CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Hank arrived back in Colorado Springs late on Saturday afternoon and headed straight for the saloon. He found Jake behind the bar, helping himself to the whiskey.
"'Bout time," the barber said, frowning at Hank. "Where've ya been?"
"Didn't ya get the telegram?" asked Hank.
"Yeah, I got it. Ya said a few days, it's been a week."
Hank shrugged. "I'm here now." He stepped behind the bar. "So ya can start payin' for yer drinks again."
"I've had enough." Jake shot him another scowl and left the saloon.
It took Hank a while to settle back into his usual routine. All he could think of was Myra and the fact that despite rejecting his advances, she had wanted him to keep in touch. However, it took him almost two months to write her a letter. It was harder even that writing to Nana that first time. All the things he wanted to say to her, he knew he couldn't and he started writing a number of times before he finally finished a letter.
Myra had said she missed her friends and that she missed Loren's gossiping, so he wrote about what had been happening, of which there was a lot to report. A Mexican couple moved in, the husband lasted about a week before a mountain lion got him and eventually the wife started teaching the school. Preston ran against Jake for mayor and lost and then Jake's father whom he hadn't seen for years turned up with a gold nugget in his pocket, which he left for Jake when he died. Jake sold the nugget and put the money into the saloon to turn it into an hotel, part respectable and part still saloon. Hank had been dubious about going into business with Jake, but put his misgivings aside in order to get the money. They called the place The Gold Nugget after much arguing about whose name was more important.
At the same time, Preston had been building his 'chateau' by the hot springs. Preston Lodge II, his father attended the grand opening, but a tempest ruined the day and blew part of the hotel down, much to Hank and Jake's glee. To Hank's surprise, with all of this to talk about the letter ended up being several pages long and he included with it a couple of editions of the Gazette, one featuring the election and the other about the opening of the Chateau and the Gold Nugget.
Hank went into Manitou to mail the letter and then spent weeks fretting that Myra wouldn't bother to write back, that she had only asked him to keep in touch because she felt guilty for turning him down. When Horace took off to St Louis for two weeks over Christmas he worried even more, convinced that somehow Horace would persuade her they should get back together. He drowned his sorrows with whiskey and made repeated use of the girls in an effort to take his mind off it, but neither of those things worked.
Horace returned in the New Year, looking even more miserable than he had before and was barely seen outside the telegraph office. Hank guessed nothing had improved between him and Myra and started to relax again. Then eventually at the end of the month a letter arrived for him. He was walking past the telegraph office when Horace suddenly shouted out to him.
"Hank! There's a letter for ya."
Hank's heart missed a beat as he strode into the office to collect it.
"Who'd write to you?" Horace sneered.
"Zach writes to me," Hank reminded him.
"Yeah, but this ain't his writin'." Horace handed the letter over "Says 'Lissy Grant' in the corner. Mailed in St Charles, Missouri."
"Lissy? Well, she used to work for me," Hank said, biting his lip to hide a grin. No way would Lissy have written to him. It was from Myra.
"Thanks, Horace." He stuffed the letter into his pocket and returned to the Gold Nugget to read it. She thanked him for the letter and commented on some of the things he had told her, saying she was glad about the Gold Nugget. She had mailed the letter in St Charles which was a few miles outside St Louis and thought writing Lissy's name on it would prevent Horace wondering why Hank was getting letters from a place close to where she lived. She told him she had been promoted at the bank and was thinking about looking for a small place for just her and Samantha to live, rather than keep on staying with her sister. She never mentioned Horace's visit over Christmas, but Hank didn't really expect her to.
He wrote again almost immediately although there was less to say on that occasion. The Reverend had gone blind and Jake was clearly sweet on the Mexican teacher although he didn't have the guts to do anything about it. He longed to suggest going to see her again and actually wrote it down, then decided against it and rewrote the whole letter leaving that part out. He mailed the letter in Manitou as before and then eagerly awaited her reply, but after more than two months none had arrived and he began to wallow in self-pity. Perhaps she had decided against keeping in touch with him.
As he fretted and moped, so did Horace, curiously taking up to drinking in the Gold Nugget a number of times a week, despite his previous loathing of both the place and the whiskey. He had occasionally been known to drop in for a sarsaparilla, but that was all. Now he staggered home after several drinks on a few occasions and began to raise eyebrows amongst the townsfolk. Then one morning he failed to open up the telegraph office and when Michaela and Sully broke in, they found him unconscious. It was Jake who reported the news to Hank later that day.
"He tried to do himself in."
"What?"
"They found two empty bottles of laudanum next to him along with some divorce papers."
"Divorce papers?" Hank's eyes widened. They were getting divorced? Maybe that was why Horace had turned to drinking after Christmas. She must have decided to end it. His pulse sped up rapidly.
"Guess it was only a matter of time, she obviously wasn't plannin' on comin' back," Jake went on.
"Yeah." Hank frowned, wondering if now Myra would write to him and if not, whether he should go and see her to find out what her feelings were. How long should he reasonably leave it before turning up on her doorstep? Once again he was confused over her. If she was getting divorced, would there ever be a chance for him?
It was another two days before he heard anything more on the subject and again it was from Jake, who was leaning on the bar downing his third whiskey of the day.
"Saw Myra earlier," he said.
"What?" Hank's hand shook suddenly, spilling the whiskey he was pouring over the bar instead of into the glass. He put the bottle down quickly as Jake glared at him and moved his arm away from the spillage.
"Dr Mike sent for her to cheer Horace up, from what I heard. She got off the train with Samantha a little while ago. They're at the clinic."
Hank went suddenly cold. He didn't know what to think. She had come rushing to Horace's side at a moment's notice and was with him right now. She must still care for him, want to be with him. He became lost in thought and when he looked up again, Jake was gone. He stayed in the hotel for the rest of the afternoon, then headed over to Grace's as usual. The last thing he wanted was food, but he could use a strong coffee and guessed he would see Loren and Jake there. One of them might have more of an idea of what was happening at the clinic.
Loren and Jake were already seated at one of the tables with Robert E and Hank went to join them. They were all gossiping about Horace and Myra which didn't really surprise him. They fell silent when Myra and Michaela suddenly walked into the cafe. Myra was wearing a blue dress and hat and looked strained and anxious. Hank jumped up quickly.
"Myra! Over here!" He pulled out a chair for her and she came to the table, avoiding his eyes. The other three men got to their feet and waited as Myra took the offered seat, Michaela sitting down close to her. Then they all sat.
"Hello, everybody," Myra said quietly. Grace came over then to bring coffee for the new arrivals.
"Myra, I'm so sorry about Horace," she said. It almost sounded like an accusation to Hank.
"Don't go blamin' her, Grace," he said fiercely.
"Who said anythin' about blamin' her?" retorted Grace.
"'Course not, coulda been any number of things, not necessarily the divorce papers," put in Loren.
Myra's mouth dropped open. "What do you mean, the divorce papers?"
"Myra, the truth is..." Michaela began
"Truth is they found 'em next to the laudanum bottles," interrupted Jake.
"No!" Myra gasped. "He was fine when I saw him at Christmas. We both agreed to the divorce. I should have known."
So it had been Horace who instigated the divorce, not Myra. Hank wasn't sure if that made it worse or better. She seemed so shocked and upset.
The silence was broken by Michaela, explaining that she thought Horace was suffering from something called melancholia, which would make him miserable regardless of what Myra did or didn't do. It didn't seem to make a great difference to Myra and she seemed racked with guilt that Horace had been alone and miserable while she had been doing what she wanted in St Louis. She and Michaela left the cafe soon after and returned to the clinic. Hank went back to the hotel and opened a fresh bottle. He was beginning to feel a little sick and didn't even want to think of the outcome of Myra's visit. However, the next day there was no escaping it. She announced she had quit her job in St Louis and was planning to stay in Colorado Springs with Horace. Then she moved back into the rooms above the telegraph office with him and as if that wasn't enough, she agreed to the Reverend's suggestion that they get married all over again.
Hank spent another night drinking, this time continuing until he passed out in the bar long after the last customer had left and the girls had retired for the night. Months of wishful thinking - a year almost - since she had first gone to St Louis and now his hopes were dashed. As if it hadn't been bad enough seeing her get married the first time, now it was happening again.
The next day he was like a bear with a sore head, wanting to fight with anyone who said a wrong word to him. He started by throwing a cheating poker player with marked cards out of the saloon, then stood fuming on the porch for a moment, thinking about lighting up a cigar. Then he spotted Myra walking by alone and knew he had to try talking to her.
"Myra!"
She stopped and for a moment he wasn't sure how to continue. It seemed so awkward, almost as if he had never seen her in St Louis, as if they had never written to each other. He muttered something about her looking good and then blurted out what he really wanted to say.
"I can't understand you thinkin' about gettin' married to Horace again. Yer foolin' yerself if ya think you can just go back to bein' Mrs Bing."
"I never stopped being Mrs Bing," she replied coolly. She was so stiff and distant; so much changed from when he'd last seen her.
"What about them divorce papers?" he asked.
"That's all behind us," said Myra firmly. "Everything's changed. Horace needs me."
So that was it; that was the point. She was doing it for Horace, not for herself. She had seemed so happy and confident in St Louis, so different from when she'd been with Horace; different from when she'd been working for him too. But now it seemed like she was agreeing to come back to please Horace, or to cheer him up, rather than because she wanted to.
"What about you?" he pressed.
"I'm getting married tomorrow."
Hank sighed heavily. There would be no changing her mind. Just like she hadn't let Horace talk her out of sitting by his bedside rather than leave him alone in a coma, now nothing would make her leave Horace in his hour of need, no matter what she really wanted for herself.
"I guess I'll see ya at the weddin', Mrs Bing," he said quietly.
She nodded and turned away and he watched, bitter, hurt and angry as she headed back towards the telegraph office. She had let her cool expression slip just a second before she turned and her face looked just as desperate as he felt.
The wedding was set for eleven o'clock the next morning in the meadow. Hank gulped several cups of strong black coffee to wash away the effects of the last bottle of whiskey and then after he had put on one of his best suits he opened a fresh bottle. How could he go and watch her repeat her vows?
"Hank! Ya ready?" Jake strode into the bar. "You are goin'?"
"Yeah." Hank tossed the rest of the glass of whiskey down his throat, dragged a hand through his hair and followed Jake outside. Maybe this time he should speak up when the Reverend came to the part that asked whether anyone objected.
Myra was waiting with the Reverend and Samantha and a bunch of other people. Hank kept looking at her, but she avoided his eyes, her face worried and a forced smile on her lip as the minutes crawled by and Horace didn't appear. Eventually it became clear he wasn't going to and Myra, Michaela and Sully took off to the telegraph office to look for him.
"Drinks on the house back at the Gold Nugget," Jake announced to the others and began to lead the way back into town. It was obvious there wasn't going to be a wedding after all. Loren, looking out of the window, announced that Horace had been taken back to the clinic and immediately several people hurried out there to find out what was going on. Most were shocked to find out Horace had tried again to end things, only with a gun this time.
"He's crazy," Hank said with some relief. Horace had to be crazy to leave Myra standing at the altar. He wanted to talk to her, but she was in the clinic with Michaela and didn't show any signs of coming out. All he could do was return to the Nugget and hope that she was alright.
He didn't see Myra until two days later. He had gone to Grace's with Loren and Jake for lunch although he didn't have much of an appetite for anything other than whiskey or coffee. He picked half-heartedly at a piece of pie, staring at the plate with a complete lack of interest until Loren announced the arrival of Myra. He jerked his head up. Myra was alone, not even Samantha accompanied her. She sat down at the table furthest from the other diners, partly shaded by a tree. Grace went to her and she accepted coffee, but that was all.
"She looks real sad," Jake commented. "Guess she musta wanted to get back with Horace after all."
Hank's eyes narrowed. He looked over at Myra, watching as she sipped her coffee, then put the cup down and rubbed her hand over her face. After a moment she covered her face with both hands, her elbows resting on the table. He got up quickly.
"Where ya goin' now?" Loren asked.
Hank ignored him and walked to the other side of the cafe. Myra didn't look up until he sat down beside her, one leg either side of the bench. Her eyes were full of tears, her cheeks streaked with them.
"I'm sorry things didn't work out," he said softly.
She turned her face away again. "You think that's why I'm upset?"
"Isn't it?"
Myra shook her head, began to speak again but choked on the words.
"Hey." He hated seeing her hurting so much; it upset him more even than her rejecting him. Risking another rebuttal, he reached out and slid an arm around her shaking shoulders.
"Oh, Hank, I don't know what to do," she wept. She leaned against him suddenly, clutching the front of his coat with one hand, her tears soaking the collar of his shirt. He wrapped both arms around her and held her tight, surprised that out of all the friends she had in Colorado Springs, particularly Michaela, she would turn to him for comfort instead. Eventually her crying subsided and she raised her head from his shoulder, drawing back slightly. He let go of her, but laid one hand over hers where it rested on the table.
"It's guilt," she said.
"Guilt?"
"I didn't want to come back to this, but Horace needed me. I felt I owed it to him, so when he didn't turn up to the wedding, I was glad. I was glad I didn't have to go back to living like that and all the time he was thinking about killing himself again. If he'd done it, I'd never have been able to forgive myself."
"Well, he didn't do it," Hank said, his heart leaping even as he offered her comfort. "Michaela'll find some way to help him. None of this was your fault; everybody says the same. He's got somethin' wrong in his head makin' him miserable. Ain't all your doin'."
"I know that, but it doesn't make me feel any less guilty for being glad the divorce is going ahead."
"It is?"
"Horace signed the papers." She cleared her throat and scrubbed at her eyes with her free hand. "I don't know what to do," she said again.
"Ya wanna know what I think?"
She nodded, staring down at his hand which still held hers. He couldn't quite believe what he was going to say; something that was only going to make him suffer more, maybe indefinitely.
"Go back to St Louis," he said. "Tell the bank ya made a mistake and ya want yer job back. Bein' there was good for ya. Go back to it and forget about what's here. Ya gotta move on from it. Ain't no sense feelin' guilty about somethin' ya can't change. Michaela'll fix Horace. He gave ya the divorce; he ain't your responsibility no more. Do what you want and stop puttin' everyone else first."
Myra looked up now, meeting his eyes, the expression in hers one of surprise and gratitude.
"You're right," she said. "I'll go back. Tomorrow morning. Thank you, Hank." She gave him a wan smile, squeezed his hand and got to her feet. She looked at him for another moment and then walked away from the cafe. Hank got up slowly and returned to Loren and Jake, both of whom were staring curiously.
"What was all that about?" Jake asked as soon as he sat down.
"Nothin'."
"Didn't look like nothin'," Loren said.
"She needed a friend," grunted Hank.
"Since when were you anybody's friend?" Loren asked with a chuckle.
"Remember when ya had a stroke, Loren? Folks didn't know how to treat ya? Who talked to ya the same as always? Who carried ya back home when ya collapsed, huh? And you!" He turned his attention to Jake. "Remember Loren teasin' ya 'cause ya couldn't read and I said I couldn't either? I lied to make ya feel better 'cause I know what it's like to be called a failure. As for Myra - I've been writin' to her because she needed a friend and I just told her to go back to St Louis and forget about everythin' here 'cause that's best for her, even though it's killin' me to do it. Ya think I don't know how to be a friend?" He stopped, aware that both Jake and Loren were staring at him in shock, their mouths hanging open.
"I'm sorry, Hank, I didn't know," Jake said meekly.
"So...you and Myra...?" said Loren.
"There is no me and Myra," muttered Hank. "Ain't what she wants."
"Didn't know you were sweet on her," said Jake.
"Didn't intend ya to know." Hank got up from the table with a sigh. When the other two said nothing more, he left the cafe and went back to the Gold Nugget, wondering what in hell had made him blurt all that out to the two biggest gossips in Colorado Springs. If he wasn't careful, he would end up the subject of his own next letter to Myra, if there ever was one.