Christmas Eve 1868
Three months later
"Mrs Hyatt, you really must keep still!" Emma Jane declared in exasperation, "If you want to be able to wear this dress on New Years Eve you have to let me be able to finish it!" She paused and looked up, "You look wonderful."
"So I should, all the hours you've put in," Mrs Hyatt replied good-naturedly, "Who would have thought that Emma Jane Brown would be so good at dressmaking?"
"Who would have thought Isabella DeSanchez would have married one of the richest men in New York City?" Emma Jane replied laughingly, getting to her feet. The two women grinned at each other, both remembering the morning when Mrs Bentley had brought Emma Jane to the Hyatt house to do some fittings only to discover that the two women already knew each other from a train journey over ten years earlier.
"I can't complain," Isabella replied, "Max is very generous."
"With his money, yes, I can see that," Emma Jane joked, fixing another pin at her friend's waist. "He must be, the number of clothes he allows you to buy."
"He doesn't 'allow' me, he indulges me," Isabella replied, "It's my thank you for having given him two sons."
"Well, if that's all I had to do…"
"Oh don't be so silly!" Isabella flapped her hands, "Besides, I think you're carrying a boy."
"That's what Mrs Kimble said."
"Well, she's right. It's the way you're carrying. Your baby's high up, that definitely means a boy. I carried high with Richard and Paul." She touched Emma Jane's growing stomach gently, "How much longer to go?"
"Three months, as well you know," Emma Jane chided her gently, "You've only been keeping track of my every expanding inch." She touched her stomach herself, "This baby likes to kick, though. Much more than Victoria ever did." She tried to push this thought from her mind. The more different her pregnancy was from when she was expecting Victoria, the more she worried the baby wasn't Hank's.
Isabella changed the subject quickly, knowing how little her friend liked to discuss her failed marriage, "What are you doing tomorrow?"
Emma Jane made a face, "Well, I was looking forward to spending a quiet Christmas Day with my family, with only my mother to keep at bay, but I've been foiled in that. Mother's only gone and invited the Bowmans for Christmas dinner."
"Well, that's nice isn't it?"
"No, it isn't. Georgina Bowman can't stand the sight of me. She's made that clear often enough. I'm not sure I can handle a whole day of two of them remarking on my downfall."
"It's nice for Thomas and Clara though, isn't it?" Isabella said, "When are they planning on getting married?"
"Shortly after your summer ball, I believe," Emma Jane replied, "The Bowmans are spending the beginning of the summer in Europe, so from what Thomas has told me, it'll most likely be a late August, early September wedding."
"Beautiful. Are you to be a bridesmaid?"
"No, thankfully." Emma Jane looked critically at the dress, "it's going to need taken in a little more at the waist, Isabella."
"I'm glad you said that. Better than saying it needs taken out!" Isabella laughed, "I hate to be a burden, but can you have it finished before next week?"
"Of course I can," Emma Jane laughed, "It's my job to keep my clients happy."
After sitting with her friend and having a cup of hot chocolate made by Isabella's fabulous cook, Emma Jane left the Hyatt house and made her way back along the streets towards home. It was a long walk, seeing as her friend lived in one of the most affluent areas of the city, but she didn't mind. There was a light covering on snow on the sidewalk and choirs on virtually every street corner singing carols in anticipation of tomorrow.
She was tired by the time she arrived back at the boarding house, her feet sore from the walk and her back aching from the weight of her baby. Already at only five months, he was a big baby, and she dreaded to think how she would look come her delivery time.
"Hello Emma Jane," Mrs Kimble greeted her, her usual heartiness somewhat diminished.
"Mrs Kimble," Emma Jane replied, "Is everything all right?"
"No," she replied, tears forming in her eyes, "No, love, it's not."
"What is it?"
"It's Carolyn. She's on her way."
Emma Jane closed her eyes, partly in despair, partly in relief. Over the last three months, Carolyn's condition had worsened rapidly. The doctor had told her it was a miracle she had hung on so long. "I'll go and see her."
"Take this up to her, will ya?" Mrs Kimble handed her a bowl of steaming hot soup, "see if ya can git her to eat anythin'."
Emma Jane took the bowl from her and carried it carefully upstairs. Peter was looking after Victoria, so she made her way down the corridor to Carolyn's room and gently pushed the door open. Carolyn was lying in darkness, her breathing shallow.
"Emma?" she croaked weakly.
"It's me," Emma Jane replied, "I brought you some soup." She moved over to Carolyn's bed and put the bowl down beside her. "Can I draw the curtains back a little?" Carolyn nodded and Emma Jane pulled the thin material back to let the last slivers of daylight in. They emphasises Carolyn's face, covered with sores, pale and drawn, her eyes huge. "There, that's better." She sat down next to the bed and dipped the spoon into the soup, "Can you manage a little?"
Carolyn pulled herself up in the bed a fraction of an inch and opened her mouth as wide as she could. Emma Jane poured the contents of the soup into her mouth.
"Nice," Carolyn said, "For…once."
Emma Jane laughed, "I know what you mean." She continued to feed Carolyn until the other woman could take no more. She sank back down in the bed, exhausted.
"How's…your baby?"
"Kicking," Emma Jane replied, "Mrs Hyatt thinks I'm having a boy."
"I…think so…too. It's the way you're…"
"Carrying, yes I know. So everyone keeps telling me." Emma Jane smiled at her, "Don't you worry about us. Just think about yourself."
"What…will you call…him?" Carolyn asked.
"I'm not sure," Emma Jane replied, "How about…Winston?"
Carolyn laughed raggedly, "I hope…that you're…joking."
"I am."
"Maybe…Hank Junior?"
Emma Jane's smile slipped slightly, "Maybe."
"You…must tell him."
"I know."
"I'm…serious. You must…tell him about…his son." Carolyn looked at her sternly, "He has…a right to…know."
"But what if he's not the father?" Emma Jane gave voice to her fear.
"Doesn't matter. He…loves you…anyway."
"It does matter."
"Don't be…so goddamn…stubborn," Carolyn said, "Look…where it's got…me." She coughed, "Emma Jane?"
"Yes?"
"In my dresser…at the back…there's a…a letter."
"Do you want me to get it?" Emma Jane stood up, but Carolyn shook her head.
"No…it's…it's for my parents. I want…you to…to send it to them…once I'm…gone. I wrote it…tried to…explain." She took a deep ragged breath, "I've…addressed it…all you have to do…is send it. Will you send it?" She looked at Emma Jane.
Tears pricked at Emma Jane's eyes, "Yes, Carolyn. I'll send it."
Carolyn seemed to visibly relax, "What…time is it?"
Emma Jane checked her watch, "Nine o'clock."
"Merry…Christmas."
"You've got a few hours to go yet."
"No…" Carolyn replied, "I don't."
Emma Jane didn't reply. She sat by Carolyn's bedside, barely moving, watching as her friend's breathing grew more and more shallow and ragged. Carolyn reached out her hand and Emma Jane took it in hers. Then, as if sighing in relief, Carolyn took one final breath and slipped away.
SSSS
"Ya should go to bed," Mrs Kimble advised her.
"I'm not sure I could sleep," Emma Jane replied, "Not after all this." She sat at the kitchen table staring down in the mug of hot tea, the third she had drunk since Carolyn had died. When she had realised her friend had gone, Emma Jane had called on Kevin to fetch Mrs Kimble, who had in turn asked Kevin to fetch the doctor. When he arrived, a thin-faced, sour looking man, he had confirmed that she was dead and asked about family.
"She's got none," Mrs Kimble said.
"Well…" the doctor had said, "has she got any money?"
"No," Emma Jane had replied.
"Then, it's a poor house burial."
"Absolutely not!" Emma Jane had declared angrily, "She comes from a good Boston family! You can't bury her like she was a…a…"
"If nobody can pay for anything better, then that's what she's going to get," the doctor had replied.
"I'll pay for it," Emma Jane had said, "If you can get in touch with…whoever deals with it, I'll pay for it." The doctor had looked at her as if she were crazy, but he had gone away and contacted the right people who had turned up not long after and put Carolyn's body into a coffin.
"She'll have to lie til after Christmas," one of the men had said, perturbed at being called out on Christmas Eve."
"I understand that, thank you," Emma Jane had replied, "can she be buried the day after?"
"Have to talk to the preacher about that."
"I'll be at church tomorrow no doubt," Emma Jane had told Mrs Kimble, "I'll speak to the minister then."
Mrs Kimble had nodded and the two of them had then sat in silence, contemplating everything that had happened.
"She was like a daughter to me," Mrs Kimble said.
"I know," Emma Jane replied, running a hand over her tired eyes. It was now almost two o'clock on Christmas morning.
"Ya really should be in bed," Mrs Kimble insisted, "Ain't good fer ya in yer condition."
Emma Jane smiled ruefully, "Maybe you're right." She got to her feet, but a sudden dizziness came flooding over her and she sank back down into the chair.
"Are you all right?" Mrs Kimble demanded.
"I'm…fine," she replied, "I'm just tired."
"You've gone awful pale. Kevin!" She shouted, "Run and fetch the doctor, will ya?"
"I don't need a doctor," Emma Jane protested feebly.
"Yer in a delicate condition," Mrs Kimble insisted, "Don't fuss!"
Emma Jane didn't have the strength to fight back, so she allowed Mrs Kimble to make her some more tea and waited until the doctor came. Unfortunately, it was the same doctor as before.
"Oh I see," he said, "Something the matter with you now is there?" He sighed, "Let's have a look." He checked her pulse, pressed down on her stomach, and looked into her eyes. "Probably just over-exhaustion. Do you work Mrs…?"
"Lawson, yes I do. I'm a dressmaker."
"I see. Long hours?"
"Of course."
"In your condition, that's not right. You should be at home, resting, preparing yourself for the birth. Not gallivanting around."
"I'm not…" Emma Jane tried to get to her feet, but dizziness claimed her once again and she sat back down.
"Off to bed with you," the doctor said.
"I'm not an invalid."
"Mrs Lawson, the welfare of your child is most important. Now, I can assure you that if you do not take things easy, you will find yourself in grave danger come the birth." He looked at her reproachfully, "Mrs Kimble, this young lady should be in bed."
Mrs Kimble ushered her upstairs back to her room and forced her to get into bed, "Now, you just sleep. Victoria's fine, everything's fine. Just sleep."
Emma Jane couldn't protest and soon, she was fast asleep.
SSSS
When she finally woke up, her body felt tired and heavy, but when she checked her watch and saw that it was after ten o'clock, she got to her feet as quickly as she could and pulled on a deep green dress that she had bought especially for Christmas. It had needed to be altered to accommodate her growing stomach, but she had to admit that she thought she looked nice in it.
As she finished dressing Victoria, her eye caught sight of the letter Hank had sent her. It hadn't said much, wished her and Victoria a Happy Christmas and included money. Her heart ached as she read his words, knowing that she should tell him everything, yet always finding a way of pushing it to the back of her mind.
"I'm going to be dreadfully late, Mrs Kimble!" she shouted as she dashed for the door. Outside, the world was covered in snow and she ran as fast as she could up onto the main street and tried to flag down a carriage. They all seemed to be occupied however, and as the time drew nearer to eleven o'clock and the start of the Christmas Day service, she began to panic. Finally, she managed to get one and told the driver to go as quickly as possible. This was easier said than done, however, with the number of other carriages on the streets, and she reached her parents' house as they were coming down the steps to get into their own carriage.
"We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it," her father said, hugging her gently, "Emma Jane, you look ghastly."
"I'm fine, Father, just tired. Your grandchild is keeping me awake."
"Which one?" He smiled at her and chucked Victoria's chin."Well, in you get." He helped her in beside her mother who merely eyed her distastefully.
"Merry Christmas Emma," Thomas said, climbing in opposite her, "How are you?"
"Fine, Thomas, Merry Christmas to you too." She kissed him on the cheek as the carriage set off towards the church.
As usual, the great and the good had gathered to worship on this fine Christmas morn, and Mr and Mrs Brown were stopped by many people to exchange salutations and chat. Thomas too, was also in demand. All of New York were aware of the upcoming nuptials, and most felt it a very good match. Only Emma Jane was left on the periphery of such an occasion. People talked about her, gestured to her, and no doubt commented on her impending motherhood. It wouldn't have bothered her so much if Hank were here, holding her hand, pulling her next to him, whispering that he loved her. The only thing she had to hold on to was Victoria, a reminder of the love she had once shared with Hank.
She sat through the service not really listening to what the minister was saying. The Christmas message washed over her as she thought of the mess of the last year, and of Carolyn…As the congregation were filing out at the end, shaking the minister's hand, she remembered she had to ask him about a funeral.
"Miss Brown," he greeted her warmly, "how are you?"
"Fine thank you, Reverend," she replied, "I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment."
"Of course."
"I have a friend who passed away last night after a long illness," she explained, "she has no family and I've offered to pay for her burial. I was hoping you might be able to conduct the service."
"I would be honoured, of course," he replied, "When were you thinking of?"
"As soon as possible."
He nodded, "I'll come and visit you tomorrow and we can discuss things, how would that be?"
"Thank you," she gave him the address and then hurried to catch up with the rest of her family.
"What were you talking about with Reverend Maxwell?" Mr Brown asked.
"Spiritual guidance I hope," Mrs Brown sniffed.
"You're quite right, Mother," Emma Jane replied, "spiritual guidance."
Colorado Springs
"Hank? Ya comin'?" Jessica leaned against the door to the bar, "Everythin's ready."
Hank looked up from his glass of whiskey and nodded. She remained where she was, however, until he growled, "I'm comin' ok?" Her smile fading slightly, Jessica disappeared back into the kitchen leaving him alone again.
He emptied his glass, poured another and pulled out the letter from his pocket. Emma Jane had sent him a jacket for Christmas, one that she had bought in a real store 'because I know you won't buy one.' She had also included a scarf that she had knitted. He had turned it over and over in his hands and then held it up in case it contained any scent of her.
This Christmas was hell on earth without her and Victoria. He had felt it as the dreaded day approached, as the town began to celebrate and get into the festive spirit. He had wanted to die instead. Pulling himself to his feet he made his way into the kitchen where the girls were putting the finishing touches to the dinner. Jessica was sat at the opposite end of the table, in what had once been Emma Jane's seat.
"Here he is," she said merrily, "C'mon, Hank. It's all ready."
They sat down and began to eat, the girls chatting amongst themselves. Hank could barely eat anything, his heart firmly in his throat. Jessica watched him from her seat.
"Ain't ya hungry?" she asked.
He just looked at her, her head cocked to one side, her eyes wide and seemingly innocent. He knew what she was really thinking, knew what it was she really wanted. He only had himself to blame, knowing that he hadn't actively been discouraging her.
"Did ya hear from Emma Jane?" one of the other girls asked innocently.
This was the final straw. Hank got up from the table and stormed back into the bar to get another drink. Jessica followed him and stood behind him while he poured it and drank it. Then she walked over and slipped her arm around his waist.
"Don't worry, Hank," she said, "I know it's hard but…I can make it all better." She turned him to face her, "Can't I?" she looked up at him, her face smiling and opening. She wanted him and he knew it.
"No," he said after a long pause, "Ya can't." He pushed her away from him and took another drink.
Jessica watched him, annoyed at his dismissal of her, "Ya know somethin' Hank? Ya'd better start being nice to me."
"What ya talkin' about?" he said, his back still to her.
"I'm talkin' about the fact that ya use me like yer wife and ya don't care about the consequences. Could be that I'm expectin'." It was a lie, but as far as Jessica was concerned, it was worth a shot.
Hank turned to look at her, "What?"
"Sayin' I could be." She looked at him defiantly. Before she knew what had happened, Hank had grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her towards the door. "Stop it!" she cried out, "Hank!"
He opened the door and threw her outside, "I know ya, Jessica. I know what yer all about. Can see right through ya. Bin tryin' to take Emma Jane's place ever since she left. Ya ain't pregnant, and the fact that ya could say ya was…" it made him feel sick at the thought that he might have impregnated her, "don't come back!"
"Ya can't do that!" Jessica got to her feet, "What about my things?"
"Ain't yer things," he replied, "They're my things."
"But…but it's Christmas Day!" she protested.
He didn't reply. Instead, he merely turned and went back inside, locking the doors behind him. Jessica bashed her fists against them, pleading with him to let her in, but he ignored her. He didn't want to bring a child into the world with a woman he didn't love, a woman who meant nothing more to him than a few moments pleasure. The only person he wanted a child with, was Emma Jane.
New York City
It was the worst Christmas Dinner Emma Jane had ever had to sit through. She had forgotten exactly just how rude and obnoxious Georgina Bowman was. The woman had either ignored her completely, or made barely veiled remarks about her lifestyle. Emma Jane wanted to scream, or rather, wanted to slap her hard on the face. Good manners however, prevented either. Victoria sat, contentedly messing around with her dinner in her highchair. It took Emma Jane back to last Christmas in the saloon…with Hank.
"We're very excited about Europe," Mrs Bowman declared, "Aren't we Clara?"
"Yes Mother," Clara replied.
"It's going to be a most wonderful trip. Clara's going to visit the best designers and come home with a whole new wardrobe. She really is going to be an exquisite bride." Mrs Bowman paused and looked at Emma Jane, "What did you wear on your wedding day, Emma Jane?"
"Mother!" Clara hissed.
"Well, I didn't know when I left home that I was to be married, so I'm afraid I had to make do with my lilac dress," Emma Jane replied sweetly, "when Hank and I renewed our vows, however, Thomas brought me the loveliest dress, didn't you?" Thomas nodded.
"Lilac dress?" Mrs Bowman snorted, "hardly appropriate attire."
"Well, it was all I had with me at the time."
"Georgina," Mrs Brown broke in, eager to divert the conversation, "have you seen the new opera? Frederick and I were there last week and I thought it was terrible."
"Yes, the soprano was rather flat," Mrs Bowman acquiesced, "When is your baby due, Emma Jane?"
Emma Jane paused, fork halfway to mouth, "April I believe."
"You believe?"
"Yes, you see I'm not quite sure about the date," she continued, "we country dwellers do tend to be at it like rabbits." Mrs Brown almost choked on her turkey, Mr Brown froze and Thomas starting laughing into his wine. Emma Jane looked calmly at Mrs Bowman, whose face turned bright red.
"Well I never…" she said, "I mean I…"
"Emma Jane, please leave the table," her father said calmly.
"Father…"
"Now please," he insisted.
Emma Jane put down her fork, pushed her chair out from the table, lifted Victoria from her highchair, and left the room as quickly as she could. She sat down in the drawing room, cursing herself for having thought herself so smart. But why did her parents not defend her? She felt anger at their complete inability to speak up against a woman who was quite obviously insulting their daughter. That's when she remembered Carolyn's letter, safely stowed in her room at the boarding house. She had been planning on posting it, but was it really any way to learn of your child's death? It would be so much better coming from someone who had known Carolyn, who had cared about her.
Her mind made up, she stormed back into the dining room, "Just so you know," she interrupted Mrs Bowman in full flow about the last party she had been at, "I'm leaving."
"Emma Jane…" Thomas got his feet.
"No, Thomas, it's fine," she held up her hand, "I can recognise when I'm not wanted," she looked meaningfully at her mother, "First thing in the morning, I shall be on my way to Boston."
"Boston?" Mrs Brown exclaimed, "What on earth…?"
"There are some people there that I need to see. I don't know how long I'll be, or when I'll be back, but I just wanted to let you know."
"In your condition Emma…" Thomas continued.
""It's not a condition, Thomas, it's a baby. My baby. And I'm not ashamed of it. Good night to you all," with that, she turned and headed for the door, Victoria protesting loudly.
"Emma Jane!" Thomas followed her, "Be reasonable. What on earth are you going to Boston for?"
"A friend of mine died Thomas, and her parents don't even know," she told him, her lower lip quivering, "I owe it to her to tell them in person."
"Can't someone else go?" he begged her.
"No, this is down to me," she kissed his cheek, "I hope you have a pleasant evening." Then she hurried down the steps and disappeared into the night.
Colorado Springs
"This is what ya need," Loren said, holding up his glass, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Jake and Hank echoed, clinking their glasses with his. The saloon had only a few customers in it, those who had managed to get away from their wives.
"Look at the poor souls," Jake commented, "desperate to get away from the womenfolk."
"Bad enough normally. It's always ten times worse at Christmas," Loren grumbled.
"Yeah well, long live the bachelors," Jake said, raising his glass again. Hank joined in half-heartedly, "Aw c'mon Hank," he pressed, "Ain't good fer ya being so down bout it. She's gone and she ain't comin' back." He paused on Hank's look, "Sorry, ain't gonna start that again."
"Jake's right, Hank," Loren said, "It's been what, six months, more, since Emma Jane left. Gotta get on with yer life."
"Don't see ya doin' a jig since Maud died," Hank reminded him.
"That's different," Loren replied, "Maud died. Emma Jane left ya."
"Don't remind me."
"Can't believe ya threw that little sweetie, Jessica, out," Jake said, "she was awful nice."
"She was gettin' ideas," Hank said, "Thinkin' she could take Emma Jane's place." He had softened slightly and allowed her to take her things, but he had still demanded she leave the saloon and she had walked slowly down the street, lost and alone.
Loren and Jake exchanged looks, "Why not?" the former said, "she'd be a good little wife to ya."
Hank didn't reply. Didn't anyone in the town understand how he felt about Emma Jane? How he couldn't just switch off as if she had never existed? As if they had never existed?
"Fact is, I envy ya," Jake said.
"How's that?" Hank asked.
"You've know love," he stated simply, "A love like no other. Ya loved her more than anythin'. Ya would have done anythin' fer her. Hell, if ya'd thought for one minute that that Injun had raped her, ya would have killed him yerself. Ya took the two of us out on a hunt for the real culprit. You've known what it's like to love someone enough to do that," he shook his head, "I ain't never had that."
Hank looked at him, a realisation dawning inside. Emma Jane, the love of his life, she was out there in New York with his daughter, and he was sitting in the saloon feeling sorry for himself and venting his passion on another woman. The answer had been staring him in the face for months, only Michaela had been right: he was too afraid to take it. He was afraid in case she shunned him, told him to go away, yelled that she never wanted to see him again. But what if she was really just waiting for him?
As Jake and Loren watched, Hank stepped back from the bar and started clearing glasses, "Closin' up, folks, drink up."
"What's goin' on?" Loren demanded.
"Ain't gonna be around for a few weeks gentlemen," Hank replied, "Gonna have to make do with yer own whiskey."
"What ya talkin' about?" Jake asked, "Where ya goin'?"
Hank grinned at him, "New York City."
