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 couldn’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 somet
hing 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.
Chapter Seven
The months in the small town passed slowly. Lillian gradually moved from over eager attempts to draw Doc’s attention to cold indifference. It was autumn now and there was noticeable drop in the temperature, which was a relief for Lillian who was now so big she was struggling to get around. Between her husband’s complete lack of interest in her and being uncomfortable all the time, Lillian’s patience was wearing severely thin. She had even got in an argument with Edie simply because she couldn’t bear being told again that Doc would come round, that Lillian just had to try harder or wait longer and suddenly everything would be perfect. Although she had tried to be gracious, she found sitting alone in the house most days while Doc was out in the fields terribly lonely. She was terrified of giving birth. It was the only thing she hadn’t mentioned in her letters to her sisters because she was still unsure whether or not they had even known she was pregnant when she left. They were both so young, she hadn’t wanted to be seen to be corrupting them with her bad influence. Edie’s horror stories of death during child birth or terrible injuries or that something would be wrong with her baby filled her dreams and she woke up often in a cold sweat, Doc sleeping soundly beside her. Between that and her baby kicking and turning seemingly the moment she lay down to go to sleep, Lillian felt huge and exhausted. She spent much of her time at the local church, praying and helping with the flower arrangements. A kind old lady who played organ regularly sent her home laden with little cakes and special teas which she said were good for the baby. Lillian couldn’t be quite sure what was in them, but the heat of the ginger settled her stomach. Her study was piled high with tiny knitted cardigans and crocheted blankets as well as some toys which one of the neighbour women whose children were grown had given her. In spite of its reputation as home to nothing but criminals and men out to get rich quick, the people in the town had been incredibly welcoming to her. Their kindness made her feel even worse about wanting to leave. Staying here with Doc, she could surely build a life that didn’t need romance that could be quite happy with a relationship that was purely practical. Going home with a new-born meant bringing shame on her family and depriving herself of any chance at a marriage of any kind. She spent her restless nights laying listening to Doc’s breathing and feeling her baby kick, wondering which life would be best for them both.
One Saturday Lillian found herself cooking eggs over the stove, the oil splattering and leaving prickling burns on her hands. She had never had to cook in her old life, they had servants for that. Suddenly having to learn an entire repertoire of basics had been stressful, but she found cooking meditative, watching the eggs slowly turn white. Doc had a whole flock of hens behind the house which made happy clucking noises whenever she approached. She wondered what Benson (who had always accused her of being terribly prim and impractical) would think if he saw her now happily throwing them seed and collecting eggs each day. Doc sat at the large wooden table behind her, scribbling away at what Lillian assumed to be the ranches accounts. Lillian placed the eggs on a rose patterned plate with some toast and brought them to him. As she placed it down she bent down to kiss his cheek, only for him to jerk away as if she had just burnt him.
‘Can’t you see I’m working?!’ he hissed, slamming his hand on the papers. Lillian reeled back, frightened and angered by this unexpected outburst
‘I’m your wife! You brought me all the way out here and you treat me like the hired help! I deserve better than this!’
‘What, don’t I give you clothes and a place to live and food? Did you have a line of other suitors I was not aware of?’
His snide tone felt like a slap in the face. Her eyes brimmed over with tears and she turned to run up the stairs, the silk skirts of her dress catching as she walked. How could she possibly bear living her life with this man? How could she possibly subject a child to living with a father who was so completely cold and indifferent and a mother who would surely be miserable? The options spilled out before her like the rice she had hoped would greet her at her first wedding. They were all bad options, but she relished them as choices nonetheless. She searched the large green chest she had first arrived with and found in the lining, a small sum of money she had kept there in case of emergency. It was just enough to buy her a ticket home. Her mother and father might be ashamed of her, but they wouldn’t send her away if she arrived at their door. The letters she received were now often signed by her mother as well as Clara and Margaret. Lillian took this as a sign she was missed, if not yet entirely forgiven. She marched to the village, heaving under the weight of her stomach and placed a telegram to her home to tell them that she would be home within the week. As she gave the telegram operator her message, he seemed shocked that someone so heavily pregnant would be embarking on such a journey, but Lillian made no effort to smile or assuage his concerns. Lillian had got this far by herself, she would get back again too.
Chapter Eight
‘You can’t just leave Lillian!’ Doc shouted. The entire station was gathered around watching them. Lillian, her petite frame incongruent with her swollen belly, standing defiantly before him. In the distance, the smoke from the train could be seen rising and the beginnings of the vibrations tickled the soles of Lillian’s feet.
‘I tried to make this work and it just didn’t. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life with a man who will barely speak to me!’
Lillian’s eyes were hard and narrow, her jaw clenched making her face look angular. She had become drawn and thin over the last few months, her skin looking red and translucent. She felt as if her whole body was held up by pure rage. The betrayal by Benson, by her family who had turned on her so easily and then by Doc. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming one of those women in a completely loveless marriage, each day making her more and more bitter. Maybe she was young and naïve, but she was also the same Lillian she had always been. The same Lillian who was defiant, intelligent and ambitious. There was more for her in the world than becoming
this old, sad version of herself, even if she was a single mother. She would love her child with more heart than Doc could ever provide.
‘Lillian, wait, let me explain. This isn’t me and I’m so sorry I’ve left you feeling alone and rejected’
Lillian rolled her eyes at him and sighed. Doc drew closer to her, as if he was about to pull her back from the edge of a cliff and was worried about tipping her over.
‘I just couldn’t face it again. Couldn’t face caring about someone and then losing them again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I never told you this, but I was married before to a wonderful woman named Alma. She died in childbirth, as did our son’ he looked away and tried to regain his composure ‘It took me years to even consider being with someone again and then you came here and you’re just like her. In every way. It’s not that I don’t care about you it’s that I’m afraid I might care about you too much and then I’ll lose you.’
Doc had probably said more in that one burst than he had in the entire time Lillian had known him. His face was creased with pain and his broad shoulders rose and fell with his laboured breathing
‘If you still want to leave, then leave, but please don’t do it because you think I didn’t care.’
Lillian met his eyes, warm and glinting gold in the sun. The grief and love in them told her that he wasn’t lying, that he really did care for her. Though she couldn’t possibly understand the sadness that would accompany a partner dying, she did know how it had felt to lose Benson and to feel as if she would never be able to care for anyone again. Looking at Doc, she knew that the anger she had felt was an expression of that frustrated love that had nowhere to go. She threw herself into Doc’s open arms and they kissed for what felt like the first time since their wedding day. His strong arms wrapped round her and she felt as if nothing in the world could ever come to harm her again. She didn’t know what life with Doc would bring, but in that moment she knew that she had to trust him. Had to trust that in spite of it all, he was the man that Benson had never been, and perhaps they could save each other from the loneliness they had been struggling to outrun.
[2016] A Wanting Bride Page 18
