CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The next morning Hank started looking around for a house to rent immediately. Meanwhile Myra, who was feeling perfectly well, went to collect Samantha and arranged with Horace that their daughter would stay with him every second weekend.
Hank returned in the middle of the day to take the two of them to Grace's for lunch and already had good news. A small house on the edge of town was available for rent. The owners planned to travel south to care for the wife's ailing mother, but expected to return within six months to a year so wanted to keep the house to come back to. They were in the process of packing and advised Hank could have the house by the end of the week. They were leaving their furniture and taking only the items they would need for the journey in addition to their clothes and children's toys.
"It's got two bedrooms, a big lounge room, kitchen with a table in there, corral for the horses," Hank recited over platefuls of Grace's meatloaf. "I paid them six months' rent to be goin' on with."
"That's wonderful," Myra said. "I can't believe you found a place so quickly."
"Just luck really. Ain't nothin' else available, but they're about ready to go. We should be in there at the weekend," Hank said.
The following day Myra and Samantha's belongings arrived from St Louis in two large chests and Hank collected them from the station in his wagon. Then on Friday everything was taken to the new house and they spent their first night there, Samantha loving her new large room with its wallpaper featuring various animals. The room had been the owners' children's room and also included two small beds, a closet behind a curtain with pegs positioned low for small people to reach and a large box for keeping toys in. Samantha wanted to arrange her own things in it with the pink rabbit getting pride of place on the pillow of the bed beneath the window.
Myra had been intending to look for work immediately on her arrival in Colorado Springs, but now that she was pregnant she decided not to until after the baby was born, then see how she felt. She had discovered Preston Lodge II had taken over the running of the bank and installed a temporary manager and she hoped to apply for that position in the future, should it become available.
The first few weeks in the new house were wonderful. Hank and Myra quickly settled into a routine where she would make him lunch before he went to the Gold Nugget in the middle of the afternoon and stay until the late evening, then return a little before Myra went to bed. Myra began to suffer badly from morning sickness and went to Michaela for another check up, worried something may be wrong as she hadn't suffered nearly so much with Samantha. However, Michaela told her everything was going well and that the sickness should pass after the third month.
Michaela was right and on the last Saturday in March, Myra woke feeling fine and from then on, began eating like a horse, worrying that she would end up the size of Hank's favourite, Hurricane. He began to tease her as she ate as much as him, suggesting he move into the spare bed in Samantha's room as there soon wouldn't be room for him in the same one as Myra.
By now everyone in town had got used to the fact that Myra was back and married to Hank, although he regularly had his leg pulled in the Gold Nugget for 'turning soft' and becoming a regular husband and father like everyone else, when it had always seemed like he never would.
It was the fourth day in April when the Lawsons' new-found happiness was threatened. Hank and Myra walked from the house to the centre of town together, Samantha trotting along beside Myra. It was Friday afternoon and Horace's turn to have Samantha for the weekend so they called in at the telegraph office first to drop her off, along with a small bag of her belongings. Myra then went to the clinic for a check up and Hank headed over to the Gold Nugget. It had been doing better lately, with more of the hotel rooms being made use of. He leaned on the bar and chatted to the manager for a little while, smoking a cigar and helping himself to a large whiskey.
Perhaps half an hour later, a commotion at Loren's store drew Hank out of the hotel and a number of other people out of various buildings to see what was going on. Jake appeared from the barber's shop and began to cross towards the store.
"What's goin' on?" Hank ran across to him, his hand on the gun in its holster where it rested against his hip.
"Dunno. Heard a crash and shoutin'," Jake said.
Hank charged ahead, stopping just outside Loren's door. Two unfamiliar men were in the store, both wearing hats pulled well down and scarves around their faces. One held a gun and the other was emptying Loren's cash box while he stood back against the display shelves, hands up. A few feet inside the door were Myra and Dorothy, frozen in place, a bolt of fabric in Dorothy's hands. Hank's guts clenched as he glanced at Myra, even more anxious about her than he had been during the bank robbery, now that she was pregnant.
He was still out of sight of the two men, but now he stepped into the doorway, gun raised, ordering the men to stand still. The one with the gun turned on Hank, but quickly lowered his own weapon, realising Hank had the upper hand. Loren took the opportunity to grab his shotgun from beneath the counter and the armed man handed over his gun, accepting defeat quickly. The one with the cashbox, noticing the attention of both Hank and Loren was on his partner, dropped the money and made for the door, dodging around the counter and shoving Dorothy and Myra roughly out of the way as he made a run for it.
Both women screamed, stumbling against the stack of fabrics, Dorothy grabbing at Myra to try to keep her on her feet.
"Myra!" Hank cried in a panic, his attention switching from the man in front of him to his wife.
"I'm alright," she gasped, straightening up again. Hank turned to go after the escaping man, who had found his route out of the store blocked by Jake and appeared undecided as to whether to give up or fight. Hank now grabbed him by the back of his jacket, spun him around and laid into him with both fists, his fear of Myra being hurt turning into fury. In less than a minute the man crouched on the ground, gasping for breath, spitting blood, his nose pouring with it, begging for mercy.
"Hank, stop!" Jake exclaimed. "Yer gonna kill him!"
"'S'what he deserves!" growled Hank, delivering a hefty kick to the man's ribs.
"Hank, that'll do!" Daniel now burst into the store, having heard the commotion. "I'll take it from here." Temporarily ignoring the injured man, he handcuffed the second whom Loren was still holding in the corner with his shotgun. A moment later both men were hustled out of the store in the direction of the jail.
"Myra!" Hank turned back towards her now. "Are ya alright?"
She nodded, her face pale, leaning against him as he slid an arm around her.
"Loren, ya can put the gun down now," Jake said. "Y'alright, old man?"
"I would be if it wasn't for these darned robbers; we're gettin' more and more of them the bigger this town gets," grumbled Loren, putting the shotgun away. "Are you alright, Dorothy?"
"Yes, thank you, Loren." Dorothy picked up the bolt of fabric which she had dropped on the floor and brushed it down.
"I'll take ya home," Hank said, steering Myra towards the door.
She held on tight to his arm as they walked slowly back to the house. She was pale and shaky and Hank repeatedly asked her how she was feeling until he had her resting on the sofa with her feet up and a quilt tucked around her.
"I'm fine, Hank, really, don't worry," she said, smiling at last.
"I dunno what I'd do if anythin' happened to ya, or the kid," he said. "Maybe I oughta get Michaela to look at ya again."
"You don't need to, we're both alright," protested Myra.
Hank left it at that, but he didn't go the Gold Nugget that day, hanging around the house instead, fussing around Myra until he could tell he was irritating her, but he couldn't help it. Then a couple of hours later when she complained of feeling unwell, he was glad he had ignored her protests and not left her alone.
"What's wrong?" he demanded at once.
"I just feel a bit sick, that's all."
"Well, I'm gonna get Michaela, I shoulda done before," Hank said, heading for the door at once. He stepped out into the street and was relieved to see Brian Cooper and one of his friends only yards away, heading into the centre of town.
"Hey! Brian!" Hank shouted.
Brian halted and looking at him anxiously. His friend made himself scarce and Brian approached slowly.
"Don't look like that, I won't bite," Hank scowled.
"Sorry. What can I do for ya?" asked Brian.
"Fetch yer ma, tell her Myra's feelin' sick," said Hank. "Can ya hurry?"
"Sure, I'll get her." Brian sprinted off in the direction of the clinic and Hank returned to Myra, leaving the door open.
Myra looked very pale and sickly again and was lying back against the cushions, her face damp with sweat. Hank grabbed a cloth, squeezed it out in cold water and rested it on her forehead. It was only minutes before there was a tap on the door.
"It's Michaela," Michaela's voice called out.
"Come in!" Hank shouted, moving out of the way as Michaela came to Myra's side. "Loren's store was gettin' robbed earlier," he said. "Myra was in there and she got pushed. Could that have made her ill?"
"Did you fall?" Michaela asked Myra.
"No. Dorothy caught me."
"Any pain?"
"No. I just feel sick and sort of strange." Myra closed her eyes. "Will the baby be alright?"
"I hope so. I'm going to examine you. Hank, will you get me a bowl of water please, and a towel?"
"Sure." He brought the required items quickly and then paced about as Michaela undertook the examination. The towel was light blue and when Michaela suddenly moved it aside he noticed there was blood on it. His heart froze and seemed to stop beating as he stared at it in horror.
"Dr Mike?" Myra said in a small voice.
"You've had a little bleeding, Myra," Michaela said. "It's already stopping, so I'm hopeful it's not serious. Light bleeding is often experienced..."
"Yer hopeful?" interrupted Hank. "So it could be serious, only ya don't know!"
"As I said, light bleeding is often experienced in the first few months, but it doesn't necessarily mean anything is wrong, especially since it's stopped so quickly. You must get plenty of rest, Myra."
"I seem to have been doing nothing but rest, Dr Mike," Myra sighed. "Hank and Samantha between them will hardly let me do a thing."
"Well, that's good," Michaela smiled. "How are you feeling now?"
"A bit better. Not sick any more."
Michaela stayed a little longer, but there appeared to be no further need for her and eventually she returned to the clinic. Hank stayed at the house for the rest of the afternoon and Myra slept a while. When she woke, she sat up slowly, yawning.
"How ya feelin'?" Hank asked at once.
"Alright, I think." She gave him a faint smile and rose slowly to her feet. Then suddenly she doubled over with a gasp, clutching her stomach, her face turning white again. "Oh, I think something's wrong!" she said through clenched teeth.
"I'm takin' ya to the clinic," Hank said at once and gathered her into his arms, hoping Michaela would still be there. He hurried along the street, carrying Myra as if she weighed no more than a bag of sugar, finding Michaela outside just about to mount her horse Flash. She returned to the clinic door and opened it quickly as she saw Hank approaching. He lowered Myra onto the examination table and took a step back.
"Oh, Dr Mike, something's wrong, it really hurts," Myra wailed, tears spilling down her cheeks now.
Hank returned to the door, realising it was still open and slammed it closed, then stood in front of it as Michaela examined Myra and confirmed that she was bleeding heavily and it was certain now that she had miscarried. Too shocked to speak, Hank just stared as Michaela pulled a curtain partition around Myra and helped her into a nightgown.
"Hank, will you carry Myra upstairs to one of the recovery rooms?" Michaela asked then. "I'd like her to stay at least overnight."
The words didn't register in Hank's numbed brain and he continued to just stand and stare.
"Hank!" Michaela exclaimed.
"Yeah." Pulling himself together, he carefully picked Myra up again and took her upstairs. She seemed as numb as he felt, not speaking, not crying, just lying there in his arms, her face white and her eyes half closed, limp as a pile of rags. He left Michaela to settle her in bed and went back downstairs.
Now he remembered Lillian being shot, Clarice dying, Myra leaving to marry Horace - all of the losses he had suffered in the past which he had tried to drown out with whiskey, or beat out of himself by fighting with anyone who stepped into his path. Now Myra's baby - his baby - was gone and he had no idea how to feel, how to deal with the pain that suddenly engulfed him. All he knew was that he would be no help to Myra. She needed comfort, but he didn't know how he would give it when he felt crushed and empty, sick and angry and helpless all at once.
Upstairs he heard Myra begin to cry and the sound cut into him almost as much as the loss. At least she had Michaela right now; all he had was his own thoughts and a bottle, as soon as he could get across to the bar. He opened the door, stepped outside and closed it after him. The Gold Nugget was noisy with Friday evening customers drinking and laughing, sounding like they didn't have a care in the world. The last thing Hank wanted was to face them and he headed for home instead, knowing he would find a couple of whiskey bottles in the kitchen cupboard. If only he could blot it out for a little while, then he would get himself together and deal with it.
A couple of hours later, halfway down the second bottle, Hank slumped down full length onto the sofa, the room spinning around him. His last conscious thought was that once again he was running away like a coward, just as he always did when something hurt too much to contemplate.