Chapter 9 – Fall 1909 – I never said I was a beginner
Dottie Ramsey was preening like a peacock. As the mayor's wife, she occupied a place of honor alongside the town council at the Founder's Day play, her large hat twisting and turning in the front row as she tittered to the others. Abigail noted that she and Henry seemed to get on well; perhaps it was another necessary partnership.
She and Noah had taken their seats further back from the temporary stage, yielding the better views to those families who had children in the performance. The saloon was small enough that they could see everything, including the large backdrop Noah had painted for the play last year. Abigail patted her husband's hand, proud of his work.
"Joe's older boy has Peter's part this year," he told her, referring to Gabe Montgomery.
"Is that right?" she said, feigning more interest than she felt.
Just then Peter came up behind them, sliding into the empty chair they'd saved. He had run off on their walk there, saying he had to stop at the mercantile before they closed up, but Abigail saw nothing in his hands.
"Everything alright?" she asked. But the opening music began to play and so they turned their attention to the stage.
Mayor Ramsey first gave his speech honoring the town, peppering it with his usual adulation for Henry and the mining company. She wished she could catch Henry's eye to share a knowing glance, a "didn't I tell you?" sort of look. At her side, Noah leaned in with a crook in his brow, wordlessly questioning her private smile, and she shook her head to indicate it was nothing.
Several long minutes later, Silas finally moved on to introducing the performance. The Ramseys' son Bradley had a part in the play as well, though Mrs. Appleton had managed for years to keep the boy – an otherwise delightful child with no knack for theater – from taking center stage. Abigail watched as her friends' children acted and sang, sharing in their collective joy and pride. It was not only Peter who kept growing up but all the children of Coal Valley. The Hayfords' daughter Anna had only just started that year, and her parents sat up a few rows ahead, absolutely beaming. When Gabe came on stage, she could see he was maturing quickly too, looking more like his father each day. Would he follow Joe into the mine as well?
After the performance, it was time for the games. The brightness and laughter that filled the day helped Abigail feel like they were back to old times, and she held Noah's hand as they strolled through the booths that lined the main street. Katie and Ned Yost were handing out balloons, and Noah playfully presented her with a blue one.
"M'lady," he said, bowing with a flourish. She laughed as she accepted, letting him tie the string around her finger above her wedding band. Come December, it would be twenty years that the simple metal ring had been there. She and Noah had already been married for over half of her life.
Leaning up to kiss her husband's cheek, she let her unencumbered hand float down to rub his back as they continued through the crowd. At the opposite end of the street she saw Peter catching up with some of the boys who had been a year behind him. Some, she knew, had already left school to go to the mine or work full-time on their farms, not able to hold out for another year.
Just beyond where Peter stood, an object caught her eye. She tugged Noah's jacket excitedly.
"A camera!"
They navigated their way to where Mr. Jenkins had set up a photography station with a Kodak Brownie. Not many people in Coal Valley owned their own camera even though they had become more popular and affordable; it simply wasn't a necessity. They sure did enjoy when someone else brought theirs out though.
Noah dug in his pocket and handed Mr. Jenkins the two cents to take their photograph. He wrapped his arms around Abigail's waist from behind and they waited for Mr. Jenkins to set up and give them their cue. Before he could, there was a clang and a shout behind them, and they looked over their shoulders to see a small crowd cheering by the strongman game. The man with the hammer swung back up, revealing a now-familiar bowler hat. Noah gave a shout over toward his boss as well, joining in even though he hadn't seen the hit. It made Abigail wonder whether Henry was really being brought into the fold, or if everyone was simply performing like Silas. She felt a flash of something like jealousy, and realized she'd been selfishly enjoying being one of a chosen few who had become friendly with Henry Gowen.
"Ready to go?"
Jenkins' voice brought them both back around from their distractions. Abigail smiled at the camera, pulling her husband's arms tighter around her waist.
ooo
They capped off the evening with the Founder's Day Dance, back at the saloon where the chairs had been cleared and replaced with tables further back by the bar. A lively tune played on the piano as Noah and Abigail laughed loudly with the other mining families, demanding Patrick Sullivan reveal the secret to his new card trick.
"Oh, don't bother, he never tells!" Molly complained, flicking her hand dismissively at her husband. Abigail leaned her head happily into her friend's shoulder, grateful for nights like these.
Carla and Ephraim returned from where they'd been dancing, their faces red.
"When are you going to take a spin, Joe?" Ephraim challenged good-naturedly, his wife fanning herself beside him.
Joe looked over at Cat, who waggled her eyebrows back. "Oh, now look what you did!" he joked to the other miner. Cat grinned at the other wives before pulling her husband out onto the saloon floor.
Tom called over to their table from the bar. "Another ale for you, Carl?"
Carl Grady shook his head at the offer, but Noah piped up. "One for me, Tom."
"Ohhh, no you don't," Abigail shook her head. "After we have a dance."
"How about in between?"
"Noah Stanton, I am your wife and we," she pushed her finger into his chest, "are dancing."
She stood and led their way to the dance floor, ignoring the hoots from Patrick and Ephraim behind them. They found a clear spot and Noah tucked his hand into hers, beginning to lead them in something that resembled a two-step. The room was filled with the damp heat of liquor and sweat, making her sticky beneath her dress, but as they danced, they sidestepped other couples doing their own increasingly clumsy tours around the room, raucous and happy, and she started to feel silly for ever thinking her life wanted for anything.
The music stopped for a while when Mike Hickam, who had been playing, took a short break. Mike wasn't a miner, but he seemed to show up just about everywhere else. Abigail and Noah thanked him and settled themselves back at the table, where Noah immediately rescued his abandoned drink.
"Noah?" she caught her husband's attention, still a little breathless. "Has Peter been alright?"
"What do you mean?"
"He looks a bit melancholy over there." She pointed to where she had noticed their son standing against the wall in what struck her as a contemplative mood. His stop over at the mercantile earlier was only adding to her curiosity. Was he posting a letter maybe? Or was there some purchase that had been shoved into his pocket?
Noah shrugged. "He's seemed fine to me."
Abigail frowned, not sure what response she'd expected. Noah wasn't often very perceptive about these types of things anyway, but he did spend a lot more time with their son than she did these days. Still, she wasn't about to fret over him in the middle of the saloon.
She continued to sweep her gaze against the far wall until her eyes found Henry Gowen retrieving a dart from the board. He came back to his throwing position and readied himself, shutting one eye and tweaking his fingers back and forth before smoothly tossing the dart into the green ring around the bullseye. Hiding a smile, Abigail checked over her shoulder for her husband. Seeing that Noah had already become engrossed in another of Patrick's card tricks, she let herself be drawn away.
She ambled up behind Henry, clutching her arms innocently behind her. "You seem to be good at that," she chirped at his elbow.
Another dart tumbled to the ground, jolted from his hands as he jumped in surprise.
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" She laughed behind her fingers, doing her best to appear contrite and failing miserably.
Henry stood and rolled the rescued dart in his hand in front of her. "I suppose you think it's funny to startle a man holding a sharp projectile?"
"No, of course not," she said, pushing her brows together in a most serious expression as she struggled to erase the smile from her face.
"Well, come on then."
"Come on what?"
He held the dart out to her. "Let's see what you've got."
"Oh no, no," she scoffed, "I couldn't."
"It's okay, I won't take your money. Just a round for fun."
She hesitated, coyly swaying to one side as she considered. Noah wasn't one for darts, preferring to use the saloon only for its primary purposes – drinking and telling loud stories. None of the other women played when they were out at these gatherings, and Henry was the first man she'd thought to approach. She wasn't sure what had made her feel so bold this time – though possibly it was the few sips of beer she'd swiped from Noah's glass before they danced.
"Alright, I'll show you first," he relented. He stepped back to stand beside her, raising his arm up between them. His face came close to hers so he could be heard above the crowd. She recognized the smell of whiskey on him. It was sweet, mixed with something else.
"You use three fingers, like this," he showed her. "Keep the grip firm, but not too tight."
She turned slightly toward him to watch the movement of his hand, the light touch of his fingers on the barrel. His voice rumbled low and close as he continued explaining the technique, intense eyes turning to fix on hers every so often to check her understanding. She stared into them, trying to concentrate, but also trying to decide if they were green. The close space between them began to feel warm. An effect of the alcohol, she assumed.
"Are you okay?" he asked. While her mind had drifted, her gaze had not, and she realized she was still looking into his eyes.
"Hmm? Oh yes, still just recovering from the dancing, I think."
"Do you want to sit down?" he gestured, worry in his voice.
She waved him off with a laugh. "No no, I'm tougher than I look."
"Alright, give it a go then."
She took the dart from him, grabbing it at the top where she wouldn't brush his hand. Once she had it, he stepped back to allow her room, his attention still focused on her movements. She positioned herself into the stance he'd modeled, throwing a questioning look over her shoulder at him when she nearly had it. He leaned forward and took her elbow into a light grip, pushing her arm up before retreating again. The touch lingered, cold from his drink, even through her sleeve. She was getting her bearings when he spoke again.
"You and Noah looked good out there. No wonder you're worn out."
The simple observation felt out of place and she didn't know how to respond. He must have seen her falter because he followed with, "Sorry, I meant that as a compliment."
"I know we can't keep up with the younger couples out there, but we manage," she said with a strained chuckle.
Wanting no further conversation about it, she pulled herself back into position and quickly took the shot. The dart flew from her grip, whooshing toward the black and white wedges that circled the bullseye, and lodged itself firmly into the center red dot.
She spun on her heel to face a humbled Henry, his tongue curled up to his teeth in an "I'll-be-damned" expression. Her thumb jerked back toward the board and she cocked her head.
"Is that good?"
"You could have just told me."
"That wouldn't have been nearly as fun."
There was a beat of contemplation before Henry walked to the board and pulled out the dart. "Do it again," he said, holding it back out towards her.
She laughed. "What outcome are you hoping for?"
"I honestly don't know," he shook his head, genuinely impressed, "I just want to see you do it again."
She took the dart and Henry fell back again, settling into a wide stance on a stool next to her. As she began to position herself, she noticed his hands on his thighs, and the eager way he was leaning forward.
"You're trying to make me nervous," she said pointedly.
"Is it working?"
She gave him an exasperated look.
"Alright, alright," he said, putting his palms out in surrender. He picked up the glass he'd laid down nearby and sipped it with an exaggerated nonchalance, letting his eyes wander emphatically over the ceiling.
With a smirk, she turned back to the board, arranging her body and holding the dart in front of her eye with a steady concentration. This time, its trajectory brought it to land just maddeningly over the edge of the outer ring, scoring her only one point. She slammed tiny fists toward the ground with a frustrated grunt and swiveled around to find Henry laughing.
"Satisfied?" she gestured at the board.
"You don't like to lose, do you?"
"I don't lose. I'm just out of practice."
"We should fix that then," he said, coming to stand next to her again. "A few more nights in the saloon here, and we could have a pretty decent game going."
He ran a hand through his graying hair, granting it temporary relief from where the sweat of the night had begun to weigh it down. He ought to wear it in this casual manner more often, she thought, admiring the way it brightened his face, but she said nothing. It struck her then, as he stood watching her openly and expectantly, why she'd felt so guilty that he had noticed her dance.
She shifted away from him and smoothed her dress, demure when she spoke.
"I don't know what things are like in Hamilton, Mr. Gowen, but married women don't spend a lot of time playing darts in saloons here."
His expression changed abruptly, his smile dropping. "Of course. I didn't mean to suggest anything improper."
The hurt in his voice made her regret her defensiveness. "No, I'm sorry, I know you didn't." She turned to check on where her husband was still talking with the other miners. "I ought to get back to my table," she said apologetically. "This was fun though. You were a good teacher."
The attempt to rescue the lighter mood fell flat, and she winced a little as Henry pressed his lips together awkwardly, seemingly unsure of what to say lest he cause offense again. He offered only a short nod in parting.
Abigail returned to her table, Franklin Palmer vacating the seat he'd taken next to Noah when he saw her approach. She hunched her shoulders together as she pulled the chair back toward the table, ashamed at having put herself on display throughout the evening even as she regretted her reaction to Henry.
"Where did you run off to?" Noah said, wrapping his arm around the back of her chair.
Her immediate instinct was to downplay the situation, say she had just been mingling amongst the crowd, but she knew that others at the table were facing the dartboard and might have seen the game, or what there was of it.
"Mr. Gowen asked if I wanted to try my hand at darts. I didn't want to be rude," she said.
Noah nodded. "I like the guy, but he can be competitive. It's a little petty of him to play with a woman just to win at darts though."
Abigail bristled. "Actually I did pretty well."
Noah laughed into the drink he'd picked back up. "Oh, that's right. I forgot how competitive you can get too. Don't you get corrupted on me now!" he said, pressing a sloppy kiss into the side of her head.
She watched as her intoxicated husband continued to laugh at the absurdity of her playing darts, and wished she could order another drink for herself. It was actually her own fault, she supposed. She and Noah had played darts only once in the very brief time they were courting, and in that game she had let him win, as young girls being courted were meant to do. It wasn't very fair of her, then, to be upset about his underestimating her now.
Her eyes drifted back over to the far wall, but Henry was gone.
