CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hank remained in the bar for another couple of hours. None of the girls bothered him and he finished the bottle of whiskey which stood on the table in front of him. Eventually he pulled himself to his feet and walked a little unsteadily through the door into the corridor, his heart thumping unevenly. He made his way to Clarice's room and then stood outside the door for several minutes, ridiculously nervous about seeing the baby and not looking forward to another confrontation with Clarice. Eventually he pushed the door open quietly and looked inside.
Clarice and the baby were both sleeping, while Lissy sat beside the bed watching over them. The baby was nestled in a makeshift cradle, formed from a woven basket lined with towels. All that was visible of him was his face and a tuft of dark hair. He looked normal; well, as normal as Hank thought babies looked, considering he'd never been that close to one before.
Lissy stood up now and moved towards the door, stretching her arms above her head and yawning.
"I'll leave ya to it," she said.
"No, don't," Hank protested, but she had already slipped out and closed the door behind her. He exhaled shakily and took a step closer to the bed, glancing from the baby to Clarice and back again.
"Hank?" Her eyes opened slowly and looked up at him.
"Hey. How are ya?"
"Tired. Feel like I got trampled or somethin'."
"Well, ya look good. Bit pale," Hank said, sinking onto the chair Lissy had vacated.
"Thanks." Clarice shifted slightly, propping herself up against the pillows. "He won't bite, ya know, ya can pick him up."
"Uh….no….don't wanna disturb him," muttered Hank, terrified at the thought of picking the baby up. He might hurt it or something.
"In case yer wonderin', he is yours," said Clarice with a wry smile, glancing down at the sleeping baby. "My ma had dark hair."
"So did mine." Hank sighed heavily. "Saw a picture of her once." Oddly enough, given her past behaviour, it had never crossed his mind that she might have tried to pin someone else's baby on him.
"I'm sorry," Clarice said then, much to his surprise.
"What for?"
"Everythin'. He might have somethin' wrong with him, Charlotte said. I'd been drinkin', I didn't have the energy to keep pushin'. They practically had to drag him outta me and they said he couldn't breathe for a long time."
Hank grimaced at the vision her words provoked.
"If he ain't right, it's down to me," she went on.
"It mighta happened even if ya did everythin' right," Hank said. "Ain't no point blamin' yerself." Just what he had been doing all night.
"It's kinda hard not to." She was silent for a moment and Hank simply sat waiting for her to continue, not having any idea what to do or to say to her.
"I'm gonna call him Zack," she told him suddenly.
"That's a good name," he nodded.
"Look, Hank…." She waited for him to meet her eyes before continuing. "You and me….we ain't good for each other. The way we fight ain't gonna be good for Zack neither."
"What're ya sayin'?" His breath stuck in his throat and for a brief moment all he could hear was his own heartbeat.
"I'm sayin' we oughta call it a day. Whatever it is we got, it ain't workin'. I wanna go back to work in a few months and I know ya don't want that."
"No, I don't," Hank said gruffly. "'Specially not now ya got a kid. What in hell d'ya wanna work for? I'll give ya money, for both of ya."
"It ain't just about the money."
"Then what? Ya like the variety? Ya tellin' me I ain't enough for ya?" barked Hank.
"No. I guess it's just what I am. I like attention. I like feelin' wanted. And I'm sick of fightin' with ya. 'Sides, it ain't just me. Ya said once ya hadn't been near the other girls, 'cept for that time with Myra, but I know that ain't true any more."
"Ya kept drivin' me away!" Hank retorted.
"I know I did. I ain't really blamin' ya, Hank, I'm just sayin' there's nowhere for us to go. I don't wanna leave here, unless ya want me to. But if we ain't tied to each other, maybe we won't kill each other before the kid makes it to his teens."
Hank closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what she said was right, but feeling the crushing pain of rejection none the less. The only thing that had come close to being his, even though she fought against it often enough, was now slipping away from him.
"Alright," he heard himself say, opening his eyes again. "I'm still givin' ya money for Zack though. Ya can say what ya like."
"I'll say thank you," Clarice said softly.
Hank nodded and got to his feet. "I'll leave ya to get some sleep," he said and left the room.
The corridor was deserted and he halted there and leaned back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut again with a frown as he heard Clarice begin to cry. He felt completely alone, not for the first time in his life and after another brief glance down the corridor to ensure the other girls weren't about to appear, he let his own tears fall.
A couple of minutes later, sounds came from Janie's room, which was nearest to where Hank stood and he pulled himself together in an instant, scrubbed his shirt sleeve across his eyes and made his way back into the bar to tidy the place ready for the customers arriving later.
Charlotte Cooper returned later that morning, baby Matthew cradled in one arm, to check on Clarice and Zack. She brought with her a large basket of food for everyone and spent a little time helping Clarice feed Zack for the first time. She instructed the girls to keep checking on the mother and baby and to send for her should they feel the need. Hank kept out of the way until she had gone and later did his best to keep his distance from the girls, especially Myra, for fear of being tempted to confide in her again. Instead he swallowed his misery and opened up the saloon as usual, however, there was no escaping the gossip.
"Heard that girl of yours had her baby this mornin'," Jake said, the minute he had been served with a large whiskey. "That mean she's gonna be workin' soon?" He grinned now.
"Yeah. Eventually," Hank said stiffly.
"Whose kid is it, anyhow? D'ya know? Does she?"
Loren, who was with Jake as usual, sniggered at this and elbowed the barber in the ribs.
"That's her business," grunted Hank and turned away to speak to another customer, feeling a little sick with himself for not having owned up to being the father. Hadn't his own father turned away from him? Now he was doing the same, with the poor excuses that the mother no longer wanted him and his so-called friends would make fun of him for getting a whore pregnant. In addition, the girls would no doubt think he was a complete heel for not claiming the kid.
The day crawled slowly into evening and Hank poured almost as much whiskey down his neck as he did into his customers' glasses. By the time the last few men staggered out into the night and he locked the doors, his vision was blurred and he felt ill from a combination of too much to drink and nothing to eat in addition to his increasing unhappiness and guilt. He went to his room, pulled off his boots and collapsed on the bed fully clothed, keeping as still as possible while the room spun around him and his stomach rolled. It was no good; the whiskey wasn't going to stay down.
He hauled himself to his feet again, pushed the window up and vomited out of it onto the ground at the back of the saloon. He couldn't ever remember being sick from drinking and decided it was more to do with his mind than his stomach. He left the window open and lay on the bed again, feeling marginally better, but plagued more than ever with thoughts of Clarice and Zack. The former didn't want him and the latter would doubtless be better off without him. Hadn't his own father said he was good for nothing on more than one occasion? He'd rarely agreed with Jorgen about anything, but for once he was forced to admit the man could have been right.
He sat up again and poured some water from the jug on the chest into a mug, swilled his mouth out and then drank some. Suddenly he didn't want to be alone any longer. He slid his braces off his shoulders, took his shirt off and threw it to one side, but left the remainder of his clothes on. Then he left his room and made his way quietly down the corridor to Myra's.
He opened the door without knocking and slipped into the room. She was getting ready for bed, her clothes lying neatly on the chair in front of the dresser and her nightdress in her hands. She gasped at the sudden appearance of Hank and held the garment up in front of her.
"What're ya doin' that for?" Hank stepped closer, grasped the nightdress and pulled it out of her hands, dropping it onto the end of the bed.
"Ya startled me." Myra dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at him a little self-consciously. "Did ya want somethin'?"
"Yeah, I want some company." He reached out and touched her face for a second. "Get in the bed."
She turned away without a word and quickly slid under the quilt. Hank removed the rest of his clothes and climbed into the bed, immediately drawing Myra into his arms. He did nothing more than just hold onto her for some time and she began stroking one hand over his hair, which by now had grown some way past his shoulders. Eventually he pulled back a little with a sigh.
"Clarice say anythin' to ya?" he asked.
"She said you ain't together no more," Myra told him. "I'm sorry. Ya loved her a lot." It wasn't a question, but a statement.
"Yeah. She's right, though. We're no good for each other." He leaned closer again and nuzzled Myra's neck, longing to forget about everything, even for a little while. Somehow Myra always took his mind off even the worst situation. "Ya smell good. That perfume?"
"No, just some fancy soap Loren's sellin'."
"Ya smell like that all over?" He turned his face away from her neck and pressed it between her breasts instead. She did indeed smell of whatever flower the soap was meant to imitate, all over.
"Ya sure this is what ya want right now?" Myra said doubtfully.
"I always want ya. Don't matter what else is goin' on." He rolled her onto her back now and slid his body onto hers, wedging his knee between her thighs to push them apart. "Ya want me, don't ya?"
"Yes," Myra whispered.
She slid her arms around him, holding his hair away from his face as he plunged into her, one hand under the small of her back to lift her lower body upwards to meet him. He dropped his head forward beside hers, pressing his mouth to her ear and making her shiver as he breathed into it. His arms tightened around her, crushing her against his own body at the end before he slid his weight off her and rolled away onto his back. Myra reached down to pull the quilt back up over them, where it had slipped partly off the bed and lay down with her head resting against his shoulder.
Hank didn't think he would be able to sleep, but within a few minutes he found he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He abandoned the idea of returning to his own room and stayed where he was with Myra snuggling against him as he drifted into slumber.