- •Bittersweet
- •Imogene’s narrow lower lip trembled; she pressed her fingers against it and coughed.
- •Imogene settled back against the seat and tucked the lap robe snug around her waist.
- •Imogene was silent.
- •Imogene ushered them in. “I’d offer you tea or coffee, but my things haven’t been brought from the station yet.”
- •Imogene pointed to the floor.
- •Imogene extended her hand but he didn’t take it, so she tucked it back under her cloak. “I am bigger than most of your bigger boys, Mr. Ebbitt.”
- •It was still light out when they finished supper. Sarah scraped her chair back, poised on its edge for flight. “Can I be excused, Mam? There’s enough light so I can finish with Myrtle.”
- •Imogene’s breath went out of her as though he’d slapped her. She pulled herself up straight and looked down at him. “I am a woman, Sam Ebbitt, and I make my living as a teacher. In school.”
- •Imogene ran down the steps. “Quick, child, run. I can keep up.” She turned to the older woman. “I’ve got to get to her.”
- •Imogene caught sight of Melissa and her mother cowering in the twilight.
- •Imogene mechanically dabbed water from the pail and flicked it onto the inside of her wrist. “Water’s too cool.”
- •Imogene stepped between her and the baby. “What do you mean to do?”
- •Imogene found voice. “Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It took me a moment. You look very different. Hello.”
- •Imogene wrung the cloth with a vicious twist. “This will hurt a little.” She washed the injuries tenderly. “I never knew a willow whip to cut this bad.”
- •Imogene sniffed audibly.
- •Imogene came out of her reverie at the sound of his voice. “No, thank you. I’m fine. A bit chilled. Perhaps you’re right, I’d best take myself home straight away.”
- •Imogene stared at the ruined back; the fine white skin cut to ribbons, black knotted blood puckering the edges of the gashes.
- •Imogene looked from the helpless white fingers to her own blunt, capable hands, and a heavy tiredness blanketed her features. Lying down on the cot by the far wall, she let herself sleep.
- •Imogene penned in reasonable rates under the name of the hotel.
- •Imogene sang softly, an old lullaby imperfectly remembered from childhood.
- •Imogene laughed. “Not many.”
- •Imogene thought for a moment. “Yes.” The one word carried the weight of her life’s worth.
- •Imogene sat like a stone. Her jaw jerked once before she spoke. “Of course.” She was overly loud. “I’ll bring the address by tomorrow, if that would be convenient.”
- •Imogene nodded abruptly. “I understand.” She did not tell Sarah.
- •Imogene hugged her, her cheek pressed against the tangled hair. She held her, thinking. Mam’s letter stared up from the mess of blankets.
- •It was a short letter, filled with warmth and caring. When it was finished, Sarah signed her name, a shaky, spidery hand under Imogene’s sure black strokes.
- •Imogene pressed her hand. “It is good to be out of doors. I think we both had a touch of cabin fever.”
- •Imogene was in high spirits as she loaded the last of their things into the wagon. “Sarah,” she called, “are you ready?”
- •Imogene cut her off. “What do you pay her?”
- •Imogene walked quickly, with long clean strides, and Harland Maydley, with his shorter legs, had to skip every few steps to keep up.
- •It was the first time he had ever called her by her Christian name, and she looked up, startled.
- •Imogene turned to Nate. “Please leave, Mr. Weldrick. Your attentions are not appreciated here.”
- •Imogene stirred her tea.
- •Imogene kissed the golden crown of hair. “Take care of yourself, Sarah. Your love is more than a net under me. It is the tower from which I shout down the world.”
- •Imogene looked at the watch pinned on her bodice. “All right, girls,” she said, turning back to her students, “time is up. Put down your pens.”
- •Imogene swirled around the floor, her feet attending to the calls, her eyes and mind on the darkness beyond the lanterns.
- •Imogene spread her shawl over the rock to protect their dresses. “Sarah, would you be happier married?”
- •Imogene smiled wanly. “Oh dear, I’d hoped to slip away without good-byes. I’m glad I didn’t. We’re leaving Reno, Kate.”
- •Imogene sighed and pushed impatiently back from her desk. “The sheriff is letting Nate Weldrick out of jail this afternoon. Mac told me.”
- •Imogene laughed self-consciously.
- •Imogene smiled at her earnestness.
- •Imogene came to bed after midnight, walking softly so she wouldn’t awaken Sarah if she was sleeping.
- •Imogene shook her head and arranged her skirts around the swaddled coyote so he couldn’t reach her with his teeth.
- •Imogene greeted the passengers as Mac and Noisy busied themselves with the livestock. It wasn’t until after lunch had been served and cleared away that Imogene remembered the coyote pup.
- •Imogene leaned back in her chair, her eyes resting on Mac’s gnarled old face.
- •Inside, the six onlookers howled. David laughed so hard his eyes were wet, and Sarah bounced and murmured “Shh, shh,” between fits of the giggles.
- •In the kitchen, Sarah heard the door bang and called out, “How many for lunch, Imogene?”
- •Imogene laved her face and neck. “You’ve even heated the water. What harm can come to me, with you looking after me?”
- •Imogene snorted. “He expected to sleep and eat here for nothing as a representative of Dizable & Denning.”
- •Imogene caught her hand and kissed the palm. “I’ve never felt better. Not in all the years of my life. No one need be sorry for me.”
- •In the morning Lucy would not come down to breakfast, but pleaded illness. “She’s faking so she can stay and make eyes at Mr. Saunders,” the second Wells daughter declared.
- •I all alone beweep my outcast state,
Imogene pressed her hand. “It is good to be out of doors. I think we both had a touch of cabin fever.”
For a few moments they walked in silence. Overhead, geese honked, flying south. Golden aspen leaves gilded the mud along the creek.
Sarah slowed to a stop, her face blank in thought.
“What is it?” Imogene asked.
“I was wondering what I would have done without you these past months. What I would do without you now. You were always there.”
“I always will be.”
Fear touched Sarah like a shadow and she shook herself to be rid of it. “I’m younger than you,” she said sadly, then brightened. “But I’m not terribly healthy. Maybe I will die first.”
“Sarah!” Imogene laughed. “That’s a morbid fancy.” She started to stroll again along the stream.
“Wait.” Sarah stopped her and took her face between her small hands. “I want to thank you. Lean down.” Softly she kissed Imogene’s mouth. Sarah’s knees gave way and the schoolteacher had to support her in the crook of her arm.
“My dear! Are you all right?” Anxiously she laid a hand on Sarah’s forehead, but it was cool to the touch. “Your eyes are feverbright.”
“I’m fine,” Sarah said breathlessly. “I’m singing inside.” Her face quickly sobered. “Maybe we’d better go back to Lutie.”
“Let’s sit a minute,” Imogene suggested. “Let you rest—let me rest.” She smiled at Sarah. “Sometimes I don’t know if my old heart can take you. It’s pounding like a stampede of wild mustangs. Besides, I have some good news. I wanted to wait till we were alone to tell you.” Imogene sat on a fallen log and Sarah perched obediently beside her. “I have found us a house. It is quite small, but it is dear. And we can afford it with what I’m making at the school.”
“Imogene, you don’t mean it? Just the two of us?”
“Just the two of us.”
Sarah hugged herself. “You can’t guess all the hours, when my eyes were still too weak from the fever to read, I passed the time pretending we had our own home. Little dreams—like me calling to you from another room and nobody else to hear, us puttering around the kitchen. Mam’d never believe this, but I’d think how I’d like doing the dishes and filling the icebox with food. How long have you known?” she demanded suddenly, and pounced on Imogene, tickling her for keeping such a secret.
Imogene captured her hands and held them in her lap. “I found out this morning. Our landlady, Mrs. Addie Glass, sent over a note that I’d been found satisfactory.”
“Tell me everything—how many windows, how many doors, how many nails in the walls—everything.”
“Sarah,” Imogene asked earnestly, “are you happy?”
Sarah looked long into her friend’s face before answering. “It means a lot to you?”
“More than the world.”
Sarah hesitated, choosing her words. “Knowing that you love me makes it so things can’t ever get as bad again as they could before I knew that,” she began. “Your love is a net under me. I still fall but now I can never hit bottom.”
Imogene said nothing.
“Yes, I’m happy.”
“It would be good to hear you laugh again.”
“I will.”
On the second Saturday in October they moved their belongings from the Broken Promise. A breeze blew rich with the smell of a mountain autumn. Fred’s wagon was out front, already loaded with the boxes that had been so long at the warehouse down by the tracks.
Sarah was on the porch, apart from the bump and bustle of moving. Sitting still and pale in the fall sunshine, her blond hair in close, neat braids, she looked like a porcelain doll. Her skin was smooth and translucent from the months indoors, her white hands folded small in billowing skirts. Around her, people spoke softly, were a little kinder, and when they looked at her they smiled.
Mac carried a valise past her. It was his third trip to the wagon, and each time he tipped his hat to Sarah, tugging on the battered brim with the two remaining fingers of his right hand. The young man Imogene had seen with him the day he proposed to her was helping with the move. Mac had introduced him as Nate Weldrick. Nate was of medium height and build, with a wide face. Thick, wavy brown hair and a boyish grin made him look younger than his thirty-two years. He seemed even more ill at ease with Sarah than Mac did, afraid to come near or speak, and giving her a wide berth when he crossed the porch so his heavy footfalls wouldn’t jar her.