Chapter 8
In the morning, Hutch woke me with a gentle touch on the shoulder. I woke with a jolt, confused to find myself sitting upright, my arms aching and sore. I looked around wildly and found Hutch standing beside me.
"Did you stay the night right here? Are you alright? Can you move?"
My arms were pins and needles, cold to the touch but already the blood was flowing back into them. I didn't try standing just yet. "I fell asleep," I said, surprised.
It was only the ghost of a smile, but it hovered around his mouth. "Appears so, Miss Maggie. How did you fare at the Barnett's house?"
I blinked. I had wanted to be up, cooking, my appearance put together. Oh, well. "She had a son," I said, and as Hutch said good, good. I remembered. "They paid me. I didn't want them to." I started digging in the basket.
"You don't want to be paid for your services?"
"No, I do want to be paid," I said, unearthing the coins, which I handed to him. I met his eyes and found them impassive. Better than what they could have been. "I fear they can't afford it though. Should I have taken it?"
And that, of all things, made him smile at me. "Mr. Barnett drinks. He spends too much of the too little he makes in saloons in town. But the man has pride and that means something. You did the right thing, taking it." He paused. "And all went well?"
Excitement washed through me, in part because of the successful birth, in part because he was speaking and asking me for more than to pass the salt. "Yes! She'd been laboring a while. It didn't take too long and everyone is healthy."
He nodded, still with that small almost-smile. "Then, I dare say you'll have wives in this town coming to you now. I need to get to the mine but I'll be home for midday."
He'd already turned away. I stood, wanting to put my arms around him and give him a kiss. Instead, I said, "Hutch? Do you have time for breakfast? I could cook you eggs and Mrs. Barnett sent home some baking."
He tilted his head at that, as if considering whether the woman had stood from childbed and made something for us, then shook his head. "I don't have time. But I'll join you midday."
My morning was energized. I moved fast, bathing and dressing and trying not to think what my hair had looked like when he found me slumped over the table as if in my cups. I put his bedroom to rights and dusted as best I could, though I found it a skill I was not at all proficient in as yet. I tidied my own room and made certain the sitting room still looked as unused as it had at all times but when Matthew had taken up residence in it. I cleaned the kitchen and used the new apples to make a pie and wondered if I meant to make my husband fat before he was in truth my husband. I made a stew we could have for both lunch and dinner and discovered Mrs. Barnett's baking was a sizeable piece of very good oat cake that would serve for more than one meal as well.
In the garden, I moved gingerly around the corn as if it were to blame for everything that had happened, pulled tomatoes, and checked how the potatoes were coming along. They seemed crabbed and stubborn in the hard Nevada earth but I'd had some of the previous year's Nevada potatoes and they were sweet.
Before I really expected it, Hutch was riding up to the front door and calling through the house. I hurried in, breathing in the scent of stew and, past that, the scent of man and dirt and horse and sage. It was already a welcome smell.
"I don't have a lot of time. We may have found another vein," he said, and then stopped talking long enough to pump water into the sink and dunk his head under it. He came up sputtering a bit, his wild dark curls standing out. He saw me looking, biting a lip, and said with mock severity, "What, laugh will you? It's dusty work today."
"Yes, sir," I said with equally mock timidity but he left off joking and said only, "Stew?"
I sat with him, idly eating a piece of bread and a peach. I had very little appetite and couldn't see wasting food. He didn't talk at first but, as he finished his second bowl of stew, said, "We're going deep into the mine today."
That statement chilled me. There was nothing to be said for it. They needed to dig to find the ore and they couldn't do that in shallow mines anymore. Telling him to be careful would be foolish if not unkind; of course he was careful. Unlike the Yellow Jacket mine, there'd never been a fire at the Silver Sky and unlike the Chollar, there'd never been a cave-in. I'd asked Annie.
I said only, "Will you be late home?" and waited, fearing he'd challenge the word home.
"By dark," he said, and stood. "I'll have more of this if you have it."
I did have some more; through with his conversation and willingness to sit with me, my own appetite was returning.
"I'll see you at dark, then," I said, more to say something than for any other reason. "I may go by Annie's today before then," again, just talking, because it felt good to speak aloud around him.
He made an exasperated sound. "I saw her this morning. I forgot. She was heading for the train, fast. She's gone to Alturas, family matters, she said, apparently got a telegraph from my mother."
He sounded unconcerned.
"Aren't you worried?"
He relented. "A little. But, I don't have much time. If there had been illness, she'd have said, but she only said she'd be back in a few days, and apologized for not coming to see you before going."
I nodded. "That was kind. Should I see to her garden?"
That pleased him also. "I was going to ask you to. Her daughters forget, as I forget ours." An uncomfortable moment. "Matthew." He cleared his throat. "Matthew was taking care of mine. I can ask him, if you think you won't have time."
"I have time," I said. "Let Matthew concentrate on the mines." And not come near me, I thought, hoping he'd understand. They'd gotten through whatever had happened with Ellie. I hoped they'd get through what had happened with me. For the time being, I wished that Matthew was headed to California and that Annie was staying in Gold Hill.
I needed a friend to talk to.
Throughout the afternoon, I tried to compose letters to my father and my sisters, and most especially to Virginia, but though they each started well—So much has happened! – Mr. Longren is so kind! – The desert is so different, but already I find it beautiful!—they soon ran aground on the truth and were discarded. At last, I chose not to waste more paper and ink and saw to my own garden and then walked the distance to Annie's house and saw to her garden. On my walk back to the house, I passed a good many people out on the streets but, though people wished me a good day and a pleasant afternoon, I saw no one I had yet been introduced to and lingered with no one.
There was one gentleman I passed who watched me through slitted eyes. He was small and redheaded, his squinting eyes staring directly at me and his regard made me uncomfortable. I hurried around a corner onto a street I didn't need to take and waited there to make certain he didn't follow me. When I at last looked back, he had moved on. I hurried home and began preparing supper.
There was still light in the sky when Hutch returned home. He asked if there was anything cooking that couldn't wait and I admitted there wasn't, so he went upstairs and slept for an hour, coming down again when the clock had struck 9:30. It was late for supper, but his hours were long. He was clearly tired, his steps dragging, his head down. I wondered if something had gone wrong and hastened to serve our supper.
Still, "Did you see to Annie's garden?" he asked as we sat.
Glad of the conversation, I answered. "I watered it, pulled a few weeds. I brought back some corn that's ripe."
"You can cook it tomorrow." He reached for bread.
"I don't suppose it will keep," I said, finding it odd to eat his sister's food.
He just nodded. "When she gets back, give her something from your garden if it makes you uncomfortable."
"Fair enough," I said, and then, because he had asked me this morning, I ventured, "Are you alright?"
He stopped eating then, though he didn't push his plate away. "Vein we found isn't worth a damn. Ended in a couple feet. There's nothing there."
 
; In the following silence, I couldn't think of anything to say. How was I supposed to be helpmate when everything was new and everything could have been ruined?
"Dammit!" He threw down his napkin, pushed back from the table. "We just need a chance. Just to get caught up. Pay off some debts. Get payroll caught up." He paced, staring at the floor, one hand running through his hair.
I had brought nothing except my skills. I had nothing to offer here, either. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I had done nothing to cause these problems and I could do nothing to solve them. I could listen.
"I keep thinking there's some other way. Find another mine. Buy in on credit. But the house is liened to the Silver Sky. That was fine when it was producing. Then Ellie…" He choked on that and stopped talking and I felt a hard little moment of confused jealousy that he still missed her that much, that I could never take her place, that he had put everything on the line for her.
But, he still wasn't moving. He'd stopped pacing, stopped moving his hand through his hair, and it had come down to cover his face. I could see only his mouth and it wasn't set, wasn't hard. He was hurt, and lost.
I stood and went over to where he stood. No further doubts crossed my mind. I had fallen in love with this man, not with his brother, that had been—what? Fear and infatuation. Excitement, maybe, to find someone here in this new place who found me desirable.
And it didn't matter. It didn't matter that I hadn't been able to tell Hutch it didn't matter and it didn't matter that it had happened, or that it never would again. What mattered was Hutch.
What mattered was love.
I reached up and took the hand that covered his face and held it in both of mine. He kept his eyes downcast, staring at the floor, still thinking, maybe, of finding a way out.
When he didn't move away from me, I released his hand and moved, very gently, into his arms, my own arms going around his ribs, my head lowering to his chest as if it had always meant to rest there.
For a startled instant, he froze and then his arms came around me, pulling me close against him. His cheek came down against my hair. His heart beat under my ear.
I didn't say I was sorry. I had nothing to be sorry for with the mine or the house. I didn't ask to be forgiven for what had happened in the garden. That would take time.
I spoke of the future and looked for possibilities. I suggested that I could sew, and so perhaps could find a position in a milliner's shop or a dressmaker's or in shops that made the denim trousers miners wore. Or I could teach, find a job with the Fourth Ward School. There were so many children, surely there was a need and I was the recipient of a classical education.
He had pulled away from me, though kept me in the circle of his arms, and he studied my face. He looked bemused.
"Or, I could work in a bakery," I said, wondering if all bakery workers were men, "or I could work in people's gardens," though, of course, people kept their own gardens and ours was a wonder for not having died yet under my ministrations. "I could—"
He interrupted me, his voice full of wonder. "You truly want to stay? Given everything you know? Given everything that's happened?"
"I want to stay," I said, and found I was on the verge of crying. "I want to marry you, if you'll have me, and I want a life with you and a family with you." And I want you to forgive Matthew, because I think he's important to your life, but it was too soon by far to fight for Matthew and maybe not my place.
He still watched me, amazed. "I thought…" He didn't finish.
"That I'd want to go? Because of money? Because of—what?"
"I don't know," he said. He stared down into my eyes. "Seems I know very little lately." He moved his head to look at me from another angle. "Well. I know this." Gently, he tipped my chin up with his knuckle and his mouth came down over mine, hot, sweet and chapped from the wind, the sun and the desert.
I returned the kiss, my tongue reaching for his, my teeth grazing his bottom lip. My hands moved up his chest, feeling the muscle there, the heat and the heartbeat, before looping up behind his neck. I went up on my toes, trying to reach him, laughing a little at the need to touch him.
His hands tangled in my hair, scattering pins, letting down the lengths of it and then making fists inside it as if he didn't want to ever let go.
When at last we pulled apart, it was only to move out the kitchen door into the garden, to the polished wood and iron bench that sat against the house. Under all the hard desert stars, we sat pressed together, his hands on my shoulders, our mouths meeting again. I touched his chest, his throat, his face, glorying in the feel of his skin so hot under my hands. He tangled his hands in my hair, pulled my face hard to his, kissed me harder and deeper and whispered my name.
Slowly, his hands strayed, seeking my neck, my ears, moving down along my sides. I gasped, nipped at his lower lip, let my head fall back as his mouth traveled down the length of my throat, down into the unbuttoned top of my dress. His hands came up under my breasts, thumbs moving higher to stroke across them. I sighed, moved so I could kiss him again and trail kisses from his mouth to his jaw, from jaw to ear, my tongue moving and teasing, my breath soft against his flesh.
There came a moment when the tension coiled between us caused us to choose: Continue or wait until our union was legal, proper, and sanctioned, if not sanctified. We didn't speak of it. Instead, we slowed, both of us, kisses lasting longer, hands stroking less feverishly until we sat still, pressed against one another. Hutch's arm lay close around my shoulder. My head rested against his chest. Overhead, the stars shined down, impassive.
We stayed out for another hour, together on the bench, staring into the dark. There was nothing to see. The nearest house was far on the other side of a stand of poplar trees. The garden was so dark, we couldn't see across it. Nonetheless, we faced west, toward the edge of the property, not looking at each other, just together.
During that time, we talked in random bursts, about my mother and his, my father and his. We talked about Annie and Virginia and about my other sisters, and about his family in Alturas and the cattle ranch there. I brought up more schemes for making money and helping out and he laughed at them as they became more farfetched. He didn't believe I could forge my way into European royalty and claim a throne and a fortune with it. He did believe I could teach, but none of the schools were looking for teachers who didn't hold a degree. Midwifery, he said, might not be an appropriate subject for elementary school children.
He talked about the mine, about what he had hoped for and what had actually occurred. When the ore had been plentiful and fortunes being made, he hadn't saved. For the first time in his life, he was able to afford what luxuries he wanted. He could send money to his parents, enough for the ranch they now owned, where before they had been caretakers. He treated his wife to new dresses and increased her collection of tea pots.
"Tea pots?" I asked. On my first day, I had noticed one in the sitting room, delicate china with a pattern of roses, but it was the only one. Since then, I'd used the sturdy, everyday Brown Betty in the kitchen if I made tea.
"She collected them," he said and his voice was easy, without a catch. "I was terrified of breaking the damn things and they were everywhere."
I didn't ask where they had gone. He would tell me some day. Or I'd discover them unexpectedly and, hopefully, without breakage.
We talked about the mine, and the lien against it, and the house and mortgage and lien there, too.
We talked about the future. About Nevada. About us. We talked about having a family. We talked about having a future.
And then, we just watched the stars for a while.
The house was overheated and stuffy when we went back in. The night was warm and gentle, the breeze moving in the corn. I no longer feared or loathed the garden. We'd passed a test and come through a fire. There was a future if we wanted to pursue it.