Chapter 11 – Late Fall 1909

Another special occasion was celebrated a few weeks later – the day the children went back to school. The women, as was another of their traditions, treated themselves to lunch at the café, though if anyone had asked, they would have said they were cheering a successful harvest. Abigail was still invited to this tradition, along with others in the town who did not presently have school-age children (or farms). The idea of shared experience was what lay at the heart of Coal Valley – whatever happened to you happened to everyone. At least, that was the idea.

"Did you hear about her cousin?"

"Absolutely scandalous."

Florence and Molly were at it again, though she had no idea who they were talking about this time. She flapped out her menu and tried to ignore their gossiping, but Carla Noonan came up on her left, propping her chin up in her hand as though prepared for it to fall off her neck from the shock of things to come.

"What happened?" Carla asked in a dramatic whisper.

"Left her husband," Florence said, laying thick judgment over the word. "For his brother!"

"And now they've been cast out by both their families," Molly chimed in. "I hear she was trying to find work in a laundry."

"Well, what did she expect, going against God and husband like that?"

Abigail cringed at how loudly they were airing the poor woman's business, even if it was true that their group was the only one in the café. Her sense of propriety didn't stop her from idly taking a head count of the attendees to figure out who wasn't present to hear about their family's sins, though. She'd narrowed it down to three women and was resolving not to think about it further when –

"Can you imagine such a thing, Abigail?"

She took a moment, chewing and swallowing the mouthful of muffin with which she'd been caught. Honestly, she didn't know that she wanted to imagine it. Her mind had been imagining and wandering far too much these days.

"It's very drastic, certainly," was all she said.

She kept her head bent toward her plate. She was not the only one.

"It's unbelievable is what it is. I'd never show my face in polite society again," Florence declared.

"It's always the women who get the worst of it," Cat shook her head.

"And why shouldn't they? If they're the ones who break their vows?" Florence countered.

"Oh! Take a look at what they've got in the needlework pages this month."

Molly – perfectly satisfied that her own opinion of extramarital affairs was the correct one and seeing no point in any argument on the subject – had instead reached into her shopping bag for a magazine. Once she found the page, she splayed it open on the table for them to see.

"Wouldn't that be just a perfect sweater for Rosaleen?"

The women murmured and cooed their agreement, and Abigail welcomed the distraction from such a troublesome topic. While Florence remarked on potential embellishments for the pattern and Mary lamented not having a girl to dress, Abigail's focus wandered to an advertisement for face cream on the opposite page. The curly feminine print touted the product's ability to instantly impose a youthful and radiant complexion on its wearer. It had been ages since she'd focused much on her appearance, she realized, scrunching up her face and feeling grateful there was no mirror nearby. Should she be making more of an effort? Maybe this was another reason for her lack of connection to Noah lately.

She'd seen some of the younger girls try to darken their lashes or color their lips with different creative items, but that would make her feel ridiculous. And it wasn't as though Ned was hiding the latest French powders in between the pickled eggs and canned corn. But she was sure there was something she could try.

The bell rang behind them, and the group automatically raised and turned their heads to the café door. A windswept Henry had entered, holding onto his hat. He wore a dark blue coat with fur-lined lapels, guarding against the cold snap that had come just as the harvest ended. When he finally looked up, eleven pairs of eyes were staring silently back at him.

"Uh… afternoon, ladies."

"Afternoon," a few of them, including Abigail, echoed back.

The women turned back to their conversation, speaking more quietly, while Henry moved past them to approach the counter. Virgil Valentine, who ran the place, called out for him to wait just a minute. From where she was sitting, Abigail could see Virgil in the back kitchen talking to his wife Emily, their whispers sharp but the exact words muffled. Henry was passing his hat back and forth in his hands, impatient as his eyes ran over the opposite wall of the dining area.

Virgil emerged back into the main café clutching a brown envelope – the mining company's profits for the week or the month, she wasn't sure. Henry opened it and looked inside, frowning. He glanced over at their table, and Abigail averted her eyes, hoping he hadn't caught her watching the exchange. She heard Henry tell Virgil they'd talk soon. It didn't seem a good time to try to intercept him. She felt uncomfortable even saying goodbye, but he tipped his hat to them all as he walked out again and she managed a faint smile.

Henry's car started up outside and though some of the others across the table watched him drive away, Abigail didn't turn. He'd taken no special notice of her presence, and she would similarly take no notice of his leaving. They saw each other often enough, she reasoned; there was no need to make a production of it each time.

She looked again at the ad for face cream, and rubbed her hands across her cheeks.

ooo


"We should go out for a date night."

"A date night?"

Abigail turned onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. "Yes. Like we used to. We haven't gone out and done something nice for a while."

Noah considered. "Maybe I can plan something for your birthday."

She turned the corner of her mouth down, unimpressed. "I'd prefer we be with Peter for my birthday. Besides, the whole point is that we should want to spend time together without it being an occasion."

"We spend every night together!"

"Noah."

He sighed at her exasperated glare. "Alright, yes, I know what you mean."

She widened her eyes hopefully, seizing on this bit of progress. "Let's do something special, just us. I want to get out of town for a little while. We can get dressed up and take the stage into the city for the night."

"Oh, are you getting that job you talked about?"

The comment stung her. Just as quickly as she'd perked up, she felt she had now been kicked back down.

"You're right. Just forget it, it was a silly idea."

Noah's hands dropped to his sides, making the bed creak with his frustration. "Abigail, I was kidding –"

But she had already turned away from him.

"No, it's fine… I'm just tired." She cupped her hand around the chimney of the bedside lamp, closed her eyes, and let go of her breath.

ooo


It was soon apparent that any date night, silly or not, would have to wait. A short while after her and Noah's conversation, the Pacific Northwest Mining Company was awarded a lucrative contract, and the men worked nearly around the clock. Peter was making more supply runs too, in addition to the extra hours, and with Noah practically falling asleep on his feet when he got home, she was alone more often than not.

The other women complained some too, about husbands keeling over in their chairs at the dinner table, or how much more frequently work clothes needed mending, but she could also tell that some of them, like Matilda Grady, didn't mind the extra time all that much.

For her part, Abigail only wished she knew how to better fill all of it. Alongside the usual chores and get-togethers, she had worked on some Christmas gifts, finally read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, andstarted keeping a journal of interesting things she read in the newspaper. Noah had seen the thin brown book once on the way up to bed and asked her what it was. When she told him she was writing down things she'd like to learn more about, he'd nodded sleepily at her, but said nothing else.

But the most interesting thing that happened that November wasn't in the newspaper; it was the three separate trips that Alice Hayes made to the mine. The thing that made these visits so interesting was not who she was there to visit – it was that she didn't seem to be there to visit anyone at all. It seemed that she would stroll by, at some reasonable distance, watch for a few minutes, and then leave. The men who noticed her reported that any time someone would ask her if they could be of service, she would simply shake her head and walk away.

Naturally rumors began to swirl. Was Wendell finally being shown a little mercy now that he wasn't around as much? Or was it Gowen she was after, the newest eligible man in town? Alice's husband had not been a miner; he had worked at the bank with Mr. Jenkins, and was killed in a bank robbery the previous year while on a business trip in Union City. As small as the town was, the miners' wives did fancy themselves a bit of a clique, and so none of them was especially close to Alice Hayes. Feeling badly for the woman who was the subject of so much discussion, and who was clearly dealing with some as-yet-unknown dilemma, Abigail decided to pay her a friendly visit, and so when Alice opened the door, Abigail was brandishing a fresh pumpkin pie.

They settled themselves at a large table in the Hayes home, which had been built on a hill behind the main road, on the opposite side from the rowhouses. Alice had one child, Josephine, who was currently at school. Abigail didn't know much about Josephine, except that she had tumbled off the stage during last year's Founder's Day play. Her father had rushed up front to see if she was okay, kissed her head, and deposited her right back on her mark. That was about the last time Abigail had seen William Hayes.

She and Alice made polite conversation as they ate, Abigail reacting more brightly than she might otherwise, to detract from the glaring fact that she had never once visited the Hayes home. She saw that there were patches of fabric scattered across surfaces – clothes Alice was making to sell – and underneath them were papers and envelopes covered in markings she couldn't make out. Eventually, after her second piece of pie and her third comment on the weather, she had to bring herself to the point.

"So Alice… I've got to ask you about the mine."

The other woman placed her fork deliberately down on the plate. Abigail thought for a moment she might be angry, until it became clear that Alice had only been patiently waiting for this exact question.

"You all think I'm going there for a husband. Henry Gowen maybe?"

Abigail toyed with her own fork, spinning it in her hand.

"Some people think that. Others know Wendell Backus has been making overtures."

Alice gave a short scoff.

"I wish it were as simple as they make it out to be."

She wiped at her mouth and took her finished plate to the counter. Abigail waited, still seated, until Alice was ready to speak again.

"Don't you think it's funny," Alice said, "the way we prepare all our lives to be married, but no one ever prepares us not to be? Don't you think it's fantastically cruel, when we all know perfectly well that our husbands are constantly risking their lives, that the only solution anyone ever offers us is just to get married again?"

Alice looked at her with a quiet rage she saw displayed so rarely in other women, but one that felt so utterly familiar. She couldn't help but glance away, afraid to stare directly into it.

"My William was supposed to be safe. He wasn't a miner or a millworker. He wasn't sent out there to be expendable like those men."

The casual tone of the statement made Abigail wince, but she kept listening as Alice laid herself bare.

"I thought we had so much more time together," Alice continued softly. "I didn't think I'd ever be on my own like this. I was so stupid. And now I don't know what to do. But I know that what I don't want is to rush into some other man's bed."

"Alice…"

"I go to the mine to remind myself not to be weak. Not to take the easy way out. Why would I do that when it's not what I want and I could just as easily be back here again? The insurance is running out and it's so hard sometimes, trying to make ends meet. But William loved me and I loved him, and he believed that I could do great things. And I need my Josephine to see that she can do great things too. So that's what I'm going to do."

Alice walked to the living room and picked up one of the pieces of paper, placing it in front of Abigail. It was covered in calculations.

"I've been taking a correspondence course, for mathematics. I'm leaving Coal Valley once I finish and I hope to find a job in an office, or maybe even with a bank. I'm not sure really. I just know I need to start somewhere."

Abigail was stunned. "Alice, I don't know what to say. I think…"

She looked up into the woman's face and saw tears starting to form in her eyes. She saw the courage it had taken her to do this, to even tell someone about it, and it deeply affected Abigail that it should be so.

"I think William would be so proud of you," she finished.

Alice broke into a relieved laugh. She ran her eyes over the paper, practically glowing with joy at seeing her work truly become real, held in someone else's hands.

"But Alice, why leave?" Abigail asked. "I'm sure Mr. Jenkins would find something for you."

Alice shook her head. "I'll always be Mrs. William Hayes here. Most of the time that's all I wish I could be again, but…"

She trailed off. Abigail understood the rest.

"And besides," Alice said, wiping at her face, "how ever can I move up in the world if I am constantly being confronted with the great temptations of Wendell Backus?!"

"Alice!" Abigail shrieked. The two women laughed until they cried, finally agreeing that poor Wendell was a perfectly nice man with many qualities to recommend him, albeit to some other single woman.

"And no designs on Henry Gowen then either, witty and attractive as he might be?" Abigail teased.

Their laughter was dying down as they caught their breath. In between the last of their giggles, she saw Alice begin to examine her, searching her face.

"To some other… single woman… I mean," Abigail fumbled to add.

Alice glanced down at the table for a moment before meeting Abigail's disquieted look with a warm affection.

"No," she said gently. "No designs on Henry Gowen either."