by Lucy Evanson
Cora screamed as she buried her face in the crook of her arm. She was holding on to the tree trunk as tightly as she could, the bark rough and sticky with sap against her face, the wind ruffling her hair. There was no noise to be heard. No scream, no cracking wood, no horrible thud rising up from below. The tree swayed gently, as if rocking her, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and look down.
Emma had fallen far, but she had not hit the ground. She was draped over a branch well beneath Cora, her arms and legs hanging freely as if she were a rag doll that had been discarded.
“Emma! Are you okay?” Cora yelled.
Emma didn’t move. Cora began to work herself down the tree as quickly as she could, dropping branch by branch until she landed on the same limb that was now supporting her cousin. Cora could see bloody scratches covering her face and a large bump already forming on her temple.
“Emma?”
Her eyes fluttered open and she turned to look at Cora with wide, tearful eyes. “I thought for sure I was dead.” She hooked her arms around the branch and managed to swing one leg over as well. She began to push herself along, slowly heading for the trunk, and Cora stepped to a side branch to get out of the way. Emma’s eyes were closed as she felt her way along, squeezing out tears as she got closer and closer. When she had finally put her arms around the tree, she sobbed as if she had just found a long-lost sister.
“Can you climb down?”
Emma took only a glance down before closing her eyes again and pressing her forehead to the bark.
“No,” she croaked. “I can’t do it.”
“Well, we can’t stay up here,” Cora said. “You have to try.”
“I said I can’t! Go get my mom!”
“Emma, what’s she going to do? She can’t get up here. You’ll have to climb down.”
Emma shook her head fiercely, eyes still closed and leaking tears. Cora looked down, trying to see the ground through the branches. They were still much too high to jump, and if Emma’s dad had to come in from town to get her down, Cora was sure that she’d somehow end up getting her hide tanned because of Emma’s clumsiness.
“Emma, I’m going to help you,” she said. She let herself down to the next branch and reached up to take hold of Emma’s wrist. “Come down here,” Cora said. “See, it’s not far at all.”
Emma opened her eyes only for a second, but it was long enough for Cora to see real terror. “I can’t let go,” Emma whispered.
Cora grabbed her cousin’s ankle. “Okay, don’t let go,” she said. “But just move your foot like this. I’m going to put it on the branch down here.” She guided Emma’s leg down until it made contact with the wood, then did the same for the other. “Now just come down here. You don’t even have to let go.”
Emma slowly put her weight on the branch and shuffled her arms down the tree trunk. Cora could hear her breath racing in and out, and her cousin’s face was streaked with tears that had washed pathways through the dust on her cheeks.
“See? Easy,” Cora said. “Now we’ll do the next one.”
What had taken only five minutes to climb took easily thirty to descend, with Emma refusing to open her eyes and reluctant to loosen her grip on the tree trunk. Eventually, however, they were close enough to the ground to risk a jump.
“See? We made it,” Cora said. “We can jump down from here.”
Emma’s eyes opened and the terror had been replaced by hope. She grabbed Cora’s wrist and scrambled to the next branch lower, which had a clear shot down to the spongy, mossy earth.
“Wait, let go of me!” Cora shouted, but it was too late; her cousin’s weight yanked her backwards from her branch. Emma landed in an ungainly heap, but arose unharmed. Cora had turned as she fell and managed to throw her arm out to brace herself against the impact.
She would remember two things for years: one, the rough snapping sound of her arm breaking, unlike any noise she had heard before. And two, Emma running to the house, shouting to her mother that Cora had fallen out of the tree.
Even now, looking out at the dormant prairie grass that bowed under the wind rushing over the hills, she could almost feel a twinge in her arm. Cora turned from the veranda and looked at Emma. “I didn’t leave you in that tree. You’re my cousin. You’re family,” she said. “Family is supposed to be the most important thing in a person’s life.”
“So what’s your point?”
Cora looked down at the floor. The dark planks fit together so perfectly that she doubted even dust could filter down between them. She could see her vague reflection, a soft, faceless shape in the highly polished wood. “My point is that there’s no need for all this bad blood,” she said. “I don’t have anything against you.”
Emma snorted. “Well, why would you? It’s not my fault your life turned out like it did. But you’re right about one thing,” she said. “Look at this house. Look at the land out there! You said that family is the most important thing, right? Well, this is a place for a family, a real family! Not a…not a woman like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Take it however you like. But I know that something fishy is going on,” Emma said. The color had drained out of her face as she glared at Cora. “Am I supposed to believe that it’s coincidence that you got married just in time to collect everything? Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“I never said you were stupid, Emma.”
“Cora Rice? Married? And just in time to collect her dead uncle’s inheritance? Do you think anybody is going to believe that story?”
“I don’t care whether people believe me; I’ve got the marriage certificate to prove it. And there’s no reason you and I can’t go back to being friends, like we were a long time ago,” Cora said. She stepped closer to Emma and reached out to squeeze her arm. “After all, we’re both going to be rich in the end.”
Emma brushed Cora’s hand away as if it were an insect. “No, you’re wrong,” she said. “You’re still going to be poor, and I’m going to be very rich.”
Cora searched for some hint of softness in her cousin’s eyes, but Emma’s face was like a cold mask. “That’s not what Jack’s will says,” Cora said quietly.
“Jack’s money is going to the one who is in an honest and real marriage,” Emma snapped. “You may have fooled Mr. Clark, but you’re not fooling me,” she said. “You forget that I know you. I know exactly the kind of person you are. You’re a sinner. And what’s more, you’re a cheat.”
Cora could feel herself growing warm, but she clenched her jaw and remained quiet.
“You’re trying to steal what is rightfully mine, and I’m going to find out the truth,” Emma said. “And mark my words, the truth shall be revealed.” Her eyes darted back and forth as if she wanted to pierce Cora with her gaze.
There was the sound of the front door opening below, followed by Mike’s voice drifting up to them. “Honey pie, are you ready to go?”
“She’s ready,” Cora called. She thrust out her hand, palm-up. Emma’s lip curled back and she almost threw the salt and pepper shakers into Cora’s hand, warm and damp with sweat. Without another word, she spun on her heel and went downstairs; Cora went out to the veranda and watched as the four of them climbed aboard the wagon and set out for the road back to town.
In a minute she heard the front door open again and Nathan called for her. She returned inside, locked the door to the veranda, and met him on the stairs.
“Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Cora said.
“Mind if I look around a bit?”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
The wind had picked up again, but Cora didn’t even notice it as she took her seat on the carriage. If anything, the chilly wind felt nice against her burning cheeks. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. One day at a time, Cora. Emma will probably sleep on it and realize in the morning that she’s still going to be getting a wagonload of money. She’s not
going to cause any trouble, and even if she were so inclined, what could she prove? They were really married, and now they just had to wait on the calendar’s slow advance. Emma could do nothing.
Chapter 7
“Can I get you anything else?”
Cora looked down at the plate that the waitress had just placed in front of her. The quiche looked delightful and a wisp of steam drifted up toward her face. Cora inhaled the aroma and smiled. “Not a thing,” she said, and the waitress returned to the kitchen.
There were many things Cora liked about her landlord, but his talents in the kitchen were limited to three dishes: very good scrambled eggs, a decent baked chicken and a frightful Cornish pasty. Thus once in a while she found the need to get out to the café and have a good meal, in spite of the cost.
She tried to push the idea of money out of her head and enjoy the food, but it kept nagging at her while she ate. Two days had passed since they had been at the house, and although she had lent Nathan a couple of dollars, she knew that shortly he’d come find her, looking for more. One day at a time, she again reminded herself. The phrase had become her personal motto, though as her pocketbook grew lighter and lighter, it was becoming harder and harder to believe it.
A carriage pulled up outside the café, and when the driver jumped down to help the passengers out, the eggs became bitter in Cora’s mouth. Linda Bixby and Tess Jackson. How wonderful.
She watched as they stepped up onto the sidewalk and entered the café. Though Cora turned her face away when they stepped inside, she could hear their excited whispering and the rustle of fabric as they moved to an uncomfortably close table.
“Why, if it isn’t Cora Rice,” she heard Linda say, and Cora resigned herself to a unpleasant end to her meal.
“Hello, Linda,” she said, turning toward the other women. “Tess.”
“You know, her name isn’t Rice anymore,” Tess said, ignoring Cora entirely. “Emma said she got married.”
“You must be kidding,” Linda said. “Cora, you’re a married woman now?”
“Yes, I am,” Cora said. She took another bite of her food and chewed quickly.
“So where’s your ring?”
Cora swallowed. “We don’t have rings,” she said. “Not yet.”
Linda smirked. “You say you’re married but you don’t have a wedding ring. How odd.”
“Well, we got married pretty fast,” Cora said. “He swept me off my feet.”
“I heard tell that she’s not really married,” Tess said. “People say that she only got married to collect an inheritance.”
“No, that couldn’t be,” Linda said. “Cora, is that true?”
Cora looked across the room, trying to catch the waitress’ eye, but she was at another table with her back turned. “Look, I really just want to finish my lunch in peace,” she said, turning back to the others. “Do you mind?”
“Of course it’s true,” Tess said. “Emma told me that she only got married once she found out that her uncle had passed on. It’s all a sham.”
Linda clicked her tongue several times. “You don’t say. The poor man must be spinning in his grave.”
“Just look at the way she dresses. Have you ever seen a proper married woman show so much skin?”
“That’s a very good point.”
Cora finally got the waitress’ attention and waved her over. “I have to go,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”
“Fifty cents.”
She quickly fished the coins out of her purse and left them on the table. She stood up, pulled her shawl around her shoulders and was about to leave when Linda rose from her seat and stepped in front of her.
“Cora, it’s too bad you have to run off,” she said. “It was lovely to see you again.”
“Would you get out of the way?”
“Happy to,” Linda said. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “You know, a guilty conscience can be a terrible thing. If you ever want to talk about anything, you just let me know. It could be our little secret.”
“Just between you, me and Emma, huh?”
Linda smiled sweetly.
“Actually, there is something I’d like to tell you.”
Linda’s eyes grew slightly wider. “Really?” She moved closer. “What’s that?”
Cora laid her hand on Linda’s shoulder and leaned close, nearly putting her mouth against Linda’s ear. “If you get in my way again, I’ll put you on your ass,” she said. “You take care, now.”
Cora brushed past her and stepped out into the street, crossing to the other side before allowing herself a glance back at the café. Linda and Tess were plastered against the window, watching her like a caged lion would watch a bunny roaming freely outside.
I don’t dress like a married woman. How ridiculous. Once out of sight of the café, she stopped to look at her reflection in the window of Harold’s Shoes. The weather had warmed up slightly, so she’d been spared the embarrassment of wearing her old cloak for a while longer; Cora let her shawl slip down from her shoulders as she examined herself. Her dress did let a bit of skin show, that was true. She let the shawl drop lower. Quite a bit, actually. But then she’d needed to wear things like this to attract attention before. Perhaps she didn’t need to any longer.
A movement inside the shoe store caught her eye, and she realized that while she’d been examining herself in the reflection, Harold himself had been examining her from inside. He flashed her a grin, revealing the large gap where he was missing a front tooth, and gave her a thumbs-up before smoothing the flap of hair back down over his bald dome.
Cora shivered, more due to Harold than from the breeze blowing down the street. She pulled the shawl up around her shoulders and quickly walked down the sidewalk while she thought. She would need to dip into her emergency savings to get a new dress, but it might be worth it if it gave Emma and her friends less ammunition. And if things turned out right, her emergency savings would be a mere drop in the bucket after just a few more months. By the time she had reached the mercantile, she had made up her mind. She was getting a dress.
There was a time, only a few years ago, when Cora would have laughed at the idea of having a dress made down at the general store. She had been accustomed to her wealthier friends giving her gifts, and clothing was chief among them. Still, that was then and this is now, she thought. And if I’m looking for a dress like normal married women wear, no better place to get it than Gray’s.
Cora went inside and made her way down one of the aisles toward the rear of the store. She pulled the curtain aside and found Mrs. Gray at her table, shears in hand and a bolt of fabric in front of her. It was as if nothing had changed since the last time Cora had been there.
“You again,” Mrs. Gray said. “Another man chasing you today?”
“No, nothing like that,” Cora said. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“You need something?”
“Actually, yes,” Cora said. “I need a dress made.”
If she were surprised, she didn’t show it. “You have money?”
“Yeah, I’ve got money.”
“When do you need it?”
“As soon as you can, I suppose,” Cora said. “How long does it take?”
“Depends on the dress,” she said. “You can take a look through this catalog here,” she said, pointing to a flimsy dog-eared pamphlet on the table, “and let me know which one you want. If you can get the money to me today, I’ll try to have it done in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Cora asked. “That’s longer than I expected.”
Mrs. Gray lifted her eyes from the fabric she was cutting. “If you want to make it yourself, go ahead,” she said. “The pattern costs ten cents.”
Cora sighed, picked up the catalog and began flipping through. The pages were full of chest-hiding, shoulder-covering, throat-choking dresses of one kind or another. They all looked the same to her, equally bland and boring. Trying to choose among them was like trying to decide
whether she preferred a man with bad breath or a man with bad skin, but after a long while she had finally narrowed her choices to a prairie-style day dress and a skirt-and-blouse combination.
The curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and Cora recognized the voice before she even looked up from the pamphlet.
“Well, Cora, aren’t you a bad penny?”
Linda again.
“What are you two girls doing here?” Mrs. Gray said. Her smile was broad and genuine; it looked out of place on her. Cora watched as the women embraced.
“Just wanted to stop in and say hello,” Tess said. “We didn’t know you were busy.”
“Not busy at all,” she said. “She’s just looking at patterns,” she said, tossing her head toward Cora.
“Why don’t you step out here and we’ll talk for a while,” Linda said, taking Mrs. Gray by the arm and steering her out into the store, then whipping the curtain closed behind her.
Cora could hear the women whispering, but she tried to ignore it as she flipped back and forth in the catalog. In the end, I suppose it doesn’t really matter too much. Either one should be fine. She took one last look and then decided that she’d have the skirt and blouse made. At least that way she might be able to have some other things made as well so that she could mix and match.
She stood up and went to the curtain, pulling it aside. Mrs. Gray and the two other women were huddled together in the aisle, only separating when Cora stepped out. “I’ll take this one right here,” she said, pointing to the pamphlet.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Gray said. “You know, I completely forgot about some other orders that I have to take care of first. I can’t do this for you.”
“You’re saying you won’t make it for me?”
“Well, I can make it, but it’s going to take a bit longer than I thought.”
“How long?”
“Oh, probably around, I don’t know…four months?”
