A/N: Dedicated in loving memory of my great uncle. A gentler, kinder, funnier Christian man I never knew.
"You won't believe what all that fool neighbor of ours has borrowed from us," Sister Ruth declared to her husband as she poured his coffee. "I've got a list a mile long that I'm keeping just for the fun of it. Not just things like flour and sugar, but crazy things like tin cups, my shoes, a pitcher of water. She'll probably want to borrow my undergarments next."
"But you keep helping her," he commented quietly.
"I can't stop myself from helping her, not when she's got those little, innocent babies at home. The only reason she has to borrow so much is cause she spends it all on drink, but that ain't their fault. Besides, it is the Christian thing to do, helping her."
Kid thought with loving amusement how she'd barely stopped for air since he'd gotten home 5 minutes ago. She could all but carry on a conversation with herself at times. He was careful though to mask the amusement.
"But listen to me go on, I ain't even asked you about your day."
He stared down at his plate, unable to look her in the eyes, as he told her, "I want a divorce."
She should have anticipated it. He'd up and left their bed a couple weeks ago with no explanation and had become as grouchy as a grizzly bear. His love had gone from hot to cold and she wanted to know why, but every time she tried to talk to him he either acted like something else was more important or made her mad enough that she ended up leaving the room to pray. Despite it being such a shock to her, she tried to maintain her composure. "I see. Is that what you really want?"
"I'm not going to leave you without a means of support. I just took a job that requires transporting some mail-order brides to San Francisco safely. It pays pretty good. You should be able to live off that comfortably enough, along with what else I have saved up."
"You think I care about money?" she asked, throwing down the towel she'd been using to pick up the hot handle on the coffee pot. "I don't want you to take care of me, not if you don't want me. I do want to talk this over though. What have I done to make you so angry with me?"
But he ignored the last question. "Well, be that as it may, you will be provided for and it's past the time for talking. You want to make me happy now, you'll help me transport those girls."
"I don't see why I need to go with you. Can't you just wire the money if you're so determined? We can divorced here in St. Louis just as well as San Francisco."
"I ain't got the time to divorce you here and don't you want to make sure they arrive there as pure as when they left? The women going are pretty vulnerable if they're going to marry a man they never even met and you know there will be men along the way who'll want to prey on that vulnerability."
"Fine. I'll go."
"Then why are you still standing here? Go get packed. We ain't got all day."
Her mouth trembled a little. It was like he couldn't wait to get started on this trip, so they could end their life together, so that he could be rid of her. She spun on her heels and slammed the door to what had once been their bedroom so hard that the plaster had to have cracked.
He coughed hard into his handkerchief, a cough he'd been holding back until she left. He didn't enjoy hurting her, but this was all for the best.
August 2, 1835
Kid had developed a nagging cough that refused to go away. He wasn't too worried about it though. No doubt it was just a lingering cough from the cold he'd had awhile back, but Ruth refused to leave Dodgeville, a town located in the Northwest territory, until he saw the doctor there.
It was really rather fortunate there was one, considering it was a small town made up mostly of miners. He watched through the window of the doctor's room as 2 miners bickered over something, probably over claims or cards.
The doctor put his stethoscope back down on the table. "I'm afraid, Mr. Cole, that you have consumption."
That transferred his attention quickly enough. "You mean I'm going to die?"
"You never know with this disease. You could have a good many years ahead of you. Your color looks good, no pallor yet. You're not in the worst shape I've ever seen. My advice to you though is to head further west and further south to a better climate. That's the best cure. And rest. Lots of rest, Mr. Cole."
After he'd paid this harbinger of death, he wandered out into the street, feeling a little dazed.
This morning he had been on top of the world, this afternoon he was a stone's throw from his demise. He'd seen a cousin, only 20 years old, die from consumption. It wasn't a pleasant thing, no matter how some seemed to like to romanticize the "white plaugue".
Then he thought of Ruth. This news was going to devastate her.
Well, he wasn't going to go down without a fight, he told himself. He would learn everything there was to know about consumption while his health was still good and he would beat it. In the meantime, there was no reason Ruth had to know about it.