She sat for him for what seemed like hours, as he painted her soul onto the canvas before him. Harris told Celina her hair was the exact hue of lush crimson rose petals, and that her eyes rivaled the sheen of their viridian leaves. He lavished affectionate worship on her skin, claiming it to be as pure and unblemished as milk. His words caressed her, making her blind to the signs about them in the dentist building. It was a high brownstone wedged between a tenants building and a watchmaker. The first floor operated as Harris' workplace, consisting of a solitary reclining chair bolted into the center of the moderately sized room. Springing like the legs of a spider from this brick hued leather padded throne was a steel basin which sat upon its branch like a bird fountain. Upon another branching black wrought iron leg was a simple matching steel tray on which twisted abnormal instruments, akin to corkscrews and pliers. Leaning against a simple partial red brick and beige plaster wall was a humble hutch containing glass bottles of tonic rinses, squat round brown amber bottles of chloroform, and plain cardboard boxes of ready to sell pastes and brushes. There was a tight wooden staircase that led up to the second floor which held a modest loft. And here they sat, evening after evening, with Celina perched by the framed picture window, allowing Harris to paint her portrait. A portrait she would never have the chance to see.
The walls of the loft were brick as well, possibly darkening the room, if not for the dozens of paint splattered canvases strewn about. Each one vibrantly splashed with the kaleidoscopic expanse of the color spectrum. Paintings of the city, of Union Depot, of the people filling the paved streets of Denver, all cast and frozen into place with every color possible. With Harris' skill, he managed to take the dusty gloom of the industrializing city, and cement it with the brilliant tones and hues of a palette fit for a countryside filled with every wild flower imaginable. And now those brilliant hands were doing justice to her delicate form.
It was here that he touched her for the first time. Here that he pressed his full pleasantly curved lips to hers. He smelled of cigars and shaving tonic. How she delighted in watching as his lips curled up at the corners of his mouth when he smiled. And when he smiled, she could just see a hint of the bottom of his two front teeth. It was these things that had served to distract her, from the flat round glass bottle with the yellowing rubber tube wrapped around its base. A baby's bottle. Every time Celina entered the building with him, it had moved from its stead. Downstairs, upstairs, on the bureau next to a well worn rag doll, all screaming his secret at her blind love struck face.
Finally, that day had come flying at her like a fist, that voice which shoved her face into the world she'd risibly masked from her sight.
"Harris!" feminine and lovely as the rain dipping into a crystal pool of water. "Harris, I've brought Amie!"
He'd bolted at her, grabbing hold of her shoulders, forcing Celina to look him in his storming thunderous eyes. "If you love me, Celina…Darling. If you love me as I love you…you'll wait. You'll wait so I can explain everything! Can you do that, my love? Can you?"
Celina did love him. Loved him thoughtlessly and with the resolution of unrelenting and misjudged trust. All she could do was nod and watch as he bounded down the stairs and away from her. How that woman's voice sliced through her. How it's simple familiarity with her Harris drove a thick curled thorn through her anguishing heart. He was her Harris; Celina's wounded soul cried out to her in agony. Yet, the voices down bellow strung a different web of calumny and deceit.
"My Darling! I have a buyer upstairs. He may buy three of my best paintings!" Harris' lies were fluid. "Please take my darling girl home."
"Oh!" her tone was pleased. "I shan't stay a second longer. Take my love and all my luck." There was a pause, where any may discern a trusting wife might kiss her innocent and loving husband. And where was Celina left, but to watch from the window, as that unknowingly dainty creature with bundle in arm, strolled down the street. A flaxen haired creature, unaware that just above she'd shattered a heart.
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Drumbling into the saloon in a cantankerous manner Hank shunned every crapulous salutation. He barreled passed every questioning stare and viciously waved off every one of his overly accommodating girls. It was the solitude of the storage room Hank was after, and heaven help the man that stood between him and that sanctuary. The short dank room offered not only a chance to reflect on the implausible slip of the tongue he'd just had, but also it bought him enough time to allow this contemptuous flush in his cheeks to recede. Slamming the door shut behind him, Hank snatched up the short backed wooden chair from the sidewall and positioned it up against the door. Crashing into its hard unforgiving seat, his fingers rushed into the lapel pockets of his black waistcoat and retrieved the clipped cigar he'd been stowing. Teeth sparingly clenching about the richly smelling Cuban, he pressed his lips around the leafed roll, tasting the bitter flavor as he struck his match against the rough arm of the chair. Hank puffed bringing the warm smooth tendrils of smoke down his throat and into his lungs. His chest rose taking in every ounce of comfort and fell releasing his shame.
"Yah done it now," he muttered in vexation as the memory of the words he'd spoken slid relentlessly into his mind. How could he do it? How could he let it slip and in front of Loren of all people. Must be gettin' soft…That's it. Gettin' soft with the passin' years is all, Hank assured himself sucking in another lulling plume of smoke as he leaned back resting his head against the door.
Why do yah care so much Hank? Damn Loren! His response danced around in his head, echoing with far too much cheer. "Because I love them little cuties! They ain't never forgotten ah-bout me, an' I ain't fixin' tah forget ah-bout them!" It wouldn't be long now before the whole town would be buzzing with the news that rough and tumble Hank Lawson, had a soft spot for two little girls and their school teacher mama. Oh how they'd laugh. Oh how he'd plow them down with his rock solid fists of fury! Yet sure, as he was that his omission would cause him distress, Hank also knew that it was true. He did care quite deeply for Luc' and Izzy. Didn't he enjoy watching little Luc' learning to ride her new pony in the meadow. Didn't he chuckle with delight every time someone that wasn't known to Izzy, shakily handed her back to her parents when she screamed with hardy displeasure? Why, he'd been there to celebrate both their births and held them both on their first nights in this world. Of course, he loved them. They were his best friend's children.
These revelations were hitting Hank hard, even as he thought about the woman who had taught him to read. She was always inviting him up to the house for dinner, and offering him a place on the holidays. Hank slouched down perching his elbow up on the scratched armrest. He wasn't expecting this. He never saw the warning signs, when they were staring him down two years ago. Two years since he saw how much Cloud Dancing meant to Luc'. How ready Jake had been to fight that green eyed soldier just for looking at Cloud Dancing the wrong way. It was for them that he'd done it. His actions were speaking for him and now it appeared he no longer had complete control of his words.
Hank sighed muddling in his lost reputation, allowing his eyes to wander about the storeroom. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shallow shelves, containing the saloons stores of alcohol. Brown amber bottles of tawny whiskey, clear glass bottles glistening with their green ended sheen announcing their watered down components, all sat waiting to be brought out to the front. Sitting squat in the middle of the room where six corpulent barrels of beer which came up to Hank's ribcage when he stood. And here is where Hank, now realizing something was a muck, sat forward at full attention. For there resting atop these beer barrels should have been five two-toned glazed ceramic jugs of whiskey and moonshine, where now there stood only four.
Hank cursed knowing the impossibility of the fifth jug being under the bar in the saloon. Not a soul working for him, or a soul sheltered under him would dare lay a finger on those whiskey jugs. Slowly Hank's sandy lashes drifted downward as he considered the door. There had never been any need to place a lock or latch to the secure portal. No one would dare steal from him in this town.
"Yah'd have tah be outta yer ever lovin' mind," Hank scoffed under his breath. "Gotta be crazy…"
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Teresa stretched feeling marvelously calm as she elongated her limbs, enjoying the crisp feel of the cool sheets against her skin. In truth, as Jake had quickly washed up at the basin, his not so graceful movements had lightly roused Teresa from sleep. However, the bed had been so cozy and fresh; she had been loath to stir from it. Unbeknownst to Jake, she'd lain in false slumber, watching him dress through the heavy veiled curtain of her lashes. Fighting the mischievous smile curling on her face, she enjoyed the surreptitious views of Jake's bare skin, before he'd changed into his clothes and snuck out of the room.
What she wouldn't give to have pulled him down to her. To have pressed her lips to his neck and have felt the deep vibrations of his laugh through her mouth. Teresa felt a freshness about them. An imbuing new strength in their oneness that no scarlet haired siren could shake. It was going to take more than a forced kiss to break the love she had for Jake.
Teresa listened for his muffled footfalls as they treaded lightly down the hall. She absolutely had to get up. For this was a week of preparations, as school would be starting the following week. Lucy needed new shoes, the schoolhouse needed to be straightened out, and the children's books had to be brought back from the library's storage room. Then there was the matter of finding someone to watch Izzy, during the day. These thoughts cycled throughout her mind as she dragged herself from bed and began her usual washing routine.
Pacing lightly over to the cherry wood wardrobe, which rose fairly a foot above her head, Teresa pulled out her dress robe. She slipped into its shear cream colored sleeves, and pulled its full cascading skirts closed with a few of its widely spaced buttons. Her hands slipped back at the nape of her neck pulling her wavy onyx tresses free to bounce down over her shoulders and back. With a dainty yawn her slippered feet took her down the hall towards the nursery, were she peaked inside. Cloud Dancing was already up gingerly placing a sleeping Izzy into her cradle. He turned silently, lifting his finger to his bay hued lips. She met his yet sleepy gaze with a warm smile as she mouthed the word coffee, before they journeyed out of the room and down the steps.
"Papa?" Lucy yawned rubbing her drooping eyes.
Her small voice pulled Teresa and Cloud Dancing's attentions as they reached the bottom of the steps. Together they peered out at Jake's back as he took a shaky step out onto the sunlit terrace. Teresa knew what object Jake held so tightly in his grasp. Knew only too well, how it could bring their entire world crashing down into oblivion, if he even considered allowing it to pass beyond his lips. Who would bring such a poison, knowing what it could do to Jake? His voice was nearly inaudible to Teresa's ears as he asked Lucy to go back into the house. Teresa bit down hard on her lip as she watched her perplexed daughter step back innocently. Her instincts screamed at her to rush forward, and rip that horrific object from his grasp and send it crashing down to its own annihilation; however, steady dark hands cuffed her shoulders, staying her from any movement.
"Let the man show you his strength," Cloud Dancing beckoned as he too waited with rapt anxiety. He was attempting to hide it; however, he too was worried as he watched Jake wrestling with himself. Cloud Dancing did not want to see the old Jake return for even a second. It was a fear not for himself but for the young ones, who had never witnessed the abject folly of what their father had once been.
The jug made a muddled clunking sound as Jake set it down on the golden railing of the terrace. His hand remained clenched about the handle so tightly his fingers were beginning to ach. He could feel Lucy still standing at his back waiting for him to acknowledge her. Waiting for her father to pick her up and kiss her cheek. To tell her good morning and make her breakfast. He imagined the feeling of her little arms as they wrapped around his neck, and how her little face would nestle onto the shelf of his shoulder with a sigh. Lucy depended on him; her little life force depended on him, to keep her safe and happy.
Jake pressed his thumb against the side of the protruding round cork. Its corner pressed into the pad of his thumb causing the flesh to turn red as Jake made his decision. Simultaneously, as the cork popped open with a loud echoing sound, Teresa, Cloud Dancing, and Jake flinched. The acerbic aroma flooded his nostrils, making his throat tighten and his stomach rise abhorrently as though he were chopping about in a boat. Jake tossed his head back closing his eyes before forcing himself to watch as he brought the opened jug up into the air close to his chest. Pursing his lips, Jake held his breath as he leaned forward and spilled the contents of the whiskey jug out over the rail. As the last clear drops spilt out onto the soil, Jake angrily threw the jug out onto the cobbled path where it shattered against the round rocks, leaving jagged pieces of ceramic in its wake.
Placing his hands on the dew misted rail, Jake hung his head, waiting for his heart to ease itself. His fingernails dug into the goldenrod paint, cracking little flecks up under the nail beds. The whites of his knuckles blotched under the pressure turning red, until the tiny blades of her fingers came up and clung around one of his hands.
"Papa?" Lucy asked poking her head between his arm and his hip. "What was that?"
"Something bad honey," Jake swallowed nudging her close to his side. Lucy wrapped her arms around his hip rubbing the sleep from her face on his pant leg. "Something bad."