by Jo Goodman
He slid his thumb and index finger across the edge of the envelope and raised his eyebrows a fraction. “There’s probably something you want to explain about that.”
Jane put three fingers to her temple again and closed her eyes while she nodded slowly. Returning her hand to her lap, she opened her eyes and settled her gaze on Morgan. “You were kind to take me to town this morning, and I want you to know that I appreciate it. I realize you had reason to be reluctant to make the trip, but you did it anyway. For me.”
Morgan merely returned Jane’s regard. His features were grave while hers were almost without expression.
“It was not a fabrication that I wanted to go to church,” she said. “But it was an excuse. I needed to go to Bitter Springs in order to speak to Dr. Kent. I wanted him to—” She stopped, considered her words. “I wanted him to examine me.”
Morgan was tapping one corner of the envelope against his knee. When Jane’s gaze flitted there, he realized what he was doing and stopped. He offered no comment about this last admission. He said, “Go on.”
“I want you to understand that no one except Dr. Kent knows the reason for my visit. I asked for directions after church, and the Bridgers and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips escorted me there.” She paused when Morgan swore softly. “I told them I wanted to talk to the doctor about Jem. They thought nothing of it, and it was true as far as it went.”
“I don’t know, Jane,” said Morgan. “I’m beginning to think that with you the truth sprints about as far as the barn and the lie walks on forever.”
“That is unfair,” she said quietly. “And hypocritical.”
The scar at the corner of Morgan’s mouth whitened as he set his lips together. His narrow smile was sardonic, and his eyes gave no quarter. He was admitting nothing.
Jane went on. “I’ve told you things here and there about my cousin Alexander. Of all the Ewings, he was the one who made me feel most like a member of the family, and I consider him as I imagine I would a brother if I had one. There is affection and love of a platonic nature, not a romantic one.”
Morgan shifted his weight on the bed. “Do I need to know this?”
Jane exhaled slowly. “Yes. And if you decide later that you did not need to know, then you will forgive me because I have a need to tell you.” She regarded him now from under raised eyebrows. “Alex loved nothing so much as a scheme, and to his way of thinking, the finest schemes were the ones that involved pulling the wool over his mother’s eyes. It is also true that Alex was often in want of money. Even after he began working in the law firm his father founded, Cousin Frances gave him an allowance. No amount would have been enough. He invariably owed more than he had.”
“Gambling?”
“Yes. That accounted for most of his debt. Women accounted for the rest. Alex was everyone’s favorite.”
“Of course,” Morgan said dryly.
Jane ignored that. “On one of the occasions that he was feeling desperate for funds, he told Cousin Frances that some female of little means and no social standing was going to bear his child. He went to his mother, declared his transgression, and explained that, naturally, he would do the honorable thing by the young woman. He would marry her.”
“It is hard not to be impressed by your cousin’s cleverness.”
“Yes, well, Alex certainly was impressed with himself. He correctly anticipated his mother’s reaction. She counseled him against marriage—forbade it, in fact—and told him she would have no more bastards in the family. A reference to my existence, I suppose. If she said it as Alex reported it to me, then it was one of the few times she acknowledged that I was family.” Examining her hands, Jane sighed. “I am sorry. That is just a footnote. As I’m sure you realize now, Cousin Frances settled money on Alex to take care of his indiscretion. Alex accepted the money and used it to pay his debt. There was no young woman, or at least not one who was carrying his child. In any event, Cousin Frances never meant for Alex to use the money to pay for the woman’s silence. She intended for him to make arrangements with an abortionist.”
Morgan nodded. He had an idea now where Jane’s story was going, but the ending eluded him. His eyes fell to her mouth. She was biting down hard on her lower lip and when she released it, he saw the only trace of color in her face was a droplet of blood. He rose, went around the bed, and handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Your lip,” he said. “It’s bleeding.”
Jane grimaced slightly as she pressed her lips together. She accepted Morgan’s handkerchief and touched one corner of it to her mouth. “Thank you.”
Morgan sat down again, this time on the side of the bed closest to Jane. “When you’re ready.”
She swept her lower lip with the tip of her tongue before crumpling the handkerchief in her fist. She tested it a second time before she spoke. “Alex was so encouraged by his success with this particular scheme that he did it two more times before he approached me. His motives were not entirely self-serving. He knew that I was in correspondence with you, and I had already told him I wanted to have my own money before I set out.” She held up two fingers when Morgan would have interrupted. “Yes, you wrote that you would send money for my ticket and expenses, but when Alex first approached me it had not yet arrived. I was never concerned that it would not, but it further impressed upon me the need to be independent of whatever you could give. And there was always the thought at the back of my mind that you would change your mind once I was here, or that I would change mine. I told you that when we talked about why I had money.”
“We didn’t talk about how you had money.”
“No. I hoped I never would have to tell you.” She offered up a self-deprecating smile. “A lie of omission, perhaps, but one I wish was still walking away.”
The truth sprints about as far as the barn and the lie walks on forever. For both of the reasons Jane had mentioned, Morgan regretted saying those words aloud. Even thinking them was unfair and hypocritical. “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“No,” she said. “You shouldn’t have, but it’s done now, and the lie stops walking here. I agreed to be part of Alex’s scheme to take money from his mother. He believed, rightly as it turned out, that if she thought I was going to be the mother of his child, she would not only pay for the abortion, she would want to buy my silence.” Almost as an afterthought, she said, “You understand there was no child.”
“I understand.”
She released the short breath she was holding. “What Alex did not anticipate was that his mother would handle some of the details herself. She gave the money to David, Alex’s older brother, and told him to make the arrangements. When Alex realized what was happening, he tried to intervene. David would not give him the money. He did allow Alex to accompany me to the abortionist, a woman of David’s choosing. Alex had no such person to call upon anyway, since every part of his scheming was a fabrication. I did not want to go through the charade, and a charade is all I thought it would be. Alex, though, is quite convincing in his neediness, and I console myself with the knowledge that I am not the only woman who has ignored her better judgment in the face of Alex’s pleading.
“David took Alex and me to a brownstone in Brooklyn where none of us were known. They waited in a front room, drinking absinthe and smoking cigars, while I was escorted upstairs. I had prepared a speech to explain the circumstances of my being there, but I never had a chance to say it aloud. I became aware of another person in the room when he pressed a rag soaked with chloroform against my mouth and nose. I clawed at him. I heard him grunt, and I had to be satisfied with that. There is nothing else to remember about my visit. I woke up in the carriage. Alex had his arm around me, and he was shouting at David. I do not recall what Alex said to his brother, but David’s reply still resonates. He said I got precisely what I deserved, and the next time Alex thought about marrying one of his whores, he should elope instead of announcing his intentions to their mother first.”
Jane’s knuckles were blood
less around the handkerchief in her fist. “I don’t think either one of them knew that I was awake or whether it would have mattered if they did. Alex attacked David. They exchanged blows, fended more off, and finally stopped when the carriage slowed. They thought they had arrived home, but it was only the driver trying to negotiate bridge traffic. Neither of them looked as bad as Jem did after he was attacked, but David had the worst of it. He did not get out of the carriage when his driver came abreast of the house. Alex helped me up the front stairs on his own. I was not steady, but I could walk. By the time we reached the door, I knew I was bleeding.”
Jane rocked her chair forward and extended her hand to Morgan. She dropped the handkerchief into his open palm. She found it peculiar that her eyes were dry. There were so many moments since leaving Dr. Kent’s that she thought she might cry, and yet she hadn’t, and she didn’t now. She was very cold, though, and what she wanted to do most of all was to go to sleep.
“I was ill with a fever for a few days. Cousin Frances would not permit Alex to send for a doctor. I do not believe she prayed for my death, but it would not have been unwelcome.” Bitter laughter bubbled under Jane’s breath. “I had my revenge. I survived. It is quite possible that she would have given me any amount of money to never mention what had transpired, but I did not ask her for any. Alex found the money to pay his debt from some other source, his sister perhaps, or maybe from the law firm. I did not want to know if it was stolen, so I did not ask when he gave me one hundred dollars. It was less than he had promised when he first approached me, but I took it and held out no hope that there would be more. I left soon afterward. I am not sure that even Alex was sorry to see the last of me.”
Jane unfolded in the rocker and set her feet on the floor. “Until I visited Dr. Kent today, I did not know what had been done to me, and I will never know if Cousin Frances sent me to that awful woman because she truly believed I was carrying her bastard grandchild or because she finally uncovered Alex’s scheming and meant to punish me for my part in it. I will also never know if the abortionist was so unskilled at her work that she could not tell that I had no child in me, or if she was instructed to make certain I never bore one.
“Dr. Kent knows virtually none of the particulars. I did not want to unburden myself to him. He knows what he saw when I asked him to examine me. He says that I should not hold out hope that I will be able to give you a child.”
Morgan did not look away from her ashen features. He ached for her. He did not know what he felt for himself beyond relief that she was not dying. That was the fear that had set up in his belly since she met him at the Pennyroyal, the one that he could not name or consider until now.
He held out his hand, palm up.
Jane looked at it, looked at him, and shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “I think I might break if I touch you now.”
Nodding, he withdrew it. “You made certain we had a conversation about children before we married. Do you remember that?”
“Yes.”
“I married you, Jane. You gave me something to think about, and I still married you.”
“But you said you wanted children.”
“I know what I said, and before that, right out of the gate, I told you I didn’t expect them exactly. I thought it would happen natural. And that means sometimes things don’t happen.” His hands curled into fists. “I reckon there is not a Ewing in New York City I don’t want to take a swing at about now, starting with the one you think of as a brother. He’d be a sight less appealing to the ladies with his nose shifted thirty degrees sideways. Your cousin Frances deserves the same, but since her nose is already so far out of joint that it creaks when she sniffs, I’d have to pop her in the mouth. Just a quick jab so she whistles when she speaks.”
Now it was Jane who stared at Morgan. Her eyes had widened fractionally. Her bottom lip was trembling.
Morgan said, “I could tear a strip off just about anyone who looked at me crossways right now, but it’s not because I’m angry with you. That’s what you need to know, Jane. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with what’s inside me except hold on to you, and since you won’t—”
Jane threw off the blanket and stood. “No, I’m good now. I want you to hold me. I do.”
Morgan was on his feet before she finished speaking. He opened his arms and Jane walked into his embrace. She laid her cheek against his shoulder, and he laid his cheek against her hair. His hands rested at the small of her back; hers were clutching his shirt.
In the beginning, she wept silently. Morgan only knew it because he felt her tears making a damp imprint on his shirt. She did not see the wetness in his eyes. He blinked it away when he felt her first shudder. It was followed quickly by great, wracking sobs that she could not muffle even when she pressed a fist against her mouth.
He held her tightly, and she held on. She didn’t break. She grieved. Morgan grieved with her, for her, and finally, for himself. He knew that because there came a time when he was aware that her sobs had quieted and that he was standing in the circle of her arms. Neither of them stirred for a long time. There was comfort in their mutual embrace, warmth, and a sense of rightness.
Over the crown of her head, Morgan saw snowflakes drifting and dancing past the windowpane. He lifted his chin and cupped her elbows in his palms. “Look,” he said, and turned her until her view was the same as his. “There will be an inch in an hour and six inches by morning if it doesn’t blow too hard. Everything will look different.”
Jane drew Morgan’s hands forward and placed them against her midriff, just under her breasts. She placed her hands on top of his and held them there. “People say that spring is renewal. I suppose that’s true, but I have always liked winter’s white blanket.”
Morgan smiled. “It is beautiful.”
“I know I might be longing for spring come February, but for now . . .”
“For now. For now it is exactly right.”
Nodding, Jane breathed in deeply.
A moment later, Morgan did the same. The air that filled his lungs seemed clearer. “What do you want to do, Jane?”
She did not answer immediately. “I want to sleep,” she said at last. “And I do not want to be alone. Will you lie with me?”
And so he did.
• • •
Gideon Welling took off his gloves, dropped them on the ground, and warmed his hands at the fire. After a moment, he hunkered in front of it to let the warmth bathe his face. Ice crystals attached to strands of his thick brown mustache began to melt. He licked his lips.
Marcellus Cooley sat similarly hunkered on the opposite side of the fire. He had his hands out, but unlike Gideon, he was still wearing his gloves. Smoke wafted in his direction. He squinted, turned his head a little to the side. The scar that cut jaggedly through his salt-and-pepper beard from cheek to chin was starkly visible in the firelight. No one took notice of it.
Avery Butterfield reached for the coffeepot, poured himself a cup, and then held it up for other takers. When there were none, he returned it to the grate. He lifted the tin cup to his mouth but didn’t drink. He sniffed instead. The heady aroma filled his lungs and expanded the breadth of his barrel chest.
Dixon Evers rolled a matchstick from one side of his mouth to the other as he contemplated whether it was worth the effort to pick up the coffeepot now that Avery had put it back. Probably not, was his determination, so he sucked on the matchstick and scratched the underside of his narrow, beardless chin from time to time.
The fire crackled. An ember popped. No one spoke. They were bone tired from the chase and cold to their marrow. Their horses snuffled nearby, nosing around in the snow for patches of grass. In its own way, the silence was wearing. Only one of them had a plan, and he was keeping it to himself for the time being. Asking for it was, well, asking for it, and a fight was probably going to get someone killed. It had happened before. They used to number five, but Cotton Branch was gone now, dropped where he stood because he
asked one too many questions. And therein lay the conundrum. There was no way to identify the question that would be one too many. It was better to ask none at all.
Gideon picked up his wet gloves and placed them closer to the fire. “Did I ever tell you about the time Morgan yanked Jackson’s ass out of the pond when he fell through the ice? Mine, too.” When they all shook their heads, he went on. “I guess Jack was about twelve. I was fourteen. Morgan must have been nine. Skinny as a rail. Morgan, not Jack. Jack was a chubby one back then. All belly and chins. He dared Morgan to cross the pond out back of our place. Jack figured he wouldn’t know where the thin parts were in the ice. Jack was like that. Always thinking about an advantage. It was late March, so there were only a couple of paths across the pond where the ice was thick enough to step.”
Gideon held out his hand to Avery and flexed his fingers. Without a word, Avery passed over his coffee cup. “Obliged,” Gideon said. The coffee was now the proper temperature to drink, and he did. “Morgan didn’t want to do it. Jack and I could see that. I thought that would be the end of it, but Jack kept needling him, calling him names until he found one that stuck in Morgan’s craw. Probably something to do with his hair. Carrot stick. Ginger pie. Match head. That sort of thing. Morgan was as touchy as a girl about it back then.
“So Morgan marches his skinny self across that pond and steps wherever he damn well pleases, and when he’s safely on the other side, he drops his pants, opens the back door on his union suit, and waggles his bony white ass at Jack. There was no holding Jack back then. I grabbed the collar of his coat, but he wriggled out, and all I had was his coat as he started off.
