Appreciate all the reviews – thanks guys!
"The good Lord giveth and the good Lord taketh away. Lord, we commit our dear departed daughters Abigail and Hannah to your care, in sure and certain hope that they will be resurrected unto eternal life. Amen."
Rev Johnston closed his hymnbook and stood for a moment in silence at the graveside as the residents of Colorado Springs paid their respects to their lost children. The town had turned out in force to mourn. Abigail had been a popular girl, and over the years, Sully had become a steadfast member of the town. To have lost both his wife and child in such cruel circumstances was, as far as many were concerned, too much tragedy for any one man to bear.
Hank stole a glance at him, where he stood at the head of the grave, and felt a profound sense of pity. The man looked nothing short of broken, tears running down his face. On the opposite side of the grave, Loren stood holding onto Maud. Neither of them had spoken to Sully since the tragedy, so locked in their own private grief. The only person to have spoken to all three was the Reverend, and even he had apparently found it difficult to offer words of comfort. Abigail had been so young, so strong and Hannah, nothing but a baby, not even given the chance to start life.
From his position in the cemetery, Hank could see the top window of the saloon and knew that at that very moment, Emma Jane was lying in bed, where she had stayed virtually ever since her return from New York. When he had carried her into the saloon the previous afternoon, she had been inconsolable, clinging to him like a child, refusing to let him go. He had held her all night while she raged and cried, until finally she had fallen into a troubled sleep, her brow creased with anxiety. That morning, her tears had gone, to be replaced by a profound sense of quiet, almost as if she was somewhere else. He had tried to persuade her to get up and come to the funeral, to say goodbye to Abigail, but she had refused.
"I can't," she had said, "I can't go. It would be like admitting she had gone."
"She has gone," he had said, gently, but firmly. But his words had had no effect.
"I should have been here," she had repeated, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. He hadn't known what to say, so he had left her in bed and come to the funeral to pay his respects. He hadn't known Abigail the way Emma Jane had, but he remembered the day she had fallen off the horse and he had thought he was going to lose her. It was nowhere near the same, but he felt a connection nevertheless.
The crowds started to drift slowly away from the graveyard, leaving Sully, Loren and Maud still standing.
"You killed her," Loren said, turning angry eyes on his son-in-law, "You killed my little girl."
Sully didn't respond. Instead, he turned and began to walk away in the other direction. Hank wondered if he should go after him, but Jake came up behind him, "Reckon folks could use a drink," he said.
"Sure," Hank replied, falling into step with his friend as they headed back towards the saloon. He glanced up again at the window, but there was no sign of his wife.
"How's Emma Jane takin' it?" Jake asked, following his friend's gaze.
"Not good," he replied honestly, "Pretty cut up that she weren't here." He pushed open the door to the saloon where the girls were waiting to solicit custom. Jessica came up to him.
"Emma Jane hasn't come out of her room," she relayed.
"Thanks," he said, "Serve will ya?" He climbed the stairs to the bedroom and pushed open the door. Emma Jane still lay in bed, facing towards the window. "Emma?" She didn't stir. "Emma."
"Is it over?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah."
"I should have been here," Emma Jane repeated, "I should never have left her."
"Weren't yer fault."
"Yes it was."
"You didn't kill her, baby did."
"Don't say that!" Emma Jane turned angry eyes on him, "Don't ever say that! Abigail loved that baby!"
"A'right, a'right, I'm sorry."
"Don't ever say that! A baby doesn't kill you, it's everything else! Outside factors. It's people, it's nature. But it's not a baby!"
"Ok, ok, Emma…" he sat down beside her, "I'm sorry."
She quietened again suddenly, "Did you see Sully?" Hank nodded, "I should speak to him." She threw the covers off and jumped out of the bed, pulling off her nightgown and reaching for a dress.
"Emma Jane," Hank grabbed her arm, "What is goin' on?"
"I need to speak to Sully," she wrenched her arm from his grasp, "I need to tell him that I'm sorry."
"One minute yer lyin' in bed, refusin' to git out, the next you want to run off and see Sully?" Hank couldn't understand her logic.
"I have to," she insisted, pulling on the dress, "I have to tell him I'm sorry."
"Ain't yer fault!" He was becoming increasingly exasperated.
"Please," she looked at him, "please, let me go."
"Can't stop you," he said, throwing up his hands, "Just wish you would talk to me, that's all."
"I am talking to you," she replied smiling. But he could tell it wasn't a true smile. It didn't reach her eyes and they were definitely somewhere else.
SSSSSS
The homestead held no joy for Sully now. As he stood and looked around at all the familiar nooks and crannies, all he could think of was what had taken place little more than a few days earlier. Only last Sunday, he and Abigail had been discussing names, settling on Hannah for a girl and James for a boy. Now she was gone, they both were, and he wasn't going to get them back.
It all seemed like a dream. He remembered waking to the sound of Abigail's whimpered cries, confirming that their baby was finally coming. He had left her, for all of fifteen minutes, while he raced into town to bring Charlotte back. When they had returned, Abigail had been lying on the floor in a pool of blood, unconscious. Charlotte had demanded he go outside while she tried valiantly to save mother and child. But the haemorrhaging had been too severe and, shortly after pushing their baby girl into the world, Abigail had taken her last breath. He hadn't even been there to witness it, instead, he had to make do with the briefest of moments with Hannah, before she too slipped away.
With every passing minute, he kept thinking that Abigail was about to come inside, one hand protectively over her stomach, laughing gaily at something which had struck her as funny. But the deafening silence only seemed to mock him more and more. He had wandered aimlessly into his workshop, and found the half-finished rocking horse he had been making for the baby. He looked at it for so long his eyes began to hurt, thinking of how his child would never ride it.
The sound of horses hooves broke into his thoughts, and for a moment, he believed it to be Abigail and hurried outside. To his dismay, it was only Emma Jane trotting towards him, her face drawn and sad.
"Sully…" she said, pulling up in front of him and climbing down, "I…I'm so sorry." He nodded, "I wish I had been here, I really do. It's my biggest regret that…"
"Well you weren't," he replied harshly, "and she died anyway. They both did."
"I couldn't believe it when Hank told me," Emma Jane continued, "I mean, not Abigail. She was so strong, so alive. It doesn't seem fair somehow."
"No, it doesn't."
Emma Jane watched his face, looking for any clue as to whether or not he blamed her for what had happened, but she saw nothing but sorrow. "I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral this morning," she looked down at the ground, "but I just couldn't."
Sully shrugged, "Makes no odds."
"Of course it does! I already feel terrible about what's happened."
"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to take on your pain too," Sully pushed past her and hurried back into the homestead, leaving Emma Jane dumbfounded. She hurried after him, bursting through the door.
"I wasn't asking you to take on my pain," she insisted, "I was only explaining why I wasn't there."
"You were her best friend," Sully rounded on her, "You were the person she looked up to the most." He paused, "Do you know what Loren said to me at the graveside today?" Emma Jane shook her head, "He told me that I'd killed Abigail. That I'd taken away his little girl." He laughed bitterly, "And he's right."
"Don't say that," Emma Jane protested.
"I gave her that child! I married her!" He looked at her, "But it was you who talked her into marrying me."
"What?"
"You filled her head with romantic notions of you and Hank! If you hadn't done that, she would never have agreed to elope with me, never! She would have married Martin and she would still be alive!" Tears started to stream down his face. Emma Jane moved forward to put her arms around him, but he stepped back, "Just go!"
"Sully, please…"
"I said go!" He yelled at her.
Emma Jane stood for a moment longer and then turned to leave, hurrying out of the homestead and running over to where she had left her horse. She mounted and rode away quickly, not looking back. As she rode, she could hear his voice in her head, blaming her, telling her it was all her fault. By the time she reached town, her head was in turmoil so, instead of heading back towards the saloon, she turned and rode down to the church. She tied her horse up outside and climbed the steps to the door, gingerly pushing it open.
The church was deserted, so she walked down the aisle, conscious of the noise her boots were making on the wooden floor, and sat down in one of the pews, looking up at the alter. She wasn't quite sure what being here was going to achieve, but in some strange way, it soothed her. Back in New York, she had hated going to church, due to the fact that the minister seemed at if he were rapidly approaching a hundred years of age. His voice had been waving and scratchy and it had been all Emma Jane could do not to scream and run outside. Here in Colorado Springs, she had started going to church every week, inspired by Reverend Johnston. He was young, kind and sympathetic, and didn't judge her for the choices she had made, or where she happened to live. She had tried at one point to persuade Hank to come with her, but he had put his foot down, claiming religion wasn't his thing.
"Emma Jane?" Rev Johnston's voice petered through her thoughts and she looked round to see him coming down the aisle towards her.
"Reverend."
"How are you?"
"Fine," she replied quietly.
"We missed you at the funeral this morning."
Emma Jane looked back at him, to see if he blamed her, but she saw nothing but compassion in his expression. "I couldn't come," she explained, "I just couldn't bear to see Abigail put into the ground."
"I understand," he sat down beside her, "You were very close."
"She was the first person who talked to me, who took the time to get to know me, who didn't judge me." Emma Jane sighed, "And now she's gone and I wasn't here when she died."
"You were with her in spirit," he reassured her.
"No," she shook her head sorrowfully, "I was too busy fighting with my parents over things that should have been said years ago. I was attending the funeral of a sister that I didn't care half as much for as I cared for Abigail." She took a deep shuddering breath, "I had my priorities all wrong."
"Nothing comes before family."
"Abigail was family, Lydia wasn't. If I could change things…"
"We can never change things that have been, Emma Jane. We can only deal with them in the best way we can, knowing that God is always there to guide us and look after us."
She turned to him, "What sort of God would strike down a woman as young and healthy as Abigail, and an innocent child like Hannah? What did everyone who loved her ever do to deserve the pain that her death is causing us?"
"I don't have all the answers…"
"Then who does?" she raged, "Tell me that Reverend. Who does?"
"I can't."
"No," she said with finality, "You can't." With that, she stood up and pushed past him out of the pew and ran back up the aisle and out of the church into the afternoon sunshine. She unhooked her horse, mounted and rode back to the saloon, tears streaming down her face. When she got there, she didn't even bother to tie the horse up, instead, she stormed into the saloon and surveyed the customers, "Look at all of you!" she declared loudly, "All of you men, in here drinking and partaking of the entertainment, when your wives are at home looking after your children!" She moved over to one of the tables, "You've got a wife," she pointed at one, "and you. And your wife's expecting!" She shouted at another, who was sitting with one of the girls on his knee. "I've seen her! And you're in here, when you should be at home with her!"
Hank came up behind his wife, "Emma Jane." His tone was quiet, yet it also held a slight threat.
"You all make me sick!" she continued to rage, "Look at Sully! He loved Abigail so much! He was a wonderful husband and was looking forward to being a father to their child! He's lost all that now, and yet you all sit in here, wasting your lives and your money…"
"Emma Jane," Hank grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it back.
"You all should be ashamed of yourselves!" She yelled, "Ashamed!" Hank grabbed her again, dragging her away from the table and upstairs, despite her resistance.
"Get off me!" She screamed at him, as he forced her into the bedroom.
"The hell was that?" he demanded, "You tryin' to make business even worse than it already is?"
"What do you care?" she retorted bitterly, "You're just like all of them down there. You sit and drink with them, you encourage them to get drunk and go with the girls while their wives are at home!"
"That's enough," he warned her.
"You don't care about anything! You don't care about me! You're as bad as Sully, blaming me for everything that goes wrong! Do you think that I don't see that you believe it's my fault that I haven't given you a child? I know you blame me for that, and yet have you ever stopped to consider that it might be you? That it might be you who's defective, not me!"
"Stop it!"
"I hate this place!" she screamed, "I hate everything about it! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!"
Faced with this onslaught, and unsure how to calm her hysterics, Hank resorted to the age old solution of how a man should deal with his wife, by slapping Emma Jane hard across the face. Her tirade stopped immediately and her hand flew to her face. She stepped back from him, her eyes wide and frightened. In eight years of marriage, despite threatening it in public for bravado, Hank had never raised his hand to her.
"You…" her voice trembled.
Shame instantly flooded through Hank, "Emma, Emma I'm sorry…" he stepped towards her, but she stepped back again, "I didn't mean it," he said, "I'm so sorry, please, please forgive me."
"You…you…" she couldn't think of a word harsh enough to describe him. Tears continued to spill down her cheeks and the side of her face burned from the force of his hand. She had always been aware of her husband's background and attitude, always known he was part of the rougher element, but never would she have thought…
"You were hysterical!" he tried to justify himself, "You were screamin' at me. What the hell else was I supposed to do?"
"Nothing, Hank," she replied quietly, hiccupping slightly as she spoke, "Clearly there was nothing else you could do." She made to move past him, but stopped briefly before she did, "You've just confirmed everything that I always hoped you never would."
SSSSSSS
The gossip in the saloon that night was Emma Jane's outburst and the things she had said. The men she had directed her spite at were noticeably absent from the premises, but those who remained all agreed on the same thing: Hank needed to teach his wife a lesson.
Hearing this from his place behind the bar, Hank knew that if they were aware of what had happened that afternoon, they would congratulate him, nod their heads and say 'yes, that was the way to deal with an out-of-control wife.' He knew many men did it, some occasionally, others to the extent whereupon if he saw their wives in the street, he knew by their faces what had happened. Knowing that he had only done what was expected of him gave Hank no sense of pride or solidarity. He had hurt the person he loved the most, hurt her so that she looked at him out of fear instead of out of love and desire. Since the incident, Emma Jane hadn't returned to the saloon and with midnight fast approaching, he was beginning to worry about her.
"No sign of Emma Jane?" Jake inquired, looking remarkably sober.
"No," he shook his head while cleaning a glass.
"Wasn't right what she said."
"Nope."
"Hope you let her know that, if you know what I mean?"
Hank looked up at his friend, "What do you mean, Jake?"
"Well…you know…"
"Did I hit her? That what yer asking me? Cause if it is, then the answer's yes, I did. And what's more, I don't feel so great about it."
"Ok," Jake replied, holding his hands up, "Was just asking."
"Well don't." He went back to cleaning the glasses until it was time to close up, "All right, everybody out, now!"
"C'mon Hank!" One of the regulars protested, "It's still early!"
Hank walked up to him and fixed him with a stare, "Don't make me ask ya twice." The man didn't argue, and one by one, the customers started to drift away. He sent the girls up to bed and set about tidying up, all the time hoping that Emma Jane would come through the door. The minutes ticked by and still no sign of her. He checked the stables, but all the horses were bedded down for the night, so there was no chance of her lying injured somewhere having been thrown. He paced around the saloon, smoking cigarette after cigarette, until eventually, he decided to go and look for her.
Outside, the town was slowly quietening down, with only a few merry revellers still staggering about, trying to find their way home. He glanced over to Loren's store, but the shutters were closed as usual, as they had been since Abigail's death. He went to the meadow, but there was no sign of her. She wasn't at the church either, but as he turned to walk back towards the saloon, he caught sight of a hunched figure in the graveyard.
"Emma Jane?" he hurried towards it, and found his wife kneeling in front of Abigail and Hannah's graves, "Bin worried bout ya." She didn't reply, "Bin gone a long time."
"I'm sorry," she replied sarcastically, "Did you want to find me so you could hit me again?"
Hank drew his breath in sharply, "Told ya I was sorry bout that."
"And that makes it all right?"
He paused, "No."
"I thought I knew you. I thought I knew you better than anyone. I thought you loved me."
"I do love you!"
"Then why do it?" she turned her head to look at him, "Is it just easier that way? Don't have to talk about it? Don't have to actually open up? You just lash out and that makes everything better?"
Hank crouched down beside her, "Yer the only one I ever open up to."
"And that's not saying much."
"What can I say?" he demanded, "I love you, Emma Jane, you know I do! What I did was wrong, and I'm sorry, but…you wouldn't listen to me! You were hysterical, I didn't know what to do!"
"You could have comforted me," she replied, "told me it would be all right. I had just lost my best friend."
"Thought I was yer best friend."
Emma Jane ignored the comment, "Sully told me that what happened to Abigail was my fault."
Hank was stunned, "He said what?"
She nodded, "He said that if I hadn't filled her head with romantic notions, she would never have run off with him and they would never have gotten married. Then she never would have been expecting and…she never would have died."
"That's stupid," Hank said viciously, "I'll kill him when I git my hands on him…"
"There you go again!" she cried, "Violence! Sully's just lost his wife and child, he has a right to be angry!"
"Not with my wife he don't!"
"What if it had been me?" she asked, "Would you have cared? Would you have been half as devastated as Sully is?"
Hank stared at her, "You really have to ask me that?"
Emma Jane touched her swollen cheek, "Yes I really do."
Hank paused for a long moment, as if weighing up what to do, then he got to his feet, "Don't wanna discuss this."
"Fine, run away! Go on! Be a typical man! Beat your wife and run away…"
"I never beat ya!" he rounded on her. "Ain't like that!"
Emma Jane got to her feet, "But you wanted to, didn't you? You've wanted to for a long time, because I'm not good and obedient and perfect like other wives."
"Yer crazy."
"Yes, you're right, I am." She agreed, nodding, "I've been crazy ever since I met you on that damn train. I was crazy to go along with your harebrained scheme of us getting married. I was crazy to come here with you and I was crazy not to run while I had the chance! Well, you know what?" She forced her wedding ring off of her finger, "I'm not crazy any more Hank."
"What you doin'?" he demanded.
"Take it back," she held it out to him, "I don't want it." He looked at her as though she were insane, "I said, take it." He made no move, so she threw it onto the ground, "Do what you like with it." She pushed past him, but he grabbed her arm.
"The hell you goin'?"
"Touch me again and you'll regret it," she warned her, tears hovering on her eyelashes, "I mean it, Hank."
He released her and she hurried away from him back towards town. He bent down and lifted the ring from the ground, wondering what the hell had just happened.
SSSSSSS
That night, in a room in the boarding house, Emma Jane cried herself to sleep, bitter anguished sobs into her pillow. Sully was right, she was to blame. In a way, she had encouraged Abigail to rebel against her parents, to marry Sully, and they had encouraged each other to become pregnant. Maybe if she had just never come to Colorado Springs, Abigail would still be alive.
"I don't deserve to be happy," she whispered to herself, "I don't deserve anything. Father was right, it should have been me."
The following morning, feeling drained and sluggish, Emma Jane vomited into the bedpan, feeling as though she were expelling her very soul. She sat, hunched over, sweat on her brow, not knowing what was wrong with her.
"Are you all right?" Charlotte asked her when she came down for breakfast, "You're very pale."
"I'm fine," she replied, although she could barely eat any of her host's delicious breakfast, "I didn't sleep very well, that's all."
Charlotte regarded her, "What are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"About you and Hank."
Emma Jane immediately felt for her wedding ring and then remembered that she had thrown it at him the night before, "I don't know."
"I've known you for a long time, Emma Jane. I know you love that man." Charlotte had noticed the slight redness on her friend's cheek, and suspected how it had come about, but had kept her counsel, "And he loves you."
"I'm not even sure I know what love is anymore Charlotte."
"Nonsense," Charlotte replied, "I'll tell you what love isn't, and that's Ethan upping and leaving me with three children. Hank's not like that. Deep down, he's got a good heart."
"I don't think I deserve a man with a good heart."
"Emma Jane, listen to me," Charlotte said firmly, "You're upset about Abigail, we all are. But you can't allow yourself to wallow like this. It's not good for you." She paused, "Or that baby."
"What baby?" Emma Jane asked.
"The one you're carrying, of course," Charlotte replied gently.
Emma Jane stared at her, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not expecting."
"I had my suspicions when I heard you earlier. And now that I look at you, you've got that look about you."
"What look?"
"The look of a woman carrying a child."
Emma Jane laughed hollowly, "You're wrong, Charlotte. I'm not carrying any child." She pushed her chair back from the table, "Thank you for breakfast." Before Charlotte could say anymore, she left, hurrying out into the morning sunshine, taking in huge gulps of air. It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. She was not pregnant. Banishing the thought from her mind, she went around to the back of the saloon and saddled up her horse, preparing to ride out to the homestead to see Sully again. There was no sign of Hank, and for this she was grateful.
The ride was pleasant enough, the air full of the fragrance of summer, the sun beaming down on her, warming her back. But there was still a cold feeling inside of her, a feeling that refused to go away. As she arrived at the homestead, she called out Sully's name, but received no answer. Dismounting, she checked the workshop, before mounting the steps to the door.
"Sully?" she knocked. There was no answer. She tried the door and found it open. Stepping inside, she called out again. The place was cold, and she shivered slightly away from the sun. Stepping from room to room, there was a distinct feeling of abandonment, and as she looked around, she could see none of Sully's possessions. Abigail's lay where they had been left, but there wasn't a remnant of Byron Sully.
Heading back outside, she called out one more time, but only a lone bird answered her. Realising that he had gone, and gone hating her, she sat down on the steps and put her head in her hands. Crying was all she seemed to do, and she couldn't seem to stop.
SSSSSSS
Charlotte took it upon herself to go and speak to Hank later that day. She was worried about Emma Jane, especially in light of what she suspected. The saloon was busy, and despite knowing that women were not generally welcomed inside, Charlotte marched in and approached the bar.
Instead of his usual sarcastic quip, Hank merely looked at her, and from the expression on his face, it didn't look as though he had slept much the night before either.
"Hank, we need to talk about Emma Jane," she said. He nodded, and led her through to the kitchen, where he leaned against the table and lit and cigarette. "She stayed at the boarding house last night."
"Figured as much. She ok?"
"No, no I don't believe she is," Charlotte said, "The poor girl's in a dreadful state. Ever since Abigail died, it's as if she's been shutting herself off from everything and everybody. She was crying last night."
"Yeah, she does a lot of that right now."
"It's not good for her. I know it's important to grieve, but she's in danger of making herself ill." Charlotte deliberately refrained from mentioning the baby.
"I don't know what to do," Hank said, "She won't talk to me. She threw this at me last night." He held up her ring, "Seems like she's determined to go it alone."
"She doesn't know which way is up right now," Charlotte said, "She loves you Hank, and she needs you, whether you believe it or not."
"I hit her, Charlotte," he admitted quietly, "I ain't proud of it. Shouldn't have done it, but I did."
Charlotte sighed heavily, "I know. But it's not too late to make amends."
"Can't reach her," he shook his head, "she don't want me anymore."
"So you're just going to give up?" Charlotte glared at him, "If you love her, you'll fight for her."
"Don't know how!"
"You've been married to her for eight years! If anyone knows her, Hank Lawson, it's you. You need to be there for her now. She needs you, more than ever."
He sighed, "Yer right, I know yer right. But I can't help her if she don't want me too."
"You have to fight for her," Charlotte encouraged him.
Hank nodded, and after Charlotte had left, he thought back over everything. If there was one thing in his life that he was glad he did, it was talking her into marrying him. Maybe at the time, it had been for the wrong reasons, but he loved her and the thought of being without her was almost too much to bear.
Leaving Jessica in charge of the bar, he set out once more to look for her, this time going immediately to Abigail's grave. To his surprise, Emma Jane wasn't there, and it was only after he had been riding around for a good hour that he thought of checking the Sully's homestead.
Emma Jane was still sitting on the steps and when she heard an approaching horse, she looked up, wondering if it was Sully. When she saw it was Hank, part of her felt deflated.
"Thought you might be here," he said, dismounting and coming to stand in front of her, "Sully not home?"
"He's gone," she replied, "All his things are missing."
"Oh," Hank wasn't sure what to say, "He'll be back."
"No," she shook her head, "He's running away. From all the memories. From me."
Hank paused, "Ain't gonna tell you it ain't yer fault." She looked at him, "Told you so many times already, but if you don't believe it fer yerself…"
"I know," she replied, "I just can't help feeling guilty. I seem to have caused so much trouble over the years, hurt so many people…my parents, Lydia, Sully…you."
"You ain't never hurt me, Emma Jane," he sat on the steps beside her, "If anything, it's the other way around." He reached out and touched her cheek briefly. "I used you, way back, I used you."
She looked at him, "How do you mean?"
"I married you fer fun. I didn't love you, didn't think about how you'd feel about it. I saw a chance and I took it. You were so miserable when you came here, and that was because of me."
She smiled, "It was my choice to marry you."
"Made you think that if you didn't, you'd be in my debt for that ticket. I took advantage of you." He lowered his head, "That first night, in that hotel room…"
"Let's not," she said, "I was a different person back then."
"You were a scared child," he said bluntly, "and I used you…"
She put her hand on his arm, "Please."
Hank sighed, "Just don't want you to think that I don't realise what I did. If yer to blame fer hurtin' yer folks, then so am I."
Emma Jane sighed too, "Maybe we're both as bad as each other."
"Maybe. But you certainly seem to bring out the best in me. Most of the time anyway."
"You're right," she agreed, "I was miserable when I came here. I thought I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. But if I had wanted to leave, Hank, I would have gone home with my parents when they came. And I sure as hell wouldn't have stayed for eight years. It's just…" she felt the tears come again.
"I know," he put his arm around her, "I know."
"Oh…" she wiped her eyes, "I don't know what's wrong with me." Then she paused, "Actually, maybe I do."
"What?"
She looked at him, "Charlotte seems to think I'm…expecting."
A slow smile spread across Hank's face, "She does?"
"Oh, I don't know how she can tell, but she swears blind I look different. And I was sick this morning which is supposed to be a sign." She started to cry again, "I think we're having a baby, Hank."
Hank pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms, "Best news I've heard in a long time."
Emma Jane sniffed against his chest, "Can I have my ring back?"
Hank laughed, "Of course." He reached into his pocket and produced it, slipping it gently onto her finger, "Thinkin' maybe we should git married again."
Emma Jane looked at him, "Married?"
"Why not? Never did it proper first time round. You never did git the big wedding. Figured I might talk to the Reverend, see what he could do."
She hugged him again, "That would be wonderful." As she rested her head against his chest, she looked up at the homestead and hoped that Abigail would think it just as wonderful.
TBC – Epilogue coming soon!
