Chapter 11
Hutch left for the mine at sunrise. I was barely awake, not even focusing on the events of the previous day yet, when he was out the door. Sitting at the kitchen table, trying to order my thoughts, I finally managed a letter to Virginia, filling her in on the trip with Great Aunt Agnes (and strongly recommending against the same, should she for any reason contemplate it) and then describing the house, Hutch, Annie, the town, the Sheriff and the doctor, the mine itself. I described Matthew, briefly, a little nervously, as if somehow this were an indiscretion. I told her Annie's recollections of our mother and about Hutch's family, about Annie, Kitty and Sarah in Gold Hill, his nephew at the University and the rest of his family on the ranch in California. Reminiscences of our mother reminded me to tell her about the birth of Mrs. Barnett's son.
And of the death of Mrs. Bradleigh's. I stopped writing then, briefly, laid down my pen and thought of Hutch kneading the back of my neck until the headache faded. I thought of the servant coming to take me to the house and wished I hadn't been home. Sorrow awoke at the loss of such a tiny life and at the loss the Bradleighs would endure, the sorrow the loss must have awakened in Hutch.
At last, I rose and paced, then sat and finished the letter, omitting the child's death and moving on to my wedding, the wedding dress I'd eventually sew, that we were moving quickly now, ready to get out life together underway.
I finished Virginia's letter by begging her to be a more responsible correspondent than I had been and to write me back with her news and that of our sisters, with news of father and my friends in Boston. Once I folded the letter into an envelope, I started promptly on another to my other sisters, and then one to my father, each more brief than Virginia's letter. I was in the middle of the letter to my Father when my pen ran dry and the ink well had been lost somewhere along the journey to Nevada. Sighing, I rose and went in search of ink and, finding none, resolved to walk to the general store and purchase some.
The day was bright, hotter than the day before, and there were only a few people on the street, none of whom I recognized before I got to the shops. Lost in my own thoughts, it took me until I was in the midst of the grocery and chemist shops before I realized something was strange.
People passing me on the street stared hard at me, blinking and looking away, then turning to their companion if they were with another, their voices lowered and urgent. Coming toward me on the wooden sidewalk, a pair of young wives arm in arm turned their faces to each other in shock, then looked at me, then whispered as they passed.
I slowed and looked around myself. Across the street, a man had stopped hitching his horse to a wagon and was watching me with a scowl. A middle aged couple moving past him followed his gaze and looked away from me instantly.
Caught between the desire to somehow go unnoticed and the need to know what was happening, I turned in a circle, taking in everyone near me on the street. For a brief, insane moment, I thought there were possibly men behind me, guns drawn, about to fight, but the sidewalk held only more pedestrians, all of them staring and talking.
It's your imagination, I told myself. Of course, I hadn't spent much time in town as yet. People were just getting used to me. Probably knew who I was by now. But introductions would be nicer than stares and whispers.
Moving into the grocers was a relief. The grocer's little round wife was behind the counter, finishing up with a customer before me. I waited my turn, then asked if she had ink as I'd run out. She pointed wordlessly and turned to the man behind me. A little chill chased down my neck. I fetched my ink, thinking of the last time I'd been in the shop, and when I was back to the counter, I offered up coins for the ink and asked, "How is your daughter?"
"She fares well, thank you for asking, but she won't be using your services when the time comes. And in the future, miss, we would prefer it if you would take your trade somewhere else."
I stepped back, confused. "Excuse me? I don't understand."
Her glare almost stopped me from asking. "We need the Bradleighs in our town, missy. What you did was unforgivable."
My mouth snapped shut. Surely this woman couldn't hold me responsible for the death of the Bradleighs' son? But turning slowly to observe the store, I saw more than one person hastily looking away from me. No one met my eyes. I thought again of everyone on the street, of being told people were talking and Hutch saying that people will always talk, so unconcerned.
The red rage tried to rise again. I hadn't sold my services to the Bradleigh household, I had been fetched by their servant, sent for by a family that wanted me to come. The child had been dead by the time I got there. The mother would have been dead before much longer had I not arrived. She would not have survived until the doctor was brought from Virginia City.
I took my parcel and my change but did not move. The anger was strong. Too many people had judged me more stringently than they might judge the whores on C Street or the drunk miners who started fires in mines and caused cave-ins. This was going to be my home. I had wanted friendship. If that was impossible, at least I wanted truth.
Leaning forward over the counter, I said clearly enough for all to hear: "The mother is alive for her other children because of me. My training was not at fault for their loss. My training was the reason for her life. The child was dead before I arrived. The mother is alive because I arrived. If you choose to slander me, Missus, I will take action. And rest certain, I will take my trade elsewhere."
And I left the store without losing to the tears that welled up in my eyes. The other shoppers watched me go.
No one spoke.
I didn't run home, but I wanted to. I forced myself to walk slowly, showing my pride every step of the journey until I could open the door to the house, let myself in and lean against the door with the rest of the world sealed outside.
I cried then … because I couldn't help Hutch this way; because I couldn't even create a life for us this way; because I was lonely and wanted to go home and because I missed my mother and because people in this sad place I'd come to blamed me for the death of a child I'd have done anything to save.
Hutch found me sitting at the table with the letters finished, in envelopes, addressed, neatly stacked. They were all lies. All of them said I was happy. They referred to the Barnetts and their child and to the doctor and his reticence, to Matthew and his trials, though I downplayed the shooting for fear Father would send Great Aunt Agnes to collect me and bring me back safely to Boston.
I would not run back to Boston.
Hutch was tired. There had been no good news at the mine, no new veins of silver, just digging throughout the day at the same dwindling supply and looking for more. I thought he missed Matthew and I feared he probably had heard the news but was in no mood to discuss it. At least let us have one night without him comforting me for some injury.
In the morning, Mr. Toomly from the bank came to appraise the house. Hutch refused to let him in.
"You can judge value when it's in the hands of the bank, or in the hands of that villain, Seth. Until then, this is my house and my property and you are trespassing."
When Mr. Toomly tried again, the man was nothing if not persistent, Hutch fetched his rifle from the closet and went out onto the porch with it.
"I'll bring the Sheriff," Toomly sputtered from the bottom of the steps. He backed toward his carriage, which was almost as showy as the one belonging to the Bradleighs.
"You do that," Hutch returned. "Even Bill Townsend isn't stupid enough to believe he can take action before the 30 days are up."
Mr. Toomly left without further protest and he did not return with the Sheriff. Hutch didn't leave for the mines, choosing not to leave me alone.
We sat out on the back porch as the sunlight climbed toward it, staring into the garden. It felt as if we were living in a medieval castle, under siege. There weren't very many options we hadn't discussed the night before, from the sublime to the silly.
There was one.
"We coul
d leave here," Hutch said.
My response was immediate, and negative. This was his home. This was my home, or at least I wanted a chance for it to become so. His brother was here, or would be again, and Annie, and his nieces and nephew. He was established here, it was his home; how could he leave?
Though, of course, I had ruined that.
He took hold of my shoulders when I said that and stared deep into my eyes. "You are never to say that again. A home that doesn't welcome you could never be my home now."
And before I could properly absorb that, he continued.
"And they're wrong. You did everything to save that child."
"How do you know?" I asked. I was sitting next to him on the bench and I didn't look away from the corn when I asked.
"Because you said you did." Simple, forthright.
I sighed.
"My home is to be with you," Hutch said. "We could leave here. We could go to California or Arizona. We could go to Europe."
"On what money?" I asked, dazed at the thought.
"Your inheritance to the throne?" His voice was light.
"Oh, that. I forget, sometimes."
"Careless of you to forget your kingdom."
"I've been busy," I said. "Hutch, what becomes of Annie and Matthew if we leave here?"
He leaned back against the polished wood bench, his feet crossed at the ankles. For all his appearance of being relaxed, I didn't think he was. But I needed to know. I'd come between brothers who were close friends. I needed to know how much damage was still done and how they would move past it.
"What have I told you about my presupposing what Matthew will or will not do?"
"That you try not to do it," I said. "But, he's your brother. And you love him. And I think he's your closest friend."
He was silent for so long, I finally said his name again.
In response, he said, "If we go, Matthew will come too."
And much later, as we watched crows investigate the garden at the foot of the ragged scarecrow, he added, "I hope."
The next day, Hutch returned to the Silver Sky and I found our household in need of various staples. With his blessing, I found the change and the list and set off for town, only to find doors closed to me, businesses unwilling to trade. Unless I wanted stiff whisky or admission into a whorehouse, I was bade take myself elsewhere.
Which I did. I went back to the house and forced myself to learn to saddle a horse, then I tucked my skirts up out of my way, too furious to worry about fashion or custom, and road to Virginia City…
Where I promptly felt overwhelmed. It wasn't the size of Boston, but it was so very different from either Boston or Gold Hill, so many people and wagons, carriages and horses. Though, best of all, no one knew me. I found the food items we needed, at better prices, and thought perhaps the price of pride would weigh heavily on the shopkeeps in Gold Hill. When I had gathered what I needed from grocers, I left my packages in the wagon and went to the dressmaker's, looking for prices on the cloth I'd need to order for my wedding dress, the seed pearls, the embroidery floss.
"Is it your wedding?" the woman in the dressmaker's asked. She was my age, with red hair and dimples and not the slightest idea who I was. It was a relief and a pleasure. I hadn't realized how much it bothered me, even over such a short period of time, that no one would talk to me, that they blamed me for the death of a child.
"It is. I'm going to be making my dress, but I'd welcome any advice."
Her eyes took on the feverish gleam of the truly obsessed and, for the next quarter hour, she filled my ears and my head with details I couldn't possibly remember and suggestions for things I couldn't possibly accomplish, and accosted strangers to ask their opinion of fabrics, buttons, threads and flosses.
It was a lovely quarter hour, interrupted by a sudden shout from the doorway. I was standing, by then, in a clutch of women, from grandmothers to girls, all of them offering thoughts on one thing or another to do with my wedding, when a man appeared, sudden and loud, calling in.
"Is Jennie here?"
"She's gone for the day, visiting friends in Dayton," the shop keeper called back and then, "Oh, Lord, Frank, it isn't Caroline's time, is it?"
Panic, as complete as that washing over the man named Frank, washed over me. I couldn't. Not after what had happened. Not just when I'd found a place where, however temporarily, I belonged. I bit my lip, ready to speak.
"What about the doctor?" one of the women called. She was graying, older, already hustling toward the door.
"I've called for him, he'll probably come but she wants a midwife, she's scared, it's her first," which everyone there, nodding, seemed to already know. "Thank you," he was already withdrawing from the doorway, "I'll go and find—"
"—I'm a midwife," I said. My voice sounded overly loud and overly calm and I was almost surprised to hear it.
The women around me turned instantly. I expected scorn or censor, or that they would have heard of the blonde midwife who had moved to Gold Hill. We weren't so far away, my notoriety could have spread.
But all I found was hope in those faces, excitement in those women already mothers, a kind of awe in the younger women, and impatience in the grandmotherly sort.
"Don't keep him waiting, girl. I'll hold your packages. After dark, come round back and ring the bell. I'll get them to you."
I'd only bought some floss this day, and a roll of calico to make new curtains for Annie's kitchen, but I didn't want to be hampered by the packages and I didn't want to turn away from any offer of friendship. I thanked her, turned and ran toward the man in the doorway, who led the way to his buckboard.
When we started down one of the precipitous streets of Virginia City, I thought once, almost startled at the thought, that no one knew where I was, and that, if in fact someone did know who I was, perhaps this man wasn't who he said he was and we weren't going where he said we were.
In the last few days, I'd learned to trust where I hadn't expected to and learned far more when not to trust at all.
But he fetched up in front of a modest home with bright, wild flowers in the front behind a simple wooden gate. He saw me to the door, then hesitated, his face ashen.
"You're her husband?" I asked. For all I knew he was brother, son, father. The pale, greenish color of nausea made me guess husband. Men become so very uneasy in the face of life.
"I have none of my usual equipment. Please come in with me and fetch what I need and see your wife."
He turned even greener.
I tried to smile but felt like kicking him. She was the one doing the work. Surely he could stand a moment in the room with her.
"Just for a minute. To let her know you're here. Then after you fetch me the whisky to clean, you can take a glass of it out into the sun."
The promise of whisky seemed to cheer him. I resolved to tell Hutch that when we started our family, I expected him to remain at the house as I delivered our offspring.
Then I realized, simultaneously, both that I had come to accept we would marry and would have a family, and that I had just outlined what likely was his worst fear.
He would have to face that fear, almost definitely. Much as I would have to face mine.
Caroline Drake was young and pretty. I hadn't paid much attention to her husband, except to notice the air of panic around him. She sat up in the bed, as if determined not to get into it and thus start something she wasn't certain she could finish.
"I'm not ready for this," she told me. Her brown eyes were very wide.
"You're more ready than you know," I said and turned to smile at her husband, who had brought the whisky, clean towels and himself.
"Frank," she said with relief. "You don't have to stay."
"It's all right," Frank said, clearly lying, but he was making an effort. He handed me what I'd asked for, gave his wife a kiss on the cheek and moved very quickly to the bedroom door. "I'll be right outside," he said, glancing at me to judge if he'd done enough.
When I turned back to Kitty, her eyes were even wider. "How did you get him to do that?"
"Guilt," I said. "And he loves you. Ready now?"
She was. She had been. But alone and afraid. Now that her husband had visited her and a midwife come, she relaxed enough to let her laboring move along. It would have, without her permission, before much longer, but relaxing helped.
We talked away the time, about canning and books and her pet cat, who wanted nothing to do with what was going on in that room. I checked my watch periodically, hoping she would deliver before nightfall. Hutch would be worried to come and find me gone. Just before sunset, her daughter made her way into the world, an easy birth, far more so than I would have expected for a first time mother. I cleaned them both and wrapped the infant in swaddling and gave her to her mother before going to find her father who had taken my advice rather more to heart than necessary. Very relaxed, he was tearing up over mother and daughter when I took my leave, payment in my pockets and joy in my heart.
The dress shop hadn't closed, though it was apt to do so with me in it if they didn't let me go before too much longer. I was introduced around, instantly forgetting so many names, but glad of the smiling faces and offers of friendship. At last, I took my parcels and made my way back to the buckboard and patient Scamp, and made my way back to Gold Hill.
Riding back through our own town felt like riding out of summer and into a snow storm. There were still neighbors on the street, still shops open at the north end of town that I passed before turning and going up to the Longren house, and every step of the way there were people watching. Not so much whispering now, not so many people actually speaking, but a speculation, an awareness.
I was home in time to prepare a simple supper and to put away my groceries, to start to draw the dress I hoped to sew for my own wedding, to plan for the future.
And to think of the difference between where I had been and where I had returned to.
When Hutch got home, he wasn't alone. I heard voices in the drive and a chill passed through me before I recognized Hutch's voice. For a horrible instant, I had imagined the Sheriff, come to foreclose and evict 29 days early, or Mr. Bradleigh, come to avenge his son, or Mr. Seth, come to avenge his cousin. The afternoon's relief was borne away as the present came back to me.
But the voices continued on to the barn and I went to the kitchen window to watch them pass by, and smiled with relief. There was Hutch, leading a horse with Annie perched on its back and Matthew leading his own horse. I watched for barely a breath, then turned back to consider what I could do to extend dinner, to offer hospitality and to manage not to break down in tears at the sight of friendly faces and the sight of Hutch and Matthew turning such friendly faces to each other.
By the time they came in from the barn, I had added to supper and was setting the table for guests. Hutch came in first and crossed the kitchen to kiss my cheek. Matthew followed him, ducking his head in understated greeting. It was Annie who made a beeline to me, wrapped me in her arms, kissed both my cheeks, then took my hands in hers.
"Is there anything cooking that may burn? If so, Hutch, see to it," and she was already hustling me into the sitting room, followed by protests from both men, which she shut off by simple expediency of shutting the connecting door.
"My dear." Her blue eyes were warm. "I heard."
My own eyes watered. I started to shake my head. I'd dealt with it so far and intended to continue to fight, whatever I had to do to keep this from Hutch's door—but she didn't wait.
"Mrs. Bradleigh married well. Her husband struck silver early and kept striking it and may still be striking it for all I've paid attention. They have more money than they have sense and although she may have station now, she did not always have it."
I frowned. "What are you trying to tell me?"
Annie took a breath and blinked, said slowly, "She's not—she didn't." She cleared her throat. "She never sold herself for money, but she had questionable morals and she was happy to let the men buy her a drink."
"Alcohol?" I asked. From my perspective, for women it was better on the outside than on the inside.
"Alcohol," she confirmed. "Since she married, she had two children who lived and, since then, she has struggled to carry another child and have it live. She has failed, every time." I stood without meaning to, took several steps away from her, whirled and returned. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying the woman can no longer carry a child to birth and, if she does, the child is born dead. The doctor has attended her at least three times before this and she has been married half a dozen years. You should have been told. And those fools in town, they should know better."
I bit my lip, paced the same way Hutch did, ran a hand through my hair, managing to spill most of it out of its pins and all over my neck.
"The grocer's wife, she said they need people like the Bradleighs in town." I looked at her, imploring, meaning it very much as a question.
Annie made an exasperated sound. "We need their money, I'll grant that, but they're not going to go away because Mrs. Bradleigh lost another child. It's sad, for her, for him, though he doesn't have the sense God gave a goose if he keeps on with her and expects he's going to have a son to leave his fortune to."
She rose and came to where I'd retreated near the fireplace mantle, biting my lip, chewing on my nails. She pulled my hand from my mouth, took both hands in hers.
"You did nothing wrong, Maggie. You couldn't have known and you would have gone even if you did. You're good."
"How can you say that? After—" I waved toward the kitchen.
She dismissed it easily. "Lots of girls get silly over Matthew. Many mothers who have lived hard lives before they're expecting lose their children. You have set out to harm no one, Maggie," she said, releasing me and turning to move toward the windows. "Forgive yourself. Everyone else has."
And there she'd gone too far.
"No, they haven't."
When she turned back, it was with surprise. "I don't understand."
I told her. About the visit to the Gold Hill grocer, about the people on the street, about going to buy sundries and finding I couldn't even be waited on. I didn't cry, didn't drag out the story. I just told her.
When I finished, she shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "Small minded people. But I think Matthew has news that will make a difference."
"Matthew," I said, not understanding.
"Matthew," she agreed. "Come, let's eat the dinner you've prepared."
The day waned as we sat to supper, the four of us, and it was less uncomfortable than I had feared. If there was a tension between Hutch and Matthew, it was still greatly improved from how I had last seen them together.
I hadn't spoken to him, or even seen him, since the day Hutch had thrown him out of the house and, since then, I had been afraid to mention his name. Now, I needed to get past my fears and talk to him, with Hutch present.
Handing him a plate of chicken and corn from Annie's house, I said, with mock severity, "You couldn't see your way clear to letting anyone know where you were going?"
Matthew looked anything but contrite. His eyes were shining and he kept grinning.
"No, no, Maggie," Hutch said, much too carelessly. "I told you that Matthew did leave word—with the most drunken, least dependable man he knows."
"Nonsense," Matthew said. "That would have been Jason Seth."
A comment destined to stop the conversation in its tracks. Except that Matthew was still smiling, as was Annie.
Hutch looked from his sister to his brother, frowned at his brother for several seconds, and looked back at his sister. "What do you know that I don't?"
"So very much," she said lightly.
Hutch looked at me. "Will you talk sense?"
The undercurrent of suppressed glee was getting to me. "I will talk wedding plans, if you like, husband."
He glowered. "I am not your husband."
 
; Another potential conversational gambit sure to go wrong, but something had happened, something that made Matthew smile at his chicken and Annie look contritely at everything but either Hutch or me.
Hutch looked from Matthew to Annie to me and then settled to simply eating. Matthew was able to bear it for no more than two minutes before he put down his fork, pushed back his plate and said, "Annie and I went to Alturas."
Hutch regarded him. "We are aware of that, Matthew."
"But you don't know why." When he had all our attention, he stood. "You were sending our father part of every paycheck before we bought the mines, were you not?" Without waiting for Hutch to answer, he went on. "And once we bought the Silver Sky, or you did and I bought in, once it was producing, you sent home a lot of money."
Hutch had stopped moving, his fork resting on his plate, his food pushed away.
I held my breath.
"Father bought the cattle ranch with what you sent him."
He was beginning to look smug. Hutch must have thought so too, because he turned to Annie and said, "His news is the story of my life?"
"Shh," she said, patting his arm as if she were listening to a riveting story and resented it being interrupted by a small, undisciplined child.
"He invested," Matthew said simply, leaving Hutch confused.
"Then what did he buy the cattle ranch with?"
"Not all of it, brother," Annie said.
"Just enough that we can either inherit the cattle ranch or set ourselves up for another business," Matthew added.
My heart lightened a bit. Hutch would be unlikely to take charity, but money earned from money he'd earned? If there was a chance to save the house, or the mine—neither of which I wanted. The afternoon in Virginia City had given me a freedom I didn't expect to find in Gold Hill. Maybe people would forgive and forget but, more likely, they would close their minds or, at best, tolerate and ignore.
That wasn't the life I wanted.
Hutch wasn't smiling either. "My house is in foreclosure. The mine has stopped producing. Annie—"
"Matthew never wrote and told them how dire straits were," Annie said, standing to start clearing plates because no one was eating. "Did you?" she asked Matthew.
"I don't write letters," Matthew said. "And Hutch does, but he talks about me."
"There's so much to discuss on the topic," Hutch said dryly. He was beginning to smile. "Are they set? Can we borrow? Would they—"
"—Not borrow, I don't think," Annie said. "If you were in California, they would set you up with acres of the ranch, get you started so that you could make a living. If you had told them that the mine was in trouble, rather than telling them that Matthew was in trouble, which is hardly even interesting, let alone new, then perhaps they would have offered assistance before."
Hutch was smiling still.
For him, the future had just changed. Whatever plans he made, there was a chance to save the house, a chance to save the mine.
A chance we would stay in Gold Hill.
I'd wanted to love it there. I did love the house and the garden and the sage-covered foothills and I had wanted to fit in with the people in the town, know my neighbors, make friends.
But the house was another woman's house, where another woman's choices were kept by her husband. The garden had been planted by other hands and cared for by other people, and in that garden, I had almost lost everything.
The people in town would recover. Maybe. But I didn't think I would. The grocer's wife, learning I had not been at fault, might try to make amends. I would accept apologies but I was not sure I was a kind enough person to forgive. I definitely wasn't kind enough to forget.
Hutch, though. Hutch had been given a reprieve, a way to hold on to what he had earned, to make his life where he had chosen to make it. If I was going to be his wife, I would stand by his choices.
I surfaced from my thoughts to hear the other three discussing some childhood infraction of Matthew's, a topic I was convinced could easily entertain all of them through the remainder of our meal and the pie I'd baked the night before. I rose without thinking, so uninvolved in the story I didn't realize I'd said nothing.
It was Matthew who stopped me, reaching up and touching my arm lightly and just as quickly moving away.
"There's something else," he said and I sat, equally without thought, my mind turning over ways I could stay in Gold Hill and yet thrive.
Annie's smile lit the room. Matthew looked fit to burst. I glanced at Hutch. He shook his head, as confused as I was.
"The Faro Queen," Matthew said.
My heart leapt. I looked quickly at Hutch, to see him looking stunned just before the grin spread across his face.
"You've found a location?"
"Empty casino in Virginia City, far end of C Street."
"How close is it to the Silver Queen? Bucket of Blood?"
"Far enough from both; close enough to the entrance of town, close enough to homes."
"There's enough from what Father—"
"—There's enough to buy a herd of saloons."
"Herd?"
"Fleet. Covey. C street. Did a good trade."
"Then why?"
"Owner died."
"Gun fight?"
Matthew shrugged. "His own damn fault."
"There are ladies present."
"There are!" Annie laughed.
"The Faro Queen," Hutch said.
"Our Faro Queen," Matthew said.
A fresh start, I thought.
"Are we running away?" I asked.
Hutch had come out to join me on the front porch in the July night. Annie had gone home, escorted by Matthew, to see if I was as bad at gardening as I had warned her I was. I thought she'd be pleased to see I'd overestimated my lack of skill.
Hutch sat down beside me, rested his arms along the back of the bench, stretched out his long legs, crossed at the ankle. "Would it bother you if I said we are?"
I hadn't anticipated the question. "It would and it wouldn't."
"Because you don't want to run from a fight but would be glad to leave?"
That was accurate enough to make me stare at him. "Yes."
Hutch tightened his lips in a rueful smile. "We're not running. We're making a change. Annie may buy the house, or Matthew might. He's probably going to stay here."
I frowned. "Why would he want a house?" I glanced at Hutch. "What do you know that I don't?"
"So very little," he said. "But I do know there's a certain Mayor's daughter who has been biding her time."
"The Mayor's daughter?" I asked.
Hutch looked content. "She's the one he goes back to, between the others. I always thought he was the one coming and going and making it hard for her but looks like she's sent him away each time."
I couldn't think of anything to say to that.
Hutch could, "Smart girl."
"What does that make her now?"
"The one he pursued. And after that? Mrs. Longren."
And that I really couldn't think of anything to say about. I moved over into the lee of his body and Hutch dropped his arm from the bench to my shoulders, pulling me close.
"So that's one of the Nevada Longren boys married."
My heart sped up.
"And Annie's set, she's going to buy a dress shop."
"How long was I out here?"
He laughed. "She told me as she was going. She was so angry about what happened to you and so excited about what's happening to Matthew—"
"—Excited?"
"Amazed." He leaned down and kissed my hair. "You smell good."
"I spilled vanilla when baking."
"Mm. You smell good."
I turned my face up to his and he kissed me, softly, his fingers caressing my face and throat.
"So when will the other Nevada Longren boy get married?"
"He's not a boy," I said. I traced his mouth with my fingers.
"How fast can you sew a wedding dress?"
"I'l
l start tomorrow." A thought struck me. "Or I could buy one from Annie's shop."
He looked at me. "I've no objection. You were the one looking to economize."
I took a breath. "When I went to Virginia City today, a man came looking for a midwife at the shop I was in."
Hutch frowned. "Why there?"
"There's a midwife in Virginia City. Jennie, I think. She was gone to Dayton for the day, so I went with him."
Hutch drew in a breath and stopped moving. His eyes searched mine. "You're alright?"
It almost seemed a strange question. I hadn't been the one giving birth. But I had been frightened.
"I'm glad I went," I said. "They had a daughter. It's her first child. She was afraid and he was scared out of his wits." And I wondered what he'd think of me talking about it but if we were going to be together, if I were going to continue to midwife, we'd have to talk about it, wouldn't we?
He kissed me. I wasn't growing used to that at all. Every kiss was like fireworks. I moved closer, pressing against him, finding his mouth with mine. He complied, but pulled away before I was ready. I looked at him questioningly.
Hutch stood up fast and paced away from me on the porch, staring out at the street.
"Hutch?"
I started to stand. He motioned me back down. "Just let me get through this, Maggie, please?"
I spread my hands, confused, afraid, wondering if now, somehow, when it looked like matters had resolved, I was going to lose him anyway.
He paced, ran his hand through his hair and stopped at the edge of the porch. When he turned back to me, he was a silhouette against the sunset.
"When you went to the Bradleighs house, when you came back here and told me about it, I didn't help you."
I wanted to get up and go to him. I wanted to absolve him of this guilt, to say I understood when I wasn't certain I did. Or rather, I wasn't certain he did but I thought he needed to learn. My hands wrapped around each other, tightening into a hard grip, and I waited.
"Annie talked to me tonight."
Again, I wondered how long I had been outside as the others talked.
"I didn't know about Mrs. Bradleigh. Maybe I should have, but…" He shrugged.
I took a chance. "You don't gossip much?"
That actually made him laugh. "Oh, men gossip. Some days I think that's why the mine doesn't produce more. But no one had ever told me about Mrs. Bradleigh's past and I might not have listened if they had."
I took another chance. It seemed like a good time to learn something about men. "What kind of gossip do you listen to?" I was teasing, a little.
"The kind that is not fit for a lady's ears," he said promptly. Then, more seriously, "You were hurt by what happened at that house. I knew that. I just couldn't be close to it. I didn't expect what happened afterward. I never thought our neighbors would act that way. And that must have hurt you more."
I laced my fingers very tightly together and stared, wide-eyed, at him. I was not going to cry.
"You know what happened to Ellie." He paused and didn't speak again for several breaths. "I didn't know you were a midwife."
"What?" It was surprised out of me.
"Your mother said nurse."
Confused, I looked around the porch, then down at my hands, then back at Hutch.
Who shrugged again. "It was many years ago. Maybe you were thinking of becoming a nurse. Maybe someone used the wrong term. Maybe I remembered it wrong. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," I said quietly. "It must have been a shock."
He stared at me, silhouetted head cocked toward me, then began to pace again. "When you went to attend and the child was lost—"
Oh, I thought, and wanted to go to him but he was tense against the sunset, every muscle set against me.
"I should have thought how it felt to you. It wasn't my loss."
"It wasn't mine, either," I said, my head down. I looked at my hands in my lap.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him nod. I didn't think he had listened.
"But you saved the mother."
I looked up at him, a rush of horrified understanding. How horrible that must have been for him, another midwife arriving too late and yet, in this instance, the mother—someone's wife, a wife like Ellie had been and, this time, she lived.
Now I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. I wanted to have never come here, never met Hutch Longren. My hands went up over my face. I couldn't have stopped them. I had hurt this man, too many times, too badly. There could be no going back. My shoulders shrugged up around me, my head dropped toward my chest. I sank into myself, withdrawing from everything around me.
His steps crossed the porch fast. His arm went around my shoulder. His hand tilted my head up and brushed my hands away from my face.
"No," he said, shaking his head, his eyes looking deep into mine. "No, Maggie, you don't understand. It's when you saved her I understood that anything could have happened with Ellie. Maybe if the midwife had come early and the baby late, maybe they both would have been lost anyway. Maybe there was no saving her. Maybe nothing could have.”
"I let her go, Maggie. All this time, in this house, with her tea pots, with her curtains. Her house. Her memory."
I waited. I couldn't breathe. My hands tightened convulsively around each other, refusing to let go.
"Whether anything could have changed, whether anything could have been different, it didn't and it wasn't. She's gone and I miss her, but I need to leave her house and garden and the things she held dear. I need a new life."
I was crying now. I couldn't even properly hear him. I didn't know if he was saying goodbye or hello.
"I need someone to share that life with."
I looked up at him. His blue eyes were serious and looking straight into mine.
"Maggie Lucas, will you marry me?"