*** Many a chapter ago we saw a flash of Celina in Denver where she'd begun a relationship with Harris (the man in the picture with his family). And she'd just discovered he was married and had a baby. I believe it's in the beginning of chapter 26, if you want to go back and review the situation. Ok that's all. Just wanted to avoid confusion. Of course, if you have questions you're welcome to ask. I'm more than happy to oblige. And I hope you enjoy the chapter. ***
What sort of woman was she? Her hand splayed against the cold glass of the window. The skin of her palm radiated heat, causing the glass to fog and suction into the concave curve of her hand. Her murky emerald eyes followed the slender grace of the blonde woman's step as she crossed the busy street. From the second floor of Harris' dentist building the babe in the woman's arms seem nothing more than an autumn mopped poppet. Even from her vantage point, she could discern the child's storming blue eyes tucked within the hooded frames of its eyelids. The child was Harris' child. Clear as the fair skin they shared, ruddy as the auburn tresses they mirrored and the shifting blue and gray of the eyes that were no doubt hereditary.
Celina's chest contracted painfully. Her heart withered with a spreading chill that worked its way throughout her breast, over her shoulders, and down her spine. Leave now! Her conscious screamed at her. This man is taken. This man is deceitful. This man is nothing but blood and tears. Yet no matter what the rational voice within echoed, Celina found her feet unable to move. The pads of her fingertips pressed harder onto the panes of glass vibrating squeegee like sounds from the window.
She could hear his foot falls on the steps leading up to the second floor. They sounded heavy and hesitant. In the back of her mind, she knew he must be buying time, working out what he would tell her. Still her eyes watched the street. Watched the people rushing about, seemingly content with their uncomplicated lives. How she wished she was a part of that world again. To be ignorant to the cold hard fact that she had unknowingly become…the other woman. His hand was on the dark brass doorknob. Click, click, clack…metal turning against metal. Wood parting from wood and then, she was no longer alone with her thoughts.
He said not a word as he crossed the room. The room that held canvas windows to dreams of vibrant color. Windows to the outside world painted in the eye of opulence. Truth hidden beneath extravagant color and euphoric attitudes, creating an escape for the naive. Could he paint so adroitly over this ghastly scenario, she wondered?
Harris was behind her now. She could smell the faint aroma of the Cuban cigar he'd smoked that morning. As he rested his large white hands tenderly, and with caution, on her shoulder the faint tinge of his musky Eau de Cologne wafted up from the linen silk of his clothes. Closing her eyes Celina dropped her petite hands at her sides. Alone again. Alone again.
"You're married," the words slipped from her lips, cold and without humanity.
"Not a marriage," his lips brushed the dewy wisps of corn silk at the base of her bare neck. "A convenience. A convenience of finance… a convenience of timing… and the only thing that holds my heart to her is the bundle our…association shall we say? Created."
This did very little to assuage the foulness churning inside the pit of her stomach. The question whirling in her head quickly turned over revealing a new thought. No longer did she question the sort of woman she was, but the sort of man Harris had hidden from her. Standing at the precipice of what was right and what she wanted, Celina turned to face Harris.
Instead of finding a face full of arrogance and lust-filled ardor, she found an abashed and fallen expression. His full mouth which was usually curled upwards at its corners with mischief had fallen flat. The gentle high slant in his eye had rounded somberly beneath the slope of his dark auburn brow. The lapis brilliance of his eyes had stormed over, creating deep pools of charcoaled steel. Harris was looking down his chest at her, swallowing deeply, making his Adam's apple drop and steady once more.
His skin that had once been so familiar to her seemed suddenly very foreign. She knew the soft texture of his pale white flesh. Knew the scent of soap mixed with tonic, as well as the taste of it, bitter on her tongue. Celina had sated herself in these intoxicating sensations, and yet, knowing another woman had known these things as well grated against her. She was falling. Falling into a well so deep, nothing and no one could save her.
"Why?" she demanded, already knowing the answer she desperately wanted to hear. "Why come to me, when you knew you were already taken? And with a child! A child!"
"How could anyone resist you?" his fingertips traced a delicate line down the side of her brow, around her eye, and across her cheek–coming to rest suggestively under the tipped point of her upper lip. "Can you blame me for wanting you? Why from the moment I saw you standing there on the Depot steps, looking like a lost porcelain doll, you had won my heart. And then you spoke and it was all over for me. My heart locked securely inside your cage."
"And what about your wife and child?" she was unaware that she'd been sucking her stomach up into her ribcage.
"Alexandra is aware that our relationship is nothing more than a contract," Harris made to cuff Celina's swan like neck, gently stroking the front of her milky white throat with his thumb.
Celina inhaled deeply, attempting to fight against his intoxicating ministrations. "B–but," she gulped. "She gave you her love. And you called her your darling."
"My dear heart," he declared taking her face lovingly in his hands. "We are two actors strutting upon the stage. It's only natural that we be civil to the audience of the world. Is it not?" Releasing her, he cast his hand out as if begging to the air at her shoulders. "We are nothing more…I promise you. In truth, I don't believe she is entirely fond of our child, Amie."
"Harris," Celina sidestepped him, thinking this was far too beyond.
"It's true!" he proclaimed catching Celina by her slender wrist. "I think maybe she'd prefer Amie was from another. I see it often in her eyes. How it chills her to see my features painted so plainly on the face of the child in her arms."
"How could a mother not love her child?" her patience was waning. If she didn't look directly at him, the spell would be broken. The idea that a woman couldn't love her child merely because it looked like its father!
However, Harris was determined. "If I could prove it to you?"
Celina wanted to believe him. He was her Harris. Her Harris, who had snatched her from obscurity and placed her on a pedestal of love and devotion. Even now, in her soaking wet dress kneeling before Randall's unconscious body she could feel that he had loved her. He had proved it hadn't he. Hadn't he? Mind swirling between the past and the present, Celina tried to hold on to Harris' image in her fragile state of mind. Tried to hone in on his form through a thick cloud of confusion and unease. Yet his voice was true. Deep and rising as he spoke, vibrating like a calling to her in the heavy mist. She followed the sound within her mind…followed it until the face of her love was solid in her head. No longer Harris, but Jake. And like Harris, the key was the autumn mopped poppet.
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Tap, Tap, Tap. The butt of the blunt end of his pencil smacked at the strewn papers on his disorganized counter. Bringing out the eerie glow of the yellow walls, the oil lamps cast enough light to drive the night away from the depot. Horace sighed smashing his face into his elevated hand, which rested on his elbow on the counter before the office window. Pursing his lips together like a clipped purse, he rolled his large round eyes fighting back a yawn. How he hated these choice nights when the late night trains rolled in. There was nothing to do but to wait as the hour grew later and later.
It was nights like this, when he missed Samantha terribly. Her visits seemed to take longer and longer to come around as the years went by. Yet, he'd supposed with her being a young lady now that the city held more fascinating diversions, than sitting here at the train station. Horace ceased in his pencil tapping as he peered dreamily out the window. He could see clear down the street. Even with the night this dark, the streets of the town were glowing dimly with the oil lamps still lit. But what drew his eye was the fact that he could still see the faint yellow glow of life moving within Robert E. and Grace's house clear across the way. Although the Gold Nugget had suspended it's rowdiness for the night, Horace was certain that he could see the red ember of one of Hank's cigars pierce the shadows under the porch. Why even at the Mercantile, though the shades were pulled down covering every window front, he could see a ball of light from an oil lamp moving around the top floor. It disappeared then reappeared below in the storefront, continuing in its parade about the premises. Then the oddest of all, the barbershop… Jake had pulled down every shade, yet it was obvious that the lights remained lit. And as if only to draw more attention to the secrecy of the situation, Horace was sure he saw Jake peeking out from behind the shades more than once. He watched as a strong golden beam of light darted out from the shadowy walk, skip down the stairs, and fade away into the blackness of the street.
Wonder what's goin' on with them? Horace began to wonder before Michaela caught his attentions. She was standing at the edge of the clinics stairway, her long suede coat encasing her petit body. Even from his vantage point, he could just make out the navy of her skirts peeking out from the bottom of the tawny coat. Leaning back, Horace retrieved his watch from the folds of his wool waistcoat. His long awkward thumb pressed down on the tiny gold nub, which popped the round golden door open, revealing the face of the watch. It was nearing 11 o'clock. Perhaps a late night emergency… Horace brought himself forward again, watching the scene with rapt interest.
Then just as he was about to wish that nothing was wrong with little Lucy or Izzy, light spilled heavily out into the street from the open door of Robert E. and Grace's. Robert E.'s square posture appeared like a shadow before it disappeared with the light. Michaela turned moving to join Robert E.'s rushing strides. The glowing red ember on the saloons porch grew then, bringing with it, its tall stalking owner. Hank slid out toward his council companions like a lion pursuing prey. All three paused in the middle of the street as the roving light at the mercantile came to a head at the glass double doors. There was hesitation then as the door opened and Loren shuffled about in order to lock the doors behind him. Now as four, they strode towards the barbershop and without ceremony or creed filed into the front door, which shut up tightly behind the last–Loren.
"What in the blue-eyed world?" Horace stood. While he was aware this wasn't the first time the council had met in secret, it was the first time they had used the cover of night to do it.
As Horace's boot heels made contact with the planks of the platform, he felt a heavy rattle and vibration. Casting his sights down the pitch darkness of the track, he could just make out the coming cloud of gray smoke through the giant pillars of oak and eucalyptus trees. As if on cue, the rail workers came to life from their slumbering perches on the dark stairs. They lit there lanterns and jumped on the tracks waving their signals to the engineer as he brought the NO. 2 train into the station. Under the sudden commotion, Horace momentarily forgot about the secrecy of the council. He turned back to his office, foot just about to step over the threshold when he heard a man's deep gravelly voice behind him.
"Excuse me Mister," the older man inquired of Horace. "Where might I find a man of the name of Jake Slicker?"