by Raina King
Nora unloaded the basket one-handed while she held Gwen, curled up on her chest, her sweet little head resting on Nora’s shoulder.
“You came!” Louise said, setting her own basket on the table, then glancing at the three children who trailed behind her. “You children go run and play—and keep an eye on Mary.”
“Of course, I came,” Nora grinned. “I told you, I couldn’t wait.”
Confusion passed over Louise’s eyes. “Oh! But I thought Arlen said…” she trailed off.
Nora frowned. “What did Arlen say?”
“Nothing. I—”
“Louise Barclay, you tell me right now,” Nora warned.
Her friend sighed. “Stanley said that Arlen told him that you weren’t feeling well, and you probably wouldn’t be making it to the social today.”
Nora gasped. “You can’t be serious!”
“You haven’t been sick, then?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Please, don’t say anything. It’ll get back to Stanley, and he’ll be furious that I said anything. He and Arlen still have to work together, and it would be awkward if I caused a fight between you two.”
“You wouldn’t be the one causing it—but I promise, I won’t mention it.” Nora was getting tired of having to swallow her anger and resentment, but at least this time it was for a good cause.
“Robert!” Louise called, leaning to look around Nora. “You put your sister down, you hear! She is not a wheelbarrow!” She flashed Nora an apologetic look. “I have to go set that boy straight. We’ll talk more, later.”
Nora watched her friend stalk off toward her oldest son, who was standing beside a now-crying Mary, who had tumbled to the ground from the rough play. Eight-year-old Robert held his hands up in protestation of his innocence.
The scene made her laugh, and she turned away to finish unpacking the food. Arlen had already disappeared, off to talk with the men gathered near the back door of the church. She was glad—she needed to cool off before speaking with him again. I’d like to just avoid him all day, she thought. In fact, she wished she could. She imagined how much fun she’d have if he wasn’t watching over her every move.
Soon her imagination was off and running, and in her mind she was having all kinds of interesting conversations, listening to hilarious jokes, and making new friends. She had to shake off her imaginings and force herself to mingle with the other women, reminding herself that she didn’t have to settle for imaginary friends and conversations today.
**
Arlen stood listening to Stanley Barclay go on about the new sluice he bought for his claim—but his attention wasn’t really on his friend. It was on Nora.
He watched as she made her way through the crowd, stopping here and there to take part in conversations. She swayed and patted Gwen on the bottom, to keep the baby happily snoozing on her shoulder. When Gwen started to fuss, one of the older girls came up to Nora, and Nora handed the baby off to the girl, who seemed thrilled to be able to cradle the baby in her arms.
A few seconds later, he noticed Nora was still swaying, and it made him smile—he wondered if she knew she had already developed that motherly habit. He’d seen other women from church doing the same thing—even women whose youngest children were old enough to run.
It was sweet, the way Nora had slipped into the role of mother so easily. She was good at it—kind and patient, even on the nights when Gwendolyn kept her up, walking the floors. Those were the times he admired her the most—how she’d stay up with Gwen all night, then get up before dawn to start the fire in the woodstove and make his breakfast. She’d be dead on her feet, but she never complained.
Watching her do the “motherly sway” as she stood talking with the other women, the thought came to him as quiet as a breeze.
I love her.
It startled him, and he shifted his gaze back to Stanley, who still prattled on. He nodded once, to make it look like he was still listening, but his thoughts were on Nora.
He loved her. When had that happened? He knew he’d cared for her almost from the first, and that caring grew over the months of knowing her…living with her…being intimate with her. It had been a strange thing, being intimate with a woman he didn’t love—he and Sylvie had been sweethearts since their school days.
But he’d known that would be a part of marrying a woman you’d met through a newspaper advertisement. They had grown comfortable with each other rather quickly, and Nora was with child before he could even really call her a good friend, as far as his feelings went.
Yes, he’d grown to care for her over time—a great deal, he knew, or he wouldn’t be so worried about her leaving. But love? It had crept up on him, until it just was.
He loved her.
And she was talking with another man.
His heart jolted. She was standing alone, a few feet away from where the girl was still holding Gwen. The other women had left, and now Nora was talking with—what was his name? Erikson. That’s it.
Theo Erikson had lost his wife two years before in childbirth. What’s he doing talking to my wife? Arlen had never been a jealous man, but he couldn’t stop his blood from boiling as he watched Nora talking and laughing with another man.
When was the last time she smiled at me that way? When was the last time we laughed together? Did he have any reason to fear that Nora would be interested in Erikson—or any other man?
She didn’t seem to be flirting…then again, she was laughing…and Arlen couldn’t help noticing that Erikson’s eyes never strayed from Nora’s face. Life got to be pretty lonely for a man all by himself in the Colorado mountains—Arlen knew that first hand. Women were scarce, and it wasn’t unheard of for a man to entice another man’s wife away from him, with the promise of a better life, or more attention.
He excused himself abruptly from the conversation with Stanley and two other men, and wound his way around the tables, toward Nora. By the time he got there, a woman had joined Nora and Erikson. Arlen was half relieved, and half irritated—he had wanted to listen in on their conversation.
What’s wrong with you man? Get ahold of yourself? You’re acting like a fool! But he couldn’t seem to stop his feet from edging him closer toward his wife. He grabbed a plate and made his way down the food table, appearing to inspect each dish, while he listened.
Ida Walker—the woman who had joined the conversation—was a lady Nora had spoken to at church once or twice, but hadn’t had much of a chance to get friendly with.
“I’m so glad you’re coming to church again,” Ida said. “We missed you all winter. I was beginning to think you’d left the faith!” The woman laughed at her own joke.
Nora’s head dipped down, and Arlen felt a surge of guilt—he could tell even from behind that the woman had embarrassed her. And it was his fault. “Uh…well…Arlen was worried that I’d slip on the ice and snow. He was worried for the baby.”
“But…” Ida looked away, to where the older girl was still holding Gwen, and jiggling her as she talked to her friends. “Isn’t she three or four months old by now?”
Arlen wanted to put the woman in her place, for making Nora feel bad. But what right did he have to be angry? It was he who had given Nora the impression that most women don’t start going back to church until a few months after a baby was born. He didn’t want her trading those nonsense books with the other women. Now he was caught in his web of lies—he could only imagine how angry Nora would be when they got home.
“Yes, she is,” Nora hedged. “It was fairly muddy up in the gulch where we live. We just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t get stuck in the mud, so we waited until the roads had dried out well for the spring thaw.”
“Well, I’ll say! The roads must have been bone-dry by the time you started attending church again.” The woman gave Erikson a strange look…but Erikson never glanced her way.
“How do you like it up in the gulch?” Erikson asked. “I haven’t been out to your place, but I heard that area
is one of the prettiest around.”
“Oh, it’s lovely. I couldn’t ask for more beautiful surroundings.”
“Do you have a nice view?” Ida asked.
“Yes, if you stand down by the creek, you get a sliver of a view of one of the taller peaks in the distance. It’s lovely at sunset.”
“So how do you find our town, now that you’ve had time to settle in?”
“Carville is wonderful. The people here are so kind.”
“But surely you must miss home? I can’t imagine leaving everyone I know behind, and taking a train halfway across the country, to marry a stranger!”
“I…” Nora hesitated.
Arlen’s heart seized in his chest as he waited for her answer.
“I do miss Pennsylvania sometimes. It would be nice to visit my family again…”
Arlen had heard enough. He set the plate on the table and spun on his heel, walking away, burning with humiliation. His wife had as much as admitted wishing she could go back home—and to virtual strangers, no less!
He remembered that was how it had started with Sylvie—first homesickness, then disappointment over not having a baby, then she began to complain of the isolation in the gulch, and began asking to go into town more often. He had agreed, bringing her into town as often as his job at the mine allowed. But it wasn’t enough. Not long after that, he’d come home to an empty house.
How long would it be before Nora decided she’d had enough of life in Carville, and headed back “home”, to Pennsylvania?
**
The ride home was beautiful, with the sunlight filtering through the trees as it made its journey down toward the mountains. Arlen had been quieter than usual, but Nora ignored it—he was probably just annoyed that she’d pestered him into going.
She wouldn’t let his sour mood spoil the day. Other than the prodding questions from Ida, she’d enjoyed every moment of it. She met new people that didn’t come to church regularly, or who had moved into town recently. She had even spent a good half of the day without Gwen in her arms—all the older girls reveled in taking turns and holding the “new” baby. It had been a wonderful reprieve. As much as Nora loved holding her daughter, it sometimes felt as if she spent most of the days trying to do things one-handed, while she held a fussy Gwen. She already missed the early days, when Gwen slept away most of the day.
The only real shadow cast over the day—besides Arlen’s surliness—was the realization that a year before, she would have been bored to tears with something as boring as a church social. She was shocked to realize that the very life she had run from—with the dull monotony of a housewife’s daily routine, and the boredom of charity events and church socials—had somehow become her reality.
She had fled Harrisburg in hopes of a better, more exciting life. Instead, she ended up with the same life as her friends. No, worse—because she didn’t have the finances that her friends had. As the wives of store owners and business owners, they had servants, a big, clean house, regular social events, and access to all the amenities of a large city—chief of those being an enormous library.
How did I come to this? she wondered. I left a life full of promise and opportunities back in Harrisburg in order to chase a fantasy of adventure, only to end up with less than I would have had if I had stayed where I belonged. She felt like a foolish schoolgirl.
It wasn’t that she found nothing to like in Carville—as she’d told Ida earlier, though she missed Pennsylvania sometimes, she considered Carville to be her home now, and Gwen and Arlen to be her family. The town was lovely, the landscape was beautiful, and the people were welcoming and kind. She enjoyed the fresh air and open space, and though dramatic events never seemed to happen outside her doorway as she had hoped, she had found moments of quiet beauty when she took walks outside.
But the isolation had taken its toll on her. She had thought she’d get into town far more often, and by the time the first winter snows had arrived she was already feeling lonely. But as winter had worn on, Arlen’s obsession with keeping her home had grated on her. Prior to that, she had thought she was growing to love him. There were so many admirable qualities about him, and she loved nothing more than to curl up in his arms each night, and talk about the future. But his attitude had shifted somehow—he wasn’t the same man she had married. Or was he? Had he just hidden his true self from her? She wasn’t sure.
As they drove up the winding mountain road toward their claim, Nora was all too aware of Arlen giving her the cold shoulder. She continued to ignore it. She was having a hard enough time pushing away the melancholic thoughts she was having. All she wanted to do was reclaim the happy feelings she’d had while they were at the social.
She kissed the top of Gwen’s head and snuggled her closer. At least I have Gwen, she thought. All her dreams may have vanished, but she would always have her daughter.
Chapter 5
Weeks later, Arlen was still avoiding Nora. She had asked him on several occasions what was wrong—whether she had said or done something, or if she had somehow neglected him in some way.
His answer was always the same; nothing was wrong.
She didn’t believe him. It was far too obvious. He was leaving early and staying late at the mine. When he finally came home, he’d work until dark, mining their claim or doing other work around the property. Despite the extra hours of work, he wasn’t finding any more silver ore than usual, and that only served to raise his ire more.
The isolation was taking its toll. When she asked to go into town, he refused. They went in for only one supply run in the month after the social, and Arlen had prevented her from socializing with anyone when they were in town. She felt like a prisoner in her own home.
The one day she walked down to Louise’s house, Arlen had gone on a tirade, complaining that she was shirking her responsibilities and it was her job to be home taking care of her daughter and the house. He’d left her in tears and gone out to work on repairing the sluice.
Nora found herself crying every day. Her misery was taking a toll on Gwen, as well, because Gwen seemed more fussy and demanding, which only added to her stress.
The tender Arlen—the one who made her laugh and surprised her with little things he’d made or brought her wildflowers—was gone. In his place was a surly stranger, who Nora didn’t even want to share a bed with at night, much less a lifetime together.
Is this why Sylvie left? she wondered. Did he isolate her from the world, until she couldn’t stand it anymore? Nora believed that marriage was forever. Not only was divorce a shocking and unseemly thing to contemplate, but she knew it wasn’t right in the eyes of God. She knew some women had husbands who beat them, or drank, or gambled—she’d read of such things in her books—so what right did Nora have to complain, because her husband wanted her to stay home and keep the house?
But it was more than that. Arlen was only getting worse. He was miserable, and inflicting misery on her. Maybe he regrets marrying me, she thought one day, as she sat by the window stitching up a hole in one of Arlen’s shirts. Maybe he realized that he was happier alone, but he’s too afraid to ask me to leave.
Nora stared out the window, her sewing repairs forgotten, and imagined what might happen if Arlen did ask her to leave.
She imagined herself crying, looking at the train ticket he had thrust in her hands. Would she argue? Or merely turn away and begin packing? She wasn’t sure. If things had come so low, she would probably assume there was nothing she could say to change his mind. She would turn away and pack.
She imagined herself packing her things, and then all the tiny clothing she had stitched for Gwen. She would cry for the pain she knew her daughter would feel at the loss of her father. But there was no way she would leave Gwen behind—surely Arlen would know that, if he bought a ticket to send her away.
She imagined herself getting on the train, and holding Gwen in her arms as the train chugged slowly away from the platform. How many miles would it be before those tear
s stopped? Then she imagined the many strangers who would stop and offer her comfort, and keep her company along the way. Old women who would coo and smile at Gwen, and older men who would give Nora a grandfatherly smile and pat her on the head, and say you’ll be alright, your family will take good care of you, I’m sure.
Would they? she wondered. Would her mother welcome her with open arms? She had been quite upset when Nora announced she was becoming a mail order bride. Tears and threats and begging ensued over the next few months, but Nora had been moved by none of it. Over the last year of letters, her mother and father had forgiven her, but how would they react if she showed up on their doorstep, forsaken by her husband?
Or what if I turned up by my own will, unable to take life with Arlen anymore? She gasped aloud, then covered her lips, glancing around as if to make sure no one could have overheard her thoughts. Then she laughed. She was alone in a cabin on the mountain—there wasn’t likely a soul around for miles, except for Gwen.
I need to get ahold of my thoughts. I’ve spent far too much time making up stories in my head, or having conversations with people who aren’t here with me. If I don’t rein myself in, I’m going to get myself into trouble.
But only a minute later, she found herself thinking again of what life would be like back in Harrisburg, in her parents’ large and comfortable, and a library only a short walk away.
Soon, she was humming as she stitched.
**
A week later, Arlen decided to go home early. Well, not early, he thought. He’d been looking for excuses to stay late, volunteering to do all the little jobs of shutting things down at the mine, putting equipment away, and anything else the bosses would allow. When he could, he’d stay and chat with some of the men. Sometimes they’d stick around, pulling out a hidden jug of whiskey and passing it around.
