‘Have we sent your father to look for him? Have we any means of contacting him?’ Mother replied. Her voice had the distinct curtness of someone trying to hide panic.
‘Father has been looking for him all morning. The groomsmen have no idea where he could be.’
‘Then it’s done’ Lillian said ‘Please, Clara, apologize and send everyone home’. Lillian’s mother looked shocked at the coolness with which her daughter spoke. Lillian herself was somewhat shocked. Her nimble, slender fingers seemed to move without her as she unpinned her white lace veil that had belonged to her mother and before that her grandmother. The lace was damaged in parts, the intricate flowers frayed and unwinding. Her face without the veil suddenly seemed stark and blank. Her blue eyes were wet and red rimmed, but she didn’t look hysteric. It was important for a young lady not to let her sentiment overtake her, her governess’ voice echoed in her head from years ago. Lillian’s blonde hair was off her face in tight, shiny ringlets. She pulled away the remaining blossoms as though they were pieces of lint. Even her dress, which had been months in the making, seemed tarnished and worn looking. The satin ribbon seemed gaudy. She longed for her comfortable blue dress at home. She wanted to be cloaked in it, hide herself from the world. A bitterness in her head would have preferred if he was dead. Then she could mourn him and be a figure of a respectful sort of pity, which would be some sort of improvement.
It took what felt like an age for the small chapel to empty out. Full of coloured light from the stained glass windows and scented of incense and flowers, it still felt familiar and comforting when Lillian stepped out into it. She took a deep breath, running her hand over the smooth lacquered wood of the pews. Even the minister was gone. Lillian was certain he would have stayed to give her some words of counsel or even scorn. Any words at all would do. A knock sounded out from the large wooden doors and Lillian was almost certain she felt the echo of it clack against the vaulted ceilings and then back against her skin. It was her father, looking as if he was containing a rage too big for his body. He kept his mouth in a straight line, as if to seal it away from her. Lillian knew this was only temporary. That rage would come towards her slowly and then all at once, like a thunderstorm.
The carriage was waiting outside, the two horses kicking their hooves against the dusty ground. It was painted black and glinted in the sunlight, its heavy velvet curtains keeping the inside cool. The carriage was her father’s pride and joy. Lillian knew that even now as he helped her inside it on this terrible day, he still felt a faint burst of excitement at the intricately carved door handles. Lilian sat with her head down and her hands folded carefully in her lap. The three sisters were somewhat squashed together facing their parents, but no-one spoke or tried to move. They reached their house after about an hour, its large looming figure rising out from the hills.
It struck Lillian that she had no idea how her family had money or how her wedding was paid for. It had all happened so far above her and she was overcome with a sense of helplessness and naiveté that made her feel nauseous and angry at herself. How could she have been so foolish? Why hadn’t she tried harder to hold Benson’s interest? Lillian was beautiful but she failed at most of the indicators of talent in a young woman her age. She was terrible at the harpsichord, her handwriting had been described by even gentle Margaret as chicken scratch and she was told she made too much eye contact. Lillian, beneath her blonde hair and doll like eyes, was astute, logical and often came off as arrogant with men. Defiant, she had hoped and prayed with all her heart that Benson was different. That Benson genuinely loved her for her, not for her family or any silly set of societal standards of what made a good wife. She had laid in bed, dreaming of the deep conversations they would have and Benson’s unwavering love for her. She knotted her fingers together as she thought of this, turning her knuckles white. As the carriage drew to a halt she tried to brace herself for the outside again. The sweet smell of the humid air washed over her as she felt her shoes crunch on the gravel underfoot. Everyone was still silent. They moved towards the house as if none were aware of each other, as if they were just pieces of dust floating in the same shaft of light.
Chapter Two
The days after the wedding Lillian barely left her room. Her wedding dress was carefully folded in a large box and wrapped in crepe paper as she couldn’t bear the idea of hanging it anywhere she would have to look at it. Lillian’s room was a soft pink colour with warm wooden floors. The huge window gave her a view of undulating hills and in the past she could have spent hours reading on the deep sill. Lying in bed with her covers up over her head she felt as if that girl was a lifetime away. Her sisters regularly came in to check on her but each time she sent them away, partially because she didn’t know what to say to them but also because half of her feared she might somehow infect them with what had sent Benson away. She tried to keep the thought buried at the very pit of her skull, but it reared up each time. She had been handed the letter very quietly by her favourite maid, Abbie. Written on thick, cream paper that felt coarse and heavy in her hands, Benson had sent her a short letter. Barely filling up the entire page, it explained that he simply didn’t feel ready for marriage and that he was heading elsewhere to find his fortune. This adventurous, modern spirit that had so attracted Lillian to him in the beginning now just made her tongue feel like lead in her mouth. Was she not enough of an adventure for him? Would she have hampered his travels? Did he see her as just another girl who would do anything for a husband, one he could replace with any number of other girls? The nonchalance of his cruelty hung over her like bad dream. She lay there ensconced in soft cotton sheets trying to sleep, find her way back to the dream and rewrite it.
Benson’s heartless behaviour stung all the more for a reason that he wasn’t even aware of. Beneath all the sheets and her nightdress, there was a swell in her stomach that was gradually becoming impossible to ignore. Even before the wedding, she had been terrified the dress wouldn’t fit. She had done her best to tie her corsets as tight as possible, praying it wouldn’t harm the baby but too frightened of her family’s reaction not to try cover it up. She had hoped that once they were married, everyone would be too caught up in the joy of a new married couple with a new baby to do the sums. Instead, here she was. Barely 19 years old, abandoned by a man she thought was her true love and almost 5 and a half months pregnant. The only person who knew was Abbie, who in the early months had cared for her when she was sick but asked no questions. She longed to wrap herself up in that solid silence that demanded nothing of her and made no judgements. Instead felt raw and exposed.
Later that evening she called Abbie aside, feigning a sudden burst of energy and asked her if she would like to walk the grounds for a spell. As they drew far enough away from the house, she paused.
‘Abbie, I have a favour to ask of you and you know that it is of the utmost importance that you do not utter a single word to another soul’
Abbie nodded gravely. Abbie was some years older than Lillian, with a kind, round face and glowing skin. She often wondered if Abbie didn’t want to find her own husband and family, but she was always afraid to ask for fear of offending.
‘I need you to go to town and send a telegram to the Bodie Post in California. What I want sent is on this card. It’s urgent, take the carriage and if anyone asks say I sent you for something from the chemist.’
Lillian’s eyes were wild with fear. This was an insane idea, but frankly it was the only one she had. Lillian’s home town in Georgia was tiny, with far more women than men. She didn’t have a hope of finding anyone else nearby before the baby came. She pressed the telegraph fee into Abbie’s hands and sent her on her way. Abbie said little, but was quick to begin walking back towards the carriage. Lillian stood beneath the huge peach tree she had played in as a child and felt slightly stunned. The sun beat down on her and the earth felt like it was rumbling under her feet. In reality it was Lillian herself, her whole body shaking imperceptibly with fear. Soon the lette
rs would begin to arrive and she would have to go on the greatest journey of her entire life, all on her own.
Chapter Three
There had been three main contenders for Lillian, but she knew that there was little time to be picky. She settled on a man who ran a small ranch farming cattle. He had originally come to California during the Gold Rush, but then that had tapered out and he had settled into farming. He described himself as a serious, hardworking man of 40 years of age and considerable means. That was important to Lillian. Once she got all the way to California, she needed someone who could support her. His picture showed a handsome man with a strong jaw, but it was hard to tell much more. His letters indicated a man with a good turn of phrase and a thoughtful manner and this further solidified her decision that he was her best option. Come this time next week, she would be his bride.
When she had explained her plan to her mother and father, they were initially horrified. Her mother had wept and her father ranted about how dangerous California was, how it was completely improper for a young girl such as herself to travel by rail to marry a man none of them had ever met before. Their initial reluctance was quickly assuaged when Lillian confessed about her pregnancy. Her father could barely stand to look at her. Sitting beside her cases in the station, watching the dust roll past, she wondered if she would ever be able to forget the disgust in his eyes. His fears for her safety and well-being melted away and were replaced with a growing fear of shame. In her heart of hearts, Lillian knew he was probably only thinking of his other two daughters, who would struggle even more to find suitable husbands if it emerged that their sister had fallen pregnant outside of wedlock and then been abandoned. In practice however, his callousness only compounded the betrayal she had felt by Benson. Her heart felt hardened and disillusioned. She clasped her fingers in her lap, her white gloves pristine and kept her eyes firmly on their lace edges. Her ticket was safely stowed in her smallest case. Lillian was terrified of the number of transfers she would have to make. It hadn’t dawned on her when she first came up with her plan that there wasn’t a direct route from where she lived to California and in fact she would have to take seven or eight different trains. It would be almost a full week before she arrived, hopefully intact, at her destination. Watching the shadow of the curly wrought iron decorations around the roof of the station, she repeated the names of stations in her head over and over like a prayer.
Eventually her train arrived. As an attendant took care of her bags, she stepped off the platform and into the rectangular carriage. The red surface of the outside of the train was not dissimilar to the paint on her father’s train and this sent a surge of homesickness through her. She looked around the carriage, flooded with light, and chose a small booth towards the end. She drew shut the tiny wooden panel door and took a deep breath, letting her head sink into her hands. The seams of her bonnet itched against her skin and her hair was pulled too tight. Her green silk dress made a pleasant rustling sound when she moved. She wondered what the fashions would be like in California, would she be able to read the same periodicals and see the same fashion plates. Lillian had always prided herself on being well dressed, but possibly that wasn’t what the wife of a rancher did. She just couldn’t be sure.
The country rolled by before her. For the first few hours, the speed of the train and the images which rolled by seemed somewhat overwhelming and she drew the sheer curtains to try to steady herself. After a while she began to settle into the rhythmic sounds and movements of the train carriage. This was certainly an escape from it all. She moved her hand over her stomach, trying to sense where it bulged or had changed. At the back of her mind was a faint hope that at one of the stations she would suddenly run into Benson and either nonchalantly walk by him as he remembered his deep love for her or alternatively, that she would cause an unholy scene and embarrass him in front of everyone in his new life. As each station passed, the fantasy changed. In some, they were travelling together, to start a new life. In others, she was a child again and none of this had happened. Each time the train pulled into a new station, dusty and lonely, and she was still the same person.
It took almost a week for Lillian to reach California. The journey had been incredibly uncomfortable and the novelty of the passenger train wore off very quickly. She had only managed one night’s sleep at a small inn about 3 days in. Beyond that, she had had to make do with frequent, fitful naps in different booths. It had also been frightening – she was on most trains, the only woman and most certainly the only young woman travelling alone. The further west she got, the more lecherous the men became. One man old enough to be her father even whistled at her as she purchased a novel to read on the train from a local vendor. The more of these men she encountered, the more fearful she grew about her decision. Even if this prospective husband was as nice as his photo, what if she was never able to leave the house because everyone else was so dreadful? When she disembarked the final train after spending hours crying, she was instantly overwhelmed by the arid heat and the commotion and fainted right there on the platform, her dress blooming around her like flour dropped on a board.
Chapter Four
She awoke in the cool station house to a very concerned station master, a matronly looking woman and another man in the background who Lillian recognized to be her fiancé. As the room swam into sharper focus she immediately began to straighten her dress and her hair, profusely apologizing for being such a trouble. The matronly woman smirked at her, but not in a way that made Lillian feel unwelcome.
‘You’re not the first young lady we’ve had swooning at our doorstep, don’t you fret’ her tone was warm and welcoming, like a mother finding her children up to mischief ‘My name is Edie’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you’ Lillian stumbled ‘My name is Lillian Sanders’
‘What a delight’ Edie smiled ‘Now I believe we have an introduction to make!’
‘This here is Doc Webber’ she said, gesturing towards the man in the back of the room. As he stepped forward into the light she could recognize the strong jaw from his picture. He was tall, surely over six foot and built like a house (as Abbie would say). His eyes were the colour of the cognac her father and his friends used to drink.
‘Pleased to meet you Miss Lillian’ he said, his voice warm and rumbling. She stumbled through her introduction, feeling awkward and afraid. This wasn’t exactly how she had pictured meeting him and she had hoped to get a chance to wash up. The dust which seemed to coat everything in sight made her feel like there was no point in ever washing anything again.
‘If you have your things we can make our way to the house,’ Doc said rather firmly, interrupting her thoughts which were running so quickly and tangled in her mind. She nodded, gesturing to the cases which someone had neatly piled up in the corner. He picked up the two largest cases and handed her the smallest one. They waved goodbye to Edie and the stationmaster and headed back out into the sun. Lillian found herself hoping that wherever Doc lived it wasn’t too far away from the station and she could go back and talk to Edie again.
Outside the station was a black and red mountain wagon with four large wheels. Unlike her father’s carriage, this was open and made for a very bumpy ride. Lillian found herself clutching the sides for balance as they made their way towards the house. The town itself was small, but busy. There were several shops and taverns that seemed to have people constantly milling in and out. This was somewhat of a comfort to Lillian. Regardless of whether she and Doc got along, at least she would be able to make friends. Doc was relatively silent on the journey, only speaking to warn her of an upcoming turn or jolt. She was unsure of whether he would be irritated if she tried to make conversation, her mother had always told her that men preferred their wives to be quiet and amenable, but who knows how universal that was. As they drew up to the house, Lillian felt herself relax as she saw that his home was not dramatically unlike her own and certainly a world away from the ramshackle farmhouse she had been expecting. Two stories
tall and surrounded by a generous porch, the house was clad in wooden panels and surrounded by lavender. In the corner of the porch lay a very old, sleepy Collie.
‘That’d be sage. He’s too old to work now but I keep him around for company,’ Doc smiled.
The inside of the house wasn’t exactly beautiful but it was tidy. There were too large armchairs in front of a fireplace decorate in green tiles. Over the mantle was a Crucifix and on the mantle was a small, black wind up clock. The floors were warm and full of knots, not unlike the floors at home. In front of the fireplace was a large, patterned carpet that was beautiful if somewhat out of style with the rest of the house.
‘I suppose a tour is in order. This is the salon, I know it’s not much but I suppose you can bring the woman’s touch it’s been looking for. The kitchen is through here and the pantry is that door there. I keep it fairly well organized but feel free to change it as you wish’
He ran through the various ins and outs of the kitchen, where everything was and where to buy food in the town, what he liked to eat. Lillian very quickly began to get the sense she was little more than hired help, but she tried to quell this indignation as much as possible. Regardless of where she had come from or who she used to be, she couldn’t ask to be treated like royalty anymore. If Doc wanted her to run his house, then that is what she would do. They climbed the stairs to the landing. The walls had several pictures hanging on the walls of what must have been Doc’s family but there were also small icons of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. The walls were painted a warm yellow.
[2015] Cowboy for Christmas Page 27
