CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Hank rose early on Wednesday morning after a long sleep and took another bath, grinning to himself as he realised two baths in two days was probably the most he'd had since he left his father's house in Denver.
He soaked for half an hour, then put on the new suit, applied the clothes brush to his hair and went down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. The first meal of the day was included in the charge for the room so he intended making the most of it, but he found he didn't have much appetite and nibbled half-heartedly at bacon and eggs, the knot in his stomach only increasing as he thought about having lunch with Myra.
He spent the morning wandering around the city, passing the time until eleven-forty-five when he headed back to the centre and paced around outside the bank, telling himself not to hope too much. It was only lunch; it probably didn't mean anything to her. She'd refused dinner after all.
The clock on the church a couple of streets away began to chime twelve and Myra appeared just as it stopped. She was wearing a grey outfit today, but not the grim, unattractive grey she'd had in Colorado Springs - this was the palest of greys, like the feathers of doves, trimmed with black stitching at the neck and the hem and with glossy black buttons down the front of the bodice. She had a hat to match, black gloves and a small black purse in her hand.
"Hello, Hank," she said.
"Afternoon." He offered her his arm, half expecting her to refuse it, but she tucked her hand through it and began to walk at his side in the direction of the cafe.
"You have a new suit," she observed.
"Yeah, the other one was a lost cause. The hotel's gonna clean it up. Seems like you got a lotta new stuff since ya came here," he said. "Ya look real good, Myra."
"Thank you."
They arrived at the cafe a minute later and Hank opened the door for her, pulled a chair out for her at the table they were shown to, ordered lunch for both of them and restrained himself from smoking. He thought to himself that it was a good thing he had learned something from his stuck up family.
They ate some fancy chicken dish followed by an icecream dessert and after an initial few minutes of awkwardness, began chatting the way they often had in the past before Myra met Horace. With the exception of her appearance and her more genteel way of talking, she hadn't really changed all that much and Hank began to relax and enjoy himself, encouraged by the fact that she was clearly enjoying his company.
By the time they left the cafe it was approaching two o'clock and Myra told him she needed to go and collect Samantha before Mrs Withers started to worry.
"I'll walk with ya," Hank said.
"Alright." She took his arm again as they began to head through town. They passed a small street stand selling the latest newspaper, one copy pinned to the front of it showing the front page.
'Preston Lodge II Buys Clarion Hotel Chain.'
"Ain't that Preston's pa?" Hank said, pointing at the headline. "Seems he's tryin' to take over the whole country."
Myra looked up at him.
"When did you learn to read?" she asked. "You said something else when your Nana visited too, about writing to her."
Hank grinned. "I was about nine or ten," he said. "Lillian taught me."
"So why did you tell Jake you couldn't read?"
"Aww, I felt sorry for him; Loren was makin' him feel stupid. I got enough of that when I was a kid, folks lookin' down their noses at me, tellin' me I was a failure."
"You felt sorry for him? You're all heart, aren't you?" Myra teased.
"More than ya know."
Myra glanced at him again, but didn't say anything. After a couple more minutes, she drew him to a halt and let go of his arm.
"I'll leave you here, Mrs Withers' house is just over there." She pointed down a side street.
"Ya fancy bringin' Samantha to the park again?" Hank asked hopefully.
"Not today, I promised Suzannah I'd watch her children for a while."
"What about tomorrow, then? I'll take ya both for a picnic."
"Hank..." Myra began to protest, avoiding his eyes and fiddling with her glove. "I shouldn't..."
"Ya shouldn't or ya don't wanna?" interrupted Hank. "Look, I'm gonna have to get back home soon, Jake and Loren ain't gonna keep watchin' the saloon forever. Let me see ya for the afternoon tomorrow, then I'll be outta yer hair."
"Well..." Myra hesitated and bit her lip. "Alright, then. I suppose it can't hurt. I'll meet you in the park after I pick up Samantha; it'll be about twelve-thirty, I expect."
Hank left her and headed back to the hotel, wondering how he was going to occupy himself for the rest of the day. He first advised the hotel he would be staying another night and leaving on Friday, then headed for the railway station to check the train times. There was one heading for Denver which left at one o'clock, but he realised buying a ticket would use up the last of the money he had with him.
He left the station and began walking away from the main part of the city, thinking he would find a bar and see if he couldn't get a couple of St Louis men to lose to him at poker.
He found a suitable bar, somewhat smarter than the saloon and Red's old place in Denver, but despite the fancy decorations and expensive drinks, it had a poker table and a game was in the process of being set up, three men sitting themselves down at the table and calling out to a waitress to bring them drinks.
"Afternoon, gentlemen," Hank said to the players. "Need a fourth?"
The three looked up at him and when one nodded, the other two also agreed. He sat down in the vacant chair, ordered a drink for himself and handed out his last few cigars.
Two of the men were easy to beat and were out of the game within a couple of hands, but the third proved to be a match for Hank, his face cold and unreadable and his wallet apparently bottomless. However, something eventually distracted him to the extent that he made a bold wager on a poor hand and Hank scooped up the pile of money on the table, which when he counted up later in the hotel he discovered to be over a hundred and fifty dollars. At least that had paid for his rather expensive stay in St Louis.
The following morning Hank went out hunting for an establishment where he could get a picnic for lunch. The hotel would have offered one, but it was all fancy types of things, not really suitable for a baby. Eventually he found an outdoor cafe in a poorer part of the city, not dissimilar from Grace's. Their lunch menu was soup and meatloaf or fried chicken, big slabs of thick fresh made bread and cheese and wedges of fruit pie. Hank grinned. It would almost be a taste of Colorado Springs.
The cafe owner was happy to pack up a basket of food and a bottle of cider for him, including small carefully prepared portions for a young child and even a block of fudge. She added plates, cups and napkins to the basket too. Hank promised to return the basket and crockery in the afternoon and set off to the park to meet Myra and Samantha.
There were some picnic tables and benches under the shade of the trees to one side of the grassy area and he chose one and sat down, watching out for Myra appearing. He heard the church clock strike twelve-thirty, but still there was no sign of her. Another fifteen minutes crawled by and then suddenly she rounded a corner and began to head into the park, pushing Samantha in a pram. She was wearing a blue outfit, but no hat or gloves for once. Hank got up as they came nearer and waited until Myra parked the pram and seated herself at the table before he sat down again.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Hank," she said. "Mrs Withers said Samantha's been fretting all morning. I went home to get her pram so she can nap after lunch."
"Don't matter, yer here now," Hank said. "Ya hungry?"
"Yes, I am." Myra lifted Samantha out of the pram and settled her onto her lap, taking one of the napkins and tucking it into the neck of her frock.
Hank unpacked the food and poured out cups of cider. Myra's face split into a smile as she looked at the things on the plates.
"Just like Grace's," she said. "I wonder if it tastes as good? She was the best cook."
The fried chicken and meatloaf were delicious, but both decided it still couldn't beat Grace's. Myra broke off small pieces for Samantha and then gave her a piece of fudge to nibble. When the little girl began to nod, Myra put her in the pram and then gathered up the remains of the lunch and put it back in the basket.
"Hank, thank you for this," she said. "I enjoyed it. I haven't had food like this since...well, since I left Colorado Springs, I guess."
Hank smiled. "Ya miss it at all?"
"Sometimes I do; I mean, it was my home for a long time."
"Yeah, but most of that time ya weren't happy."
"But I had friends there."
"Ya don't have friends here?"
"Not really. Only the sort one invites to sit in one's drawing room, conversing about the weather and drinking tea," Myra said with a wry smirk. "No one really talks, not even my sister."
"You ain't happy here?" Hank asked in surprise.
"Oh, I am, I mean I love the city and I love my job. I suppose I miss the people. I certainly miss Dr Mike, the doctor Suzannah has is some old fuddy duddy who still believes in bleeding people to bring fevers down, like Jake used to. And I miss just being able to gossip about everything. Like the fact that Rebecca who used to work at the bank with me left town to have a baby, only she doesn't have a husband." Myra chuckled softly. "No one speaks of things like that here. I miss Loren spilling the beans on people's business to everyone who went in the store."
Hank grinned. "Well, that ain't changed." He looked down at the table top, his heart thumping. If ever there was a time to try and find out if he had a chance with her, it was now. "Ya miss me at all?" he asked.
He raised his head again when she didn't say anything. She stared back at him, her expression unreadable, her hands folded together in front of her on the table. He took a chance; one he'd taken before outside the saloon right after she accepted the job with Preston.
He covered her folded hands with both of his and leaned forward to kiss her. Their lips touched and as he felt the warm softness of hers, for a second it seemed she was going to respond. His heart missed a beat and all the feelings for her that he had tried so hard to bury came bubbling up inside him again. Then she was jerking away from him, pulling her hands free from beneath his, her face shocked.
"Hank, what're you doing? You said..."
"I know what I said. Couldn't help myself." He straightened up, wishing he had a cigar left to give himself something to do, but he'd given the last couple away to the poker players. "I guess now ya know what I really came here for," he said bitterly.
"I thought...I guess I thought you'd changed," Myra said quietly.
"Well, I ain't. I still got feelin's for ya," he blurted out.
Her eyes widened. "I thought you meant..."
"That I was after a bit of fun? No." He shook his head. "Guess that surprises ya. Never thought I meant what I said after ya took on that girl, Jennifer's contract, did ya?"
Myra's face showed a mixture of emotions, but she didn't seem to know what to say in return. She simply stared at him, eyes still wide, lips slightly parted.
"Hell, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to dump any of that on ya. I guess seein' ya this week put ideas in my head. When I first got here I didn't think you'd even wanna see me." He got up from the table now and grabbed the picnic basket. "I better get this back to the cafe, the woman'll be thinkin' I stole it."
"I'm sorry, Hank," Myra said softly.
"Don't let it worry ya. I'm just bein' a fool, like always. I'm gonna be gone tomorrow, so I'll say goodbye." Suddenly he couldn't wait to get away from her.
"Goodbye, Hank," she said, so quietly he barely heard her.
He walked away, hoping she might call out and stop him, but knowing it wasn't going to happen. He returned the basket to the cafe first before heading for the hotel, once again feeling the crushing pain of her rejection. It was his own fault as usual. She'd said she didn't know what she wanted, that she needed to think about it, that she was still married to Horace. What in the world had made him think she would suddenly want to fall into his arms? Just like before, when she took the job with Preston, she'd wanted a friend and he'd seen more in it than there was.
He charged into his hotel room, kicked the door closed behind him and then turned and drove his fist into it, cursing viciously under his breath. Pain and fury at himself warred with each other and he paced the room, catching sight of himself in the mirror hanging above the dresser. The last thing he wanted to see was his own face. He snatched up the stool and smashed it into the mirror, shattering the oval in its gilt frame and scattering shards onto the carpet. The stool still in his hand, he hurled it across the room into the wall above the bed, two of the legs breaking off with the impact.
A loud knock came on the door a moment later.
"Mr Lawson!"
"What!" he snarled.
"Please open this door."
"Go to hell!"
"This is the manager. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave this establishment. You're causing a disturbance."
Hank jerked the door open and faced the manager, a man not all that different in appearance from Horace.
"Disturbance?" Hank spat. "I'll show you a disturbance!" His fist connected none too gently with the man's jaw, throwing him back against the opposite wall. The manager sidled away towards the stairs, announcing he was going to send for the sheriff.
"Don't waste yer time, I'm leavin' anyhow," growled Hank, turning back into the room. He began shoving his clothes into the carpet bag he had brought, wondering if there would be another train to Denver that afternoon to save him waiting until the following day.
He stormed out of the hotel moments later and began to stride off towards the station. He was in luck. There was a five o'clock which meant he had less than an hour to wait. He bought a ticket, then went into the small store next to the station to get some cigars. He returned to the platform from which his train was due to leave and sat down on a bench, lighting up one of the cigars, his temper rapidly subsiding and giving way to misery.
At four-thirty the train pulled in from Philadelphia and a crowd of passengers disembarked. Hank stayed where he was to finish his cigar, watching the dozen or so people who were also waiting for the train as they climbed aboard. He leaned back on the bench, one arm laid along the backrest as he took a long draw on the cigar, tipped his head back and blew smoke rings up into the air.
"Hey." Myra sat down on the bench beside him and he almost choked on the smoke, straightening up quickly and dropping the rest of the cigar on the ground.
"What're ya doin' here, Myra?" he said in surprise.
"I came to say goodbye."
"I said I was goin' tomorrow."
"Well, I thought you might go early if there was a train going to Denver."
"Sorry if I made ya...uncomfortable," he said.
"You didn't. I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. I enjoyed seeing you, Hank, but like I said, I'm still married and I don't know whether I'm going to stay that way or not. I guess I'll discuss it with Horace when he comes to see Samantha at Christmas."
"Yeah, I can understand that. I'm sorry I pressured ya." Hank looked up as the station master began calling any remaining passengers to board the train. "I guess, that's me." He grabbed his bag and got up. "Goodbye, Myra."
He quickly walked the few yards to the train, not looking back at her, but a second before he reached the steps leading up into the carriage, her voice halted him as abruptly as if she had shot him in the back.
"Hank!"
He froze immediately and turned to face her.
"What?"
"Maybe we could keep in touch somehow," she said hesitantly. "If you can just be my friend. I can't make you any promises, so I don't want to make things worse for you. If you'd rather forget about me..."
"That ain't gonna happen," Hank said with a sudden grin. "I'd rather be yer friend than nothin'. I guess I could send you a letter some time."
Myra smiled. "Maybe not a good idea to ask Horace to mail it. Have you something to write my address on?"
"Twelve Honeysuckle Drive, right? Don't ask," he added when her eyebrows rose. "I gotta go."
The station master was checking that the carriage doors on the train were closed and he hurried away now and bounded up the steps, quickly finding an empty compartment and dropping into the seat.
Seconds later the train began to move and he glanced out of the window, catching sight of Myra standing watching. He slumped back into the seat and closed his eyes. Once again, his mind was a turmoil. She rebuffed him which he supposed he had expected, but she wanted them to keep in touch. It was better than nothing, as long as she didn't go and fall back into Horace's arms at Christmas. He was just going to have to wait and see what happened.