CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The next few months dragged by, with barely anything of note happening to separate one day from the next. However, there were a few occurrences and for once not all bad.
A few weeks after sending the two letters, Hank received a reply from Zack. It began with, "Dear Pa, I am learning to write, but cannot write a letter yet, so my teacher, Mrs Bainbridge, is writing for me." He rambled on for several paragraphs about how he'd made sketches of the school and the nearby church and various things he could see from the school grounds. In addition he was learning to paint and enjoying being able to add colour to his work. The letter finished by saying that the school was holding a Thanksgiving dinner and he would be happy if Hank would go to it. Hank wrote back at once and accepted the invitation. At least there was now something to look forward to.
One event which initially puzzled and delighted Hank, ended with him wondering if he would ever be able to put Myra behind him. He was sitting drinking with Loren and Jake late one evening when Myra wandered into the saloon in her nightdress, marched straight over to their table and seated herself on Hank's lap. Given everything that had happened over the past few months it was the last thing he had expected and he wondered for a second if he hadn't somehow fallen asleep and conjured her up in a dream. But there were Loren and Jake next to him, jeering and teasing that Myra must have come over to get what she was missing at home. Meanwhile Myra suddenly wrapped both arms around his neck and began to kiss him with bewildering enthusiasm. The surprise and pleasure of having her suddenly throw herself at him squashed any thoughts about why she might have decided to behave in such a way and Hank kissed her back.
When Horace appeared, wearing pyjamas and a stupid knitted hat, announcing that Myra was sleepwalking and shaking her until she came to, the moment was over. Myra jerked away and slapped Hank none too gently before leaving again with her husband. Hank immediately began to feel like a fool for not noticing something was amiss and covered it up by joking with Loren and Jake. However, all he could think about for a while afterwards was that it had been an awful long time since Myra kissed him like that and he found himself missing her more than ever. The whole episode had been very disconcerting and for some time he tortured himself by wondering if Myra subconsciously missed him. However she and Horace walking around holding onto each other and gazing at each other over meals at the cafe was all evidence to the contrary. Just a week later they announced that they were expecting a child and that the sleepwalking had been a strange symptom of pregnancy. Hank's spirits fell even further and he found it impossible to offer congratulations, avoiding Myra as much as he could instead for the next few weeks.
The day before Thanksgiving he travelled to Denver and spent the day with Zack, enjoying the meal with the boy at his school and making an effort to get to know a few of the other parents who had attended. One of Zack's friends, the deaf and dumb boy whose name was Charles, sat close by with his mother and Hank quickly learned that her name was Eliza and that her husband had died two years before. Eliza was an attractive woman, a similar age to himself he estimated and he enjoyed talking to her during the dinner and afterwards. For a moment he was almost tempted to ask her to meet up with him the following day for coffee, but he bit his tongue. It wasn't really what he wanted, only what he thought he ought to be doing. The woman even looked a little disappointed when he said goodbye and walked off, but he doubted any kind of liaison would be good for him at that moment. At least his girls just gave as much or as little as he wanted without expecting anything back or asking too many questions. He returned to Colorado Springs the next morning, with a new picture Zack had drawn for him and a promise to visit the boy again between Christmas and New Year.
It was the second week in December when Hank finally received a letter from Nana. He had gone into the telegraph office to mail a parcel to Zack to ensure the boy received his gift in time for Christmas Day as he didn't plan to visit until a couple of days after. Horace took the wrapped parcel and looked up the correct charge for sending it. Hank gazed about him, wondering where Myra was and noticing a number of letters lying on the far end of the counter, apparently waiting to be delivered. The one on the top of the pile was addressed to Loren and protruding from beneath that first envelope, part of another was visible. Hank could just make out the end of the name: 'senstrom'.
"That's fifty cents," Horace said now.
"What?" Hank turned his attention back to him quickly.
"Fifty cents!" snapped Horace.
"Yeah. Sorry." Hank pulled out some coins from his pocket, wondering how he could divert Horace's attention long enough to snatch that letter before the postmaster started asking questions around town.
"Fifty cents." He tossed the coins onto the counter with enough vigour to send two of them rolling over the edge where they bounced to the ground around Horace's feet.
"For goodness' sake, Hank!" With an exaggerated sigh, Horace bent to retrieve the coins, giving Hank just enough time to pull the letter from the pile and tuck it into his coat pocket. A second later, Horace's head popped up above the counter again.
"Are you still here?" he frowned.
Hank smirked back at him and walked out, relieved that he'd had cause to go into the telegraph office on that particular day. He strode towards the saloon, glancing curiously over his shoulder at a commotion down the street; shouting, rattling and jingling.
"Wouldya look at that?" Loren said suddenly, appearing next to him. "Damned peddlers; just what I need this time of year, tryin' to put me outta business!"
The man leading a horse and wagon clearly had a good supply of stock and he was wearing an odd little black hat on the back of his head which seemed somehow familiar. Hank frowned, wondering where he'd seen someone like that. Azriel and Hyram - the two Jewish men who had rescued him from the blizzard. When they weren't wearing their fur hats, they had those little black caps too.
Thinking nothing more of it Hank returned to the saloon, keen to read Nana's letter. It was long and enthusiastic, saying that she was delighted to hear from him and so happy that he had his own business and had settled down with a wife. Hank grimaced, realising that he was going to have to carry on the lie and in doing so, would have to keep careful track of what he said to her in an effort to not trip himself up in subsequent letters. He wrote back quickly, deciding to mail the letter before Christmas along with a small gift. Loren always had things like lace hankerchiefs and fancy soaps that he was sure Nana would appreciate.
He bought lilac soap and a set of hankerchiefs with flowers stitched on the corners, then packaged them up with a letter, this one saying that Myra was now expecting. He had no idea when her baby was actually due, but since she married Horace at the end of June and Horace didn't get his act together for a couple of weeks, he guessed at the middle of April, realising this would be close to his own birthday. No one even knew when his birthday was, not even Myra. He had never thought it important enough to mention.
Hank went looking for the young boy from the immigrant camp and sent him to post the parcel, giving him a dollar for his trouble and then sat himself on the saloon porch with a cigar, watching some of the townsfolk poking at the Jew's wagon until Loren began announcing that he would cancel anyone's credit who dared to buy from his competition. Michaela took no notice of Loren and went to introduce herself to the peddler, walking off minutes later with some fancy paper Christmas decoration. Hank grinned to himself. No one told Michaela what to do, especially if it involved being unkind to anyone else.
The wagon began to roll slowly off up the street and Hank waited until it had rounded a corner, then sprang up, dropped his cigar and followed. He caught up within a minute or two.
"Hey!" he shouted.
The wagon halted and its owner turned to look at him, his expression somewhat disheartened.
"Ya sell whiskey?" asked Hank.
The face brightened immediately. "I sell everything, whiskey included. What I do not have, I can get."
"What's yer price?"
"What do you usually pay?"
Hank quoted Loren's price for a case of whiskey and watched the Jewish man's eyes twinkle, his mouth stretching into a grin.
"That is very expensive whiskey. I can supply you for half of that price," he said.
"Yeah? Maybe you and me can do business," said Hank with a smirk, sticking his hand out to shake. "Hank Lawson. I own the saloon back there."
"My name is Itzhak Frankl," the peddler replied, shaking Hank's hand vigorously. "I am very pleased to meet you."
"Where ya from?" Hank asked. "Prussia?"
"How did you know?"
"Met a few of your sort before. So, how much whiskey ya got?"
"I have two crates on my wagon. I can get more in perhaps a week."
"Well, I'll take the two ya got for now," said Hank, pulling out some money. "Follow me, we'll drop 'em off at the back of the saloon."
Hank discovered later that the whiskey was an excellent blend and he'd got twice as much for his money as he would have got from Loren. Unfortunately he now had to go and see Loren and cancel his previous order. Loren of course, was furious, especially considering his competition was Jewish. He bemoaned his loss of business in the saloon later, deciding it was high time a group of them had words with the Jews and encouraged them to leave town. Hank refused to be drawn into it, much to Loren and Jake's surprise, finally telling them how he had been rescued from the blizzard by a Jewish family.
Incredulous at Hank's apparent generosity, the old man proceeded to stir up a number of the townsfolk to the extent where they attempted to destroy the Frankls' wagon, finishing up with it collapsing on top of Itzhak and breaking several of his ribs. Hank and Sully were the first two to rush to his aid and Michaela made everyone else feel uncharitable, by their behaviour. Christmas Eve ended with half the town welcoming the Frankls with offers of help to settle in and Hank himself told them where they could find a farm for sale and added in not to many words that he would threaten the owners into selling if they refused the Jewish family.
The day after Christmas Day, Hank returned to Denver and spent two days with Zack. His gift to the boy had been an expensive set of paints and brushes and Zack had already put them to good use, creating realistic landscapes featuring rocky outcrops, trees and creeks, one picture even showing a grazing herd of horses.
Hank came back to Colorado Springs somewhat reluctantly and set to work making up large quantities of his special blend of whiskey, severely watered down and spiced up with red pepper and other ingredients, guessing it would go down rapidly on New Year's Eve as the townsfolk welcomed in 1870. He wasn't so sure it would hold much worth welcoming for himself. He was proved right when just after New Year, Dorothy Jennings read out an article from the New York Post to a group of the townsfolk, advising that a comet was on its way to collide with Earth in just a few days time. Some doctor of comets announced it would begin with storms and strange events and finish up by destroying Earth and everything on it.
It took only the rest of the day before most of the town went crazy. Hank and Loren began by cooking up plans together to make people spend their money in the saloon and the mercantile, not really believing the story, but when the ground shook with an earthquake and a geyser burst up from the ground, everyone apart from Michaela became convinced they were going to die at midnight the next day. Many people headed for the church as darkness fell, others hurrying home with their families. Even the girls in the saloon went to the church, hoping that a 'better late than never' appearance might see them into Heaven. Hank remained at the saloon alone, scoffing at everyone's fear in an attempt not to think about the fact that if it all came to an end, he would die alone while Zack did the same in Denver.
Outside a strong wind began howling around the buildings and Hank walked out into the street, wondering if it would be possible to actually see anything; a giant fireball hurtling towards Earth perhaps. The cold wind buffeted him and he wrapped his arms around himself, grimacing as he watched Michaela leave the clinic. She looked at him briefly and he almost called out to her, but she turned away to head for the church. She had gone only a few steps when Horace lurched out of the telegraph office and collapsed in the street, writhing and groaning. Hank ignored him and looked back up at the sky, but much to his annoyance Michaela began shouting at him to help. He hesitated, hating to go and help the person he disliked the most, but in the end his conscience got the better of him. He ran across the street quickly and hauled the telegraph operator back into the clinic, dumping him on the examination table, aiming to make his escape quickly and go back to his last couple of hours of loneliness.
He might have known Michaela wouldn't let him off that easy. She slammed the door closed and began setting up for an operation, insisting Hank help by passing instruments when she called for them. He watched with a kind of sick fascination as she cut a large hole in Horace's belly and began digging out his appendix, her hands covered in blood to the wrists. Outside the storm continued to rage and Hank decided to ask Michaela what she thought. Since his coma, he had developed further admiration and understanding for her and knew she wouldn't make things up. If she wasn't scared, he doubted there was any reason to be.
"What about comets, Michaela? Ya got any fear of 'em?" he asked, trying to sound curious rather than scared, which was what he was becoming.
"No. Scalpel!"
"Nothin' scares Michaela Quinn, right?" he said, passing her the tool.
"I'm frightened sometimes, Hank, just like anyone else."
"Yeah? What scares you?"
"The same thing that frightens all of us. Losing the people we love."
Hank sighed heavily, reminded again of Zack and Nana, who he was so far from at that moment and of Myra and Clarice and even Lillian, who he'd already lost. It was after eleven and according to the newspaper, that meant there was less than an hour left and as Michaela now headed for the door to be with the people she loved, it became clear he was going to spend that time with Horace.
"What ya gonna do? Just leave him like this?" he said.
"Right now my children need me more. Besides, he's not alone. You're here to watch him," she confirmed.
Hank watched her leave in alarm, then looked down at Horace unconscious on the table. Myra must be worried sick about him. She was alone too, in the church with everyone else, but not with the one she loved. He pulled a chair up and sat down to wait, thinking back over the terrible waste that had been his life. Everything was the way it was now because of things he had done and yet he always tried to blame it on someone else. He hated Horace for taking Myra away, but it wasn't Horace's fault; it was his own, for driving her away into someone else's arms. He wondered if there was a tomorrow, whether he would behave any differently and had to conclude that he probably wouldn't; it was already too late.
Slowly the hands on the clock worked their way around towards midnight. Horace briefly opened his eyes at one point and looked up in horror to discover Hank watching over him, but rapidly drifted off again a moment later. Hank left him and went over to the window, peering out at the heavy rain which was being driven sideways by the wind. The clock struck twelve and the rain continued to fall, the wind continued to blow and nothing else happened. Eventually the rain stopped and the glow of lamps began to appear out of the darkness as people made their way home from the church. Myra arrived at the clinic minutes later, out of breath and red-faced as she struggled to run, almost six months' pregnant.
"Horace!" she cried, hurrying to the table where he still lay sleeping.
"He's alright," Hank said quietly.
"Hank?" She turned around in surprise. "Ya stayed with him?"
"Somebody had to. I'll leave ya to it," he said gruffly and pulled the door open again.
"Thank you, Hank," said Myra.
He just nodded and stepped outside, hurrying across to the saloon. The girls were just arriving too and he followed Louisa to her room, longing for company, but later returning to his own room to sleep alone.