They arrived in Woodward as dark was falling and took a room at the Central Hotel. Joe, Magpie and the ranch boys melted into the town: to the Equity, Midway, Shamrock and Cabinet saloons, to the brothel run by Dollie Kezer at the Dew Drop Inn, and to the houses of friends. Caroline’s back ached from the long drive and she was tired, but she nevertheless urged Corin to lie with her, and she shut her eyes as she felt him spend himself within her, praying that whatever magic it was that made a child coalesce into being, it would happen this time-this time.
Caroline’s spirits had soared with the prospect of coming into town for the spring gala day, and for dancing. Visits away from the ranch were precious scarce and they had not ventured forth for four long months since the Fosset’s shindig on New Year’s Eve. Woodward, which had seemed upon her arrival from New York to be a one-horse town indeed, now seemed a vibrant hub of life and activity. But there was something about this very fact, even, that saddened Caroline. The following day dawned fair and the streets thronged with people, cowboys and settlers alike. They formed two thick cords that ran for several blocks along the length of Main Street, undulating where a raised sidewalk ran in front of a shop. The air thronged with the smells and sounds of thousands of bodies and excited voices, the stink of horses and manure, and the parched wood and paint fragrance of the buildings. Store fronts were strung with colorful bunting and had their doors flung wide open to welcome the unprecedented opportunity for new custom that day.
The crowd was entertained with a roping and riding contest, a mock buffalo hunt, and shooting competitions. There were fancy lariat tricks and a display of bull-dogging that looked unduly violent to Caroline, who turned her face away as the steer’s head was pulled around, its lip clamped as they both crashed to the ground. Joe far outperformed all other competitors in a knife-throwing competition, sending his blade again and again into the center of a paper target pinned to hay bales to win a box of fine cigars and a brand new Bowie knife. The applause for his victory was muted compared to that lavished upon the white victors of other events, but Joe smiled his wry half-smile nonetheless and admired the new blade. They ate barbecue, fresh peaches, ice cream and honey cakes, and the ladies drank iced tea while the men took beer. Caroline, who had been without ice or refrigeration since leaving New York, found the chilled drink in her mouth to be not far short of heavenly. They caught up with neighbors, and Corin swapped the current prices of wheat and beeves with fellow ranchers; and they ran into Angie and Jacob Fosset, Angie clad in a lurid lilac gown with too much color on her face. When Corin complimented her, she laughed and exclaimed:
“Oh, I look like a show girl, I know I do; but we gals don’t get to dress up often enough! And I need a little help to look festive, Lord knows-we can’t all be pretty as paint like your wife here, Corin Massey!”
“Well,” Corin told her, with a generous tip of his hat, “you look just fine to me, Angie Fosset.” While the men talked, Angie took Caroline to one side.
“Any news, honey?” she asked in a low tone, in answer to which Caroline could only grip her lower lip in her teeth and shake her head. “Well, I’ve thought of some things you could try…” Angie told her.
In the evening the band played waltzes and polkas, as well as some square dances-large sheets of canvas were laid over the sand of Main Street to facilitate the dancing, since no hall in town could accommodate such a large number of pairs. Caroline danced with the grace of her upbringing, even though Corin’s steps were marred by beer and there were wrinkles in the canvas to snag unwary feet. With buildings all around her, and people, Caroline felt better than she had in months as they marked a Mexican waltz among the jostling shoulders of Woodward’s citizens. For a while, the smile she wore was not a brave one, nor a dissembling one, but a genuine one.
But later, as she stood talking to a circle of Woodward wives, Caroline saw Corin across the street, bending down in front of Magpie and putting his hands on her midriff. He seemed to cradle the bulge in her abdomen gently, almost reverently, and while Magpie looked embarrassed she also looked pleased. Caroline caught her breath and blood flooded her cheeks. Corin was in his cups, she knew, but this behavior was too much. Soon, though, it was not for this reason that her cheeks burned. Corin’s face was turned away, his gaze was unfocused. Waiting, she realized; waiting for the child to move inside the Ponca girl. And as she witnessed this act of intimacy, she suddenly thought she saw something possessive in her husband’s touch-something altogether too interested.
Chapter 4
It’s cold as we walk down toward the woods on the longest night of the year. All three of us. Eddie pestered Beth into coming, and in the end she seemed almost curious. There’s a brisk, bitter breeze that finds its way inside our coats, so we walk quickly, on stiff limbs. In the clear dark our torch beams stagger haphazardly. The moon is bright and the flowing clouds make it seem to sail across the sky. A vixen shrieks as we get near the trees.
“What was that?” Eddie gasps.
“Werewolf,” I say, matter-of-fact.
“Ha, ha. Anyway, it’s not a full moon.”
“All right, then, it was a fox. You’re no fun any more, Edderino.” I am in high spirits. I feel unfettered, like my strings have been cut and I can float free. Bright, restless nights do this to me. There is something about a wind blowing in the dark. The way it brushes by, its nonchalance. It seems to say: I could pick you up; I could carry you away, if I wanted to. There is a promise to this evening.
We can hear music now, and raised voices, laughter; and now the glow of the bonfire shines at us between the trees. Beth hangs back. She folds her arms tightly across her chest. The firelight follows every anxious line of her face. If Eddie wasn’t with us I think she would stay here, in the sheltering woods, darting from shadow to shade and watching. I pull a flat bottle of whisky from my coat pocket, fight to open it with gloved hands. The three of us, in a circle, our breath pouring up into the sky.
“Swig. Go on. It’ll warm you up,” I tell her, and for once she doesn’t argue. She takes a long pull.
“Can I have some?” asks Eddie.
“Not on your life,” Beth replies, as she wipes her chin and coughs. She sounds so real, so there, so like Beth that I grin and take her hands.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to Patrick. He’s super nice.” I take a drink myself, feel the fire in my throat, and then we move.
There’s a moment of nerves as we step into the firelight. The same as before, of being unsure of our welcome. But then Patrick finds us and introduces us to a myriad people, and I struggle to keep their names in my head. Sarah and Kip-long hair shining in the firelight, stripy knitted hats; Denise-a tiny woman with a deeply lined face and ink-black hair; Smurf-a huge man, hands like shovels, a gentle smile; Penny and Louise-Penny the more butch of the pair, her head shaved, her eyes fierce. Their clothes and hair are bright. They look like butterflies against the winter ground. There’s a sound system in the back of a pickup and vehicles parked all the way up the lane. Children too, dodging in and out of the crowd. Eddie vanishes and I see him a little while later with Harry, threading thick wads of dead leaves onto long twigs and thrusting them into the fire.
“Who’s that with Eddie?” Beth asks, a note of alarm in her voice.
“That’s Harry. I’ve met him, don’t worry. He’s a little bit on the slow side, you could say. Dinny says he’s always got on well with children. He seems totally harmless to me,” I tell her, speaking loudly, right into her ear. The fire has put a dew of sweat along our lips and brows.
“Oh,” Beth says, not quite convinced. I see Honey, moving across the clearing, preceded by her enormous bump. Her face is alive this evening, she’s smiling, and she is lovely. I feel a small prickle of despair.