- •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,
In the kitchen, Sarah heard the door bang and called out, “How many for lunch, Imogene?”
Harland stopped at the sound of her voice and followed it. The kitchen door was propped open with a stone. Inside, Sarah bent over the table, pounding a lump of dough. Strands of blond hair escaped their pins, falling in tendrils over her temples, a rosy glow flushed her cheeks, and the warm, homey smell of baking bread filled the kitchen. Harland leaned in the doorway, assumed a rakish air, and waited to be noticed. After a few moments, when his piercing stare failed to rouse her, he cleared his throat.
She looked up and started at seeing him so near. For a moment she stared at him without recognition. He took it as a compliment, smoothing back his oiled hair and running his palms down his waistcoat.
“Harland Maydley, inspector for Dizable & Denning,” he said, and waited for the significance of his announcement to come home to her.
“Oh. The boy at the Wells Fargo office.” She looked around the kitchen and, finding no new exits, fastened her eyes on the dough in front of her.
“I’m an inspector now. Dizable & Denning. I’m the one checks the stops, sees that things are running smooth. We just came down from Fort Bidwell way.”
“Um.” Sarah fumbled with the dough.
“I’d say this place is looking pretty good.” He rolled his eye around the kitchen in a proprietary manner. “Just the three of you running the place?”
Sarah nodded.
“Your mister coming in for dinner and catching you talking to another man got you in a fluster?”
“No…I don’t know…” Sarah murmured.
“Your husband, he keep you running?”
Sarah favored him with a blank look. “You mean Karl? Karl’s not my husband, he’s the hired man. Karl Saunders.”
“Just the three of you? No Mr. Ebbitt?” A crimped smile hardened Harland’s face. Sarah realized what she had done, and her hand flew to her mouth. The flour on her fingers left two white marks, like cat’s whiskers, on her cheeks.
“Sarah, has Karl come in?” Imogene called from the other room.
“Excuse me.” Sarah scurried past Harland. Imogene was tying her white bar apron over her dress. “He ain’t…” Sarah stammered, “He isn’t…hasn’t come in. He wasn’t feeling well and went out to the barn to lie down. He said his stomach’s been hurting him.”
“What has you in such a fluster?” Imogene looked past her to Harland Maydley, who was just emerging from the kitchen. “Pay no attention to him, Sarah,” she whispered, then went on in a normal voice, “Wednesday’s coach might have brought in a touch of something. I feel a little under the weather myself. Why don’t you go check on him? I doubt he’s even built himself a fire. Try and get him to come inside.” Sarah waited a moment. “All right,” Imogene sighed. “Tell him Moss Face can sleep with him upstairs.”
By sundown the Reno stage still had not arrived. Ross and Leroy, the swamper, not sorry to be by a crackling fireplace with good whiskey to drink, had unharnessed the team and stabled them for the night. Karl insisted on staying in the tackroom, so Sarah built a fire in the little woodstove and laid in a pile of wood.
After supper, Imogene brought him a plate of hot food, and a bowl of pan scrapings for Moss Face. She declined any supper for herself; the smell, she said, made her feel faint. Her color was bad and her broad face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Sarah urged her to go to bed, and as soon as the supper things had been cleared away, she succumbed to the younger woman’s entreaties and let herself be led off to bed.
Her long, narrow feet were white against the floorboards and her arms angled out sharply from her wide shoulders as she stood in her shift before the washstand. Sarah hovered by, the towel over her arm. “You oughtn’t to be washing. It’s winter and you’re coming down with something,” she warned.