Chapter 13 – January 1910 – An annoying tendency of getting her way
"He is already part of you. Though you fly to Greece, and never see him again, or forget his very name, George will work in your thoughts till you die."
Abigail had torn through the book Peter had gifted her while the coal order for Lansing Shipping and Transport continued into the new year, though she couldn't say whether the time spent with it had done her any good. As the story reached its climactic moment, the young Lucy having rejected her fiancé but still denying her love for the passionate George, Abigail thought back to the conversation that had occurred in the café a few months ago. Can you imagine such a thing?
Could she imagine? She couldn't imagine leaving Noah. But could she imagine that some other woman might want to leave her engagement, or even her marriage? That some other woman – a young woman, for such a whim could only be the province of the young – that they might feel unhappy without being able to name any dire reason for it? That maybe, in the course of things, that woman might also become attracted to another man? That she might feel her heart and mind clamoring desperately to be somewhere she wasn't supposed to be, with someone she wasn't supposed to be with? Someone who made her feel strong and vulnerable all at once, someone for whom she would risk everything? Could she imagine?...
She shut the book abruptly. Such a thing was all well and good for storybooks, filled with only the most temporary of consequences, resolved by the necessity of a final page. But the naïve romance of indulging those temptations of nonconformity as befell the fictional Miss Honeychurch were irrelevant for a real-life aging mother to imagine.
Rising from the table, she paced around the kitchen before deciding on a more productive distraction. She'd used the dartboard sparingly given the frigid weather, but found it a good way to occupy her mind when these strange anxieties she had been feeling overtook her once more. Her coat buttoned up, she pulled on a pair of warm gloves and walked into the shock of cold air that awaited her in the backyard.
The dartboard was still hidden out there, the men having little to do with the food preparation and Noah only seldom seeking out a beer, which she usually was asked to get for him. The back of the house now had a couple of tiny marks from when she'd tried out some creative throwing tricks and missed, but nothing anyone would notice. One by one, she rolled the darts in her hand and aimed, feeling her tension dissipate a little more each time she called on herself to focus on the sharp metal point. The bullseyes made her smile, and she wished Henry were there to see them. Though it made her feel quite embarrassed when she caught herself, she would even sometimes imagine they were playing together when she was out here. Entire conversations would draw themselves out in her head, jokes and faces and gestures… and of course, this version of Abigail always had the most clever things to say.
Could she imagine such a thing?
She supposed this kind of fanciful thinking was the inevitable consequence of being cooped up in the house with little company. The women still visited and did their weekly swap inside one of their homes, but post-holiday exhaustion and a human tendency toward cold-weather hibernation had slowed their socialization some. So it gave her a start when her musings were interrupted by a back door slamming open.
Abigail lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the winter sun, the dart still between her fingers. "Oh, good afternoon, Marta."
"Afternoon, Abigail." Marta stood perched at the top of the back stairs of the adjacent house, an empty laundry basket settled against her hip. "What are you getting yourself up to today?"
"Oh, just –" she struggled, dropping the hand to her side again hastily, "waiting for the roast to finish."
Marta snorted. "Don't worry, I won't tell Florence you were 'waiting for your roast.'"
Abigail hung her head, chagrined at having not offered her friend the faith she had so readily given her. "Thank you. And sorry."
The other woman waved it off and continued down to the clothesline. Abigail swayed self-consciously on her side of the fence. "How about you? Going to meet the children at school soon?" she called.
"My son told me I'm no longer welcome, now that he's turned ten," Marta answered, a sharp amusement in her voice. "I told him that was just fine, but that big boys are also in charge of making sure their sisters get home."
"They grow up so fast, don't they?"
A white shirt was tugged from the line. Abigail watched the string bounce back into place and heard Marta let out a groan.
"Yes, grow up and then turn into giant infants all over again. Do you have any of your stain remover out there?"
Abigail wiggled her hand over the top of the fence, and Marta deposited the shirt into it. She gathered up the necessary things and set to work, scrubbing her homemade solution into the fabric while Marta pulled down the rest of the clothes.
"How's Liam making out with this order? They're about done, I think?"
"I hope so. Liam's unbearable when he's tired and hungry. He did mention your Peter's been a great help though. He's glad they got some new younger workers in there when they did."
"That's nice to hear," Abigail answered sincerely. She really ought to stop worrying so much about how things were going at the mine. She'd had to stop herself from making more excuses to go by there, but there was no reason to disturb Noah when he was so busy.
"I tell you, Abigail, if they don't get a little extra in their pockets after this is said and done, I've got a mind to go after Gowen with my rolling pin. This cabin business has got me all fired up."
Abigail's forehead tightened in confusion. "What cabin business?"
"The new place Gowen just bought. It's out by the Harpers. He must be making a fortune off this deal."
"I hadn't heard. With the place in town too? I guess he's really settling into Coal Valley then."
"I think it's an investment property, mostly. I haven't the sense he's found any companionship around here. But you'd probably know better than I would."
Abigail stopped blotting at the stain. "What do you mean?"
"Well, he came by for Christmas, didn't he? I assume he's become a friend of the family, him and Noah working so close."
"Oh, yes! That's right… I'd forgotten." Abigail waited to see if Marta would say anything more, or mention seeing her and Henry's gift exchange, but the topic was occupying far more of Abigail's mind than it was anyone else's.
Their respective tasks were interrupted by a loud bang from the front of the Crocker house, immediately followed by a yell of "Mom!" Marta sighed so palpably, Abigail could picture the cloud it had formed. Her neighbor's defeated hand came up and they passed the shirt between them again.
"Sometimes I can't wait to be on your side of these years, Abigail. Must be nice and quiet."
Abigail offered a polite laugh, and Marta thanked her and disappeared back into the house. Abigail stayed on the little bench where she'd been working on the shirt and looked back over at the dartboard. There was a measure of freedom in it, her child being grown. It wasn't something she acknowledged all that often, but it had sporadically crossed her mind ever since that night she'd talked with Noah about what their future plans might be. She thought of Alice and her correspondence course, and wondered when she would find her own great thing.
When?
The word caught her off-guard. Not if, but when. Not something she had already done, but something she had yet to do.
She was very proud of her family; being a homemaker and caretaker was not something she had ever felt resigned to. But was it possible, maybe, that there was room now for something else? For redefining her happiness in another way? It excited her to consider it, but the trouble was she still didn't know what that way looked like… and part of her was too afraid to hold up a light in front of her and find out.
Could she imagine such a thing?
The dart she'd put down earlier lay on the icebox, its recriminating tip pointing in her direction. She picked it up and threw it into the green ring to silence its indictment before heading inside. The roast would be ready any minute.
ooo
The next morning, after breakfast had been cleared and the men seen off to work, Abigail finished the last few pages of A Room with a View. She drew it out, re-reading Lucy's conversation with Mr. Emerson before continuing to the end, George and Lucy having found their way to one another despite all societal objection.
She leaned back into the couch and closed the cover, running her hand over the leather binding with a deep sigh. Looking around the house, she found herself restless again. While she knew the romantic feeling of it all was a bit frivolous, it seemed a waste to have immersed herself in the grandeur of Tuscany only to return to life amongst brooms and carrot peels. When she saw the softly falling snow piling up on the ground outside, her mind was made up.
Despite the cold, there was a giddiness in being wrapped up in her gloves and scarf and strolling to town with no particular errand to run. She felt like a kid ready to meet her friends for sledding and a snowball fight. She swung her arms, alone on the road, enjoying the crunching, crumbling sound of the snowy trail underneath her boots.
"Penny for your thoughts."
His voice was immediately recognizable to her now. She turned her head from the gray blanket of sky with a playful smile.
"I know you can afford it, but trust me, this one isn't worth that much," she teased.
"Well, that's fine, I never argue with 'free' either," Henry tossed back. "Whatever it was, it was interesting enough that you didn't even hear me on the road."
How odd that after being so ill-at-ease at Christmas, he should be so relaxed and informal with her again now. She didn't know why it should be, but she was grateful for it, and leaned into it eagerly.
"If you really want to know, I was just thinking about Charlie Miller. He was the boy I liked when I was 10," she tilted her head, modestly sharing this old secret. "It was Valentine's Day, and all day I had been too shy to give him this paper card I'd made. I kept playing with it in my coat pocket when we went out for recess, and finally I thought 'Well, I'm either going to do this or I'm going to end up tearing it to shreds before I can.' So I walked up to him, confident as I could pretend to be, and held it out without a word."
"I'd expect nothing less. And what did our young Romeo do?"
"He laughed in my face, pulled my braid, and pushed me into the snow!"
"No!"
"Yes! I was humiliated!"
"Charlie Miller, you said? Want me to track him down?"
She laughed. "Last I heard he was still working out at the Lee mine, so you probably could!"
Henry's eyes crinkled beneath his hat. "So you grew up out there too then?"
"Mm-hmm. Saskatchewan now. But I guess you know that."
"Some might say it's my job."
"Right," she giggled again.
"But, now, help me understand – you were smiling, but this seems like a terrible memory."
"Oh, it felt awful at the time, and sometimes I can still feel that insecurity of putting myself out there. I suppose we all do. But instead of crying or running off, I became so angry that I started throwing snowballs at him from the ground! And then the rest of the class saw and started throwing them around too, and it ended up being one of the most fun afternoons I ever had. And no one paid attention to what had happened with Charlie at all."
He made no reply, but kept looking at her with bright twinkling eyes. It was an expression that either meant he was trying to figure her out or that he already had – she wasn't sure which. Then again, maybe she was just rambling and he therefore had nothing to say. She cleared her throat and looked down at the ground.
"So you found a moment to go into town?" she asked in a more reserved voice.
He gave a nod toward the fork in the road that they were quickly approaching. "I have to pick up whatever they've got for me at the café for the week. But it does look like we might finish up this Lansing order today. Just some final reviews to do."
"Oh, that's wonderful! I'll be happy to see more of Peter while he's awake. And I'm sure you won't mind a slower pace either, with the new house to work on."
"The cabin, you mean?"
She nodded. "Is it an investment or do you plan to stay there?"
He shrugged. "Well, with contracts like this hopefully coming up more often, I thought it'd be nice to have someplace to go and step away from business for a while. Someplace not so easily found."
Her stomach fluttered. She had the sensation of having been seized in someone's grasp, but when she turned her head to determine whether there had been any sharp glance or shift in mood from Henry, he was not looking at her at all.
"I'm surprised you heard about that," he said, a question apparent in the observation. "I didn't think my property acquisitions were all that interesting."
The middle of Abigail's forehead creased. Was he really still not used to this kind of attention? Abigail found that hard to believe. "You're a man people talk about, Henry."
He buried his hands deeper into his pockets and frowned. "All the more reason to buy cabins in the woods then."
Henry slowed and stopped in front of the mining office on the main street. The snow was still coming down, and she watched him squint into it, looking down the short line of shops and services.
"Where were you headed?"
"Nowhere really," she answered, copying his aimless survey of the street. "It was just pretty outside and I wanted to take a walk."
"So you really are from out east," he noted with a light grin. He pulled his coat tighter around him to signal his own distaste for the cold, bringing its torn and dirty hem into view in the process.
"What's happened there?" she asked, pointing at the disrepair.
"Oh, that's – I had a fall on the way in today. Snagged it on a nail in the stairs and couldn't catch myself in the snow. I'm fine, but the coat will need some work. I was actually going to stop into the office, I've got another there." He gestured at the building behind her.
"Good, let me take this one then. I'll mend it for you."
He waved a dismissive hand. "No no, it's fine, I'll just take it to the – "
"To the what?" she interrupted. "You haven't learned yet that the wives do the sewing around here?"
He hesitated, but she held out her gloved palm, insistent. "Come on. Hand it over."
He shrugged stiffly out of the coat, grimacing as Abigail basked in her small triumph. After examining the tear, she folded the coat into her arms. "This is easy enough. I'll get it back to you Friday? Meet you in town on your lunch hour?"
"Sounds good. I appreciate it," he said, as kindly as he could while tightly gripping the inside of his suit pockets and trying to look as though he didn't want to flee.
"You're welcome. Now go inside," she said with a mock concern, "You shouldn't be out without a coat."
"How thoughtless of me," he said, his cheek plumping from the wry smile hidden under his beard. "I'll see you Friday."
"See you, Henry."
She had begun to walk away when he caught her attention again from the office doorway.
"Abigail? I usually take lunch around 11:30."
He must have seen the pause in her face, because he added, "Didn't want you to be waiting at the wrong time," lowering his lashes in conciliatory explanation.
But what she was thinking was that she had already known that… and it confused her that he would think she didn't know it… Should she not have known it?
"11:30 it is," she said instead. "Bye, Henry."
ooo
The draft stung Abigail's face as soon as she came back into the house, which somehow felt even colder than the outside. She hugged Henry's coat up to her body, huddling her chilled nose and cheeks close to it until she was forced to put it down to restart the fire in the stove. Even though she'd started out wanting a quiet day with her thoughts, his company had been very welcome, and the conversation had energized her. She felt confident that everyone's irritations and distant behavior and intrusive thoughts would start to dissipate now that things were going back to normal at the mine. Perhaps they might even find more occasions to host Henry for dinners now.
Dinner! She ought to make a special meal, she realized, for Peter and Noah, to celebrate the end of the big contract. She was only sorry she hadn't thought of it early enough to invite Henry as well. She considered briefly walking over to the mine to ask him to come by, but wasn't sure it made sense to approach him again today. Though, she supposed, he had approached her the first time.
She debated the invitation as she meandered around the kitchen, humming to herself as she searched the cabinets and shelves, thinking what she could prepare. What had he liked the last time? Maybe she should go back into town again – she was still in her coat and winter gear anyway. She would need a fuller sense of her inventory before making a final decision and compiling a grocery list, so she went out back to the icebox, lively steps and a cheerful mood carrying her down the stairs. There was some veal she'd splurged on that would do nicely. She might be able to find some lemons this time of year, or maybe mushrooms would be better, with some of the wine Henry had brought for Christmas.
The black and white of the dartboard caught her eye as she pivoted back toward the house – she had forgotten to put it away yesterday. Well, maybe that was okay. She should be able to spend her time as she wanted, in the relative privacy of her own home. Maybe she could even show Peter how to play later. For good measure, she picked up a dart, closed her eyes, and flung it at the board. Hearing its thwap against the wood, Abigail squeezed one eye open until her vision cleared to reveal a 4-point hit. Rats.
When she came back inside, she was pleasantly surprised to see Peter leaning against the front wall and pulling off his boots.
"Well, hello! What are you doing home?" she exclaimed, walking toward him with an exuberant smile.
"We finished up the last of the Lansing order and Mr. Gowen told us we could leave early," he answered, sounding just as elated at this development.
Abigail was moved to hear it, and honestly a little curious whether this decision was at all related to her having told Henry how she missed Peter.
"That was very generous. He's a good man." Over to her left, she saw Peter had already shut the door behind him. "Where's your father?"
"He's still back there finishing up some of the paperwork," Peter told her, tugging the sleeve of his coat from his arm.
"Well, rest a little while and then I'm going to start on a big dinner for all of us to celebrate your hard work!" she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Oh…"
"Oh?"
The chagrin on her son's face was unmistakable. "It's just that… well, I was going to wash up and change and head over to the saloon. All the men are meeting back up there."
"Oh," she repeated, deflating. "Did Mr. Gowen put something together?"
Peter shook his head. "It was Pa's idea. I think Gowen's coming, but I'm not sure. Is that his coat, by the way?"
Abigail turned around to the banister, remembering now that she'd hung it there. "Oh yes," she said, distracted, "I ran into him in town and offered to mend a tear for him. He's not here."
"I know, he's at the mine." Peter crooked his face into that kind of perplexed expression that children periodically gave their parents, to remind them that nothing they said or did was normal. But Abigail, hurt and uncertain, fretfully cast her eyes away.
Peter softened. "Do you want me to stay?"
"Oh no, honey, of course not." She shook her head and laid a hand on his cheek. She meant it – she wanted him to do what would make him happy, even if she had gotten excited at the idea of this extra time with him. "I hadn't even finished the shopping yet, so don't worry about it. Go have fun."
"Okay. Thanks, Mom."
He started to go up the stairs when she raised a finger. "I do want a kiss first though."
He leaned over the railing and gave her a peck on the head. A little bit of coal dust shook out onto her face but she didn't mind it. That was the way of things. She sighed and reached up to undo her scarf, resigned to dinner alone.
