San Francisco

10 July

"Lou, you look tired. I'm not convinced you're getting enough sleep lately. I appreciate the run up to a wedding, especially your own is an exciting time, but you really must make sure that you're taking care of yourself."

Eloise met her mother's gaze across the breakfast table and couldn't help but think that she couldn't have been more wrong. Exciting? She felt anything but excitement. Had she been asked to select a word it would have been something more akin to…well…dread. Ever since she had dined with Thomas and his family and he had laid out, rather starkly, how he saw their life together to be, she had been able to think of little else other than how unwelcome it all seemed. He expected her to give up her work, her talent, either travel with him to places where she knew no-one or be at home alone and, to top it all off, he wanted to call her by some name that was better suited to an animal than a person.

Lolly.

She had tried the name out, rolled it around her tongue and looked at herself in the mirror whilst saying it and could find nothing redeeming about it whatsoever. It bore such little resemblance to her given name that she couldn't quite understand how he had settled on it at all. And of course, she was not to be granted the same indulgence to call him Tom.

Lou had never struck her as being the prettiest name either, but it had been her parents name for her since birth, or so they had told her, and thirty years on, it seemed too late to change it now. Besides, she had grown accustomed to it in a way that she knew she would never grow accustomed to Lolly.

"Alexander, dear, perhaps Lou shouldn't come to the store today."

"Oh no, Mother, I have to go in today. I have orders to complete."

"It's admirable that you're so dedicated to your customers, but I'm sure they'll understand that you have other priorities at the moment."

"No, but…"

"Your mother's right, Lou," her father chipped in. "No groom wants to see a washed-out bride on their wedding day."

"Well, I'm hardly…"

"You're very pale and you have been for days now," her mother continued. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Yes, I'm fine, it's just…" she paused, wondering how much to confide in them. Would they, could they, understand how she was feeling at the prospect of her life being turned on its head? Their union had been so different from the one planned for her, so how could they possibly be able to empathise with her?

"It's just what?" her mother leaned across the table.

"Well, I spoke with Thomas last week when I dined with him and his family and…well…he said that I wouldn't have time to work once we're married. He said that I'd be too busy hosting people and sometimes travelling with him and…"

"Well, that's all perfectly normal."

"Yes, but I enjoy my work, Mother, and I'm good at it."

"Of course you do and of course you are. I'm sure all that Thomas meant was that you wouldn't find time to work in the store. There would be nothing stopping you from making hats on a more private basis."

Eloise frowned, "How do you mean?"

"Well, certain customers could come to your home, commission you to make a piece for them, and then you would do so, at your own leisure and in conjunction with any other commitments you might have."

"That's not what he said…"

"No, but I'm sure that's what he meant. Men are sometimes incapable of making themselves clear, isn't that right my dear?"

"Oh, indeed," her father replied indulgently. "I myself am frequently poor at it."

"Yes, but he also said that we might not live in the city at all. He said that we might travel together and find somewhere that suits us better. New York or Boston…"

"You say that as though it would be a hardship," her mother laughed. "To have the opportunity of travel is a great thing. And with the expansion of the railroad, there may be no limit as to where you could go."

"He also said that he might travel frequently alone too and that I would be left at home."

"I doubt you will be home alone, Lou," her mother smiled. "I have no doubt that Thomas will be eager to start a family. I'm sure you'll find your time quite well taken of. Now…" she pushed her chair back from the table. "I'm already running late to my meeting. I really do think you should spend the day at home, today and rest up."

"But…"

"Or perhaps you could think about what you intend taking with you immediately after the wedding. You're obviously welcome to leave things here until you and Thomas are more settled, but there will be some essentials you'll require and the last thing you want to be doing is fussing at the last minute."

Before she could say anything further, her mother smiled broadly at her and disappeared out of the room, leaving her alone with her father and feeling as though nothing she had said had been considered.

"Your mother's right, Lou," her father said, rising from his chair. "Perhaps you'd best stay here today and rest. I should have said to you before now to wind things down at the store. Your customers know you're getting married next week and I'm sure none of them will have any concern at needing to wait a little longer for you to finish their orders."

"I suppose not," she replied with a sigh.

"You are happy, aren't you?" His words made her pause and look up to meet his gaze. "To marry Thomas, that is."

She paused, unsure as to how to respond. They needed her to marry Thomas to ensure the investment in the business and yet, she couldn't help but think that if they knew how unhappy the prospect was making her, they wouldn't force the issue. Or would they? Sometimes she wondered if she knew anything for sure anymore.

"Yes, of course," she said finally, seeing her father visibly relax before her eyes.

"Good, I'm glad. Now, take it easy today and see how you feel tomorrow." Patting her shoulder gently, he hurried out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

A woman in love wasn't supposed to feel this way before her wedding day, but then, she wasn't a woman in love, despite trying hard to be. Since the dinner she had spent many waking hours thinking about Thomas, trying to force herself to feel more for him than she knew she did, willing herself to be happy at the prospect of the life he had laid out for her. But as time marched on, and the wedding grew closer, she couldn't help but feel as though it were a lost cause.

Taking herself upstairs into her bedroom, she opened her closet and looked at the wedding gown hanging within. It had been delivered by the dressmaker the day before and she fingered the lace gently. It was beautiful and fitted her exquisitely. But that joy she had always expected to feel when finally having the chance to look like a bride had been missing when she had gazed upon herself in the mirror.

She was getting the marriage, home and prospect of a family that she had always wanted for herself and yet had often thought would never come. She should feel happy and grateful.

But she didn't.

Colorado Springs

Michaela certainly was a woman who never played by the rules, he had to give her that. It was common fact that women weren't allowed in the saloon, unless they intended to entertain the gentlemen within, but since her visit to him that night the previous week, it appeared as though he couldn't stop her. Watching as she crossed the room towards him, he couldn't help but notice the other men staring at her, even though her headstrong ways were, by now, well known in town.

"Hank," she greeted him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied. "Can I get ya a drink?"

"No, I came to see how you were doing. I thought we'd agreed that you'd come to the clinic today for a check-up."

Not wanting everyone in town to be privy to his business, he motioned for her to follow him through to the back of the saloon, ignoring the catcalls from several of the customers. "Told ya, I'm fine."

"Your head injury was serious," she reminded him.

"Don't need ya to tell me that." After their last conversation had ended so abruptly, he had felt a sharp pain in his head and remembered nothing until waking up in bed at the clinic. Michaela had explained to him that he had been found unconscious at the back of the saloon, that he had slipped into a coma as a result of a clot in his brain and that she had required to operate to relieve the pressure. He had been grateful, naturally, but reliving it only made him feel uncomfortable.

"Then I need to make sure that you're recovering properly and, to do that, I need to examine you." She held up her bag as if to emphasise the point. "Now we can do it out here if you like, or you can come over to the clinic or…"

"Enough already," he sighed, unwilling to listen to her harping. "In here." Opening the door, he stepped inside his bedroom, turning to find her hovering by the door. "Ain't gonna ravish ya or nothin'."

"Of course not," she replied, stepping inside and placing her bag down on the bed. He watched as she cast her eyes around the room and wondered what she was thinking about, but the moment passed quickly as she took out her stethoscope and asked him to sit down. "I'll need you to open your shirt."

"Anythin' for you, Michaela," he teased her, pulling open the buttons and exposing his chest to her. He smiled as her face flamed slightly, though he knew it wasn't because she desired him on any level, then winced as the cold metal touched his skin. Breathing in and out as she requested, she then stepped back, procured another instrument from her bag and proceeded to look into his eyes. Having her that close to him wasn't entirely unwelcome and he couldn't help but wonder what she would do if he touched her.

One head injury was probably enough, however.

"Well, everything looks to be fine," she opined, stepping back from him. "Any headaches, dizziness, nausea?" He shook his head. "Would you tell me if there had been?"

"Told ya before I wouldn't lie to ya."

"Hmm, yes…well, as long as you're feeling all right, there's nothing I can prescribe for you except to take things at a slow pace. If you do experience any symptoms, then you must come and see me right away."

"Message received, loud and clear, Doc," he replied, rebuttoning his shirt, then rising to tower over her as he always did.

"Good," she turned for the door and then paused to turn back. "Have you spoken to Myra?"

He felt his insides clench at the sound of her name. Many a time his mind had travelled back to what had happened at the café that day and Michaela had told him that Myra had sat with him whilst he had been unconscious, despite Horace's protestations. Truthfully, he didn't know what to make of it all. If she hated him, why would she have done that? Why would she have gone against Horace? Did it mean she cared for him after all, more than she was prepared to admit? Or had it been done out of some misguided sense of loyalty? That she felt she owed him her presence? He wished for the former, yet feared the latter and what man would ever want a woman to stand by his side because she felt she had to, rather than wanting to? He had thought a lot about that too.

"No," he replied, in answer to her question.

"Don't you think that you should?"

Although she was pleasant to look at, and likely a firecracker once taken in hand so to speak, her forwardness only served to irritate him, even at that moment. "Reckon that's my business."

Michaela paused and nodded. "I suppose it is."

Before he could ask her what she meant, or query why she wasn't insisting on it, like she always seemed to do when it came to her opinions, she hurried away from him down the corridor and back out through the saloon, the men calling after her.

He knew he should go back and join them, slide back into the familiar role he played, but something made him move over to the dresser and open the drawer where the perfume bottle was. Lifting it, he turned it over in his hand, before spraying it ever so slightly, the sweet scent filling the air. He'd often imagined Myra wearing it, how good it would smell on her skin. But that was all lost to him now. He thought about smashing it onto the ground, but that would only create a mess that someone would need to clear up. So instead, he simply slipped it back into the drawer.

"I hear you had Dr Mike in your bedroom," Jake said later, as he poured him a whisky.

"Who told ya that?"

"Folks."

"She was examinin' me."

"You sure you weren't examinin' her?" Jake queried, raucous laughter following his comment.

He put a cigarette between his lips, lit it and blew smoke out into his friend's face before grinning in response. "What do you think?"