CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Sunday came around far too quickly for Hank. He rose early, seeing no point staying in bed when he hadn't slept a wink. He dragged on some clothes and went to sit in the bar alone, accompanied by a cigar and a bottle, watching the hands of the clock crawl around towards two which was the time of the wedding.

He had no plans to open the saloon that day, guessing most people would be going to the celebration. The girls were all going, even though Louisa and Emma didn't know Myra. Emma had helped Dotty and Melinda with the dress they had made for Myra and she had extended her invite to the two new girls. They weren't actually going to the church, but would be attending the party afterwards which was to be held at Grace's.

The four of them kept out of Hank's way much to his relief and after a while he heard them all go out. He glanced at the clock for the hundredth time and noted it was one-forty-five. It would soon be over. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing for Myra that she was happy; that she had a new life; that he was glad for her. It was what she wanted, but all of that didn't make him feel any better or any less lost. He got up from the table, snatched up his glass and tossed the remains of the whiskey in it down his throat, walking over to the bar. He wasn't drunk yet and didn't plan to get that way. He was too concerned that he might forget himself and go and do something stupid again, although he guessed it would be difficult to surpass, or even equal, what he'd done when she got engaged. He leaned on the bar, kicking his boot into the bottom of the counter and hanging his head. Ten minutes now and she'd be married.

He began remembering things that had happened during the years he had known her. Until the last few months, she had always been sweet and caring towards him and for the most part he had just used her, punished her for things that weren't her fault and even threatened to kill her. How could he have imagined she might love him back? Even after everything, she'd invited him to her wedding, the most important day of her life, and he'd turned her down. The least he could do was support her, let her know he was happy for her, even though at that moment every fibre of him wished it was him she was promising herself to instead of Horace. He'd never considered it before, never thought it was something he would want. Family life in his experience wasn't something that brought happiness, only pain and fighting. But it couldn't be like that for everyone. At the age of thirty-four, he realised that it was something he could want after all; someone to share his life with, to make a home with where Zack could come back and visit. Only he had let the one person who he might want to do that with slip through his fingers. Well, it was too late now; there was no point thinking about it any more.

Decided, he shoved himself away from the bar and strode off to his room, tearing off his shirt as he went. He snatched up a clean one, changing quickly, his heart thumping, hands shaking as he feared that after all this he might not get there in time. He grabbed his coat from the hook on the back of the door and thrust his arms into the sleeves as he headed outside and began to hurry across to the church. The saloon clock had showed about three minutes before two when he passed it.

Finally he reached the church and flung open the door to discover he had arrived at an ironically inopportune time. The Reverend was in the middle of the line which went, 'If anyone can show just cause why these two should not lawfully be joined...' If it had been anyone else's wedding, Hank would have laughed. Now he froze just inside the door as everyone turned to look at him, most people with worry on their faces, no doubt expecting him to spoil things for Myra by making a scene.

Myra turned too, appearing slightly nervous, but with a hint of her smile on her lips. She looked beautiful in her new pink dress, her hair loose, pinned back at the side with pink lace and flowers. Hank mentally shook himself, indicating with a brief gesture of his hand that they should carry on with the service. Myra's lips curved up into a happy smile and she turned back to face Horace. Hank stepped towards the last pew where there was a space and dropped onto it, gritting his teeth and looking at the floor as the Reverend finished the ceremony.

"You may now kiss the bride," he announced.

It was done. She was lost to him forever. He waited until most of the others had left the church and then followed, tempted to simply return to the saloon, but feeling he owed it to her to stick around at least for a while.

A small stage was set up for a band to play for the dancing and tables were laid out with food and punch. Hank sat down on the edge of the stage in front of the band, painfully sober and smoked a cigar. No one came to speak to him other than Dotty and Jake, Dotty pausing in front of him briefly to ask if he was alright, to which he just nodded and she left him to it. A little while later Jake weaved his way over, already having made quite an impression on the supply of punch, mixed with the bottle of gin protruding from his pocket, no doubt.

"Hell, Hank, cheer up, will ya, it's a weddin', not a wake," he slurred. Hank looked up and glared at him and the barber raised both hands in surrender and wandered off again.

Hank stayed until just after a rather tipsy Horace, his fruit punch spiked with gin by Jake, had announced to everyone that Michaela and Sully were tying the knot next, something which was supposed to be a secret. Then he got up and made his way around the edge of the dancers, thinking he would slip away unnoticed. No one stopped him or spoke to him and he returned to the saloon alone. He sat in the bar for a while, sipping a large glass of whiskey, then when he heard the commotion outside of everyone coming back into town he went to his room. He remained there for the rest of the night, lying on the bed awake and thinking. He felt empty, as if there was nothing left inside him. He heard the girls come back and even considered going to one of them for company. The many times he had been miserable over Clarice, he had gone to Myra. She had always made him feel so much better, but there was no one who could comfort him over her. He wasn't close to any of them and couldn't see himself getting that way so he simply stayed alone, watching the sky gradually turning grey and then black outside the window as night fell, hearing the racket of the shivaree up the street, townsfolk playing a stupid joke to spoil Myra and Horace's wedding night.

Eventually he got up, lit a lamp and found some paper and a pen and ink. It was a long time since he had written to Nana. In fact he had sent her a letter just before leaving Denver, telling her he was heading south looking for business opportunities, but hadn't put pen to paper since. It had been years and he felt guilty for the lack of contact. The truth was, he hadn't wanted to tell her his business was a saloon and that he had no family life and rather than make something up, had simply not written at all. Now he felt the need to reopen the communication, to make more effort to hang onto what he still had. He would write to Zack too, he thought. The boy was learning to read at school and if he struggled, he was sure one of the other boys or a teacher would help him read his father's letter.

He wrote to Zack first. That wasn't so tough; they had spent a day together recently and he wrote about that and told the boy how proud he was of his work at school, how he looked forward to seeing him again at Christmas. It was the letter to Nana which was hard to write and he started it a number of times, writing a line or two and then scrapping it and beginning again. He just didn't know what to say. The truth would disappoint her so much. He ran a saloon, gambled and drank, kept whores, had managed to fall in love with two of them, have a child with one whom he had spent twelve years ignoring and had almost killed the other. He sighed heavily and screwed another sheet of paper into a ball, tossing it onto the floor. He so wanted to make her proud, the way he was of Zack, but he had nothing to be proud of. He put the pen down, deciding to leave it for a while and think about what he planned to say before trying to write any more. It took him until Wednesday before he made another attempt.

'Dear Nana,' he began again. 'I hope you are well. Forgive me for not writing in so long.' He stopped and chewed the end of the pen for a moment. The only thing he could do was make something up. He hated to lie to her, but he felt it was the only way he could please her. He continued the letter slowly, telling her he had found a small town on the frontier to settle in and had his own business as - what? He racked his brains for a suitable occupation which would sound feasible for a small town in the middle of nowhere and the first thing that popped into his head was the two old men in Denver who had run a tailors shop.

'...a tailor,' he wrote, cringing a little. What else? Wouldn't she think it strange that he was still alone at the age of thirty-four? 'I have a wife now,' he continued. 'Her name is Myra.' He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Putting that down on paper maybe wasn't so smart. He was never going to get it out of his mind, especially if Nana wrote back and asked about her. Still, he had to say something. It was easier to write about Myra than make someone up. He added a few more lines to the letter and then signed off with, 'Fondest love, Hans.' All he put by way of a return address was 'Colorado Springs' although he had no idea what he was going to do if she wrote back. Horace would have a field day trying to find out who Hans Lausenstrom was in order to deliver the letter. Well, he'd just have to worry about that if it happened. Shrugging, he sealed the two letters, deciding to send the one to Zack himself the following morning and then pay some random child to send the other one for him. Oath or not, Horace would be sure to get curious about him sending a letter to one Ilse Lausenstrom.

On Thursday morning, the perfect person for the errand literally bumped into him outside the saloon. A young teenage boy from the immigrant camp on the edge of town; the same one where Matthew Cooper's little Swede lived. Now the boy backed away from Hank, a terrified expression on his face, apologising over and over. Hank had been one of the loudest voices in town complaining about the arrival of the immigrants, despite his own grandmother being Norwegian. Now he realised he couldn't have found anyone better - he wouldn't be surprised if there were people in that camp with similar names to Lausenstrom.

"Hey, it don't matter," he said now, then added, "Woah, wait a minute," when the boy turned to flee.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Wanna earn a quarter?" he offered, guessing the generous tip wouldn't be turned down.

"Yes, please!" The fearful expression slid away in favour of a grin.

Hank pulled the letter out of his pocket, along with a coin. "I want ya to send this letter for me. Take it the telegraph office and ask Mr Bing to post it." He handed over another coin for the postal fee.

"Do I say who it's from?" the boy asked.

"If he asks, tell him it's from yer pa," said Hank.

"I have no pa."

"Well, Horace don't know that. Go on. Ya do this right, I might send for ya next time I want a job doin'."

"Yes, Sir. You can trust me," the boy nodded and immediately set off in the direction of the telegraph office.

Hank grinned to himself and went back into the saloon. That was one problem solved. He left it an hour or so and then headed for the telegraph office himself. Horace and Myra were sitting at a desk behind the counter, Horace apparently teaching her how to send a telegram. Both looked up now, Horace with a slight frown.

"What do you want, Hank?" he asked sharply. Myra smiled a little apologetically at him and he gave her a quick grin. Horace's scowl deepened.

"I wanna send a letter," Hank said mildly.

"Oh!" Horace got up and came to the counter, his frown giving way to surprise. Hank put the letter to Zack down in front of him.

"Didn't know you could write," Horace said now with a touch of scorn.

"One of my new girls can," Hank said, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh!" Horace took the letter now, examined the address and placed it in a mail bag. "Bet your boy won't be expectin' a letter from you," he added under his breath.

"What was that?" Hank growled, clenching his fist on the counter. He had heard perfectly well, but wondered if Horace would have the guts to repeat it.

"Horace!" gasped Myra, getting to her feet now.

"What? He denied the kid for twelve years, didn't he?" Horace said over his shoulder.

Hank shot his hand out now, grabbing Horace by the neck of his shirt.

"Ya know nothin' about it!" he spat.

"Horace, stop it!" cried Myra.

"I ain't doin' nothin', he's the one...!" Horace stopped as Hank let go of him suddenly and headed for the door. "How can ya take up for him after everything...?" Horace could be heard demanding before he had walked out of earshot. Hank couldn't help a small smirk as he walked away.

"What're you grinnin' at?" asked Jake, falling into step beside him a moment later as he headed back to the saloon.

"Trouble in paradise already," Hank said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the telegraph office.

"Not surprised he's grouchy," Jake grinned.

"Whaddya mean?"

"He was talkin' to me and Loren and the Reverend yesterday."

"About what?"

"How he can't get in the mood. Shivaree ruined it for him, but he hasn't got it back since. Seems he's still wet behind the ears. What kinda man admits that to half the town?"

"Well, he ain't much of a man, is he?" grunted Hank. He turned away from Jake as they reached the saloon and shoved his way through the doors. The last thing he wanted to think about was Myra and Horace's 'relations', but he couldn't help being amused by the fact that his previous idea that Horace was lying about being responsible for Myra's supposed pregnancy the year before had just been confirmed.