“That he would, Mrs. Massey,” Hutch agreed. He paused, and lowered his head sadly. “Your husband was a good man and no mistake. The best I ever knew. And this place was his pride and joy, so I reckon we owe it to him to keep it running, to make it bigger and better than ever,” he said, looking up to hear Caroline echo the sentiment, but she was gazing out of the window and hardly heard him. “This is damn good coffee, pardon my language, Mrs. Massey,” Hutch told her, draining the cup. Caroline glanced at him and gave a small nod of agreement.
She forgot her parasol and felt the sun burning her skin as soon as they set out for Woodward. With her eyes screwed up against the light, she thought of the lines that would take root in her face, and found that she didn’t care. The wind was blowing, hot and dry, and a pall of dust sat around Woodward. Sharp grains got into Caroline’s unblinking eyes, so that as they travelled down Main Street her face streamed with tears. She rubbed at it roughly, pushing hard with her fingers, feeling the odd solidity of her eyeballs behind the lids.
“Stop now. Stop it,” Hutch told her softly. He wet his handkerchief with water from his flask and held her hands still in one of his while he wiped the sand from her face. “There,” he said quietly. “That’s better. I reckon your poor eyes have shed enough tears of late to last a lifetime.” The hand holding hers relaxed its grip, but did not relinquish them completely, and, tenderly, he brushed a final grain of sand from her cheek with his thumb.
“Is this the place?” she asked dully. They had pulled up outside Gerlach’s Bank, a large building with a grand, handsome sign.
“This is it. Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
Inside the building it was quiet and cool, and Caroline’s boots sounded loudly on the wooden floor as she entered. She approached the neat young clerk and saw him recoil from the disarray of her face and clothes and hair. A long-case clock ticked ponderously against the wall, a sound Caroline hadn’t heard since leaving New York. She looked at the gleaming clock, very similar to one that had stood in Bathilda’s hallway, and it seemed an object from another world.
“May I help you, madam?” he asked.
“I would like to make a withdrawal,” she said, realizing that she had no idea how this would be achieved, having never made such a request before.
“Do you have an account with Gerlach’s, madam?” the clerk asked, making this prospect seem unlikely. Caroline looked at the precise trim of his moustache, and his immaculate suit and collar. His expression was haughty, she thought, for a boy who worked in a bank. She drew herself up and fixed him with a steady gaze.
“I believe my husband has kept an account here for many years. I am Mrs. Corin Massey.” At this an older man appeared behind the young clerk and smiled kindly at her.
“Mrs. Massey, do come and sit down. My name is Thomas Berringer. I’ve been expecting you. Everything has been put in order and you may of course have access to your late husband’s account. May I bring you a glass of water?” Mr Berringer ushered her into a seat and waved a hand at the clerk for the water to be brought.
When it came to how much money should be withdrawn, Caroline realized that she had no idea. No idea how much a rider or a ranch hand should be paid, how much was owing, or even how many young men there were to be paid. She withdrew half of the available funds, and although Mr Berringer looked surprised, he filled out the necessary forms and passed them to her to sign without comment. The date he had written at the top gave Caroline a small jolt.
“It’s my birthday,” she said dully. “I’m twenty-one today.”
“Well, now.” Mr Berringer smiled, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Many happy returns of the day, Mrs. Massey.”
The resulting packet of bank notes was thick and heavy. Caroline weighed it in her hand, unsure of where to stow it. Seeing her predicament, Mr Berringer again beckoned to the clerk, and a cloth bag was found to conceal the money from prying eyes. Outside, Caroline stood on the raised sidewalk and gazed at all the people and horses and buggies. She had once felt so at home amidst people. Now she felt at home nowhere, she realized. Now was her chance to visit the town’s stores, to buy books or foodstuffs or clothes, but she could not think of anything she wanted. Seeing a haberdashery, she bought a soft, white crocheted blanket for William, and an open carrycot made of close-woven straw.
“It’ll be cooler in this heat than that leather papoose carrier he has currently,” she explained to Hutch.
“That’s mighty kind of you, Caroline. I’m sure Maggie will be very pleased,” Hutch nodded, stowing the gifts beneath the seat of the buggy. A long while later, too late for her to comment, Caroline realized that Hutch, for the first time, had called her by her Christian name.
They stayed just one night, in the same hotel where they had stayed the night of the gala. Caroline asked for the same room, but it was occupied. She had wanted to be in a place where Corin had been, like a pilgrim visiting a shrine. As if the place would remember Corin, as if his essence would still be felt there. She watched from the window for a long time as the sun went down, painting the town in lavish shades of pink and gold. She watched the people who passed, and listened to snatches of their conversation, bubbles of their laughter, and she tried to remember what it had been like to be one of them. As dark was falling she saw Hutch go out, with his hair combed flat and a clean shirt on. He sauntered away along Main Street, and Caroline watched until she lost sight of him amidst the jumble of people.
The men were paid, and the wad of banknotes thinned by barely a third. Caroline returned the remainder to the cloth bag and put it into her vanity case. Her hand brushed something soft and she drew it out. It was her blue velvet jewelry fold, with her mother’s emeralds and some other fine pieces inside. She unrolled it and looked at the bright stones, thinking of the last time she had worn them, the night she had first met Corin. When had she thought she would wear them out here? They looked ridiculous in the simple bedroom. Like glossy hothouse blooms in a field of wheat. She held them up against her skin and looked in the mirror. How different she looked now! So gaunt, so tanned; her nose a swathe of freckles, her hair dull and untidy. She looked like a lady’s maid trying on her mistress’s jewels, and she realized that she might never wear them again. They had no place on the prairie. She rolled them away and put them back in the case. Then, without thinking, she packed away some other things too-some clean undergarments and blouses; a nightdress with long sleeves too warm for the summer; some hair combs and face powder. She closed the lid and fastened the clasps tightly, wondering where on earth she thought she could go.
Late in August the ranch grew quiet. Hutch, Joe and several of the other men had gone out onto the grass with near a thousand head of cattle, for the final weeks of fattening up before the animals would be loaded onto trains and shipped north, to the meat markets of the eastern states. Many of those men who remained on the ranch were laid low with an illness that passed quickly from person to person, consigning them to their beds with a debilitating fever and tremors. Sitting on the porch early one morning, thinking of nothing and feeling nothing inside, Caroline saw Annie, Joe’s sister, ride out of the ranch on Magpie’s gray pony. She headed east, urging the pony into a brisk canter. The Ponca woman’s face, as she passed, was set into deep lines of disquiet. Caroline watched until she was out of sight; then she thought for a while and realized that she had not seen Magpie since the previous afternoon. She stood and walked slowly across the yard.
The dugout was hot and rancid. Magpie lay still on the bed and William mumbled and grizzled to himself in the straw carrycot Caroline had bought for him. There was an unmistakable smell of ammonia and feces coming from the baby, and a rank, metallic smell behind it which instinctively made Caroline afraid. With her heart beating fast, she knelt beside Magpie and shook her gently. The girl’s face was deep red and dry. When she opened her eyes they had an odd, dull gleam and Caroline drew back slightly, frightened.