The Bride's House (11 page)

The other boarders, who were there to eat, not to talk, didn’t pay much attention at first, and when they did realize that Charlie no longer teased Nealie or watched her with glowing eyes, they did not remark on it. Most were not comfortable with women themselves, and they had marveled at the ease with which Charlie had courted the girl. Besides, Charlie was a favorite, and if the men perceived hurt, they did not want to add to it. Will, too, was quiet when Charlie was at the table. Another man might have gloated, asking Nealie in front of the others would she accompany him to the theater or had she had a good time the night before at the band concert, but Will did not, and Nealie loved him the more for his sensitivity.

*   *   *

Mrs. Travers had returned to the boardinghouse after several days of nursing, telling Nealie how the woman whose toes had been severed had died, cursing her husband for a brute. “Those two were so spiteful, they didn’t know what to do with theyself,” she said. She saw the way things stood between Nealie and Charlie. So as the two women washed dishes that evening, she asked the girl, “Did you fall out with Mr. Dumas?”

“I said I meant not to marry him. I told him it was no use and to give it up, for I don’t care a button for him. It discomforts me to have him around.” Nealie would not look at the older woman and wiped a plate so long that it was a wonder she didn’t wipe off the glaze.

“I worry you exaultify Mr. Spaulding,” Mrs. Travers said. “I hope you didn’t make a mistake.”

Nealie rubbed the plate even harder, because she believed the woman was talking about the thing she’d done with Will—she never put a name to it but always thought of it as “the thing.” But then she realized that Mrs. Travers meant turning down Charlie, and the girl said she hadn’t made a mistake, that it was only right not to let the man carry on the way he had when she meant never to marry him.

Nealie was even quieter around the boarders now, never looking at Will except to ask, “Would you have another chop?” or “Shall I hotten your coffee?” But when she and Will were together, just the two of them, she grew lively, chattering about the flowers that grew wild in the mountain sun and the birds, as muted as scraps in a faded quilt. Every new thing delighted her, because she had no reference beyond the farm in Missouri. Will explained to her about ore and how an ordinary rock might have streaks in it that meant it was rich in gold and silver, but that a rock that sparkled might be only fool’s gold. He told her how the miners blasted deep in the earth to extract the ore, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick, and explained how the mills worked, crushing the ore and extracting the precious metal. Nealie said again she wished she could go underground, but Will told her no. He’d inquired about it, he said, and the men refused to allow a woman in the mine. If there were an accident later on, they would blame her. Nealie, taken with superstitions herself, never wondered if Will simply did not want her to go into the mine.

They were seen together in Georgetown less often now. Will still took her to the theater and the Hotel de Paris dining room, but he said he preferred to be alone with her. So they hiked far from Georgetown, sometimes coming together hurriedly in the upper meadows near timberline. More often, they went to Will’s cottage, and he laid her on the bed in the dark room where there was no chance someone would come on them unexpectedly.

Will was generous. He gave her the shawl, a bright rose one swirling with pattern like a Persian carpet. Another time, he presented her with a bottle of perfume, a tiny green crescent of a bottle with a stopper of blue enamel and silver. After Nealie doused herself with the rose scent, Will explained she should put only a tiny dab of perfume behind her ears and on her wrists, and Nealie never again made that mistake. He gave her chocolate drops, each one wrapped in a piece of paper, and combs for her hair, and a gold pin with a ruby in it. When fall came, he presented her with another shawl, this one of heavy wool to keep out the winter cold.

Will taught her about manners, because he delighted in instructing her in new things, as if she herself were a piece of ore that needed refining, and she learned more than how to hold a knife and fork. She waited now for Will to open doors for her or help her with her shawl, and she took his arm and walked on the storefront side of the boardwalk so that the wagons wouldn’t splash mud on her. Will remarked once that she would look more fashionable in a dove-gray dress instead of the green. The gray would bring out the color in her hair. Ladies wore gray, he said, and Nealie bought the yard goods for a new outfit. She wanted to be a lady, although when the two of them were alone, Will did not care for her to act like one. Sometimes when they had been wild and the thing was over, he would hold her close and tell her he cared for her, calling her “dear” and “sweetheart.” Once he even said he loved her, and that was enough. He did not need to say it again, although Nealie wished he would.

The summer was done, and the leaves on the aspen trees were turning scarlet and bright gold when Nealie knew she was pregnant. It came to her when she was pegging the wash on the line, standing in the backyard of the boardinghouse on the platform, built high with steps leading to the top, so that a woman would not have to stand in the snow in winter to hang the laundry. The girl felt a turning in her stomach, and she counted backward, scared a little at first, then foolish with happiness. There was no friend in whom she could confide except for Mrs. Travers, and Nealie did not want to tell the woman, not until things were settled between Will and her, so she remained shut-mouthed.

Nealie did not tell Will, either, not at first. Instead, she teased him along, making sure he cared for her. “I wish this would go on forever,” she told him, as she lay beside him on his bed, the branches of a pine swaying in the wind and knocking against the house. She could see through the window into the yard, where a shower of dead leaves floated to the ground.

“I’d like nothing better,” he replied.

Another time, she said, “I wonder what we’ll be like when we’re old.”

“I don’t believe you’ll grow old. You’ll always be as pretty as you are now. You’ll always be seventeen to me.”

“But everybody grows old.” Nealie had loosed her hair, and she sat on a stump in a clearing at timberline braiding it. The cold had come on, and they could no longer lie on the long grass in the high mountains.

“Then we’ll just have to wait and see.” The remark thrilled her, because it meant that Will intended to spend his life with her.

Still, she waited another two weeks, just to be sure, although by then, the waistband of her skirt was tight, and sometimes in the morning, her stomach was upset. When the second of the two weeks had passed, it was time, she thought. She couldn’t wait longer.

By then, it was October, and the warmth had gone out of the mountains. Nealie told him on an afternoon when the two had tramped through the trees and stopped at a place where early snow lay on the ground. Nealie had hoped to go higher, because the air hung in the valley, smoky and gray, and she wanted to go above it, to the sun. But Will had called a halt, saying the snow would be deeper higher up. So she sat on a log, forming the words she would say to Will, savoring the moment he would take her in his arms and tell her how happy he was.

Before the girl could speak, Will walked a little away and looked out across the valley, which was in shadow. “I will always remember this, sweetheart. I have been happiest here,” he said. He turned and faced her. “My grandfather wants me to go back to school at the first of the year. I don’t want to, but I can’t tell him no.”

Nealie stared at him. She had never considered that Will would leave Georgetown. She loved the place, the mountains and the bright sunlight. In her mind, the two of them would live there forever, in his little cottage or maybe even the bride’s house. But it came on her that it might be best if they moved away. They would marry quietly and go back to where Will had come from, and nobody would know the baby had been made before the ceremony.

“There’s something to tell you,” she said. She was shy and looked down. Seeing a hole in her stocking, she picked at it with her fingernail.

Will did not hear her. “I will never like a place as well as this,” he said. “I told my grandfather I am learning more on the job than I would in a classroom, but he doesn’t agree. He’s stubborn and won’t allow that I might be right. He made plans for me when I was just a boy, and I think he’d cut me off if I didn’t follow through with them.”

“Will,” she said.

“You know I don’t want to go. You know it, don’t you?”

“There’s something needs telling,” Nealie said, standing up and going to him, putting her arms around him and laying her head against his back. She opened her mouth, but she did not know how to tell him, and at first the words wouldn’t come. Then she said quickly, “I’m going to have a baby.”

Will stiffened under her arms, then drew away and turned to look at the girl. “What?”

“A baby.”

His eyes were wide. “But you can’t.”

“Well, I can. It will come in the spring.” Nealie waited for Will to hold her then, to tell her he was glad.

“Oh my God,” Will said instead, turning his back on the girl. He smashed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “Didn’t you know how to…? No, of course, you didn’t. What a mess I’ve made!” He shook his head back and forth. “Can you get rid of it?”

“What?” Nealie asked, bewildered.

“The baby, do you know how to get rid of it?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Maybe Mrs. Travers knows.”

Nealie began to shake and grabbed the bony white trunk of an aspen tree to steady herself. This was not what she’d planned. Then the ghastly thought came to her that Will might think the baby was Charlie’s. “It’s
our
baby.”

“Oh, I know that,” Will said softly. Then he grabbed her arms and shook her. “You can’t have a baby, Nealie.”

When he let loose of her, Nealie put her hand on Will’s cheek. “It’s all right. I have it figured out. We can go to Denver and get married and say we were married in the summer but kept it a secret. You see, it will be fine. Nobody will know, even your grandfather. You can tell him the wedding was in July. Maybe he’ll let you stay on here. We could live in the bride’s house.” She held her breath, hoping Will wouldn’t think she was telling him how to spend his money. But he loved the house as much as she did.

“We can’t get married.” Will walked a little ways away, then leaned down and picked up a handful of snow and squeezed, but the snow was too dry to make a ball, and he brushed his wet hands against his pants.

“Why not?” Nealie whispered.

Will’s shoulders slumped. His back still to Nealie, he said slowly, “Try to understand. I told you at the start that I had obligations, but I should have said it right out.” He paused, and then told her, “I already have a wife.”

Nealie’s mouth formed the word “what,” but the sound didn’t come out. She felt as if a nail had been driven through her heart, and she sat down on the log again and put her arms around herself, but the chill she felt was inside her.

Will turned around, angry now, angry at himself. “I should have been clear. I know I should have made you understand, but I was afraid you’d quit me, and I didn’t want that. I care about you, honestly I do, Nealie. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You’re already married?” Nealie asked, as if he’d made a mistake. Maybe she’d misunderstood.

He nodded and sat down beside her, placing his wet hand on her hand, but the cold made her draw away, so he put his hands between his knees. “Her name is Nancy. We grew up together. Her father and mine had business dealings, and Grandfather thought she would be a suitable wife. He insisted on it, and I’ve never gone against him. Nancy’s a fine person. I’ve nothing against her. It’s just that we don’t have much to say to each other, and I’ve never felt about her the way I do you. I’ve never loved her.”

“Where is she?”

“She didn’t want to come to Georgetown, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t want her here. She couldn’t have coped with a mining town. She’s in Europe with her mother and sister. They’ll be home at Christmas.”

“It was wrong not to tell me, Will. Wrong.” The wind caught Nealie’s words and seemed to fling them back into her face. Neither of them had noticed that the sky had darkened into twilight, and the wind was strong. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. Yes, I think I was.” He looked across the valley and saw that the dark had come on. “We’d better go down,” he said, standing and reaching for Nealie’s hand, but the girl sat huddled on the log.

“What will we do?” she asked. “What will
I
do?”

Will lifted her by her shoulders until she was standing. “I’ll think of something. I won’t leave you alone. I promise you, Nealie, I’ll find a way to take care of you.”

*   *   *

Will sent a man to tell Mrs. Travers that he would not be at the boardinghouse for a week or more, because he’d been called away. But he was gone much longer, and Nealie’s spirits dropped further each day. On her Sunday off, she told Mrs. Travers that she was going for a walk and went to Will’s cottage. The day was cold, and she wrapped her shawl—the warm one that Will had given her—around herself as she stepped on the stones that led to his door. Nealie could tell that Will had not been there, because no footprints marred the snow that lay in the yard. She peered into the window and saw the writing desk on the table and Will’s work clothes hanging on pegs. So he was not gone for good. She went back to the street, using a pine branch to erase her steps so that Will would not return and think she had spied on him.