Chapter 35 – March 1917 - I'm not holding out for mercy
As was often the case, Henry's best attempts at isolating himself were foiled when he eventually needed to eat. Some more optimistic fellow might have put it off to their imagination that the café suddenly became just a bit quieter when he walked in that evening, but he had no such distrust of his own perceptions. Call it delusions of grandeur, or some bastardized version of it.
Bill came over in short order to pour him some water, though the process was uncharacteristically silent. Henry thought perhaps he should not look a gift horse in the mouth, but the judge lingered over him for a few moments, not asking for his order. Henry knew exactly what he would see when he looked up, and so he didn't. Instead he sighed.
"I've already seen her," he said, his gaze still locked on the table as he gripped the edge.
From the edges of his vision, he felt Bill nod. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up if you hadn't."
"Since when are we using kid gloves, Bill?"
"Fair point," Bill huffed, sitting down. "How is she?"
Henry shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest. It was a short conversation. We spent most of it on how I was, as Elizabeth apparently saw fit to tell her about my… spells," he grunted, his anger rising again.
"I see. Well, you can't expect Elizabeth to keep that from her. She knows Abigail would never forgive herself if something happened to you and she wasn't here."
"Yes, well done, you've caught on to the problem."
"Don't view it so negatively. I'm sure Elizabeth saw it as not wanting to add another possible regret to the load Abigail is already carrying."
Henry grumbled at this, wishing he could dismiss the logic in it. He grabbed for a fork but quickly realized that he had nothing into which to stab it. Gripping the useless utensil, he brought his fists down to the table with a huff.
"Look, I just came for some form of meat and vegetables. Any kind will do. Just one of each, next to each other on a plate."
"You need some time, that's fine. But eventually there won't be anyone left to lash out at and you'll have to deal with what happens now that she's back."
Was friendship always this constant needling about truths you'd rather ignore? No wonder he had avoided it his whole life. But it was the truth, and he did value the friendship, so his grumble came out just a little softer this time.
"Anyway," Bill continued, ignoring his petulance, "I'm going to see her tomorrow after I talk to Nathan, if she doesn't come here first. He wants you there too; I was going to leave a message at your office."
"What for?"
"He's heard back from headquarters about re-opening the mine investigation. Can you come by the station at eight?"
"Oh," Henry squinted. He'd managed to forget about that piece again. Actual legal proceedings seemed to pale in comparison to the wringer he had been through on his own. "Yes, sure. Eight o'clock."
Bill gave a curt nod and stood. "Bill's signature meatloaf and a side of mashed potatoes, coming right up."
ooo
After breakfast the next morning, during which Henry avoided the café in case Abigail had chosen the time to make her hellos, he made his way over to the jail. His cell – for this was how he thought of it – stood empty and depressing as ever. Even so, he almost couldn't help wishing he was locked away in it again. It would be nice to have an excuse to hide until the novelty of Abigail's return had passed. He contemplated throwing out his fists somewhere, but strangely there was no one he wanted to fight. No one alive anyway.
"Headquarters doesn't see much sense in using resources for this," Nathan was saying. "The mine is already shut down and the company's already paid the widows. Even if part of the blame were to fall on Noah Stanton, which I doubt, it doesn't much matter now."
"What about me? I concealed as much as he did," Henry argued.
"You were already tried as an agent of the company. If anything, the new evidence would only help you. The only place your name needed to be cleared was in the court of public opinion, and I think that's been accomplished."
Henry scoffed. "Depends who you ask and what you're asking 'em."
"I can't say I wasn't looking forward to seeing Pacific Northwest dragged further through the mud," Bill said, his fingers tapping restless at his knees. "But all in all I suppose this is good news. Abigail is spared further inquiry, as are you," he tilted his head toward Henry.
As if this meant he could now just forget about it all.
He looked at the jail cell again, then sighed.
Who was he kidding? The only thing he would think of while stuck in a jail cell was the only thing he always thought of when stuck in a jail cell. And this time she wouldn't come to visit him.
Bill was standing and shaking Nathan's hand, chattering on about some people they both knew in Mountie headquarters. Henry pushed on his cane and hoisted himself up to take his leave, but the constable stopped him.
"Actually, Henry, do you mind staying a minute?"
Bill and Henry traded curious looks, but the judge just shrugged. When the other man had left the prison, Henry gave Nathan the same questioning expression.
"What can I do for you?"
"Do you want to sit?" Nathan gestured.
"Not if I have to get back up again."
"Alright, well, I guess I'm wondering about that court of public opinion."
"I'm familiar."
"Do you think a lot of people blame Mayor… er, Mrs. Stanton for what happened?"
"I don't give a good goddamn whether they do or not. Nothing about this was her fault," Henry snapped, his volume rising with every syllable.
"No, I know, I know that," the constable backed off. "At least that's what I believe. I mean, how far back do you need to go in the chain of events before you don't feel responsible?"
Henry paused, gathering quickly that this was not about Abigail. "You?" he repeated.
Nathan opened his mouth to speak, finally giving up after some number of useless inhales and exhales. "Forget it."
"Something you want to get off your chest?"
"Not at the moment."
"Not to me," Henry guessed. "To one particular member of the public court, I suppose."
Nathan raised his eyebrow and looked away, the universal gesture that the other person was right but they weren't about to admit it. His own face had borne it often.
"Listen," Henry relented, "I'm not the best person to tell you how to stop punishing yourself for not doing more, or not doing something different, or whatever's weighing on your mind. I imagine you face these worries even more than I do, what with your line of work. All I can tell you is it's better to deal with it out in the open instead of letting it eat away at you."
Nathan seemed unconvinced. "You still believe that? Even after all this?"
"It's not easy. But I tried hiding things for a very long time and we all know how that turned out. I can't imagine how honesty could be any worse."
He tried to pass the advice off casually – to hide the fact that his words were laced, as they always were, with the deaths of 47 men – but Nathan's eyes darkened in understanding.
"I suppose not," Nathan said.
Henry sensed a familiar regret in the words, but he had already done his prying. He bid the constable a good day and left for the office. He was not the one who would ease the young man's conscience, he knew that much.
ooo
Abigail had indeed been at the café that morning. The decision to go, and at what time, and through which door plagued her for a good two hours of poor sleep, but she knew she would have to do it. She owed that much to Clara, to be the one to come to her. And in what was perhaps an ill-advised bout of masochism that she chose instead to ascribe to the models of sacrifice in her faith, she thought it somehow more fitting to expose herself to the shunning of the townsfolk all at once rather than one by one.
She left the rowhome at the same time as Elizabeth and Cody headed out to school, separating from them when they approached the café. Cody, knowing her plans, gave her an extra-hard hug before saying goodbye, and she in turn squeezed her eyes against the looks she might have seen over his shoulder. Between opening them to wish him off and turning quickly toward the café steps, she could sense that some of the passers-by had slowed their movements, likely deciding whether to call out to her.
In her haste to remove herself from the road before the rubberneckers could speak to her, she had unthinkingly succumbed to a muscle memory – that of the café as safe haven. Ducking inside quickly, she nearly turned at the sound of the bell before remembering the guest was her.
"Abigail!"
"Mayor Stanton!"
The greetings came from the occupied tables, stunning her. Though the tenors sounded friendly, even still referring to her as the mayor, her determination to face a crowd had waned considerably now that she had actually been confronted with one. Recoiling from eye contact, she offered tentative smiles and "hellos" in the general direction of the voices, catching only the blur of a blue sleeve and a raised coffee cup, until she found herself quite suddenly wrapped in someone's arms.
"Oh, thank goodness," came the dramatic cry against her ear.
Over the rustling of their fabric she caught a "hmph" of disapproval, and curled her arms tighter around her friend.
"Hi, Rosemary," she smiled against the lacy purple collar, earning her another squeal.
"Now," Rosemary said firmly, releasing her into a determined stare, "come sit down here with me. I want to hear how you are."
Abigail smoothed her dresses underneath her as she took a seat at the table against the wall. "I'll sit for a moment, but I don't know if this is the time for a full conversation," she apologized.
"Of course," Rosemary said. Abigail could see that her friend was very visibly trying to pull back her usual boisterous energy, in deference to Abigail's cautious posture. "Have they told you already that the case won't be re-opened? Constable Grant let Lee know earlier this morning while he did his rounds. He's been made mayor, you know. I hope that's alright."
"Yes, of course. Lee will be a wonderful mayor." She did not begrudge Lee the position at all, but her attempt at a warm smile still came out half-miserable. "And I had not heard about the Mounties' decision, though I suppose there is not much left in the way of the law, what with Noah…" she trailed off.
"It reaffirms what we already knew, and what we all still think," Rosemary said, shooting sideways glances at other indeterminate café patrons, "that this was no one's fault but those executives who refused to listen to Henry and your husband."
It confused Abigail for a moment to hear it phrased this way, to remember that Henry and Noah had been on the same side. When she was in Saskatchewan, when her thoughts weren't overcome by the sights and sounds of that fateful day, they would frequently return to how often the two men had stood opposite each other in her mind.
"How is Henry?" Abigail asked.
Rosemary gave a long sigh. "He's had a rough time of it. But you know Henry, he doesn't like a lot of fuss over him. Which I suppose is part of the problem." Rosemary paused. "I imagine you know? What people suspect?"
"Yes. I've heard some from Elizabeth. It's not something I intend to address, and certainly not without talking to –" she stopped herself. "Without making sure it's appropriate," she finished, her mouth a thin line. "Anyway, who it was makes no difference to what happened."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
Abigail's defenses loosened at the regretful look on Rosemary's face. "No, no, don't apologize. Honestly, Rosemary, I'm truly just appreciating having a normal conversation with someone acting like their normal self."
Rosemary chuckled, a welcome sound. "Well, I am nothing if not myself!" she said. Abigail, surprising herself, chuckled back.
"Hello, Abigail."
The sound of Clara's voice caused her to stand from the table immediately, close enough to see that the coffee pot was trembling in her daughter-in-law's hands. She cursed herself for having been caught laughing in the first moment they came across each other again.
"Clara. It's so good to see you," she said, her face growing hot. "I actually… I hoped we could talk."
"It's, um… maybe not the best…"
"You're busy with the breakfast rush," she apologized with a submissive wave of her hands. "Of course, I understand. Maybe this evening."
Clara's lips quivered into something not quite a smile. "Sure. I can come by? Are you at the saloon?"
"No, I'm staying with Elizabeth. I would really love a chance to talk," she repeated herself, a bit at sea.
"We finish up with dinner around 7:30," Clara offered, then blushed. "Sorry, you already know that. Anyway, I can come to Elizabeth's after that."
"I'd like that. Thank you, Clara."
She fumbled awkwardly, not sure how to hug Clara while she held a coffee pot and not sure whether Clara wanted to hug her at all. Clara herself gave a clumsy dip that approximated a curtsy and walked back into the kitchen. Rosemary surreptitiously pulled back the half-empty coffee cup that she had earlier pushed to the edge of the table.
Abigail nodded at Rosemary, touching at the buttons of the coat she'd never unbuttoned. "I'd better get going."
"But you haven't had any breakfast!" Rosemary protested.
"I've already eaten. I just came by to see Clara and Bill. It doesn't seem like he's here, and anyway he'd be just as busy," she waved off the idea. "I'll catch up with you soon, Rosemary."
She pushed back out through the door, taking in a big gulp of air as soon as it hit her face. But the jingle of the bell had barely faded behind her when she saw Florence standing at the bottom of the café steps.
Abigail stopped in her tracks, unable to move for several seconds.
And Florence Blakeley, one of her oldest friends, one of the most effusive women Abigail had ever met, beheld her with nothing but abject silence.
An abrupt feeling that It was wrong to be standing above anyone, especially another widow, twitched through her limbs. Gathering up her courage, Abigail inched down the stairs, Florence's measured glare never leaving her face as she came to stand across from her. She forced her voice out, tremulous and wary.
"Hello, Florence."
Still, the other woman said nothing.
"Florence, I don't know what to say. I can't bear what I've done to you. I didn't know – "
The slap came quickly, stinging her cheek with a satisfying bite.
"Do you think you're the only one who ever wanted things to be different?" Florence cried, inches from her reddening face. "That the rest of us never wanted to be selfish like you? Playing at darts, acting however you pleased, thinking no one suspected there was anything more to you mentioning Henry Gowen just a little too often? Or maybe hoping we'd keep that secret out of some sense of sisterhood. Well, we did. We aligned yourself with you and your sins and had mercy on you, for the sake of your family. And it cost us everything. The only thing that you can do for me now, the very least you can do, is admit that you did know – you just didn't care."
Shock waves sailed through her, ripping apart the hope that had begun to peek through. The face across from her was tormented, breathless with fury and hurt. Abigail opened her mouth but there was nothing to say. Nothing that could make one bit of difference.
"Florence, I'm sorry."
Florence shook her head at the ground, close to tears. Abigail heard someone call over gently, and then Ned Yost's hand was on Florence's shoulder. He spared only the briefest of apologetic glances at Abigail before he steered them away, the comforting murmur of his voice disappearing into the mercantile. Abigail remained at the bottom of her café steps, clutching her burning cheek while the whispers swirled around her.
ooo
She did not dally on the way home, happy to close the door on the world behind her, if happy was a word she could still use for anything. She could only hope that Cody would hear nothing of what had transpired, with the children being already at school.
Before she could even stop shaking long enough to cry, a knock at the door startled her. She shooed Bill away politely but quickly, the conversation treading all of the now-accustomed territory: wanting to know how she was feeling, insisting that she was not responsible for the mine explosion, and telling her that everyone in Hope Valley had missed her. At that she had to scoff a bit, still rattled by the public condemnation she had just received, but for the most part she was exhausted from entertaining the same tired sentiments. She knew she should be appreciative and touched by how many people were trying to revive her spirits, but she had heard all of this before. If she was honest, Florence's anger had been positively refreshing in comparison.
Her brain vacillated between any number of embarrassments as she recalled the scathing indictments Florence had cast upon her. Apparently she had not been discreet in the slightest, acting every inch a fibbing child with ice cream evidence smeared all over her face. A venomous laugh came unbidden at the thought that Noah might even have suspected her feelings the entire time.
Was it true that she hadn't cared? How could that be when all she remembered about those days was how overwhelmingly she had cared about all of it?! Every flutter in her chest for Henry had been consistently crushed under the weight of her loyalty and love for her family. It was for them that she had given him up. It was for them she hadn't left that letter somewhere where only Henry ever would have found it!
Her hand flew to her mouth, catching her gasp.
It was a wicked thought. A thought born out of a resentment she had refused to acknowledge ever since their deaths.
Grief had drowned it out, removing the dangerous, unproductive emotion from the web of her loss. There had been no purpose to resentment in the years after, when she had been free to become a business owner and a town leader, and even to pursue Henry in gradually more confident ways. All it did was make her feel like a fraud.
No, she hadn't really wanted things to be different, not like this. This was just the next phase of her life, created by necessity. She loved them. She loved them so much.
She loved them so much that she had written a letter instead of going to his house. She loved them so much that she had brought it back undelivered. That was her choice. They were all her choices, good and bad. They hadn't made her do anything.
She shoved the whole line of thinking away, angered by its insidious appearance.
ooo
Unfortunately, with Clara's visit looming, she was unable to calm herself at all. She spent the afternoon picking up books or knitting needles, only to put them back down, returning for another attempt after a failed nap.
When the anticipated arrival came at last, Elizabeth astutely laid the paper she'd been marking down onto the kitchen table.
"I'll go upstairs and make sure Cody doesn't interrupt."
Abigail wiped the dishwater from her hands, waiting until she heard Elizabeth's footsteps reach the landing above. Smoothing back her hair, she took slow, determined steps forward into the living room, steeling herself before she pulled the doorknob back.
The sight of Clara, though expected, still caused her to draw in a quick breath. "Hi."
"Good evening, Abigail."
The young girl stood with her shoulders high and face rigid. Abigail was immediately self-conscious of her own greeting, which now seemed so casual as to be presumptuous.
"Come in, please. Thank you for coming."
Clara walked solemnly past her into the living room, clutching at her purse. Abigail closed her eyes, willing herself to get through the apologies she had rehearsed without completely falling apart.
But the moment she turned around and said Clara's name, the girl crumbled into tears.
"Abigail. Abigail, I'm so sorry!"
"What? Oh my goodness, what are you sorry for?" Abigail cried, wrapping her daughter up in her arms without a moment's thought.
"I should have said something. I should have made him tell you. I should have insisted he never go back! He showed me that report, I knew what was in it. How could I have let him go back?!"
Clara's body shook inside her embrace as the words dissolved into helpless sobs. Abigail smoothed Clara's hair, making soothing sounds into the strands as her own tears began to slip down her cheeks.
