Love and Miss Miriam

As I rode home in the falling darkness, I found I was eager to see Miriam, that as I had sat talking to the Baxter's, Lorelei's loathing for me not having ebbed over time, I would think that I had to remember to tell Miriam about this or that, or how the husband and wife had looked to one another before answering me. And it seemed the subject of the mine was just as bitter as the coffee Lorelei Baxter served me.

Asher and Miriam were already eating when I finally arrived home. It was after dark and the golden lamp light in the widows was welcoming. When my brothers or I were living at home and we were late, my pa had always left a lamp burning. The last person in was to bolt the door and put out the lamp.

I put my horse into the repaired stall, unsaddled him, and quickly scooped him oats, saying I'd be back later to tend to him. I threw my saddlebags over my shoulder and dropped them inside the front door along with my hat. I could smell beef stew and my mouth watered; I hadn't eaten any lunch. But before I went into the kitchen, I pulled two packets from my saddlebags.

Asher came running out to greet me and stopped directly in front of me. "Pa! Where you been?"

I crouched down to be at his level. "I was taking care of things in town and on the way home, I stopped by to see your Uncle Hoss."

"Pa," he said, lowering his voice. "I think Miss Miriam, was worrit."

Every so often, Asher would lapse back into calling her "Miss Miriam" but it was usually when he was discussing her with me. "Oh, and why do you thing she was worried?"

"'Cause she kept lookin' out the window. And her face."

"Her face?"

"Yeah, her face looked worrit—really worrit."

"Well, I'm home now and no one has to be 'worrit' anymore. Let's go have dinner." I took his hand and walked into the kitchen.

"We started without you—I hope you don't mind," Miriam said as she spooned me a bowl of stew.

Asher climbed back in his chair. "I was hungry!' he said as he picked up his spoon and proceeded to eat.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" Miriam stopped, still holding the bowl and waited.

"No, I haven't eaten and I'm hungry." I slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her to me. My heart was so filled at seeing her and Asher, at the warmth of the kitchen and the welcoming smell of the stew that I kissed her, deeply and fully. I felt her relax in my arms and her mouth yielded to me. If it hadn't been for Asher, I would have taken her upstairs and satisfied my hunger for her. But when she finally pulled away, she glanced at Asher and then looked back at me. My son was staring, open-mouthed and I realized he had never seen us kiss except at the wedding and that had been a mere peck. I reached over to ruffle his hair and he ducked his head to avoid me.

He glanced up under his brows. "You kissed her, Pa," he whispered.

"It's all right. She's my wife. Husbands kiss their wives."

"But she's my momma."

It was then I realized that Asher still didn't understand the ins and outs of marriage and our relationship. Miriam and I exchanged looks and I turned back to Asher. "She's my wife and your mother. Okay?"

He frowned and just stared at me. He didn't seem to approve.

"Is it okay if I wash my hands here?" I asked Miriam. She said it was so I scrubbed my hands in the sink and sat down where she I usually sat and where she had placed my plate of stew. "Smells good." I noticed she was looking at the packet tied with ribbon and the small paper bag I had placed on the table. "This is for you." I handed her the packet and she smiled and I swear she blushed like a girl.

"What is it?" She held it and stared at it.

I couldn't help but laugh. 'Why don't you open it and find out." I looked to Asher, to include him in the surprise gift but he was still watching me with narrowed eyes.

Miriam pulled the ribbon and unwrapped the paper and looked at the three hatpins. "I asked Mrs. Darcy to pick out three of the prettiest. I hope you like them. I don't know much about hatpins."

"Oh, Adam! Oh, they're beautiful!" She lay down the packet and picked up each hat pin and ran one finger along the length of brass or silver, admiring them. One had a multi-colored enameled ball at the end, one a large cluster of seed pearls and the third, a swallow in flight. She looked at me. "Why hatpins?"

"Well," I said as I reached for a biscuit, "they're to match the hats you're going to buy Saturday. I thought we'd go into town; you could do a little shopping for hats and Asher and I could handle some ranch business. Then we'd have dinner at the International House or Hop Sing's cousin's restaurant at the edge of Chinatown."

"I…" Miriam pulled herself together; I think she was determined to try to satisfy me, to be the proper kind of Mrs. Cartwright and to accept the fact that I wanted her to splurge on herself. "I think that would be nice." She looked at Asher and then back at me. "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, this. I think…" I opened it and looked inside. "Oh, now I remember. I bought gumdrops for Asher-for after dinner." I smiled and handed them to him but he didn't take them. Instead he asked to be excused.

"But, Asher," Miriam said, "you've barely eaten. Aren't you hungry?"

"No. I don't feel good. Can I go now?" He held on to the sides of his chair and looked down.

Miriam looked at me and then she said, "Of course."

I started to say something, to tell him that if he was going to sulk over nothing and refuse to eat, he could just go to bed but Miriam put a light hand on my arm so I stopped. That's what my father would have said to me—that if I going to pout, I could just pout in bed. But then, that may have been because there was no woman to soften things, to add the cotton batting to protect me from a man's rough edges.

Miriam intervened. "Why don't you go look at one of your books. Pick one and I'll come help you dress for bed and read to you after I finish with the dishes. Okay?"

Asher nodded but I wanted more. "Say yes, ma'am." I wasn't going to let him get away with being rude.

"Yes, ma'am." He glanced once at me and thenslipped from his chair and left, the bag of gumdrops still untouched on the table.

~ 0 ~

"You washed the dishes!" Miriam said when she came into the kitchen. She had been upstairs with Asher and so I had washed and was now drying the evening's dishes and the stew pot. The plate of biscuits was still on the table and I'd placed a towel over them.

"Thought I would help. Get you out of the kitchen faster."

"Well, thank you." She looked over at the stove. I had started a fresh pot of coffee.

"I want to talk to you." She suddenly had a look of apprehension; I wondered what subject she was afraid I would broach. "I went by the Baxters' and I'm not sure what to think of our conversation. Maybe you can help me. But first," I said folding the damp dishtowel in half and placing it on the counter, "I want to talk with Asher. Is he asleep."

"No. I told him he could look at his picture books. He's upset and I think it's about…he asked me twice about my being your wife and…the kiss. I didn't know quite what to tell him."

"I'll set him straight." I headed out of the kitchen but Miriam called me and I turned.

"Be gentle. He's only a confused child. Try to remember when you were so young and how confusing the world was. And for him with so many changes lately…just think before you act."

I said nothing else but took to the stairs and found myself outside my son's room. The door was half open and I pushed it all the way. Asher was sitting up in bed, flipping through the pages of a book, telling himself the story although he couldn't read. He glanced up and then, seeing it was me, went back to his book.

"Asher, I want to talk to you." He ignored me. "Asher. Put the book down. I want to talk to you." He continued to "read" but louder, trying to drown me out. I raised my voice. "Asher, put the book down. Now."

I watched him. He was trying to decide whether to obey me or not and what the consequences would be if he was openly defiant. Since Miriam had come into the household, Asher had been tractable and cheerful; it may have been her gentleness, it just may have been the novelty, but I had only come close two or three times to taking him out to the barn and laying a heavy hand on his backside. Although it rarely caused him any pain, Asher seemed to have a certain innate pride and I think it humiliated him to be spanked. So Asher deliberated his next action. And then he acted.

Asher slammed the book shut and threw it from the bed and crossed his small arms, glowering. If I hadn't been so annoyed, I would have laughed at his small temper tantrum and his sulkiness as he sat there like a little tyrant. But I wanted to pull him from the bed and force him to pick up the book and place it on the small bookcase but the idea of Miriam's disappointment in me made me do otherwise. And I was surprised at myself that she could influence me even without being in the room. I picked up the book and shelved it. Asher said nothing—just watched me.

"That will break a book. You need to treat them better or we won't get you anymore. And there are some very interesting books out there." Asher said nothing and I sat on the side of the bed. "Now suppose you tell me why you're mad at me. It seems to be because I kissed Miss Miriam. Did that upset you?" I thought I would refer to her by the more neutral name.

Asher slightly nodded. He was doing his best to ignore me and not cross the delicate line to open defiance.

"Can you tell me why?'

He sat in silence and then blurted out, "Because she's mine!" Now he was angry—really angry. He leaned toward me, his cheeks red, and I think he wanted to hit me. "She's my momma! She's not your wife! And you…she told me it was okay for you to kiss her but I say you can't!"

His fury surprised me. Miriam's words came to me again; "Try to remember when you were so young…" And I thought back to how I had felt about Inger when she came into my life. I wanted her attention and her love—I yearned for the love of a mother. And Inger loved me and the fact that I had to share her with my father was initially a bit of a quandary, but I knew that in order to have her, I had to let my father marry her and that she would be his wife. But Asher didn't seem to understand and I had neglected to explain it; I had assumed he understood.

"And do you know why she's your mother?" Asher looked at me suspiciously, as if he didn't quite trust me. "It's because she's my wife." He still sat with furrowed brow, considering. "You see, I'm your father so in order for Miss Miriam to be your mother, I had to marry her. Since I married her, hat made her my wife and also your mother." I considered whether I should add more of an explanation but decided it might only confuse things in his mind.

"I married Miss Miriam because I love her." That wasn't quite true as I'd already revealed, but it was becoming true—more so every day. "And because I love her, I kiss her. You kiss her goodnight, don't you?"

Asher nodded—almost imperceptibly. He still sat with his lips tightly shut, his arms crossed defiantly.

"And I kiss her. I'm her husband, your father, she's your mother and you're our son. Do you understand that?"

"Yes…I think so. But I say you can't kiss her anymore and you can't love her!"

"Well, Asher, Miss Miriam and I are grown people and we do what we think is best and I think it's best that I let my wife know I love her." I intentionally used that term—"my wife". I stood up and reached for the covers. "Now scoot down so I can tuck you in. No more talk tonight." He glared at me and then he slowly, very slowly, moved down in the bed until his head lay on the pillow. "Goodnight, son. Did you say your prayers?" He nodded. "All right. Good night." I bent down to kiss his forehead and that little pistol put his hands over his forehead to cover it and closed his eyes as tightly as he could.

I stood and looked down at him. He was still angry with me, furious with me, and it was all over the fact that he thought that Miriam was all his. I was encroaching on her love for him, at least that was how he saw it. But I left things alone, left him to think about what I had said and so I turned down the lamp near the door and closed it half-way. I slowly walked down to return to Miriam. I longed for her, for her warmth and the sound of her voice—and the taste of her mouth, the feel of her skin. I wanted comfort and reassurance and to lose myself in passion. We could talk about the mine business later; I wanted her upstairs and my desire was paramount.

TBC