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.
‘I know you wrote that you like to read so I thought you could use this room as a study if you wanted.’
Doc pointed her inside a small, bright pink room with a mahogany writing desk, a quill and a stack of paper. There were a few novels tied up with string on a smaller table in the corner.
‘Oh this is ever so kind of you Mr. Webber, thank you so much!’ Lillian was almost breathless with relief and excitement. Potentially she had hit upon a man who would encourage her intellectual pursuits, or at least not resent her for them. This was always her concern about Benson. While he had been happy to lecture her at length on whatever subject he was studying at the time, he was far less happy to hear when she was doing her own reading.
‘I’m glad you like it’ he smiled ‘The minister has said he can marry us this afternoon. I know it’s very sudden but I feel it’
s best’
‘Of … of course that sounds wonderful’
‘I’m not sure what clothes you brought with you but in the bedroom there is a wardrobe which you can use, I had some dresses made which may be suitable for this evening and there is some lace to do with what you wish’
Lillian thanked him further. His house might be somewhat Spartan but Lillian was so relieved that he had begun their marriage with such generosity. Her worst fear would be to be trapped out here with an intolerable man who wouldn’t let her do anything but cook and clean. She moved her hand to her stomach as if to tell her unborn child that she had found somewhere safe and happy for them.
The marriage ceremony was perfunctory at best, a world away from the spectacle of her first wedding. The witnesses were two friends of Doc and the minister’s wife. Lillian wore a lace collar on a dress he had had made for her in a surprisingly fashionable pink striped silk. She held a bouquet of lavender and daisies gathered together with a pink ribbon. Doc looked incredibly dashing in his sharp suit and white shirt, his face glowing in the stained glass light of the church. He stared deep into her eyes as if he was looking at someone he hadn’t seen in years. This was the kind of look she had once hoped Benson would give her on their wedding day, but somehow that didn’t matter. Standing there in the quiet church, a stranger in this new town, somehow she felt as if she knew this man deeply in a way which was yet to reveal itself
In what felt like mere moments, she became Mrs. Lillian Webber. There was a part of her she tried to ignore who was terrified of not knowing who that person was or what her life would look like.
Chapter Five
My Dearest Clara and Margaret,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have now spent some time here in California and it is difficult for me to capture the magnitude of the difference between here and home. I truly feel as if I have been transported to another world, not just across the country. People speak differently, act differently and there are so few women. I think most of all I miss your companionship. My sole friend here is Edie Simmons, the stationmaster’s wife, who has been an invaluable source of advice on being a good wife and fitting in my new town. There is a choir in the local church which I hope to join but I have yet to muster the courage.
However, I cannot bear to think of you worrying about me! The house is homely and warm and while not nearly as stylish as our (your?) home but it certainly has its charms. I have had to put a great deal of study into my cooking but I do think it has made a great improvement. It is quite a task figuring out what meats, spices and other goods a house needs on a day to day basis! We have a lovely dog called Sage. Though I never thought I would enjoy a pet he has most certainly had a calming effect on me and made the move more tolerable. The land attached to the house is most beautiful, there are simply fields and fields of wild flowers and I spend much of my spare time sketching. The weather is beautiful here, the heat is quite different and the dust catches in my throat sometimes. It seems almost impossible to keep things dusted.
I suppose what you are surely most interested in is what is my new husband like? I must confess he is quite handsome (I have enclosed a sketch) and very kind. He has given me my own room in which to read and a writing desk upon which I now write to you! He is a quiet, serious man who dedicates a great deal of his time to the ranch but also to his faith. The house is covered in religious paintings and crosswords and I often find myself wishing I had paid more attention in Sunday school so I could discuss theology with greater skill. I am often worried that perhaps we do not have enough in common, but Edie assures me that these things come with time. If you have any suggestions, please don’t hesitate to advise me. Margaret, I would love to hear how your studies are advancing and of course how hopefully your French has improved. Clara, by contrast, please be sure not to study too hard and enjoy some levity from time to time!
I am eagerly awaiting your response, please don’t leave out any gossip or news no matter how small!
My love to you both, and to our parents,
Lillian
Lillian looked over the letter and wondered if it sounded too glum. She would hate to think of her sister’s worrying about her from afar but equally she would do anything to speak frankly with them about how her first weeks of marriage had been. Instead she filled the letter with half-truths. She had only tried to sketch the flowers once before getting bored and Sage was one of the crankiest dogs she had ever encountered and would responded only to Doc. Doc himself was certainly kind, but he was also aloof. They ate meals together in silence and then he sat before the fire reading while she washed up. In truth, she felt more like his housekeeper than his wife. Running her fingers over the comfortingly solid key to the writing desk, she felt torn – was she simply ungrateful? This man had taken her in, a pregnant girl with little to offer, showered her with gifts and given her a home. Still, she found herself missing Benson. A cold current of grief wound its way through the anger that welled up in her day after day. She often wondered, if he came back now, would she forgive him and the answer was no but at least she would feel something towards him. Each day she made more and more of an effort to press him for conversation or affection but remained distant yet polite. It was hard to argue with that, hard to demand more.
It was also now undeniable that Lillian was pregnant. The dresses that she had brought with her did not even begin to fit her anymore and she had had to bring the dresses Doc had given her to be altered. Initially, Lillian had been terrified that Doc would throw her out once he realized that she had arrived pregnant with another man’s child, but it didn’t seem to bother him. One morning, Doc had even asked if she would like him to go buy a crib for the baby or some yarn for her to knit clothes. She was initially taken aback, this broad, rugged man first recognizing she was pregnant and then knowing what a new baby would need. She had come away from that conversation feeling lightened, as they made lists of what would be necessary and even considered baby names. His amber eyes flickered with warmth as he spoke of having always wanted a child around the ranch. These flashes of gentleness in him kept tantalizing Lillian, who longed for him to show her this tenderness in a way that felt less random than shooting stars. Lillian felt that if she just tried harder, just hit upon the right thing to say or the right way to say it, he would finally be the husband she had always longed for.
Perhaps it was the age gap, Lillian thought. Perhaps this could all be accounted for by his thinking that she was no more than a school girl and he felt that he had some duty to protect her from whatever grown men thought about. The very idea of this enraged her and she found herself pacing the kitchen in anger. How dare he bring her all this way and then refuse to engage with her? She had gone to great lengths to become the image of the perfect wife – cooking and cleaning, helping at church, giving him a child. Most men would be thrilled to have a wife as young and beautiful as Lillian! Her eyes were hot with tears, some mixture of injured pride and loneliness travelled through her body in a huge wave. She worried that if she were to face it down too long, she might run out of time to escape and drown.
Chapter Six
Doc turned the beer bottle round in his hands, listening to the hollow sounds as he tapped his nails against the glass. He rarely drank, but his mind was so full it was the only thing he could think of that might slow it down. There was no one else at the bar but himself. The barman stood at the other end, polishing some glassware. The saloon was dark and smelt like wood and sour beer. All over the walls were posters of various travelling acts who had come to play in the town over the years, all faded and scratched now. The bar owner, Albert, was an older man who had lived here before the gold rush as a farmer. He was generally an exuberant man but he had a temper everyone knew to stay well away from. His skin was reddened from years of drinking and working in the sun and his hair was always a mess. He was one of the only people Doc felt comfortable talking to, or not talking to, as the current evening was going.
Doc could
n’t bear the idea of going home. He ordered another beer and a whiskey, relishing the burn of it as he swallowed. His stomach felt gripped with guilt over what he was doing. How he was becoming exactly the kind of person she had told him not to become. In spite of everything, in spite of the beautiful, intelligent young girl surely making him dinner all he wanted to do was go back in time. On the one hand, he wanted to tell Lillian how much he admired her beauty, her sharp wit and bravery, but he found he lacked the words to come anywhere near that. He could barely manage to make small talk with her or to ask her what she might need for the baby, and even that was difficult.
Alma’s name was something he turned over and over like a stone in his pocket. He always felt her there, was always waiting for her to be round the corner, her bright smile and long, glossy hair blowing in the breeze. It was possible she was more beautiful in his memory but that didn’t matter. Even if he had one fragment of her left maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He was furious he had never thought to commission a photograph or a painting of them together. Now she blurred together with all the other faces he knew, her voice became fuzzy and non-descript. Being around Lillian seemed to speed the process up more than he had hoped, like her mere presence exerted some corrosive effect on Alma’s memory. He felt sorry for the poor girl, she was trying so hard but he just couldn’t bring himself to interact with her. She was so like Alma and worse still she was pregnant. The thought of losing someone he loved in childbirth again was simply too much to bear. No, it was most certainly a better idea to hold off in becoming attached to Lillian until at least after the baby was born, he reasoned with himself. He caught the edge of his reflection in the bar mirror and he looked older than he expected, his eyes creased with loss as though if you looked close enough you might see Alma’s face dancing in the black of his pupil. He dropped his gaze, running his hands over the back of his neck and pinching the hair between his fingers. He couldn’t stay here all night and wallow. He took a deep breath and rose from the bar. The evening felt cool and empty, the sky bursting pink up along the horizon. Walking home he watched how his feet disturbed the dust below, the gentle rustle of dusk animals beginning to emerge. The air smelled like smoke and pollen and not for the first time in his life he wondered what sort of man he would be if he didn’t live in this small, wild town. Would he be as hardened as he was, so unforgiving of himself for letting Alma die? The earth threw up no answers as the sun sank behind the edges of the hills. On evenings like these which seemed at once so rare and so constant, he felt as if he had suddenly emerged into being blank except for these thoughts and that he was doomed to stay here on these paths, missing her forever.
[2016] A Widow's Love Page 10
