached down to her ankle, pulling out the knife she kept there—her just-in-case-knife. She tip-toed toward the sound, barely breathing, eyes focused.

  There he was, hunched over his little machine.

  She crossed the distance between them in a few short steps, not bothering to be quiet any longer because by the time he started to turn around she was already at his back, the knife at his throat.

  “Do not move,” she said quietly, calmly, though her heart was racing.

  “It’s too late; I know who you are,” he said in a trembling voice. “I’ve already sent the wire.”

  “Ah, but it’s never too late to send another one,” Alanna said.

  He started to shake his head but she made a dissuading noise, pressing the knife closer.

  “Send another. Tell them you were mistaken.”

  He hesitated and Alanna nicked him with the knife. “Do it! And don’t think I don’t know Morse code either. I do, and I shall know if you try to send anything other than what I’ve instructed. Now begin.”

  The young man began tapping and Alanna listened, hoping to God he had believed her because the truth was, she hadn’t the slightest idea how to read Morse code. She was, however, a very good liar.

  “I’m finished,” the young man said.