Silver Lining (35 page)

"Right now, my daughter is a prisoner in your mother's home. The last time she came into town was on Christmas Day. She won't come again because she rightly believes her condition will be noticed. My man Ridley informs me there are already whispers. Perhaps they originated with your mother's cowboys, or maybe Mrs. Dame, the seamstress, has been indiscreet. It doesn't matter. Sooner or later my daughter's condition will be noticed and remarked upon. If the law permitted, I would kill you for destroying her innocence and her illusions. I'd shoot you dead for placing a blot on the Houser name. As justice is denied me, I must satisfy myself by destroying you. And I will. Now get out of my office."

Wally looked up from a stack of papers piled neatly on his desk as Max strode through the lobby. He started to rise, but Max shook his head and continued toward the door. There was nothing to discuss.

Wally had known as well as he that an appeal to Houser would be futile.

Before he pushed through the heavy glass doors, Max took a moment to look back into the lobby. A short line of patrons waited before the teller's cages, but their low voices didn't disturb a reverential hush.

And though tall reinforced windows faced the street, very little light illuminated the gloom within.

He had believed he wanted to spend his days here.

When Wally stood, Max stared as if observing a stranger dressed in stiffly formal attire. He noted the gold chain across his brother's vest, a gift from Howard and exactly like the chain Howard wore. He remembered the rash on Wally's neck caused by the chaffing of his high starched collar. He studied the fulsome dark mustache that Philadelphia had wheedled and coaxed his brother to grow.

And he saw himself as he might have been, refashioned to please a woman. Dressed as a somber dandy in uncomfortable clothing and shoes and wearing an itchy mustache.

Whatever expression constricted his features caused Wally to flush deeply and turn aside, and he regretted that. Tonight, when Wally came to help Louise, Max would make things right. He would tell Wally that the right brother had taken the bank position. He would express his genuine pride in his brother's success and rapid rise and wholeheartedly wish him well. And he would silently thank God that he was not spending his days in this airless, musty countinghouse.

Once outside, he breathed deep of the fresh cold air and settled his hat on his head before he reached into his pocket and gripped the green marble. A moment later he was astride Marva Lee and heading out of town.

Every day he exercised his arm and every day his arm became a little stronger. It wouldn't relieve Louise's burden when he returned to work, and he hated that, but soon he'd be able to spare Wally and Dave.

*

Recently Livvy had taken to serving tea and toast in the parlor every afternoon at three. Philadelphia couldn't guess why her mother-in-law had decided to do this, but she was embarrassingly grateful for something to look forward to as a break in her long, boring day. Sometimes Gilly and Sunshine rode to the main house to join them, but more often, like today, she and Livvy were alone.

"Are you feeling well?" Livvy inquired, studying Philadelphia across the tea table. Livvy was an overbearing and unpleasant woman, but she had her moments. It was annoying, but kind of her to worry about Philadelphia 's health.

"Really, Mother McCord, there's nothing to be concerned about. My back aches, and it's difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position. Otherwise I feel fine."

"I know you're tired of hearing this, but I wish you would consult a doctor."

This subject again. Striving for patience, she explained her position yet another time. "First, I couldn't endure being examined by a man. Second, I don't trust Dr. Pope's discretion. Finally, I don't want to risk my condition being noticed by going into town."

"I'm deeply worried about you and the baby."

To conceal her irritation, Philadelphia lowered her head over her teacup. Livvy seldom had time to read, so they couldn't discuss literature. Her mother-in-law sewed, but she didn't do embroidery or fine work.

Livvy had little appreciation for china painting, and they had few acquaintances in common. There was little they could talk about except the baby.

"I'm quite strong, I assure you, and I feel fine." She searched her mind for a topic of mutual interest but could think of nothing.

"The thing is, you have no experience." Frowning, Livvy tilted her head to one side. "You're due to deliver in about six weeks, but anyone looking at you would assume you're two or three months from your delivery date. That's why I'm concerned."

Six weeks? Tea slopped into the saucer as she counted in her mind. She hated her predicament so much that she ignored it to the best of her ability and seldom thought about the delivery or the delivery date.

Though she knew it was ridiculous, she cherished a secret hope that if she didn't acknowledge her swelling belly, her pregnancy would disappear.

"I don't wish to alarm you," Livvy continued, hesitating. "But I feel I should mention that sometimes our first pregnancy doesn't end as happily as we would wish."

Philadelphia raised her eyebrows.

Reaching across the table, Livvy set aside Philadelphia 's cup and saucer and then clasped her hands.

"I lost two babies before Max was born. Both times I suspected something was wrong because, like you, I didn't go into maternity clothing until late, and I wasn't nearly as large as I should have been. As it turned out, both babies were weak and puny and died shortly after delivery."

She had no idea what to say. "I'm sorry."

"I mention this only because I know you must be concerned as I was. And because it might go easier if you prepare yourself for all possibilities. It occurred to me that you have no one to answer whatever questions you may have. I apologize that I've been remiss in this regard. I urge you to ask anything you like, and I'll answer as frankly as I can."

"Well, there is something… do babies always come when they're supposed to?"

Livvy released her hands and poured more tea for them both. "Not always. First babies in particular often arrive early."

"But they can come later than expected?"

"Gilly arrived ten days later than I'd calculated." She smiled. "The midwife said Gilly came close to setting a record. But she'd tended one delivery where the baby was nearly two weeks overdue. That doesn't happen often, I would say."

"I see. How long did it take you to regain your shape?"

"It took less time with each baby. Probably because I was that much busier." Livvy gazed at a point in space, smiling at memories. "We couldn't afford help in those days. I had my babies, and three days later I was on my feet again."

Philadelphia shuddered. "I've heard the mother should rest in bed for at least two weeks."

"Ideally, yes. And you should plan on that. Fortunately, you have Gilly and me to help out until you and Wally can get settled in your own home."

"That can't happen soon enough!" When she realized how insulting that sounded, she dimpled and waved a hand. "We don't wish to impose on you any longer than necessary." It was one of those moments when she suspected Livvy saw through her, but she really didn't care. She just wanted out of here.

After tea, she sat in her room beside the fireplace and considered the cradle on the floor beside the wall.

Six weeks.

Very soon she simply had to speak to Wally and her father about a house in town. If her father truly didn't want the inconvenience of living in a house with a new baby, then he could find a rental for them until their own home could be built.

Wally would object, of course. He had mentioned several times how fortunate they were to have his mother's help with a newborn. She would point out they could hire a nursemaid. He would say he needed to live out here to keep an eye on his holdings and Livvy's. She would remind him that he and Livvy shared a foreman. If more supervision was required, Wally could call on Max. Max owed him for going over there night after night after night.

The problem was she could no longer predict with certainty if Wally would do what she wanted. Initially, she had believed he would be easily managed, but, surprisingly, that wasn't always the case.

Occasionally, he turned stubborn and couldn't be manipulated to do things her way no matter what she tried. The first incidence had occurred when he insisted on helping Max and Low Down feed their cattle.

Then again on Christmas Eve when he had insisted that she go downstairs.

His refusal to do what she wanted infuriated her and made her hate him for a while. But there was also an intriguing little niggle of a challenge, as there had been with Max.

Resting her head against the back of the chair, she closed her eyes. Why, against all sense and logic, was she drawn to Max, the only man she couldn't wrap securely around her little finger? And why had fate seen fit to shackle her to another man fashioned in Max's image? In the entire county there were only two men who had ever said no to her. She was in love with one and married to the other. It was so unfair.

She stared at the cradle, and tears of self-pity slipped down her cheeks.

Six weeks.

*

In late January a warm spell sent daytime temperatures into the mid-forties. Patches of dry ground appeared, and the ice thinned on the stock ponds.

"It's been almost a week since we've had to bring any beeves into the barn for the night," Louise mentioned, climbing into bed. She leaned against her pillows with a sigh of pleasure. Her back ached tonight. "We can get a full night's sleep."

Max straightened his arm out in front of him, clenched his fist and drew it toward his shoulder. "As good as new."

"Haste trips up its own heels."

"Now what does that mean?"

"It means you could have taken another week before deciding you can pitch hay with that arm. Wally and Dave wouldn't have minded."

"I mind."

"It won't do anyone any good if you injure yourself again because you went back to work too soon."

Turning, he placed a hand on her cheek and leaned forward to brush his lips across hers. "Darlin', I suspect all women want to protect and nurture, but if it was up to you, I'd still be wearing the sling come summertime."

She stared at him, then dropped her head and plucked at the bedcovers. "Maybe so."

"All right, let's have it. You've been brooding about something for almost three weeks. What's bubbling in your pot?"

There were two things. The first she had decided not to mention until they no longer had to feed the beeves. The second item she'd decided not to mention at all.

But since he'd noticed her distraction, she changed her mind. "Gilly said Dave told her that Wally told him that you went into town and talked to Howard Houser about dropping his vendetta and letting you hire some hands."

He gave her a long steady look. "Can't a man do anything in this family without every damned person knowing about it?"

"Well, this damned person wants to know why you didn't tell her about it your own damned self."

"There was nothing to tell. I asked Howard to drop the restrictions so I could hire on some men, and he refused. That's all there was to it. Nothing new."

"That's not what I heard."

"Well, I don't know what… oh. You mean the part about foreclosing my ranch and burning it to the ground?"

She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "You didn't think that part was important enough to mention? Why didn't you tell me?"

"What's the point? Houser is going to make sure I can't find a buyer for my cattle, so I won't be able to pay my mortgage. He knows Wally needs to hang on to his money for a house in town, and Ma and Dave are cash poor. Even if I were willing to drag the family further into my problems, which I'm not, they don't have the ready money to loan."

"How much do you owe?"

"That's the frustrating part. It's a small mortgage."

"How small?"

"About three thousand dollars. Makes you want to laugh, doesn't it? You and I knew men who panned that much out of Piney Creek in a day."

"I'll give you the money for the mortgage."

"No!"

The answer came so quickly and with such vehemence that Louise drew back against the pillows.

"Max, please listen. I have the money. It's in a bank in Denver . I've got three thousand and more. I never told you about the money because …"It seemed ridiculous now that she had once worried that he might take her money.

"Stop. Don't say another word." His chin came up, and his eyes narrowed into slits. "We aren't going to talk about your money. Not now, not ever again."

"But how are you going—?"

"Howard is a force in Fort Houser . But he may not have as much influence in Denver as he thinks he does. But if no one in Denver will buy my cattle, then I'll drive them all the way to Chicago myself if that's what I have to do."

No man could drive a herd by himself. He knew it, and she knew it.

"Max—"

"I won't take a cent from you, Louise. Not under any circumstances. If you don't drop this subject, I'll leave the house and sleep in the bunkhouse. That's how strongly I feel about this. I mean it. I won't listen to another word."

By now she knew when she could roll by him and when she couldn't. Knew when he'd dug in his heels and wouldn't be budged.

In tense silence, they sat side by side in bed, pretending to read for another twenty minutes before they blew out their lamps.

Tonight was the first time in weeks that Max had not kissed her before extinguishing his lamp. The first time in weeks that he'd turned his back instead of spooning around her body.

Wide awake, Louise stared at the dark ceiling and reviewed every word they had spoken since she climbed into bed, looking for the moment when things had gone sour. Offering him money had been the kicker. That's when everything went drastically wrong.

As she thought about it, she began to understand.

Max had never intended to tell her about the house mortgage or Houser's threat to foreclose. Losing the ranch was his problem; it had nothing to do with her. Besides, she might be gone before June when the mortgage came due. And if he had accepted her offer, he would have insisted that the money be a loan not a gift. But he couldn't do that because a loan would mean an ongoing tie between them, and they wouldn't be able to make a clean break when she left.