Chapter 10 – Fall 1909 – My father didn't believe in girls fishing

The children's shouts made their way to her through the autumn air. Abigail turned her head from where she sat behind the reeds to look toward the open field in front of the school where a group of boys, granted early release from their harvesting duties for the day, had quickly formed a makeshift baseball diamond. Little Albert was jumping up and down next to James Fremont, pleading for a chance to play pitcher. Squinting against the sun, she couldn't help but smile, even as a small tug on her heart reminded her once again that no sandy-haired boy would stick out among them.

The fishing pole pulled in her hand, and she turned back to where the bobber peeked over the otherwise-tranquil surface. It had been nothing, or maybe it had gotten away. She swatted a pesky swarm of gnats from in front of her eyes before adding more bait and recasting the line.

She laid carefully back onto the rock on which she had perched, soaking in the moment of solitude. When she'd been a kid, sneaking away after piano lessons to go down to the river, she'd felt brave. Triumphant even. But subverting people's expectations and norms is so much easier when you're young, she thought. Before anything is truly expected of you. Being a rowdy girl or a boy with big dreams is all well and good when you're eight but not so much at eighteen, and definitely not at thirty-eight. The realities of work and money and family and faith were enough to rein in most of it for people like them. Add the conventions of womanhood besides, and she could nearly feel the collar around her neck.

She pulled at the neckline of her dress instinctively, letting the breeze hit her skin. With a deep sigh, she reminded herself that she could still breathe. She didn't know what had come over her lately, all this questioning. Her life had begun to feel disoriented – a puzzle whose picture kept changing while she was still trying to put it together.

Maybe it was her fault. It must be; no one else had changed. It was normal for children to grow up. Wasn't that the whole point of everything she'd been doing for years – preparing her son to become a good man? And Noah was the same as he always was. So something must be wrong with her, something she needed to fix.

With that partial resolution in mind, she realized it was probably about time to give up on the fish for the day and get to other chores. Gauging by the sun and the children's arrival, she figured she had another half hour before she needed to be home. She gathered her things and decided to spend the time taking a longer route back; it was still a beautiful day, after all, and she ought to enjoy it.

When she was a minute or so down the way, she heard horse hooves beating behind her. She moved to the side of the road to let whoever it was by, but the rider slowed as they came up alongside her, and she found herself staring up into the shadowed face of Henry Gowen.

With no time to react, her brain chose to heavily overcompensate for the tension of their last encounter.

"Oh, no car today? Aren't you full of surprises," she ribbed.

Oh my. Far too friendly now.

But he gestured to her fishing gear and smiled. "I could say the same."

"I taught myself when I was a girl. I come out every once in a while."

"Are you on your way back home?" he asked. She nodded yes and he dismounted from his horse. "I'll walk with you."

"That's very kind of you," she said politely, even though a nervous buzz had seized her the instant his boots hit the ground. He turned his back to her to readjust the reins and she took the opportunity to comb her hands through her hair. She'd worn it down, thinking no one would catch her on the river path.

"So what are you doing out riding?" she asked.

"I had business over in Benson Hills. Just felt like taking the trip myself, and it was a nice day."

"You get a lot of time away from the mine," she remarked, the first thing that came to her head. Immediately she saw that it had been taken as an insult. "What I mean is, it's a different type of day for you than it is for the miners. But I guess that means things are going smoothly."

She closed her eyes and grimaced. Nothing was coming out right.

"Noah runs things well, that's true. I can take a lot of things off my mind because I trust him. But there's still the deal-making, the finances, making sure that any issues are ironed out with the top brass above me…"

"Of course. I didn't mean to suggest your work isn't important…" She gave up and shook her head, looking toward the water. "I always seem to be stepping out of line with you."

The gentle white noise of the river filled the space between them. When he spoke, it was just as soft.

"I'm sorry about the saloon."

"Don't be. You were just being friendly. I wasn't feeling myself and I acted terribly."

"No, not at all," he shook his head calmly. "The blame is mine. I was careless with my words, and I'm sorry for any pain it caused."

She could tell her face had become a deep pink, the tenderness in his voice cutting straight through her. How had she found herself in yet another intimate conversation with this man? She clasped her hands together roughly.

"Well, I think that's enough of the apologies then, don't you?"

Henry laughed lightly underneath his riding hat. "Never had much use for them myself."

They stood in silence another moment until she blurted out, "If I'm being honest, I'd also had a bit to drink." She covered her face with her hands. Why on earth had she said that?

She felt him lean toward her, and moved one finger to see that he was theatrically raising one eyebrow.

"If we're being honest… so did I."

She relaxed and removed her hands, catching his small chuckle at her dimples having appeared underneath.

The occasional leaf crunched underneath their feet as they continued up the path, blown their way from where the line of red and pale green trees beyond the river had begun to shed. At one point, while recounting the highlights of the Founder's Day events, they noted their shared sympathy for Wendell Backus, who had made several increasingly frustrated attempts to land a ball into a milk jug to win Alice a prize.

"How about you? Did you win any prizes?" she inquired, hoping the segue was casual enough.

Henry shook his head. "It's tough to win at those games, and often not worth the trouble."

She wondered if this was perhaps how he felt about women.

Finding no other way to pry, and also knowing that if he were spending time with anyone she would have already heard about it, she turned her attention to the blooms that interspersed the edges of their route. She stopped and passed Henry her fishing pole, bending to pluck a handful of flowers out of the ground.

"Daisies?"

Abigail nodded, taking her pole back into the hand that clutched the yellow and white bouquet. "They've always been my favorite."

"It's late in the season for them," he observed.

"They're quite resilient," she agreed.

"I know it. They're actually talking about regulating them – they've started to run wild."

Abigail was about to say what a shame this was when Henry's horse let out a snort and they both turned to look. Gradually, Abigail's interest was drawn away from the spirited animal to rest on Henry's profile, his sun-battered face wrinkling where his mouth curled up in amusement. His was the kind of unassuming handsomeness of someone who was not used to being considered so, she thought, but handsome just the same. She watched his lips form soft utterances to the steed beside him, and felt calm for the first time in days.