Ten Thousand Charms

by Allison K. Pittman

  “If you can, you're a better woman than I am.”

  “No argument there.” Sadie took a brush and went to work on the mass of blonde curls that fell just below Gloria's shoulders. The result was a simple thick knot ornamented with a jeweled comb.

  “It's beautiful,” Gloria said, referring to the comb.

  “It was a gift,” Sadie said. “But you can keep it.”

  The first men showed up just after noon, the products of their own special care in grooming. Their hair was slicked back with Macassar oil. Beards were trimmed and tamed; many were cleanshaven for the first time in months.

  Soon after they arrived, under Jewell's pointed instruction, they began laying planks across wooden barrels in Jewell's yard for makeshift tables.

  The thermometer read forty degrees—an unseasonable warm spell in January—and everybody seemed to revel in the respite from bitter winter winds. Biddy's cookies were laid out on platters, but they were soon bolted down by the hungry miners. Likewise were Mae's fried potatoes. Sadie poured cup after cup of coffee; Jewell served shot after shot of whiskey

  Gloria watched it all from behind her blue flowered curtains.

  After the refreshments were gone, the men tossed horseshoes to pass the time. Soon, heralded by shouts of “It's here! It's here!” from scouts stationed at the mouth of the pass, a single wagon, burdened with crates and barrels and boxes and led by a team of sturdy oxen, made its way into the clearing.

  “Gloria! Come join us!” Sadie was yelling from the middle of Jewell's yard.

  Gloria parted her curtains and gave a jaunty wave.

  “It is Weihnachten!”

  Gloria crossed to her door, opened it a crack and peeked her head out. “What?”

  “Weihnachten! Christmas!”

  “Little late for Christmas, don't you think?”

  “Better late than never,” Sadie said.

  It was, in a word, bounty. There were sacks of flour, corn-meal, sugar, tobacco. Two barrels of beer were immediately tapped, and coffee cups overflowed with foam. One whole plank was lined with tins of oysters, crates of apples, sacks of potatoes, and boxes of crackers. There were five smoked hams, links upon links of sausages, onions, herbs, beans, bacon, coffee, tea, and whiskey

  The wagon's master, a jovial man named Ernie, set up his scale at the head of a table and opened for business. One by one, orderly, the men of Silver Peak lined up, their pockets full of gold and coin and cash, and prepared to pay Ernie's inflated prices.

  Gloria left her cabin and took her place with Sadie and the girls off to the side.

  “Jewell always lets the men go first,” Biddy whispered. “They don't take much, don't cook much. Then she buys up whatever's left and cooks it up to sell to them later on.”

  “Smart woman,” Gloria said.

  The sun continued to spread a certain warmth, and the jovial mood of the crowd grew with each purchase. Jewell broke away from the girls and worked her way through the crowd, greeting the men, pouring beer, telling jokes.

  “Now, Sam, what're you gonna do with that coffee? From what I hear, your coffee'd make a horse go blind. Bill, you know you need an onion to go with them sausages. What's this, Mason? My whiskey ain't good enough for you, you gotta buy your own?”

  The men, slicked and dandy, blushed and hemmed and hawed under her attention. The same men who thought nothing of tossing her a twenty-dollar gold piece before heading upstairs with Sadie turned into jelly when Jewell tickled their chins and called them handsome. Gloria envied her ease in conversation.

  Jewell's whiskey-rough voice was such’ an integral part of the party's noise, Gloria's attention was drawn when it abruptly stopped.

  Two people—a man and a woman—had slipped into the supply line. The man was well over six feet tall with shoulders broad enough to span a doorway. His hair, parted down the middle, hung nearly to his shoulders. He clutched his hat in one hand; the other hand rested on the back of a woman who could only be his wife.

  “MacGregan," Jewell said in a tone of extreme, exaggerated politeness. “Mrs. MacGregan.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Gunn,” MacGregan said. Gloria detected a faint Irish brogue in his voice. The wife said nothing.

  “You don't make it down here too often,” Jewell said, seeming to enjoy his discomfort.

  “Been cooped up in that cabin too long,” MacGregan said. “Never know how long a warm spell like this is gonna last.”

  “It is nice, isn't it? Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, no thank you. I'm not a drinkin’ man.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. I forgot. Perhaps some tea for your wife?”

  “That would be—” He was interrupted by a brief, fierce shake of his wife's head. “No, but thank you.”

  “All right then.” Jewell reached up to give MacGregan a hearty pat on the arm—much to his wife's obvious consternation—before taking up with a. group of four men who needed her to settle some kind of bet.

  “Who is that?” Gloria asked Sadie.

  “John William MacGregan. He and his wife got here about a year ago. They have a cabin pretty far up the mountain. Don't come down here much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Can't you guess?” Sadie said. “The wife. Look at her, the prude. I suspect she doesn't care much for us.”

  “How does Jewell know him?”

  “I think she knows him from before she got here. Maybe he has some wild, mysterious past.”

  “The wife doesn't look too wild.”

  Mrs. MacGregan was tall, though not as tall as Sadie, and thin. Gaunt, really. She wore a heavy dark coat, and her narrow face popped out of it like a pale flame. Wisps of black hair clung to her cheeks. Most of the party had abandoned their heavy wraps, but Mrs. MacGregan not only wore hers, but continued to clutch it close to her. Gloria noticed something familiar in the posture and leaned over to tell Sadie.

  “She's pregnant, too.”

  “You think so?”

  “Look at her,” Gloria said.

  'You are right,” Sadie said. “Poor thing. She looks so sickly, too.”

  “You should talk to her, offer to help.”

  “But of course,” Sadie said, “Then maybe we'll drink some tea and tell each other secrets.”

  “Listen,” Gloria said. “She's going to need a midwife.”

  “All right,” Sadie said, “but you go with me to talk to her.”

  Mrs. MacGregan's eyes narrowed with each step Gloria and Sadie took. Finally, she took a step back as if to hide herself behind her massive husband.

  “Mrs. MacGregan?” Sadie spoke to the woman as if she were a child hiding in a coal closet. “Hello, Mrs. MacGregan. My name is Sadie, and this is Gloria.”

  Sadie held out her hand, but Mrs. MacGregan made no attempt to take it.

  “Katherine,” John William said, “don't be rude.”

  Katherine MacGregan emerged from behind her husband and offered the women a timid hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said without unclenching her teeth.

  There was an uncomfortable beat of silence, the four of them standing, staring. Sadie rocked back and forth on her heels. Gloria looked just past Katherine MacGregan up into the trees dripping with melted snow.

  Sadie took a deep, deep breath. “So, Mrs. MacGregan, when are you due?”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice was full of indignation.

  “She's askin’ about the baby,” John William said. He turned to Sadie. “This spring. Probably April.”

  “Gloria is due in March,” Sadie said, pointing to Gloria's obvious mound.

  “Well, congratulations.” John William's voice was tinged with discomfort, but it seemed to stem from embarrassment rather than disapproval.

  Gloria tried to coax a smile of camaraderie from Mrs. MacGregan, but was disappointed.

  “I just wanted you to know,” Sadie said, “that we are here—I am here—if you need us. Me.”

  “And why,” Mrs. MacGregan asked, “would I need you?�
�

  “I am a skilled midwife.” Sadie said.

  When Gloria looked at Sadie, she seemed to have grown another inch. The top of her head came nearly to John William MacGregan's chin.

  “When your time comes, just send your husband down, and I'll be right up to help you.”

  “That's good to know,” John William said. He held his hand out to shake Sadie's. When Sadie grasped it, though, Mrs. MacGregan slapped Sadie's hand away.

  “He will not be darkening the door of your house.”

  “Now, Katherine,” John William said, his voice tinged with warning.

  “I only meant—” Sadie said.

  “I don't care what you mzant” Mrs. MacGregan said. “We don't need you or your kind.”

  “Katherine!” His voice was harsh, but then gentle as he turned to address Sadie. “Excuse her. She hasn't been feeling well. What with…well, everything.”

  “Well then, good day to you,” Sadie said. “And good luck.”

  “Good-bye,” Mrs. MacGregan said.

  “It was nice to meet you,” John William said. “Both of you.”

  Sadie turned Gloria toward Jewell's house full of smiles and laughter, but Gloria stepped back and grabbed Mrs. MacGregan's cold hand, refusing to relinquish her grip even when the woman tried to yank it away

  “Listen, Mrs. Mac—Katherine,” she said. “We're all just women here. Just women.” Her mind tumbled with more words, but something in Katherine MacGregan's face stopped her from speaking further. The vacant, dismissive stare that first greeted Gloria altered, slowly. The captive hand gave a nearly imperceptible squeeze, and Katherine's clear blue eyes emitted just a hint of warmth. Gloria thought she sensed a nod, but didn't want to force the issue or prolong the discomfort.

  “Let's go," she said to Sadie, and together they walked into Jewell's house.

  They made their way up the mountain, slowly, stopping often for Katherine to catch her breath or rest a spell on a boulder or fallen tree. He helped her as much as he could—gave a supporting arm, cleared the branches, carried the bundle of supplies—but still she complained of exhaustion.

  “I thought the trip might be too much,” John William said. “Should 1 take the supplies up and come back? Maybe carry you?”

  “Don't be foolish,” Katherine said. “1 needed to get out of that cabin. The fresh air is lovely. Just let me sit a spell here, if you don't mind.”

  He did mind, a little. He wanted to get her home and settled, safe and comfortable. She didn't look well. The brisk afternoon air did nothing to add color to her pale, sunken cheeks. Her breath was coming in short, shallow spurts. But he settled himself on a fallen tree trunk, she on a wide/smooth rock. They sat, still and quiet, the surrounding branches heavy with melting snow.

  “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 chi
n. 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.