Chapter 16 – Late February 1910
The door slammed open, startling Abigail so that she nearly burned herself on the cast iron pan she'd been bent over. She cried out as an ash-covered blur that she eventually recognized as her child ran into the kitchen.
"Oh my goodness, Peter, what – " She stopped when she realized it was still late afternoon. "What's happened? Something at the mine?"
"Huh? Oh, no, sorry, I guess I shouldn't have run in like that. I was trying to catch you before you started cooking," he said apologetically.
"Catch me for what?"
"You need to go upstairs and get ready."
She stared at her son, still utterly lost. "At the risk of sounding like a skipping record, I will again ask, for what?"
"Mom, it's a surprise, just come down in fifteen minutes wearing something fancy."
"I don't even know where to start with that sentence."
"Mommmm!" he urged, waving his hand impatiently.
"My goodness, I'm going. Watch the food! And wash your face!" she called as she ran up the stairs.
ooo
After the quickest wardrobe change ever performed, Abigail returned to the living room in a deep blue dress she had sewn herself years ago for her brother's engagement party. Her hair was brushed out and clipped back on one side, and she sniffed it to see if the scent of the fish she'd been frying had lingered through her scrubbing and perfume. It had, but she couldn't do much about it now.
"Oh, wow, you look great," Peter said. She turned to where he sat at the table, a plate of trout and peas already half-eaten in front of him. The frenzy of the last few minutes dissipated, replaced by a gentle affection.
"Thank you, sweetheart. But where – "
She was cut off by just about the last thing she expected to hear – a car horn. Puzzled, she opened the front door and found Henry's car parked out front. It was her husband's hand, though, that was stretched into the window.
Awe-struck, she lifted her dress and came down the stairs. "What is all this?"
Noah spread his arms, presenting the whole of the evening to her. "Date night!"
"Oh, Noah," she gasped. He pulled her to his shoulder, squeezing her against his tall frame. He wore one of his two suits, a dark wool that he must have snuck out of the house earlier without her seeing. She supposed she hadn't been kissing him goodbye in the mornings lately, had she? How terrible she'd been.
Peter appeared on the stairs with Abigail's coat and handed it to his father. Noah held it out and she turned toward the waiting car, stretching her arms into the sleeves. She could feel them both, Noah and Henry, tangled up in a maelstrom in the pit of her stomach. Noah wrapped his arms around her, right above the copper pendant she had fortuitously worn, and kissed the top of her head.
"Come on, hop in," Noah said, guiding her around to the passenger's side.
"Henry let you borrow his car? Do you even know how to drive it?"
"Well, that's one of the reasons this all took a while to come together, besides the Lansing job. We can't take it very far, just right outside Benson Hills. But actually, Henry was the one who suggested it."
Abigail did a double-take from the automobile, not hiding her surprise. "Really? Well, that was very kind of him. But it does make me nervous," she said.
"It'll be fine. Let's go have a nice evening, like we said."
Tension jabbing at her, she nevertheless nodded. Noah helped her climb into the car, and she called a farewell to Peter on the porch before he hurried back inside.
While Noah disappeared around the back, she began to chide herself. This was a moment to be present for. Being swept off her feet for a date, stealing out of town in a car – when would this happen again? She ran her hands over the seat and looked around, examining the intimidating collection of pedals and controls. The car smelled of leather, which was to be expected, but also of cigars and Macassar oil, and an unnameable scent that was distinctly Henry. Her mind called up images of him in the driver's seat, hands sliding across the steering wheel, mustache twitching over a contemplative frown as he dealt with the business of the day.
The door swung open and she moved over to her side of the car, leaning back into the present. Noah negotiated his body behind the steering wheel, forcing her visions away.
"Hey," he said, making her meet his stare. "You look beautiful."
She responded with a tired smile.
"Thank you."
ooo
"Well, how about this?" Noah said, taking in the impressive room.
The restaurant was easily twice the size of the saloon, with two chandeliers hanging from the embellished ceiling. Grand columns towered imposingly over the tables, which were draped with bright white linens. Tall ferns decorated the corners, breaking up the intricate vine-like pattern of the wallpaper. Abigail was still standing with lips parted, struck speechless with wonder, when the impeccably dressed host came toward them.
"Good evening. How many are we today?"
"Two, with a reservation. Noah Stanton."
"Certainly, Mr. Stanton. Your table is this way."
The gentleman led them across the elegant dining area, gliding between tables of other well-dressed couples and the occasional business meeting. She was grateful to see that she and Noah were not underdressed. His selection of restaurant had been perfect: grand enough to rank well above any of their prior evenings, but not so extravagant as to have people mistake them for employees.
"Here we are," the host said, stopping in front of a table against the right wall. The centerpiece caught her eye immediately, unique among the other settings: a crystal vase holding a large bouquet of daisies, wrapped with a red ribbon.
"Oh, how lovely!" Abigail remarked, clutching Noah's arm.
"A special request," answered the host, pulling Abigail's chair out for her.
Noah settled across from her. "A request?"
"From Mr. Gowen. He's also taken care of the meal." He laid down their menus. "Someone will be by in just a moment with sparkling water. Enjoy your evening," he said in parting.
Abigail's head was spinning. Henry had requested the flowers? Henry had suggested the car? She looked around, letting the pieces fall together. Of course. Henry had chosen the restaurant.
"I didn't… I can't let him do that. I just asked for a recommendation," Noah was shaking his head, his gaze fixed to some meaningless spot on the table. He was upset, emasculated. Abigail fought back the swelling in her chest and focused on her husband.
"It was a very generous gesture," she reassured him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "No doubt because you've been working so hard. Probably making them more money!"
Noah scoffed, still refusing to look at her, turning his blank stare out to the crowd. She was trying too hard, being too dismissive.
"Come on," she softened. "I understand why it bothers you, but I'm sure it was well-intentioned. You look so handsome tonight. Let's enjoy ourselves. Please?"
He pushed his tongue against his teeth, clearly not wanting to accept the situation but not wanting to argue in public either. Finally he nodded and picked up the menu, glaring into it darkly.
"I'm asking them for the check."
"Sure. Whatever you want," she pacified him. "I'm going to run to the powder room. I'll be right back."
She stood and walked past him, briefly dropping an appeasing hand on his shoulder as she continued toward the large ornate doors. As soon as they opened, she shut herself inside the quiet vault and slumped over the counter, letting weakness take her.
The ragged shudders of her breath echoed harshly in the dim empty space, joined in chorus by the painful thumping of her heart. When had it gotten so bad? A tear splattered onto the granite surface, and she swiped frantically at her cheeks. She couldn't cry. Not 'd never be able to hide it. She needed to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
She took in her full red eyes in the mirror, ashamed at how she'd again allowed these foolish fantasies to affect her so deeply. Here she was with a loving husband, the father of her child, who had tried to give her a memorable night, who had always provided for her, and all she could do was think about another man. It was reprehensible.
And Henry, too, had tried to do something nice for her and Noah, and yet she disgraced his intentions with flashes of irrational anger, imagining he was in some way manipulating her. Sending ahead for daisies, without telling Noah? Did he think that was okay? Didn't he know what that would look like? What it would feel like? How it would make her hope?
No. Of course he didn't know. How could he? This was all in her head, torment self-inflicted. Hysterical nonsense. She needed to stop getting carried away with these ridiculous notions. She just needed to go out there and be a normal wife and mother like she had always been. Peter and Noah – they were the men she belonged to.
She pressed her lids down, forcing the waiting tears out and tempering the rest. Taking a handkerchief from her purse, she wiped delicately at her cheeks and lashes, then pressed it to her nose and took another calming breath. With shaking hands, she smoothed the places where her powders had smudged and patted at her hair. That was enough of that.
ooo
"Goodness, they've got quite a lot of perfume in that toilet!"
At the sound of her voice, Noah stuffed a wad of bills back into his pocket and jumped up to pull out her chair.
"Guess that's how they do it in high-class places like this," she noted good-naturedly, waving at her face.
Noah's tie swung out against the table as he backed himself in again. "It looks like, uh, some good soups here. And they brought us some rolls," he gestured to the basket that had been place beside the promised sparkling water. She frowned at yet another change in his mood. Sweating and jittery, the man across from her could scarcely be recognized as her husband.
"Hey," she called over to him, "is everything okay? You weren't even this jumpy when you asked me to marry you."
Bewildered, he shrugged. "You tell me."
She ignored the edge she heard in the question, the suggestion that her feelings were her fault. Likely it was her own conscience making it sound worse than it was. And even if he did mean it harshly, she could not resent him for it. It was she who had betrayed his trust… she who had made him doubt.
"Noah," she took his hand behind the cover of her menu, "I love you. I'm sorry that I haven't been myself and that I chose the words I did. I only said it because I've missed you. I'm worried… well, I'm worried I'm being left behind just when we should be finding our way back to each other, now that Peter's grown. Can you understand?"
The angles of Noah's face softened, and he put his other hand on top of hers. "Yes, I do. But you're my girl… you know that. You're what keeps the whole thing together. I don't need every day to be special to know that it's still you and me."
They sounded like all the right words… They did, but they only floated on the surface, unable to penetrate her.
He peered at her with a teasing eyebrow. "So are we okay?"
She gave him a reassuring smile in return and squeezed his hand over the pure white cloth.
"Of course. I love you."
"I love you too." He withdrew his hands and picked up the menu again.
For the rest of the evening, they stayed firmly within the limits of pleasant conversation. Noah told her about a poker game Joe had invited him to (he had declined) and an equipment review he'd be overseeing (a good idea, he thought, after months of stressful operations). Abigail shared that a new family had been inquiring about some land (their son seemed a bit of a handful), and had he heard from Ephraim that Carla was expecting (boy, had he)?
Noah did pay the check, and stopped on the way back for less expensive ice cream which they didn't dare eat in the car. She giggled as he smeared a fingertip of his melting chocolate on her nose. Neither one of them mentioned Henry Gowen, and when her husband made love to her, she squeezed her eyes shut against the name that trembled in their darkness.
