CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
It was four more days before Hank was able to get up properly, get dressed and venture downstairs. The first thing he did was step outside to smoke a much longed for cigar. After so long without one, it made him feel somewhat light-headed. He sat down on a carved wooden seat in the garden and thought for a while.
He was alone in the house that day. Myra had made breakfast and ensured he didn't need anything before taking Samantha to her new carer and returning to work. She had been absent since the robbery at the insistance of her boss, but now that Hank could get around on his own, albeit with his right arm in a sling, she returned to the bank.
It was a Wednesday and with only a week to go before Christmas, he decided it was time he pulled himself together and did something about talking to Myra. He had no excuse now he was out of bed, but knew he was likely to put it off rather than risk spoiling things and making himself look a fool.
He went back into the house and found a newspaper to read, then sat down in the kitchen to nibble some leftover biscuits while he read. The date on the newspaper was from the previous week and when he unfolded it, he found himself looking at a rough sketch of himself.
'Bank Robbers' Reign of Terror Ends' was the title of the article. Hank began to read, wondering how the reporter had managed to find out who he was. He doubted Myra would have talked to the press.
"Colorado Springs hotel and saloon owner, Hank Lawson, 37, yesterday saved the National Bank of St Louis from being robbed, single-handedly bringing down the McDonald gang who are now wanted in three states for fourteen robberies.
"Mr Lawson successfully subdued and tied up Jason McDonald, but was forced to shoot both Jared McDonald and Stewart David in order to save bank employees and customers who were being held at gunpoint.
"During this selfless act of bravery, Mr Lawson was unfortunately wounded by Jared McDonald, taking a bullet in the shoulder and is now said to be lying at death's door, while doctors remain uncertain of his recovery."
"Oh, my God," snorted Hank. "What a load of crap." Then he grinned to himself, rather liking the phrase, 'selfless act of bravery.'
He read the rest of the page and then turned to other articles in the paper to pass the time until Myra returned. She came in just before one-thirty with Samantha, carrying a basket of fried chicken that she had collected from the cafe. After they ate, she took Samantha upstairs for her afternoon nap.
"How are you feeling?" she asked Hank when she returned.
"Good, apart from still havin' a useless arm. Guess I'll have to get back home soon. Maybe we could have that dinner first; how about Friday?" he suggested.
"Alright. I'll ask the lady who has Samantha if the girls could have their sleepover this week; it never happened the day of the robbery."
"Great," Hank nodded, thinking he had better go out the next morning and at least get a new shirt. He was wearing one of the two fresh ones he had, the original ruined by the bullet hole and neither were good enough for dinner anyway.
In the end he bought a whole outfit with the exception of shoes. His suit jacket had a hole in the back and wasn't fit to be seen and he wanted to take Myra somewhere special. He bought a black suit with a vest and long coat, a white shirt and a blue necktie, then looked around the city for a suitable place to dine.
At the opposite end of the main street from the park he found an establishment which looked ideal. It was an hotel with a rather unimaginative name - The St Louis Grand Hotel - but it looked ever smarter than the Oaktree and a glance through one of the windows showed a luxurious restaurant. He went inside, thinking it wise to reserve a table with it being so close to Christmas. He was in luck; there were still some free places in the restaurant for Friday and he reserved a corner table for two for seven o'clock. In addition he ordered one of the hotel's carriages to collect them from Honeysuckle Drive at six forty-five so that they might arrive in style.
With that arranged, he called in at the toy store to pick up a gift for Samantha for Christmas. He knew she had a particular type of doll with a china face that looked like a baby, so he bought a pram for it, just the right size for a little girl who was almost three to push around. He asked the store to deliver it, rather than carry it all the way back to the house, already weighed down by new clothes from the tailors.
He knew he should get something for Myra too, but couldn't imagine what. He couldn't really buy her clothes or shoes the way he had when she'd worked for him. Besides, he wanted it to be more special than that. There was a jewellery store on the next block from the toy store and he went inside, finding only one other customer in there and two free staff waiting to be of assistance.
"Good morning, Sir, may I be of service?" offered the young lady nearest to him.
"'Mornin'. I'm wantin' a gift for a lady," he said.
"Your young lady?"
"I'm kinda hopin' she's gonna be."
"Maybe not too personal then?"
"The opposite - we've known each other a long time."
"Well, may I suggest a locket, then, Sir? We have some beautiful silver lockets in stock."
She bent and lifted a display box out of the cabinet behind her and placed it on the counter in front of Hank. It held around a dozen lockets, all silver and mostly oval shaped, but in different sizes and some engraved with leaves or heart shapes or other symbols. The lady lifted out one medium sized one and opened it to demonstrate places which held two small pictures, then picked up one of the larger items.
"These can hold up to five pictures," she said. "Or alternatively you can remove the concertina in the middle and use it to hold a personal item, such as a lock of hair."
"I think she'd prefer a smaller one," Hank said, doubting somehow that Myra would appreciate a large, heavy piece of jewellery. She was so small herself. He spent some fifteen minutes trying to decide and in the end chose one a little less than an inch long, its surface engraved with a delicate floral motif. It came with a thin silver chain, suitable to wear either outside or tucked inside clothing.
"I'll take this one," said Hank, pulling some money out of his pocket and thinking with amusement that the rate he was spending that day, he would have to consider robbing a bank himself.
The lady placed the locket in a velvet lined box and wrapped it neatly in fancy paper tied with ribbon. Hank slid it into his pocket and returned to the house, hiding it in his bag until it was time to give it to Myra. He hadn't quite decided when that would be yet, but assumed the right moment would present itself.
Myra came in that afternoon with the news that the lady who watched Samantha was happy to have her overnight on Friday. They spent the rest of the day entertaining the little girl and eating supper in the kitchen.
The next day was long and slow as Hank waited for Myra to return from the bank. She was going to be later than usual, intending to go over to her friend's house to spend an hour with Samantha before leaving her for the rest of the day and night. He spent a while lounging in the bathtub, smoking a cigar with the window open and subsequently sprayed hair tonic around the room in an effort to disguise the smell.
When Myra eventually got home, she took over the bathroom herself and remained in there for quite some time. When she finally emerged, she was wearing a dark green evening gown, the little puffy sleeves only just perching on her shoulders. Her hair was pinned up on top of her head in a loose coil with strands escaping around her neck, and tiny earrings dangled from her lobes. She carried a long black cape over one arm to keep warm on the trip to the hotel.
"Ya look beautiful," Hank said.
"Thank you." She laid the cape over the arm of the sofa in the drawing room and sat down carefully.
"I bought ya somethin' yesterday," he added. "Kind of a Christmas gift, I guess." He pulled the box out of his pocket. She wasn't wearing anything around her neck, maybe she'd even want to wear it that evening.
"Oh, Hank, you didn't have to..."
"Yeah, I did. Ya did enough for me. I got a present for Samantha too, they're deliverin' it some time tomorrow."
Myra smiled and began to open the small parcel, pulling off the ribbon and paper and popping the box open.
"Oh!" she gasped. "A locket! It's perfect." She took it out of the box and examined the engraved pattern. "Thank you, Hank, I love it. Will you fasten it for me?" She unhooked the clasp and held it out to him, then turned sideways on the seat.
He took it and carefully fastened the small fiddly clasp about her neck, then rested his hands lightly on her shoulders for a brief moment. She shivered a little and he stepped away from her, wondering if he should speak now or wait until after dinner. It wasn't going to get any easier and he thought he may choke on his food if he had to sit there all night thinking about what he would say to her later. There was still over half an hour before the carriage was due to collect them.
He sat down at the other end of the sofa, thinking that if he was next to her he wouldn't have to actually look at her. It was ridiculous to feel so nervous, but it was the last chance for him. If she didn't want him now, he didn't know what he would do. He would start by asking her about the perfume; her answer might at least give him a clue as to how she felt.
"Are you alright, Hank?" she asked suddenly.
"Yeah. That perfume bottle in yer room; that's the one I gave ya," he blurted out.
"Yes," she said after a brief pause.
"Ya did take it, then. I always wondered." He glanced sideways at her, noting her face was flushing vividly.
"Yes, I took it," she said quietly.
"Why? Ya said ya wouldn't put it on again if ya lived to be ninety."
"I don't know why." She looked down at her hands which were picking at a seam in her dress.
"Yeah, ya do."
"Well, there were a couple of reasons," she said hesitantly.
"Why don't ya tell me one of 'em?" Hank pressed.
"Partly is was defiance."
"Whaddya mean?" he frowned.
"When you threw my things in the street, Horace wouldn't let me take them," Myra began and then continued in a rush. "He said he was going to buy me all new things, give me a new life, everything I thought I wanted. But he just wanted to possess me, like you did only in a different way. He wanted me to forget about what I'd been, where I came from. I realised then that he didn't really care what I thought or what I wanted, but I went on with it anyway. I thought I only had the two choices."
"But ya loved him, didn't ya?"
"Yes, for a while. Or maybe I just thought I did. I don't know any more. I needed someone and he was there. I took the perfume because by doing it I was making my own choice."
"And the other reason?" Hank asked with a smile.
"What?" She turned to look at him now, her skin back to its normal colour, but her brow slightly furrowed.
"Ya said there were a couple."
"I wanted something you gave me." Her eyes darted away again, but her lips began to curve up into a smile. Hank's heart began to gallop, threatening to leap out of his chest altogether. Could she possibly feel the same?
"I thought you'd've wanted to forget," he said.
"It wasn't all bad memories. I hated the job, I hated the way you treated me sometimes, but I didn't hate you. You always had good inside you, you just did your best to keep hiding it. I loved you in the beginning, but you loved Clarice and then you were too hurt for anyone else."
"I wish I'd known," Hank said. "I mean, I kinda wondered sometimes, but I wish I knew for sure. I fell for ya even when Clarice was tyin' me in knots. After she was gone, there was only you for me. You were always there, however mean I was to ya. Then I figured it was too late. I guess it probably still is."
"No, it isn't," Myra whispered.
"Ya said ya loved me in the beginnin'," he reminded her and almost held his breath as he waited for her to speak again and when she did, it was everything he had wanted to hear; everything he had dreamed of hearing but told himself he never would.
"I didn't say I stopped. I guess a little part of me always loved you, I just buried it because I didn't think you'd ever be any good for me. Then I married Horace. I tried so hard to be a good wife, but in the end it made me even more miserable. The first time you came to St Louis and asked me to dinner, I almost said yes, but I was scared and I felt guilty. I was still married and I didn't want to break my vows. Then when Horace...when I came to Colorado Springs, I wished everything could have been different. I wanted to stay, but not to be with him, to be with you. But you know how I was feeling then; as if what happened was my fault."
"Tellin' ya to come back here was probably the hardest thing I ever did," Hank said with a wry smile. "'Sides turnin' up to yer weddin'. Twice."
Myra turned towards him and met his eyes at last. "It was what I needed. I think when you did that, I believed you really cared about me," she said.
"I do. Always did. Guess I had a funny way of showin' it mostly. I love ya, Myra." He reached out now to take her hands, wondering if touching her was going to make him wake up from what seemed like an incredible dream, but it didn't happen. She squeezed his hands in return and leaned closer, her face tilting up towards his for a kiss. Her lips caressed his for one wonderful but brief moment and then she drew back a little, turning her head to the side so he felt her warm breath in his ear.
"I love you," she whispered. He raised his hand to touch her, to turn her face towards his again for another kiss, but the doorbell chimed loudly announcing the arrival of the carriage and he dropped his hand away reluctantly.
"Lousy timin'," he grinned. "Shall we ignore him?"
"No, come on." Myra slid away from him and got to her feet. "I've been looking forward to this dinner a long time."