This chapter contains an anachronism. The song Adam sings wasn't actually written until about ten years after this scene is to take place—but what the heck. It fits my purposes.
XVIII
Again, Nell had gone to bed alone.
Adam had been snide all through dinner. Nell had tried to make light conversation but the vase of blue hyacinths which Adam insisted be placed on the table, stood in front of her as she tried to eat, her stomach in knots. Once she attempted to move the vase away but Adam had stood and placed them before her again. "Don't you want to look at then, Nell? Flowers that beautiful in practically the dead of winter must cost dearly. Appreciate them." Then Adam sat back down and took up his fork again.
"In the countryside," Adam started, motioning with his fork for emphasis, "when a dog is a chicken-killer but valuable in other ways—too valuable to shoot, they tie a dead chicken around its neck. The chicken begins to rot, to decompose and the dog, no matter what he does, can't get away from it—the rot and the smell, the ooze of putrefaction. He comes to loathe the smell of chickens, detest the sight of them and it cures the hound of the blood-lust. He'll walk sideways to avoid coming into contact with a chicken after that." Nell knew what the anecdote really meant, that he was referring to her and the hyacinths before her; she wanted to cry out her innocence and protest his cruelty but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And then Adam had left the table and gone to read the paper, not in his den but in the main room. Nell went out and with shaking hands, took up her cross stitch and silently worked but she kept missing the mark with the needle. When Adam was through with The Sacramento Bee and tossed the newspaper in the fire, he took up his guitar and began to pick out some tunes. Adam began to sing and he strummed, glancing at Nell and smiling.
"I'm ridin' on that New River Train,
Ridin' on that New River Train,
That same old train that brought me here,
Is gonna carry me away again.
Darlin', you can't love one,
Darlin', you can't love one,
You can't love one and have any fun,
Oh, darlin', you can't love one.
Darlin', you can't love two,
Darlin', you can't love two,
You can't love two and your heart be true,
Oh, darlin', you can't love two.
Darlin', you can't love three,
Darlin', you can't love three,
You can't love three and still love me,
Oh, darlin', you can't love three.
Darlin', you can't love four,
Darlin', you can't love four,
You can't love four and love me anymore,
Oh, darlin' you can't love four..."
Nell threw down her needlework and rushed up the stairs and Adam sang even louder, "Darlin', you can't love five..." Hot tears stung her eyes. "I hate him," she whispered to herself. "I hate him! I hate him!" She slammed the bedroom door and undressed quickly, turning Margery away who had come up to see if she was needed, and crawled under the covers, pounding her pillow with impotent fury. She covered her face with her hands, her face flushed and hot. She decided she wouldn't speak to him, would be cold and unyielding until he apologized and said that he believed her. Yes, that's what she would do. Finally Nell fell asleep and she had been sleeping when Adam gently shook her awake. She sat up suddenly, her heart thumping..
"What?" Adam stood beside the bed, fully clothed and with his back to the window, she couldn't discern his expression. Nell didn't know what he wanted as when he desired her, he would wake her with kisses on her neck and shoulders and by running his hands over her but he was calm and merely looking at her.
"In the morning, pack. I'll go see Jess and tell him I'll be gone for few days. I'm taking you to the Ponderosa—we'll leave in the afternoon."
"How long?" Nell asked.
"I'm not sure. I'll rejoin you around Christmas. I'll decide then." Adam left the bedroom and in the morning when Margery came and woke her with a breakfast tray, Nell saw that Adam had never come to their bed. Nor was he home and that was the reason for the tray; she would be eating by herself.
Nell sat in a traveling suit waiting for Adam, her portmanteaus at her feet. She had also packed a small carpetbag for him as he said he would be staying only a short time and she knew that he had left many of his ranch clothes in Nevada. Nell was nervous and found it difficult to sit still but she wanted to remain calm. She glanced at the mantel clock; it was almost noon. The business closed at noon on Saturdays but since Adam was to be gone a few days, Nell wondered if he would be late in coming for her.
She turned at the sound of footsteps but it was Mrs. Chevy carrying a tray with tea and jam sandwiches.
"Here Miss," she said placing the silver tray on the low table before Nell. "A bit of refreshment since you asked for no lunch to be served. It'll take your mind off the waiting."
"I really can't eat and I swore off jam sandwiches."
"Now, their sweetness will cheer you up." Mrs. Chevy stood, her hands clasped in front of her, satisfied that the presentation with the lacy doily under the elegantly cut sandwiches and the fine bone china and linen napkins would be pleasing. Both she and Margery had done their best that morning to be kind to Nell as they both knew that the Mister had slept in one of the guest rooms indicating that the couple had a row, a row bad enough to cause the Mister to leave his wife's bed. It was the blue hyacinths. Mr. Cartwright had insisted that they be placed on the dinner table, smack in front of the Missus and she knew that Miss Nell was upset by it. And Margery had told Mrs. Chevy that Miss Nell had sent her away last night and had actually ripped away some of the hooks of her dress while struggling to remove it. And now the Mister was sending his wife away to his family. "I'm making a basket for the two of you to take along on the stage. It won't be a particularly long ride, about two days the Mister said, but he left with no breakfast—only coffee—and you didn't eat what was brought up either."
"Thank you, Mrs. Chevy." Nell reached out to pour herself some tea and then called the woman back.
"Yes, Miss."
"While I'm gone, please make certain that Mister Cartwright eats well, would you? Sometimes he works so hard he forgets to eat."
"Now don't you worry about him. I'll make certain I fix all his favorite foods." And smiling she went into the kitchen but once there, her smile dropped. Mrs. Chevy had a feeling that the Missus might stay in Nevada permanently, at least if the Mister had his way.
She and Margery and Dawson, all of whom had seen Nell grow from a girl to a woman, agreed that Nell certainly had been spoiled and never quite grown up and the two women granted that perhaps the Mister was a bit too strict with her now. After all, he was from the west, from a ranch and back there, they had heard, women were treated like pieces of property. Dawson had stated that the Mister was too lenient with his young wife; she should be roped and branded and then tethered; she had too much freedom and that led to her looking for excitement.
"Miss Nell needs to be filled with children, that'll keep her busy. If she were my wife, she'd have at least one child by now and another on the way."
"And that's why," Margery said with emphasis, "you're not married. There are ways now that a woman has that can prevent her from popping out one babe after another."
"What's the world coming to?" the middle-aged man asked. "Women deciding if and when they're having children. That's not how it should be. A man marries a woman, takes care of her, she should give him sons."
Margery and Mrs. Chevy just shook their heads in disgust and poured themselves more coffee.