Forgiving by LaVyrle Spencer
“Oh Sarah, hurry! I’m dying to see!”
Finally Sarah threw away the last basin of solution and rinsed Addie’s hair with plain water, then with Fuller’s Earth Water. She wrapped her sister’s head with a length of their new toweling, jostled it around a few times and ordered, “All right, take a look.”
When the towel fell away, Addie took up a hand mirror to examine the results. Her hair stood up in spikes—not exactly blond, but certainly not black. Rather midway between—the color of old nickel.
Looking forlorn, Addie plucked at the spikes as if stripping seeds from them.
“It’s not blond.”
“But it’s lighter than it was.”
“But I wanted it to be blond.”
“Sit down, let me comb it.”
Addie sat, looking in the mirror while Sarah attempted to draw a comb through the snarls. It took some doing. When the comb would finally cut through, Sarah opened the oven door and said, “Pull your chair back here.” Addie moved her chair near the warmth, slumped low on the seat and closed her eyes while, in silence, Sarah combed her hair.
During those minutes of silence, while the older sister ministered to the younger, they recovered something of what they had lost as siblings. The room was cozy—lamplit, curtained, quiet. Some soot tumbled down the stovepipe in a rush of muffled ticks. The teakettle hummed softly. Upstairs, the cat slept.
“Sarah?” Addie said.
“Hm?”
“I’ve been thinking...”
“About what?”
“Robert.”
“Mm...”
“He invited me to go out with him on New Year’s Eve, first to supper and then to the Langrishe.”
“And what did you say?”
“Nothing yet. But I don’t want to go.”
“Robert will be disappointed.”
“I was thinking...”
Sarah continued combing. “You were thinking...”
“That maybe I could invite him here instead.”
“Well, of course you can. You don’t need my permission.”
“I thought maybe I could invite him for supper, but I don’t know how to cook.”
“Certainly I’ll help you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Addie boosted up and cranked around to look back at Sarah. “You will?”
“I’m not the world’s most experienced in the kitchen, but I know a little from watching Mrs. Smith, and what we can’t figure out we can ask Emma. Now, about that hair. The ends are snagged. Should I try trimming them?”
“Do you know how?”
“No better than you probably. No worse either.”
“Should I trust you?” There was an actual gleam in Addie’s eye,
“No,” Sarah replied, grinning as she went to find the shears.
Addie submitted and Sarah went to work, dropping nickel-colored floss on the floor. When she was finished, Addie swept up the trimmings and stitched them into a small piece of cheesecloth. She coiled her hair around the rat, flattened it against the back of her head and with four deft stabs hair-pinned it into place.
“There are some things, Addie, that you do a hundred times better than me. A remarkable improvement.”
Addie looked pleased. “Do you think Robert will approve?”
“He’ll love it. You look like a hausfrau.”
Addie checked the hand mirror once again. “I do, don’t I? I never really liked the black either.”
“It’s late. I’m tired, how about you?”
They replenished the woodbox from the pile Mimms had left in the backyard, stoked the range, set the dampers and retired to their rooms upstairs. Ruler came into Sarah’s room while she was getting ready for bed, did a turn around her ankles, checked out her bed and returned to Addie’s room for the night, where—it was apparent—the feline would make her permanent nest.
When the lanterns were extinguished the two women settled into their rooms beneath their crisp, new sheets which smelled faintly like clean-picked flax in a dry bin.
Sarah lay for some time, looking at the dark ceiling, unable to feel drowsy in the strange bed, with the window in a strange place, and the faint snow-light coming in from an odd angle.
She thought of Noah, of how much she’d missed him over Christmas, and of how her face had grown hot when she’d looked up and seen him entering the newspaper office, how her pulse had leaped and her hands had gone motionless. She relived the minutes out by the woodpile before he’d kissed her, all the insurgent feelings that had risen up and deluged her, the wondrous shock when he’d said he loved her and had proposed marriage.
How incredible that she, who in her first twenty-five years attracted no more male attention than a garden scarecrow should, within three months of arriving in Deadwood find herself in love and loved by a man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
“Addie?” Sarah called quietly. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if I invited the marshal for New Year’s Eve?”
After a pause, Addie answered, “Why should I mind?”
“I just thought I should ask.”
“The marshal’s a very nice man, Sarah, and I have no claims on him.”
Sarah smiled. “We’ll make it supper for four then.”
On New Year’s Eve Sarah closed the newspaper office at four and went by Emma’s to pick up bread, and by the butcher shop where, to her great delight, she found a rare supply of beef. Back then to Emma’s to find out specifics about how to cook a roast.
At home she entered to find their kitchen transformed.
“You’ve made curtains!” she exclaimed.
“You like them?”
“Oh Addie, they’re wonderful!” They were far less glamorous than any they’d had in Missouri, but so few buildings in Deadwood had curtains that any were a luxury. Addie had simply hemmed long rectangles of white sheeting, sewn lace on the fourth side, driven nails into the upper corners of the window frames and draped the curtains over them as swags. Below she’d used flat pieces the size of the window opening with buttonholes worked into the top corners. When Sarah entered, they hung on nails to the left of each window.
“We can cover them at night... see?” Addie demonstrated, stretching a curtain across a window and catching the buttonhole on the far nail.
“Ingenious! And ever so much easier than tacking up sheeting every night. And a bouquet, too... Adelaide Merritt, what a regular domestic you’re becoming!” On their blue and white checked tablecloth Addie had put a bowl of pine sprigs.
“I thought we should have something special for tonight.”
“You went out,” Sarah noted, pleased.
“Just up to the cemetery. Nobody goes up there much in winter.”
“It’s a start. The kitchen looks lovely, Addie, truly it does. But listen—we must hurry. I’ve brought a roast of beef and Emma told me just what to do with it.”
Sarah showed Addie how a roast is seared, and smothered in onion and bay leaf and covered with its own drippings and baked in the oven. They peeled potatoes and scraped carrots and cobbled up some tinned peaches and left them baking in the oven while they went upstairs to dress.
Addie wore a new dress she’d stitched from the blue wool druggeting. It was simple, collarless, with sleeves gathered onto dropped shoulders and a skirt gathered onto an unadorned bodice. She drew her nickel-colored hair into a tasteful French roll and left her scrubbed face unpainted.
“I look terribly pale this way, don’t you think?” she asked, coming around the corner into Sarah’s room. “Why Sarah...” Addie’s face went flat with surprise. “While I’m bleaching myself out you’re turning into a butterfly. Where did you get it?” Addie took a turn around Sarah’s burnt-orange dress. It was made of silk and had a bustled rear, swagged like the kitchen curtains and gathered up onto three covered buttons at the lumbar bend.
“It’s an old one I haven’t worn since I’ve been here.
“And your hair. You’ve curled your hair?”
“Just a little, with the tongs, yes.” Sarah laughed at Addie’s astonishment. “Well, I have curled it before, you know. And after all, it’s New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t going to wear my leather apron and my sleeve guards.”
Addie’s expression turned amused. “The marshal’s going to drop his rocks.”
Sarah laughed. “So is Robert. Your dress turned out heavenly. And wait till he sees your hair.”
“Don’t change the subject, Sarah. What’s going on between you and the marshal?”
“The same thing that’s going on between you and Robert—nothing. We’re simply going to enjoy a festive New Year’s Eve together.”
The gentlemen arrived promptly at seven P.M., meeting on the street leading up the hill. Noah bore a bottle of port and Robert another of sherry.
“Fancy meeting you here, Baysinger,” Noah said when the two found their paths merging. “Are you going where I suspect you’re going?”
“Up to Addie’s.”
“And I’m going up to Sarah’s. Looks like we’re spending New Year’s Eve together, eh?”
The two had never been cordial, largely on Noah’s part, because he’d never lost the suspicion that Baysinger held a great attraction for Sarah. He set his antagonism aside, however, as the two climbed the street toward their destination.
“I was surprised to hear about Addie leaving Rose’s. Sarah is pleased.”
“So am I.”
“You talked her out of there, did you?”
“I did.”
“The men of this town won’t thank you.”
“Does that include you?”
“Not anymore it doesn’t.”
“That’s good, because Addie is an old friend. Her welfare is far more important to me than the whims of a bunch of randy miners.”
They reached Mimms’ house and approached the door together. Pausing, each allowed the other the opportunity to knock. With a flourish of one hand Noah gave Robert the go-ahead.
His knock was answered promptly by Sarah.
“Hello, Robert. Hello, Noah. Come in.”
Robert looked dumbstruck, gazing at her. Up. Down. Up again. At last he moved toward her. “Sarah—you look wonderful!” Without compunction he kissed her cheek, which she willingly offered.
“Why, thank you, Robert.”
“I’ll double that,” Noah put in, swallowing his jealousy as he received only her hand in greeting.
“Thank you, Noah. May I take your coats?” She hung them on brass wall hooks beside the door.
“For you...” Noah said, handing her his bottle.
“Also for you,” put in Robert, doing likewise.
“My goodness...” She lifted the bottles to examine their labels. “Spirits.”
“Allowable, I believe, to toast the new year,” Robert said.
“Certainly. Thank you both.” She gave each a smile. “Addie’s still upstairs. She’ll be here in a moment.” She raised her voice and called, “Addie, the gentlemen are here.” And to the men, “Please sit down.”
Noah did, on the edge of the divan. Robert, however, took a turn around the room, remarking, “You two have been busy, haven’t you?”
“As beavers. What do you think of it?”
“I approve. Ah... this looks familiar.” He opened the cover of the family Bible which lay on the library table.
“I brought it over from the newspaper office. I thought it belonged in the house.”
Noah watched and listened, jealous once more because he could share nothing of Sarah’s past as Baysinger could.
“There’s your father’s writing, Sarah Anne, born May 15, 1851. Adelaide Marie, born June 11, 1855. Ahh, we ate a lot of Mrs. Smith’s sour-cream cakes on those days, didn’t we?”
Noah had not known until that moment the date of Sarah’s birth, much less celebrated it with the sour-cream cake of the revered Mrs. Smith, nor could he recognize the writing of Sarah’s father. He wondered if there would ever be, between himself and Sarah, the easygoing closeness she shared with Baysinger.
“Hello, Marshal. Hello, Robert,” Addie said at that moment from the doorway.
Robert glanced over his shoulder. The Bible cover fell from his fingertips and plopped shut. For a moment he thought someone eke stood at the foot of the steps. Her hair was nearly silver, swept back simply and becomingly. Her dress was dark, with Puritan lines. There was no paint on her face.
“Addie?”
“It’s me.”
“Your hair... it’s not black anymore.”
“Sarah did it.” She touched it, tipping her head. “It didn’t get quite as light as we’d hoped, but it’ll have to do until it grows out or until some fresh lemons come into town.”
Robert went to her, took her by the arms and scrutinized her at close range. “Well, this is cause for celebration.”
They had a hghthearted evening, enjoying each other’s company with increasing relaxedness. Noah found, much to his surprise, that the longer he was around Robert the more he liked him. Baysinger had a ready smile, an artless way with both women, and he laughed easily. To Noah’s increasing amazement, he found that the three of them acted like unilateral friends. If there was another side to the relationship of Robert with either woman, it certainly didn’t show. They teased one another, told amusing stories about their youth, and, as Noah laughed with them, his jealousy faded.
Supper itself was plain fare, but a joy to eat among the company of friends his own age and in the kitchen with its cheery atmosphere.
“I envy you,” Noah said to the three at one point. “Still such good friends after all these years.”
“Envy us no more,” Robert said, raising his glass. “Join us. To a long and endearing friendship among the four of us! Let tonight be the first of many such nights to come.”
“Hear, hear!” Four glasses clinked and they all sipped sherry. When the meal was finished and the dishes set aside, they played Parcheesi. As the competition became good-naturedly cutthroat, the men removed their sack coats, unbuttoned their vests and rolled up their sleeves.
At five minutes before midnight they refilled their glasses and counted down the hour with Noah acting as clock watcher, holding his pocket watch in his hand.
“Five, four, three, two, one...”
“Happy new year!” they chorused, exuberantly clinking glasses together, partaking of port before exchanging a round of kisses across the kitchen table.
Robert kissed Addie.
Noah kissed Sarah.
Then Robert kissed Sarah and Noah kissed Addie.
The men shook hands.
The sisters hugged.
“Should auld acquaintance...” Robert began, and the others joined in.
When the song ended, the silence was tinged with melancholy.
Robert spoke for all of them. “We all have old acquaintances we’ve left behind, acquaintances we miss, but, thanks to all of you, especially you ladies for gathering us all together, it’s been the best night I’ve spent since coming to Deadwood. Here’s to a promising year ahead, and happiness for all of us.”
“Hear, hear!”
After emptying his glass, Noah drew a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry to break this up, but I promised Freeman I’d spell him at midnight so he can do a little celebrating himself. Walk me outside, Sarah?”
As they rose, Robert tactfully decided, “I think Addie and I will have one more glass of port.”
Outside, Noah said, “Thank you. It was fun, and I like Robert.”
“I’m glad.” She hung her head back. “That way the four of us can do more together. Oh my, look at those stars. Aren’t they heavenly?”
“Mmm...” He gave them a glance. “What did you tell Robert and Addie about us?”
“Nothing. Only that we’re friends.” Her head still hung as if on a rubbe
He peered at her more closely. “Why, Miss Merritt, are you tipsy again?”
She drew her head up with a great effort. “Why, I believe I am, Mr. Campbell, and it’s quite delightful.” Another lilt of mirth escaped her.
“You’re giggling!”
“So I am, but it’s all your fault. You brought the port.”
“So the woman I’m going to marry occasionally overindulges, does she?” He found himself grinning.
“Mmm... disgraceful, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
“So arrest me.” She flung her arms around his neck and let her body thump against his. “You’ve got the gun and the star. Go ahead, arrest me, Marshal Campbell,” she challenged, an inch from his nose.
He kissed her, full and hard upon the mouth, and when it ended they were both breathing like stopped trains. Her giggling was gone. His grin was, too.
“It’s freezing out here,” he said, unbuttoning his sheepskin jacket and holding it open. “Get in here with me.”
She had come outside without her coat and went willingly against him, sliding her arms around his trunk where it was warm and the sheepskin furry and his body very solid. He folded his jacket around her shoulders and doubled his arms around her.
“I like this new side of you,” he said, the words caught low in his throat.
“I’m shameless.”
“Then always be shameless,” he replied as his lips covered hers again and he drew her hips flush to his. They tasted port upon one another’s tongues, and felt the heat of two bodies straining together in the chill of the night—breasts, bellies, knees—until delightful suppression became agony, and he sensibly broke away.
He groaned a little and took in a big gulp of air.
“I am shameless,” she whispered against his jaw, the scent of his leather vest and his skin warm in her nostrils.
“No, it’s just the port.”
“Something remarkable has happened, Noah.”
“What?”
“Anxiety. All the while I sat across the table from you, calmly playing Parcheesi, I was worrying that we wouldn’t get a moment alone.”
“I was anxious, too, because I brought you something.”
“What?”
He produced it from his pocket, wrapped in an envelope of velvet. “To make it official.”