20 December

In some respects, the time had flown by. In others, it had moved so slowly as to make every minute feel like an hour, every hour feel like two and so on. She hadn't been sure, over the course of the last few days, which she had preferred.

But now it was finally upon her.

Her last full day in Colorado Springs.

In twenty-four hours, she would be climbing aboard the stagecoach to take her to Denver and then boarding the train to San Francisco.

Home.

There was little joy in her heart when she awoke that final morning. Opening her eyes and finding her gaze tracking to the same point of the ceiling that it always did only made her chest feel heavy with unshed emotion and, when she sat up, tears were already forming in her eyes. Someone else would soon be occupying the room. Perhaps a whore, or another traveller. Whoever it was, the room would be theirs. Hers, no longer.

Who would ever have thought that it would be so difficult to walk away from life in a saloon.

Undergoing the familiar ritual of washing at the basin and dressing, the inner workings of her mind refused to allow her to convince herself that leaving the saloon was at the root cause of her distress. It was but a building, one that housed activity that she couldn't even honestly say she altogether approved of. No, it wasn't what she was leaving behind, but rather who.

She would miss so many of the townsfolk that she had come to know over the last few months. Their acceptance and kindness towards her would never be forgotten, especially as they were prepared to go along with the pretence that she had created for her parents. It seemed difficult to conceive of anyone she knew in San Francisco acting in the same manner. Instead, she would have been ridiculed and pitied but ultimately coerced into going down a path that she hadn't chosen for herself.

She owed them all so much.

They had all become so much a part of her everyday life. She would miss seeing Loren sweep the stoop of the store, and Grace bustle around the café. Miss Rev Johnston preaching his sermons and Dorothy distributing her newspaper.

Miss…

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about it, tried not to think about…him.

But it was impossible.

He was all she could think about, for he was the one she would miss the most.

She felt pain every time she imagined their parting. Every time she visualised herself saying her final goodbyes, climbing into the stagecoach and looking out of the window as it pulled away, watching him grow smaller and smaller in the distance, her whole being contracted in agony. And yet, once it was over, it would be over. He would fade from her view, and she would watch the landscape fly by as the country became towns, became cities and then…then she would be home again, and it would be as though Colorado Springs had never existed.

As though he had never existed.

As though they had never existed.

Once dressed, she left her room as she always did and made her way towards the bar. But this time, she moved silently, unwilling to be heard, pausing in the doorway and glancing inside, her heart both warmed and chilled at the sight of him stood as he usually always was, Cheroot in mouth, watering down the whisky. Normally she would walk in, they would converse, she would help set up the chairs and tables and another day would begin. But this time…this time was the last time she would be able to watch him like this and she wanted to savour the moment, store it up in her mind so that she could think on it from time to time in the future.

She watched as he carefully poured the water, moving from bottle to bottle, occasionally pushing his hair behind his ears in that way she had often wanted to do herself and she felt transfixed by every movement. How could she ever explain to anyone back in San Francisco how much she cherished the very sight of such simple, if deceptive, action?

Seconds later, he looked up and caught her gaze, bringing the observation to an end. She stepped fully into the bar and over towards him, her brain racing to think of something appropriate to say on this last of days.

"Mornin'," he greeted her, quickly looking back down into his work.

"Morning."

"Last day, huh?"

"Yes…" she automatically felt her throat start to close up, so she turned away and began lifting chairs down from the top of the tables. They had spoken little of her impending departure in the preceding days, but both had known it was fast approaching. She knew why she had chosen not to mention it, but she wasn't entirely clear on his reasons.

"What ya plannin' on doin'?"

"Oh, I don't know. Finish packing, see Cherry, take a last walk around the town, say goodbye to everyone…" She broke off, hearing her voice tremble, feeling somewhat unwilling to let him bear witness to her emotion.

"Well, reckon I know the first thing we oughta do."

"What's that?"

"Have breakfast at the café together. Seems kinda appropriate seein' as that's what we did the first mornin' after ya got here."

She paused suddenly, thinking back on that morning when she had crept out of the room Hank had given her, confused, afraid and unsure and he had taken her to the café. When he had been so kind to her, even though she had suggested that people in town might have considered him to be the cause of her blackened eye. So much had happened between that day and the present moment. So much had changed.

"That sounds lovely," she said finally, turning back to face him. "And very appropriate, as you say."

"Good." He smiled at her and, feeling the pain once more, she resumed her task until the work was complete.

They left the saloon together to make the short walk to the café, the weather so different from what it had been that first morning. Cold and crisp, rather than sunny and hot. Pulling her shawl tighter around herself, she glanced at the familiar buildings as they passed, remembering how he had spoken about each of them that day, telling her what they were and who lived there. This time he was silent and though they had spent many times in each other's company in the past saying very little, there was now an altogether different quality to it.

As they rounded the corner and entered the café, he moved closer to her.

"Hope this is alright."

"Hope what's alright?" She glanced at him, he gestured ahead and when she turned to look, suddenly saw the townsfolk crowded around one of the tables, all smiling at her as though it were some sort of special occasion.

Michaela, Loren, Jake, Dorothy, Grace, Robert E, Rev Johston, Horace, Myra…

She froze. "What are they all doing here?"

"Wanted to say goodbye to ya," he replied. "Figured this was the best way to do it."

"But I don't…I mean, I can't…" she felt tears spring into her eyes again and turned her back on the scene. "I won't be able to maintain my composure."

"Who says ya gotta maintain composure? Yer sad to be leavin' and it's alright to let folks know that."

"But…"

"But nothin'," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "Folks wouldn't have come out if they didn't wanna see ya, s'pecially on a mornin' like this."

She met his gaze, unsure how to tell him that, despite how kind it was for people to come to wish her well, part of her yearned to be alone with him one last time. But, of course, good breeding prevented her from doing so and, taking a deep breath, she turned back around and made her way over to the table.

"I…I wasn't expecting this," she said as she approached. "You didn't have to…"

"We wanted to wish you well," Grace said, stepping forwards. "No doubt you got lots to be thinking about today in preparation for your trip so we thought this would be a good way to let you see everybody and say goodbye."

She didn't know what to say, terrified that she would break down for reasons that she could never divulge and so she let the others talk around her, laughing and joking, enjoying Grace's food, and contributing when she felt she could. Somewhat to her dismay, Hank kept his distance from her, though every time she glanced in his direction, she saw him watching her.

"Still can't get over you leaving me with no hats to sell," Loren grumbled. "Folks ain't going to be happy about it."

"After you telling me that people around here wouldn't be interested in buying my hats in the first place?" she teased him.

"Aw, well…I was wrong, I admit it. Fact is, you've brought in good business for me. Sure you won't change your mind and stay?"

"Sorry," she looked down, "I'm afraid I can't."

"Not even if you had a good reason?"

"What would be a better reason than helping your business?" she laughed, looking up again only to find his expression serious, suddenly worrying she had offended him. "I mean, I…"

"Fact is, folks don't want you to leave."

"That's very kind…"

"Certain folks in particular."

"You're a sweet man, Loren…"

"I ain't talking about me. Not that I'm wanting you to go, but…"

"But what?" she asked, curiously.

"Oh it's…well…it's nothing," he replied finally. "We're just all going to miss you, that's all."

Before she could say any more, he rose and moved away from her, Myra of all people suddenly sliding into his place opposite. Automatically, she felt a shiver run through her, then felt ridiculous. It was hardly the other woman's fault that Hank still loved her, despite everything.

"Yer leaving first thing in the morning?"

"Yes, on the early stage."

"I hope you have a safe journey."

"Thank you, and I hope things go well with you and the baby."

"I appreciate that," Myra looked down. "Just…seems kinda sad is all."

"What does?"

"You leaving."

"Oh…yes I'm sad about it too," she replied, willing herself not to cry again. "I'm going to miss this place and everyone in it."

"Some folks gonna really miss you."

Mindful of how she had mistaken Loren's words, Eloise paused, wondering if the other woman would elaborate. Instead, Myra's gaze flitted to a spot somewhere behind her and, turning, she caught sight of Hank standing a few feet away with Jake, watching them. "I think Hank will be pleased to get his room back."

"I don't think…"

"Myra?" Horace suddenly appeared at the table beside them. "We oughta be getting back to the telegraph office now."

Myra paused, as though she was about to say more, then simply smiled and rose to her feet. "Take care of yourself, Eloise."

"And you," she replied, smiling to them both then watching as they walked away, arm in arm. How unfair it seemed that Myra could have a loving husband like Horace, and a baby on the way, and yet still powerfully hold the feelings of the only man that she herself knew she had ever loved.

Perhaps the only man she ever would.

"Ellie."

His voice from behind made her jump and she turned to see him standing behind her with Jake, the other man looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"Bin talkin' to Jake," Hank said. "Reckon we oughta git this affidavit thing written up and witnessed so ya got it to take with ya tomorrow."

Her heart plummeted once more, her stomach contracted, and she felt the tears pool. Briefly turning away, she dashed her hand across her eyes and then rose to her feet to meet them. "Yes," she said, painting a hard-won smile on her face. "I reckon we should."

XXXX

"So Goddamn beautiful…and so far out of my Goddamn reach."

"Early stage in the morning. I should…"

"Yeah, guess ya should. I'll miss ya."

"I'll miss you too, Hank."

He watched the door swing shut behind her, leaving him alone on the porch in the biting wind, heart racing. She had been there, right in front of him like so many times before and he could have…he should have…

But how could he? How could he tell her everything he felt for her and then watch her walk away? How could he explain how much he loved her and then live with her rejecting him? Even if he were never to see her again, he knew he couldn't live knowing she was out there somewhere, aware of how he felt and pitying him for it. Maybe one day, when she was truly immersed back amongst her own kind, she might even laugh about it. Laugh about how he'd had the audacity to believe that she could ever love him the way he loved her, how foolish he'd been to even consider that she might accept him, even if she had been willing to lie with him.

Pushing the door back open, he headed back into the bar, relieved to find no sight of her within. The noises were familiar, comforting, and he poured and sank at least five shots of whisky before he even had time to properly consider what he was doing. Three more followed and the room quickly began to take on a welcoming alcohol-tinged glow.

"You alright Hank?" Lucy asked, as she moved past him, carrying a bottle and two glasses, clearly intended for a willing customer.

"Sure," he replied, watching her walk away, admiring how her dress accentuated her curves, thinking on how she was the most likely candidate to take Olivia's place. From memory, he'd only bedded her once before, right after she had arrived, and though inexperienced at the time, she'd shown promise. Perhaps it was time he checked up on how much promise she really had.

A few more shots and Jake's face suddenly swam before him, his expression concerned.

"What the hell you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doin'?"

"Looks to me like you're halfway to getting drunk out of your mind."

"Wanna join me?" he waved the bottle.

"Hank…if you're planning on making a mess of things again…"

"The hell ya talkin' about?"

"I'm talking about when Myra left, and you got yourself so drunk that you tried to shoot her, remember? Not to mention you ended up getting yourself knocked out in the process." Jake leaned across the bar. "I don't want to see that happening again."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Ain't got no plans to point a gun at Myra, specially not now she's expectin'. What kinda man ya take me for?"

"I'm talking about Eloise, as well you know. Now I'm hoping I don't have to take your gun from you…"

"Ain't nobody gonna be takin' my gun from me. S'ides, why would ya need to do that?"

"To stop you from trying to hurt her."

Even in his drunken state, he felt slighted by the other man's words. "Ya think I'd hurt her?"

"Hank…"

"I could never hurt her, never. I love her…I love her, Jake, you know that…"

"Then tell her!"

He shook his head, "Can't. Can't tell her. Can't have her knowin'."

"Why not?!"

"Cause she's leavin' and it's best she does not knowin'." He poured himself another glass and drained it. How many did that make? He couldn't even recall. "Then she can forget all about me…all about this place…she can be happy."

"Listen to me…"

"No, ya listen to me," he glared at the other man. "Can't give her nothin'. Nothin' she deserves at least. She belongs back in San Francisco where she can meet a good man that she can fall in love with, marry and have kids with. That's what she needs. She don't need me, she don't need…this…" he cast his arm around the room.

"Hank…"

"If ya don't wanna drink with me, leave me alone."

"Please…"

"I said, leave me alone." He met the other man's gaze. "Less you wanna end up bein' the one who gits hurt."

Jake stared at him for a long moment, then stepped back, raising his hands in defence. "Fine. You want to do this to yourself again, fine. But you hurt anyone Hank anyone, and I'll be the first one to make sure that you're locked up for the rest of your life."

"Whatever ya say," he snorted, pouring himself yet another glass, "Mayor Slicker." Shooting him a final look, Jake turned and strode towards the door, leaving him free to drain the glass and then lean against the bar for support. Around him, the sounds of the customers started to fade away to nothing, until all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing and his heart thumping in his chest.

"Love ya Ellie," he whispered, pouring himself yet another glass and feeling the smart of tears. "Love ya."

XXXX

We, Hank Lawson and Eloise Lawson, nee Ward, hereby swear and affirm that the marriage contracted between us dated the twenty-fifth day of July in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-nine, to date, remains unconsummated. As a result, we seek annulment of said marriage with no duties owed to either party by the other.

It was so short, so simple, so to the point.

Eloise stared at her signature, affixed on the page next to Hank's, Jake's beneath it to bear witness. It seemed almost incomprehensible that the document she held in her hand was the end of everything she had known for the last five months. That after she filed it with the court in Denver, it would all be over. She would be Eloise Ward again, an unmarried woman, with few any the wiser as to the union that she had once been party to.

Of course, there were plenty people who would know they had been married at one time, but only she and Hank would know the true nature of it all. Only she and Hank would know what they had shared emotionally…physically…

Sighing, she placed the document down onto the bed and continued with the task that she had started some time ago and yet seemed incapable of completing namely, packing her belongings. Every time she folded a dress and placed it in her suitcase, she had to stop and ponder on what occasion she had worn it.

A green dress when they had gone riding, a purple one on her birthday, the pale blue one when they had wed…

Part of her wanted to leave them here, give them to the girls if they wanted them. Taking them home with her would only make her think of every moment she had spent with him and how would that be conducive to her moving on? But another part of her wanted to keep them close to her, safe in the knowledge that he had looked upon her when she had been wearing them, perhaps had even touched them at one time.

As she added the last remnants of her life, she suddenly wished that she had a photograph, something that she could look at to truly remember him, something more than just her memory. Perhaps…perhaps she could suggest that he ask Zack to make a drawing and send it to her. He had captured Clarice so beautifully that there was no reason to suggest that he couldn't draw his father equally as well…

A sudden noise made her pause in her ministrations and move over towards her door. Opening it, she stepped out into the hallway, conscious that that saloon had long since closed for the evening. For a moment, she thought she might have imagined it, then it came again.

The unmistakable sound of breaking glass.