Page 43 of Silver Lining
But now? After his summer at Piney Creek?
After a time he stretched a hand to Louise's side of the bed and adjusted the blankets over her shoulder.
It puzzled him that she understood so readily why he had needed a summer in the mountains, yet Philadelphia never had.
Philadelphia . Impossible as it seemed, he had forgotten for a while that tonight was Philadelphia 's wedding night. He raised a hand to his eyes, and pain exploded behind his ribs.
*
She was Mrs. Wallace McCord.
By four o'clock , they were climbing the steps of the Denver County Courthouse. Within half an hour Wally had found a justice of the peace who married them in a dingy office that smelled of stale cigar smoke, glue, and ink. Minutes later they were again on the outside steps, dazed and awkward with each other, amazed that their lives could be forever altered in so short a time.
From there, they went to the telegraph office and dispatched announcements to Livvy McCord and Howard Houser. The carefully worded telegrams were targeted to Mr. Graham who managed the Fort Houser telegraph office and who was not known to respect the privacy of the telegrams that passed through his hands. By tomorrow the official story would be racing through Fort Houser like a prairie fire.
Wally then asked if she was hungry, and feeling confused and adrift, she had nodded yes although she felt sick inside and doubted she could swallow a bite.
He'd taken her to the dining room at the hotel where they had registered earlier, and they must have eaten although she couldn't remember what they had ordered. After coffee, they hailed a cab and attended the theater, where everyone wore evening dress except them, or so it had seemed. She couldn't recall one scene of the production.
Now they were back in the suite Wally had taken at the Denver City Hotel. He sat across from her holding his hat on his knees, looking younger than she knew he was and uncomfortable and very manageable.
She had already removed the fashionable wool cape that matched the smart blue-and-crimson-trimmed suit she'd chosen for the brief marriage ceremony. No, she absolutely would not think about the sugary confection of a gown hanging in her closet at home, the gown she would never wear.
Lifting her arms, she removed long pins, then placed her hat beside her on the settee. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart," she said in a low voice, smoothing the net and feathers and silk flowers trimming the brim of her hat. She cast him a quick peek, then lowered her eyelids. "I'm so ashamed." Tears welled in her eyes, sparkled on her lashes, then spilled to her cheeks.
The ability to weep at will was such a useful talent. Some women turned red and blotchy when they cried, but she did not. She knew she cried beautifully because she had perfected the art by practicing before a mirror.
Clasping her hands in her lap, she dropped her head and shoulders, creating a tableau of abject misery.
"You must hate me," she whispered, letting tears fall on her hands. "You must hate it that you're stuck with a person of such low character."
In an instant he was kneeling in front of her, pushing his handkerchief into her hands. "Don't cry. I don't hate you, not at all." His hands lifted as if he wished to clasp her fingers, but he didn't yet claim the right to such intimacy. "You're not a low character." He drew a breath. "And I'm not stuck with you."
Now she covered her face with her hands and let her shoulders shake with sobs. "How kind you are.
Oh how can I ever repay you for rescuing me from abandonment and scandal?"
" Philadelphia ." It was the first time he had addressed her as anything other than Miss Houser. "Please look at me."
After patting her eyes with his handkerchief, she allowed herself to be coaxed into a sad gaze. He looked so earnest. So upset and eager to soothe.
"It's a bad beginning, yes," he said, trying to peer past her misery. "But others have made good marriages from bad beginnings. I intend to be a devoted husband and a caring father. You have my word on this." A wave of scarlet swelled up from his collar. "I hope someday you'll care for me as much as you—" Halting, he swallowed and knots ran up his jawline. "What happened before today doesn't matter. What happens from here on is what's important."
"Thank you," she murmured through the tears. Then she leaned forward and rested her head on Wally's shoulder, inviting him to offer comfort. After a moment, his arms came around her and he clumsily patted her back, whispering soft words and promises for the future.
Oh yes, he was manageable. Every man she had ever met was manageable. Except Max. Max was the only man who had ever said no to her. The only man who had not placed her desires before his own. She hated and loved him for that very reason.
Oh Max, she thought, and suddenly her tears were angry and genuine. It should have been you here tonight.
CHAPTER 10
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Shorty Smith reminded Louise—she was still trying to think of herself as Louise—of Stony Marks, and another of the boys put her in mind of a fellow she'd known in the Dakotas. She took to the cowboys at once and would have liked to spend more time at the barn and corral except Max made it clear that the boss's wife could be friendly to but not friends with the hands. In a small act of defiance she spent the afternoon baking chokecherry pies sweetened with plenty of dark brown sugar. When they were cool, she delivered four of the pies to the bunkhouse.
Most of the day she devoted to discovering the nature of her wifely duties. No one had to explain, the chores swept her along. It was obvious that the bed needed making and breakfast needed cooking. First she had to go into the pearly dawn and rummage around beneath the hens to gather eggs for frying. Then bring in some kindling and stoke up the stove, something she would do before gathering eggs from now on so she could return to a warm kitchen. Before she cleaned up the breakfast dishes, she bundled up again and hurried down to the barn to milk Missy before Missy mooed the walls down. Then the cream had to be skimmed, and she had to decide if she needed to churn up some butter. Then turn Missy into the pasture before she washed out the bucket and dashed back to the house to tidy up the kitchen and start thinking about what she would feed Max for dinner and supper. Knead some bread and put it aside to rise. Clean up the flour mess. And feed the chickens. She'd forgotten about the damned chickens.
After the barn tour, she fried up some ham and potatoes for Max's dinner. The bread wasn't ready to bake, so they had to do without. Then it was clean up the kitchen again and run though the house with a dust rag, doing a hurry-up job so she'd have time to pick the chokecherries she needed for the pies. And she didn't dare leave the kitchen while the pies were baking, not until she'd learned the quirks of the oven and if it cooked evenly or if she needed to turn the pans every few minutes.
