Ten Thousand Charms (5 page)

“I'm just worried about the baby,” he said after a while.

“You're always worried about the baby. If you worried about me half as much as you worry about the baby…well, you wouldn't have to worry about the baby at all.”

The woods were winter-silent around them. The air so temperate he couldn't see his breath. Warmed by the walk up the mountain, he stripped off his coat and let the slight breeze chill through his shirtsleeves. Katherine gave him a chastising look, and he waited for her to tell him that he'd catch his death, but she didn't.

Instead she asked, “How do you know her?”

“Who?”

“The fat one. The one with the painted face.”

“You treated her badly,” he said. “All of them.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I met her. Before.”

“Before?”

“Before you. Before prison.”

“Where?”

“Katherine, you know I was everywhere. We were in a different town every week. I don't know where I met Jewell Gunn. I don't even know why I remember her name.”

“She seems pretty hard to forget.”

“Maybe so.”

“What about the girls?”

He sighed. “What about them?”

“Did you know them, too?”

“I'm not—”

“I don't mean these girls, specifically,” Katherine said. “But that Jewell's a brothel keeper. She's had other girls. Did you know any of them?”

“Now listen.” John William stood and walked over to where his wife sat. He knelt beside her, one knee in a slush of melting snow and mud, and took her face in his massive hands, forcing her to look at him. “You knew who I was and what I did when you married me. I kept no secrets from you. Am I right?”

“I suppose.”

“Suppose nothin'. You know the man I was, and you know the man I am now. I'm not gonna sit here and confess my sins to you. I confessed them already. To God. You know that, you were there. And He wiped ‘em clean.”

“I know, I know—”

“So you got no reason to call ‘em up again. God has forgiven me. And while I never did any real harm to you, I thought you had, too.”

He dropped his hands, stood, and brought himself up to sit beside her. His hip touched hers, but they sat as if a wedge kept them from turning toward each other.

“I did forgive you—do forgive you—but it's just so hard when you have to meet them face to face.”

“Them? What them?”

“Those women.”

“It's just like that one said, Katherine. They're just women. Just like you.”

“They're nothing like me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And that one, the pregnant one. Spilling her condition out for everyone to see. It's positively indecent.”

“You've got no right—”

“I have every right.” Katherine stood up and wheeled to face him. The abruptness of her motion caused her to reel a bit. John William reached out to her, but she stepped away from his steadying hand. “Every right in the world,” she said, her voice weaker. “This place is just so wild. So uncivilized. So, so…”

“We can leave, Katherine. You know that. We can leave any time you want.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere. You got no roots here. No family.”

“Just you,” she said with a weak smile.

John William waited for her to include the babe she was carrying, and when she didn't, he spoke again.

“What kind of life did you think we were gonna have?”

“More than this,” she said. “More than a one-room shack on a mountain. In South Pass, it seemed the men could hardly walk for all the money in their pockets.”

“You know I couldn't stay in South Pass.” John William stood and walked close to her, but she took a step away He didn't follow. “Not after the trial, anyway. Things seemed promisin’ here at the time.”

“Well, there's no promise now, is there?”

John William stared at his wife. She had always been reserved, even cold at times, but he had never seen her this bitter. Her face was set like flint, her pursed lips so hard he wouldn't have been surprised if they produced sparks when she spoke.

Then, slowly, her expression began to soften. There was just the hint of a pleasing smile. Katherine took back the step she'd taken away and reached out to him. Her hand was thin and redraw, and she ran it up and down the length of his arm; the chapped flakes of her fingers snagged the material.

Her touch caused him to tense every muscle in his body. Instinctively, his hand clenched. She saw this and smiled again, bringing her hand to rest on his, her fingers curled over his fist.

“Maybe,” she said, “you could go back—”

“No.”

“Not forever. Just once. Maybe twice. There's a lot of people who'd like to see—”

“Katherine, I made promises. You know that.” He drew his hand away from her, then took her into his arms. He felt the funny little bump of their child pressed against him and knew he would do whatever he had to in order to make this woman happy He leaned back and hooked his finger under Katherine's chin. She offered no resistance as he lifted her face to his.

“We'll leave in the spring,” he said, “after the baby's here. I'll keep workin’ right from when production starts up again until you and the baby are ready to travel. Then we'll go.”

He kissed the end of her nose.

“You haven't said where.”

“I haven't decided. Right now, all I want to do is get back to the cabin.”

With that, he bent his knees, scooped his pregnant wife into his arms, and began walking toward their home.

“John," Katherine said with a giggling lilt to her voice, “what about the—?”

“I'll come back for everythin’ later.”

“But that's our food’ What if a bear gets it?”

“Well, then,” he said, nuzzling into her neck, Til get the bear, get us a rug.”

Katherine laughed at that, and he tucked her a little closer. He loved to hear her laugh. Treasured it, really, like any other rare thing.

he first pain surprised her. She'd felt contractions on and off for weeks, but Sadie had assured her that they were nothing. Just her body practicing for the real thing.

“How will I know when it's real?” Gloria had asked.

“You will know.”

And with that first pain, she did.

It wasn't particularly strong. It didn't bring her to her knees or make her cry out. It simply tugged at her back, like a child with an apron string, and told her, “It's time, mama. It's time.”

She had been in Jewell's kitchen, a rare visit these days. March was a fickle time in Wyoming. One day the snow would be so deep, Gloria's pregnant stomach prevented her from stepping high enough to get through it. Then would come days where slush and mud made walking a treacherous path for a woman who couldn't see her feet. For weeks now, Gloria stayed mostly to the bed in her cabin.

But today the air was crisp, the wind reasonable, and the path a perfect surface of shallow crunchy snow

The women sat around their familiar table, sipping their familiar coffee. The difference was that now Gloria was so big she could hardly reach her cup.

“Ach!
Why don't you move in? Upstairs?” Sadie asked, just as she had countless times.

Jewell never offered such an invitation, and this evening was no exception. She simply looked at Gloria and waited for an answer.

“I've told you. I like the little house. I like to be alone. I've never been alone before.”

“You're spendin’ a lot of time here for someone who likes to be alone so much,” Jewell said.

Gloria made a face. “Besides, I think it might be better if—if the baby isn't born in a whorehouse.”

Jewell laughed out loud. “Darlin', what do you think you're livin’ in now? Just because I'm not sendin’ men out there don't mean that I put up that shack to be a guest room.”

“It's just that, it's never been—I've never had—”

“And don't be thinkin’ that you're gonna take up residence in the Taj Mahal permanent. Once that baby's out, I expect to get some work outta you.”

“Of course,” Gloria said, soothing. “But for now, I think of it as a home. My home.”

They'd finished an early supper and Gloria stood to clear the table.

“Let me do that,” Biddy said, taking the plate from Gloria's hand. “You should rest a bit. You look tired.”

’ “Don't be silly,” Gloria said. “I'm fine. Besides, if I don't do the clearing, I'll have to do the cooking.”

Mae, Sadie, and Jewell all assumed an expression of mock horror and urged Biddy to please, please, let Gloria do the dishes.

“I'd waste away to no thin’ if I had to eat your cookin',” Mae said.

“Wouldn't do you no harm,” Jewell said. “Frankly, I don't care who cleans up the mess, just get it done. It's a nice day, gonna be a nice night. You girls all look a bit haggard. Finish the kitchen, then get yourselves ready.”

When the door finished swinging behind Jewell, the atmosphere in the room changed to one of light, lively fun. Sadie poured steaming water from the kettle into the washbasin. Mae scraped the plates into a slop can before handing them to Gloria, who submerged them in the hot, soapy water. Once clean, they were handed to Biddy, who dried and stacked them on the table to be put away later.

“I like doing dishes,” Gloria said. “It makes me feel like I'm putting everything back in order again. A new beginning.”

“Listen to her,” Sadie said, scrubbing a heavy cast-iron skillet, “a regular philosopher. Too bad your mama didn't work back East—you could have gone to college.”

“Might have to learn to read first.” Gloria's voice held all the humor of Sadie's, and there was the familiar layer of laughter that accompanied much of the women's conversation. Although she'd been a part of it for nearly five months, it still managed to warm Gloria's soul in a way she never could have imagined.

“I can see what Gloria means,” Mae said. “There's something satisfying about standin’ at the window, lookin’ out at the sunset.”

“You know what would be even better?” The dream-filled voice of Biddy made them all pause and turn to her. “It would be even better to know that you were standing at your
own
window in your
own
house looking at your
own
yard and doing your
own
dishes.”

That feeling settled among the women, and while nobody said anything at first, the sense of agreement was strong. After a few seconds, Sadie's voice broke the melancholy in the room.

“What would be best,” she said, “would be to be at your window, doing your dishes, and have the man of the house come up behind you, nuzzle your neck, and say Tut, tut, darling. You look tired. Why don't you sit down and let me finish up?'”

The laughter was back. Not loud, not raucous, but soft and complete. It was a sound that filled every corner of the room. Gloria enjoyed her contribution to it, loved the feeling of it bubbling up from deep within her. She was just finishing a long soprano sigh when she felt it.

That first pain.

That first tug.

She handed the last clean cup to Biddy, used the end of her apron to wipe her hands, and grabbed her coat.

“I've got to get home now, girls,” she said and closed the door on their good-byes.

The single window faced the east, so she couldn't watch the sunset, but Gloria did look through her blue flowered curtains as the shadow of her cabin stretched across the yard. All the lights were on at Jewell's, the windows open. The crowd Jewell was expecting didn't arrive. From what she could tell, there were just a few men over, playing cards and buying drinks. The house sounded full, not loud, and Gloria knew that if she ever did have a place in it, she wouldn't after tonight.