Hannah's Dream (25 page)

Hannah put her foot on the first rail and pulled herself up.  She wished she were taller.  She always had to climb up to get a better look at things.  When Hannah was younger, Becky told her to be patient, that she would grow taller someday.  But Hannah was eighteen and hadn't grown in four years.  As she contemplated the injustices of being shorter than those around her, Adam rode over and stopped in front of her.

"He's beautiful," she said.  "What's his name?"

"Tom hasn't settled on a name yet," he said.  "Maybe you could come up with one?  Old Tom's got no imagination."

The horse was close enough for her to put out her hand and stroke his nose.  He had large brown eyes and a chestnut coat.  He looked too refined for the plains.

"Where did he come from?" she asked.

"James picked him up at an auction.  I think he came from back east."

"Why would they bring him all the way out here?"

"You'll have to ask your uncle."

"And he had no name?"

"None on the certificate."

"What's your name?" she said to the horse.  "You look as though you understand me."

She looked into the horse's eyes again.

"Solomon," she said.  "The wisest king."

"Kind of uppity for a horse, don't you think?"

"I think it fits him," Hannah said.  

"We could call him Solly," Adam said.

She wanted to say something mean, but she remembered what Louise had said and held her tongue.

"I guess that's okay," she said.  She paused as she thought of an apology for how she reacted to his remark about her painting.  "I'm...sorry I got so mad at you."

"Which time?" he asked.

Again she had to hold her tongue.

"On the hill, when you said my painting was nice."

Adam thought back to that day.  It was the first time she had run away from him.

"It was nice.  I didn't understand why you got so mad, but it's all right now."

He was squinting his eyes against the sun's light and smiled.  He was tanned from being out in the open all summer and his hair had grown over his ears.  Hannah felt a tightening in her chest as she looked at him and blushed.

"Good, then we can move on," she said.

She stroked Solly's nose before getting off the corral.  When she stepped off the rail too fast, she stepped back and fell on her bottom.  Adam almost laughed, but he caught himself.  He didn't want to make her mad again.  He got off Solly and was up and over the corral before Hannah could get up.  He reached down and picked her up.  She was light as a feather.

"Please put me down," she said.

He did, she brushed off her dress, and stepped back away from Adam.  He put out his hand in case she went over again.

"I'm fine," she said, trying to hide her embarrassment.  
Why did this happen in front of him?
she thought.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't fall again."

"Why would I fall again?" she said.

"I don't know.  Maybe you're just clumsy."

Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open.  She uttered a strange sound which Adam recognized as the same one Tom Beasley uttered when he burned his fingers on the wood-burning stove in the stable.

"I'm not clumsy!" she cried as she stomped away from him.

Adam watched her go in dismay.  Things had been so nice for a few minutes, and it felt so good to see her smile.  Why had he said she was clumsy?  Why did he say such things around her?

When Hannah entered the house, Becky saw the back of her dress and rushed over to take Hannah back to the front porch.

"You'll not be bringing that dirt in my clean house," she said.

She beat the dirt off Hannah's skirt as Hannah looked over at Adam.  He was watching Becky smack her behind.  Hannah pulled away and Becky pursed her lips.

"I'm almost done," she said as she began brushing her again.

"There can't be that much there.  I wasn't on the ground that long."

"How did you get on the ground?" Becky asked.

"I...fell over when I backed away from the corral."

Becky giggled and Hannah turned and glared at her.

"And I suppose Adam was watching."

"Why would you ask that?"

"Why don't you admit you like him?"

"I do not!" Hannah cried.

"Oh, yes you do.  Everyone -- your ma, your Uncle James,  knows it but the two of you."

"And you're all talking about it?"

"We don't have to.  We all got eyes."

"And you all think I'm sweet on Adam?"

"What's wrong with that?  He's a kind, decent man.  He'd make a good, sturdy husband."

But I don't want a good, sturdy husband,
Hannah thought.
 I want someone who will share my dreams.

"Am I clean enough to go inside?" she said.

Becky put her hands on Hannah's shoulders.

"Hannah, don't let something real, something that would last, pass you by.  It's hard being alone in the world.  If a good man wants to be with you for the rest of your life, don't let some fool notion of a white knight cost you the one thing that will truly bring you happiness."

Hannah looked into Becky's eyes.  She could see the sadness there, and wondered if Becky had let someone pass by.

"I won't," she said.  "But do you truly think that Adam is that man?"

"What does your heart tell you?"  Becky put her arm around Hannah's shoulders.  "Come.  Lunch is on the table."

Hannah looked over Becky's shoulder.  Adam was still standing where she had left him.  He was watching her as she and Becky went inside the house.

Chapter 43

The city of Denver was still recovering from the massive flood of 1896.  Some of the shops on 16th Avenue were lost.  Yvette had come to Denver with her husband shortly after the flood.  She had been working for a dress designer in France when he met her and they married soon after.

He was a speculator who had struck it rich in silver.  When he bought his young bride to the states, he said she would never have to work again.  One day Yvette woke up and he was dead.  The doctor performed an autopsy and said he had died of a stroke.

They had been married less than six months, and he hadn't changed his will.  His relatives looked down on her, claiming she had been too much for the fifty-year-old Horace and his couplings with her had killed him.  They turned her out of the house with one bag and one trunk, in which she had concealed a coin purse Horace had kept in his top dresser drawer.  It contained two hundred silver dollars.  It was enough to rent the abandoned pickle shop, clean it up, and create a ladies dress shop.

Yvette was a talented seamstress.  She understood the ladies she catered to for she had worked as a ladies maid in France.  She attended to Madam Renault, the mother of Jean-Pierre Renault.  Yvette was twenty when she received the promotion from upstairs maid and was overjoyed.  She hadn't counted on falling in love with Madam's handsome son, but when he began to pay attention to her, she soon found herself passionately in love with him.  She became pregnant and when Madam Renault found out, she ordered Yvette to leave.  She wouldn't give Yvette a reference and refused to give her her last week's wages.  With nowhere to go and no money, Yvette threw herself off a bridge over the Seine.  She survived the plunge but lost the baby.

She woke up in a hospital and was told her baby was gone.  The nurse took pity on her and bought her clothes to wear and gave her the name of a friend who was looking for an apprentice for her dress shop.  Yvette went to see the friend and was hired, and soon she discovered she had a flair for sewing.  She stayed in the shop for six years, until the day Horace walked into the shop and swept her off her feet, Yvette thought she would be there forever.

Now, in the back room of her shop, waiting for Mrs. Dawes to pick up her new corset, she thought about Jean-Pierre.  Even with a mustache and beard, she had recognized him.  He hadn't recognized her, though.  She was angry and hurt.  She wanted to hurt him, too, but she didn't know how.

"Hello," Marian called from the front of the store.

Yvette pulled herself together and went to greet Marian.

"Mrs. Dawes, how nice to see you."

"Is it ready, Yvette?"

"Yes, I have it right here."

She turned and opened a drawer in the cabinet behind the display case.  She brought out the corset and laid it on the counter.  Marian appraised her stitches with envy.

"I've tried to sew like this, but I can never get them so even," she said.

"I have worked at it for many years," Yvette said.  "I like to be perfect."

She smiled.  There wasn't a hint of arrogance in her voice and Marian smiled in return.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Two dollars," Yvette said.  She saw the look on Marian's face.  Marian dressed like a lady, but she was biting her lower lip.  "Is that too much?"

"No, of course not," Marian said.  "I...haven't bought one in a long time and had forgotten how dear they are."

She pulled two dollars from her purse and gave them to Yvette.

"Thank you, Madam," Yvette said.

Marian smiled as she picked up the bag with the corset and looked at Yvette.

"Thank
you
, dear," she said.

"Please come again."

"I most certainly will."

Jean had spent a week in his room out of fear someone would recognize him.  He knew he was being foolish; he had a beard now and didn't look anything like the picture on the poster.  He was sick of being cooped up and decided to visit the lovely Frenchwoman he'd met a week before.  He would avoid the drug store.  

He was strolling down 16th Avenue when he saw Marian Dawes exiting the shop.  He changed his plans and began to follow Marian.  He saw her stop in front of the dry goods store, where a man was waiting for her.  He had a full mustache and his hair was streaked with gray.  Marian put her arm through his and they walked to the train station.

He saw them board a train and Jean asked the ticket clerk where the train was going.

The man looked up and said, "High Bend."

Chapter 44

Tom Beasley had taught Hannah how to drive the carriage, but James wouldn't let her go alone.  There was a rough, wooded stretch between the ranch and High Bend, and James didn't like the idea of a young woman, or any woman for that matter, riding through it alone.  Ruffians had been known to lie in wait for unsuspecting travelers there, so, James would accompany her when she went to town.  Hannah resented being treated that way, but she also understood the rules of society.  Even if the road had been safe, James still would have accompanied his unmarried niece to town.

It was getting harder for Hannah to accept the restrictions placed upon her by society.  She didn't blame James for adhering to them, nor did she feel animosity toward her mother when she told Hannah that once she married, she would have to put her painting aside to raise children.  Marian told her a man expected certain things from his wife, and while painting was a nice hobby for wealthy women with servants, a girl in Hannah's position didn't have hobbies.  More than likely, Hannah would have the sole responsibility of caring for her children and keeping her house.  Before Mr. Ross lost her money, Marian had felt differently.  Hannah would have come out in Philadelphia and met a man suited to a girl in her situation.

As Marian resigned herself to Hannah's station in life, she asked Becky to teach her the womanly arts in preparation for that day when she would marry.  Hannah had been raised by Becky and had heard her women's suffrage speeches all her life.  She had spent hours in Becky's kitchen watching her cook, clean, can, and organize.  During those long days of summer when she wasn't at the beach with John Liberty, Hannah stayed in the kitchen helping Becky.  She believed she would marry John one day, and his parents were not rich.

"You'll be raising your own children if you marry that man," Becky told her when young Hannah boasted she would marry him even if she had to ask him herself.  "You'll be doing just what I'm doing, so you might as well do it right.  I want you to know, though, you don't have to marry at all.  A woman is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

This news contradicted everything the girl had been taught since birth.  Women who took care of themselves were usually prostitutes or spinsters.  They were poor women who were looked down upon by society, or were ridiculed and abused by men.  Hannah was expected to marry, and at eleven, she was eager to be John's wife.

At eighteen, however, she saw things differently.  She wasn't going to marry unless the man shared her dreams.  He would have to be educated and understand that her painting was important to her.  She would have a child, of course, but Louise, who had been introduced by Margaret Mason to some bohemian artists living in a Point Pleasant, New Jersey artists' colony, told Hannah that one of the women, a free spirit named Sylvia, had told her it was possible to prevent a child from being conceived.  Hannah had been shocked.  It was scandalous to discuss such things, but Louise had been exposed to people who lived the way they chose, and it had changed her.  She laughed at Hannah's astonishment and assured her it didn't make her a fallen woman just to hear about conjugal relations.