A Person of Interest
I did apologize to Miriam. It was in the dark after I had rolled off her. I'd pulled her into my arms and buried my face in the hair at her temple. "I'm sorry about my behavior earlier, about being angry about what you call me. It doesn't matter." I had noticed that the rest of the day, Miriam had avoided calling me anything and had kept herself busy with polishing and dusting and washing, only stopping to put on the beans for soup. Her bean soup, her previous husband's favorite, was also mine.
Asher and I worked in the barn for the day; I thought I'd let Miriam avoid me by not being around. To be specific though, I worked and Asher followed behind asking what he could do. I gave him small tasks while I stacked the sacks of feed we had bought and cleaned out the stalls that hadn't been tended in years. Then I gave Asher a small spade and told him to dig out weeds in what used to be flower beds, showing him what weeds looked like. That kept him busy until dinner; we'd had lunch in town so it was the first meal in the house now that Miriam was the wife.
And that night, after I'd tucked Asher in and Miriam had done all she could do in half a day to prepare the house, we went to bed. She quickly undressed and I watched her breasts move as she raised her arms to pull her gown over her head. And then she sat in front of the vanity and took down her hair, brushed it and braided it for the night. But it wasn't the vanity my wife had used nor did we take the same bed or even the same room; I chose one of the guest rooms—or what had been considered a guest room because I couldn't take Miriam in the same bed where I had made love to my dead wife, where I had been so happy and delighted in her love for me. But all that seemed to have died along with her.
Miriam paused before climbing into the bed with me. I waited for her to say something—it seemed that she wanted to—but she didn't. She just turned down the lamp and slipped under the sheets. And I waited but she didn't say goodnight or anything else. So I reached for her.
Miriam wasn't cold despite how she may seem. She could be aroused to passion once I discovered how to touch her, how to pull her breasts into my mouth and where between her legs to touch. And she would kiss me with a distinct passion, run her gentle hands over me, lightly bite me and toy with me as well and in that manner, we were highly compatible. Every night of our marriage that I could, I took her and enjoyed it. She seemed to as well, moving underneath me and uttering small sounds of pleasure. Some nights I merely pushed up her gown, others, her gown was off and it was warm, supple flesh everywhere I touched, everywhere I kissed. And those times she seemed even more responsive, raising her hips to meet me. I considered Miriam becoming with child, how she would be with a full belly, with darkened nipples and swollen breasts. I also wondered sometimes how Asher would take to having a half-brother or sister, but each month, Miriam's bleeding came on. And Miriam was clever and during those times found other ways to satisfy me; it made me wonder about her past but she never said anything, never made any reference to herself or her life beyond telling me about her husband's taste in food.
I had been asleep for a while when I snapped awake. Asher was standing beside me, the small, forgotten bear he had found in his room that day, held against him.
"What is it?' I asked, knowing what it was while half sitting up. He had had a bad dream. He often had bad dreams and I would walk him back to his room and with the lamp on, would show him there was nothing to fear. I knew he never believed me but he would stay in his bed and I would go back to mine.
"I'm scared, Pa."
Miriam moved beside me and I felt her sit up.
"There's nothing to be scared of, Asher. It's your room in our house, remember? Nothing that scared you at the Ponderosa is here. We moved back home and there's nothing here."
"But, Pa, there's scary stuff in my dreams." He leaned closer. "There's ugly things chasing me. Big, ugly things and they want to eat me."
"For God's sake, Asher…" I sat up. "Go back to your room and I'll be there in a minute."
"I don't want to go back, Pa. Can't I stay here?"
I was about to answer him, telling him he was a big boy now and needed to sleep in his own room but Miriam rose from our bed in her white gown like some spirit rising from the ground—graceful and lithe.
"I'll go with you, Asher. I used to have bad dreams too."
"Really?' Asher asked, clasping his bear closer to him.
"Yes." She bent down and with some effort, lifted him. Asher wrapped his legs about her waist and laid his head on her shoulder, clutching her. "I used to have horrible things in my dreams as well but when I opened my eyes they were gone. That's how I knew they weren't real." She and Asher left the bedroom and I lay back on the bed. I must have fallen asleep quickly because I waked to the early morning sun in my eyes. Miriam wasn't there but then she often woke earlier than I did and perhaps she was starting breakfast. But I put on my robe and in the hall, I couldn't hear any sounds from the kitchen nor smell bacon and eggs or biscuits.
The door to Asher's room was ajar and I pushed it open further. In the rocking chair on a braided rag rug, the chair where Asher's mother had rocked him to sleep, sat Miriam, asleep, and in her arms, she held a slumbering Asher. It was jarring in a manner but it brought home that I needed to accept Miriam, not as a substitute for my dead wife but as my wife. Asher had accepted her and I knew I should as well—I had too because I wanted nothing more than to crawl into her arms and also be comforted; I wanted to feel secure and loved. I hoped she could chase away my terrors as well.
~ 0 ~
That evening, as Miriam washed the evening's dishes, I went up behind her and placed my arms about her waist. I felt her tense up. So I loosened my embrace
"Do you need any help. I'll dry." I thought that maybe she I could talk about nothing in particular if I worked beside her, if we did something that made us helpmeets.
She stopped and I stepped to her side. "No, that's all right. I enjoy this time alone. It lets me think. I hope you understand." I said I did, and she turned back to her chore. But before dinner, I had stood in the open door and watched as she and Asher made biscuits. He stood on a chair and used an upside down empty tin can to cut out each biscuit in his portion of dough.
"Look, Pa," Asher said grinning, flour on his cheek. "I'm helping make biscuits. Thi are mine but you can have one too."
I couldn't help but laugh and Miriam looked at me shyly. But now, afterwards, she wanted to be alone to complete her chores.
"I know you said you didn't want one, but I can still hire a cook and housekeeper. That would free you up and you could do other things."
She paused and looked at me. "I don't want anyone else in my…in the house or the kitchen. That is if it's all right with you."
I just nodded and she turned back to the dishes. I looked about. Instead of the familiar kitchen filled with chatter, it was a quiet, calm place. It hadn't really changed in that it still held the same butcher block, the same breakfront filled with dishes and the shelfs holding cans of out of season vegetables and fruits. But Miriam had made the place hers during my wife's illness. Did you notice I said, "my wife's." I still had trouble with this strange woman in my life, this woman who pleased me so much at night, who was accessible in the dark but became inscrutable during the daylight. But I felt akin to her and the walls she placed around herself as I did the same thing—but I wanted to bring hers down, to crash through them and have her vulnerable. I don't know why—it's just what I wanted.
Asher was in bed and I was too tired to follow a plot in a novel so I stood in the parlor. There was a comfortable divan, two upholstered chairs and a low cherry table which held an empty vase. There used to be flowers every morning from the garden. That was another thing, I mentally noted. The kitchen garden needed weeding and hoeing and I'd have to buy seed on my next trip to town. And paint. I needed to paint but first, some areas needed scraping. And then there was the front step that needed replacing as it bowed from moisture. And the roof. A few shingles had shifted and needed replacing; the ceiling and wall upstairs in the landing were water-stained. I reprimanded myself for having let things go for so long. A house was like a person; if not tended to at the first sneeze or cut, things only became worse quickly.
So I went into the room that had been my den to make a list of repairs. I stopped and looked. Everything was still in its place; it looked exactly the same as it had the last time I had been there. Miriam must have dusted sometime that day but she hadn't moved anything; all was as I had left it including a large pile of unread mail.
I lit the desk lamp and sat down. I went through the stack. I remembered when Hoss had brought the last of the mail; he had managed to get Fred, the postal clerk, and with oversight from the stationed deputy, to place the envelopes and papers on the ground. Hoss said he felt like a damned fool, like a kid playing a game but both Fred and Horace Tompkins who held the rifle on him, took it deadly serious. The quarantine had affected the businesses in town, all except the undertaker's.
I tossed the various newspapers to one side of the desk; I'd use them as fodder to start fires on cool evenings. And then I opened a few envelopes, sliding the silver letter opener under the flaps to open them. I noticed the opener was black with tarnish. Most of the letters were unimportant and some were advertising long-past auctions but one piqued my interest and I read it twice.
It was dated almost three years ago and was written by a banker in Sacramento with the bank's letterhead at the top.
Dear Mr. Cartwright,
Your inquiry regarding Mr. Harrison Baxter was forwarded to me with an accompanying letter from Mr. Aubrey Reynolds, Esq. According to him, you had contacted him requesting information on Baxter. Let me tell you that I concluded, although we, that is my superiors and I at the First National Bank of Sacramento, did not believe it would be worth the man-hours and cost to pursue it, but that Harrison Baxter is also a Mr. Haddon B. Atherton.
About three years ago, Mr. Atherton served as a strawman for a group of underhanded investors who used him to "steal" money from our bank by applying for a business loan with what appeared at the time to be legitimate letters of credit. Nevertheless, once the money changed hands, Mr. Atherton disappeared and despite our best efforts and those of the detective we hired, he was not found after absconding with the money.
Nevertheless, the description of Harrison Baxter jibes with that of Atherton. If you would care for more information, feel free to contact me and I will do all I can to assist you..
At your service,
Mr. Reynold J. Wellman
Manager, First National Bank of Sacramento
All my past issues with the mine came to the forefront; I wanted to follow-up on Wellman's letter and hoped it wasn't too late. I would ask Hoss to help out with the repairs around the house and ask Joe to handle things with Ponderosa business for a short time. I wanted to investigate the matter of the mine myself. I had many questions and cursed myself for ignoring my mail and the mine for so long. I took out paper and began to update my inquiries to various people and lost track of time until Miriam came to the door and knocked, even though the door was open. I looked up.
"I'm turning in. May I get anything for you? It would only take a minute to put on some coffee."
"No, but come in—sit down for a minute. There are some things I need to go over with you." She looked as if I was trying to trap her. "It won't take long." She came into the room and sat in the chair across from me.
"I didn't move anything; I only dusted and if I lifted anything to dust under it, I put it down in the same place. If something's missing…."
"No, no, nothing's missing. Here." I handed her the list I had made and she looked at it, her brows furrowed. "That's a list of things around here that need repairing. If you find anything else, tack it on. I'm going to ask Hoss to help out while I take care of some other business. Is that alright if Hoss comes out and works?"
"Of course. It's your house and he's your brother."
I held myself back from showing my annoyance in my voice. "It's your house as well, Miriam, and you have a say."
"It's all right with me." She placed the list back on my desk; she obviously wasn't going to add anything.
"This is a catalogue from a Chicago mail order company." I held the thick booklet out to her. She tentatively took it from me. "It has furniture, kitchenware—even stoves. If you see anything you want, just write it on the order form; I'll send a draft."
"Thank you but there's nothing I want. I have everything I need."
I sat back and ran my hand over my mouth, stemming my irritation. Finally, I spoke. "We have money, Miriam. You don't have to make-do with things, be frugal and pinch pennies anymore. If you want a new stove, you can buy a new stove. If you want a new settee or new dining furniture, we can get it. I have plans to add another room, a library, and I'll need new furniture for that. And what about you-yourself? Don't you need anything for yourself?"
"No. I don't lack for anything. Now if that's all…." She held the chair arms, waiting for me to tell her she could go.
"No, it's not all." I became more annoyed with her. She was frustrating. I was offering her anything she wanted, whatever she desired and she refused. I was being loving and generous and she wanted none of it. "How about a new hat for church? Wouldn't you like one with feathers or roses or ribbons? The next time we go to town, stop at the milliners and buy one. Buy two, three, hell, buy one for every Sunday of the year! And order some new dresses. You're so beautiful and yet you dress like some homesteader's dowdy wife. Miriam, you can have anything your heart desires—anything and I won't begrudge it. Don't you understand?"
Her lower lip quivered and I knew I'd gone too far. "I'm sorry, Miriam…"
"Don't apologize. I am a dowdy homesteader's wife. You forget that. I've only been a wealthy man's wife a few months but I still feel the gnawing need to make do with little. It's become a way of life I may never shed." She stood up. "I'm sorry I displease you. I try to be the type of wife…I try…I'm sorry if I'm a disappointment."
"Miriam," I said moving around the desk to stand in front of her. "You're not a disappointment and you do please me. I enjoy our nights and…" I held her arms and looked into her lovely, dark eyes and wanted to take her right there on the desktop.
"I know why you married me," she said, "and I'm trying to fulfill my end of the bargain. I've never asked if you love me because it doesn't really matter. Many husbands and wives live amicably for years without it. It's just poets and singers who give it so much importance. Marriage is a compact, an agreement, a contract. I roll about with you at night, and during the day I cook, keep the house and tend to Asher. You keep me and support me. If you wanted a specific type of wife and I'm not she, then let me know—and let me go. I've been alone before and I can be again and survive."
I dropped my hands and stepped back. I chuckled. "You are something else, Miriam. I always thought I wanted honesty in all my relationships but now I'm wishing you were a goddamn liar, that you'd tell me you love me and that's why you're so eager for me every night. Now I find I may just have well been out visiting a whore every evening and tossing a few bills at her afterwards."
She said nothing—just watched me steadily and I heated up. She didn't run, didn't turn, was almost taunting me. And then she began to slowly unbutton her dress. And I watched while her white throat was revealed and then the smooth skin above the rise of her breasts. I couldn't wait. I slid one arm around her waist while slipping the other under her and lifted her off the ground only to lay her on the leather sofa along the wall. I ran one hand between her legs as I positioned myself above her, and was surprised to find she was slick already. Something about our confrontation had excited her, made her want me and that was enough for me. She didn't have to cling to me and tell me she loved me; that she wanted me was enough. And I wanted her. And afterwards, after we were spent, I lay with my head on her bosom and she ran light fingers through my hair. And I was content with our contract.
TBC
