“I’ll write him,” she said. “I’ll see he gets your name if I have to carry the letter to Montana myself. And I’ll tell you another thing: I’m sorry you and Gus McCrae ever met. All you two done was ruin one another, not to mention those close to you. Another reason I didn’t marry him was because I didn’t want to fight you for him every day of my life. You men and your promises: they’re just excuses to do what you plan to do anyway, which is leave. You think you’ve always done right—that’s your ugly pride, Mr. Call. But you never did right and it would be a sad woman that needed anything from you. You’re a vain coward, for all your fighting. I despised you then, for what you were, and I despise you now, for what you’re doing.” Clara could not check her bitterness—even now, she knew, the man thought he was doing the right thing. She strode beside the horse, pouring out her contempt, until Call put the mule and the dun into a trot, the buggy, with the coffin on it, squeaking as it bounced over the rough plain.SO CAPTAIN CALL TURNED back down the rivers, cut by the quirt of Clara’s contempt and seared with the burn of his own regret. For a week, down from the Platte and across the Republican, he could not forget what she said: that he had never done right, that he and Gus had ruined one another, that he was a coward, that she would take a letter to the boy. He had gone through life feeling that he had known what should be done, and now a woman flung it at him that he hadn’t.
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“Would you ever marry me?” he asked. “You never said.” “No, and I’m not about to say now,” Clara said. “Ask me in a year.” “Why in a year?” “Because you deserve to suffer for a year,” Clara said. “I suffered a year’s worth just last night, and I guess you were lying at your ease, dreaming of our wedding night.” July had no reply. He had never known a woman who spoke so boldly. He looked at her through the fog of then-breath, wishing she would at least take the coat. The cold made goosebumps on her wrists.
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“I sit there alone,” she said. “I don’t want the girls to be there because I don’t want them to get death too much in their minds. I sit there and I think, I’m alone, and I can’t help this child. If it wants to die I can’t stop it. I can love it until I bleed and it won’t stop it. I hope it won’t die. I hope it can grow up and have its time. I know how I’ll feel if it does die, how long it’ll take me to care if I draw breath, much less about cooking and the girls and all the things you have to do if you’re alive.” Clara paused. In the lots a sorrel stallion whinnied. He was her favorite, but this day she appeared not to hear him.“I know if I lose one more child I’ll never care again,” she said. “I won’t. Nothing will make any difference to me again if I lose one more. It’ll ruin me, and that’ll ruin my girls. I’ll never buy another horse, or cook another meal, or take another man. I’ll starve, or else I’ll go crazy and welcome it. Or I’ll kill the doctor for not coming, or you for not sitting with me, or something. If you want to marry me, why don’t you come and sit?” July realized then that he had managed to do a terrible thing, though all he had done was go to his room in the ordinary way. It startled him to hear Clara say she could kill him over such a thing as that, but he knew from her look that it wasn’t just talk.
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After that, when he took his raw mounts out for a ride, he turned them away from the river as soon as he left the fort.JULY JOHNSON PROPOSED to Clara in the first week of the new year. He had been trying to stop himself from doing just that for months, and then he did it one day when, at her request, he brought in a sack of potatoes. It had been very cold and the potatoes were frozen—Clara wanted them in the warm kitchen to thaw. His son Martin was crawling on the kitchen floor when he came in and Clara was stirring batter for one of the cakes she couldn’t live without. As soon as he sat the frozen potatoes on the table, he did it. “Would you ever marry me?” was the way he put it, and immediately felt a terrible fool for having uttered the words. In the months he had worked for her their relations had been unchanged, and he supposed she would think him drunk or out of his head for raising such a thought.
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At dawn Clara went out and took Cholo some coffee. He had finished digging and was sitting on the mound of earth that would soon cover Bob. Walking toward the ridge in the early sunlight, Clara had the momentary sense that they were all watching her, the boys and Bob. The vision lasted a second; it was Cholo who was watching her. It was windy, and the grass waved over the graves of her three boys—four now, she felt. In memory Bob seemed like a boy to her also. He had aboyish innocence and kept it to the end, despite the strains of work and marriage in a rough place. It often irritated her, that innocence of his. She had felt it to be laziness—it left her alone to do the thinking, which she resented. Yet she had loved it, too. He had never been a knowing man in the way that Gus was knowing, or even Jake Spoon. When she decided to marry Bob, Jake, who was a hothead, grew red in the face and proceeded to throw a fit. It disturbed him terribly that she had chosen someone he thought was dumb. Gus had been better behaved, if no less puzzled. She remembered how it pleased her to thwart them—to make them realize that her measure was different from theirs. “I’ll always know where he is,” she told Gus. It was the only explanation she ever offered.
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“Are you gonna marry that man?” Betsey asked one day. “He’s already got white hair.” “That’s no reason not to marry him,” Sally said.
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“I don’t think nobody could change you, Gus,” she said. “Maybe you’ll want to marry her when you come back.”“Why, I’ll be coming back to you, Lorie,” Augustus said. “Of course, by then you might change, too. You might not want me.” “Why wouldn’t I?” “Because you’ll have discovered there’s more to the world than me,” he said. “You’ll find that there are others that treat you decent.” What he said caused Lorena to feel confused. Since the rescue, life had been simple: it had been just Gus. With him gone it might change, and when he came back it might have changed so much that it would never be simple again.
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“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” she said. Now that she knew Clara a little, it seemed perfectly natural that Gus would want to marry her.
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“I’ll go if you want, Gus,” she said. “But it’s so nice here, and they’re friendly.” “I’m happy for you to stay,” Augustus said. “You’ll be a help to Clara, and you’ll enjoy those girls. You’ve spent time enough in that dirty tent of Wilbarger’s. Winter’s said to be hard in Montana, too.” “I didn’t think I’d want to stay,” Lorena admitted. “I never thought about it till she asked. Don’t you still want to marry her, Gus?” “No,” Augustus lied.
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“Neither of us will hear him talk again,” Clara said. “And I won’t marry again.” “What makes you so sure?” “I don’t have enough respect for men,” she said. “I’ve found very few who are honest, and you ain’t one of the few.” “I’m about half honest,” Augustus said.
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“I notice you’ve taken a fancy to young Mr. Johnson,” Augustus said. “I expect if I did stay around he’d beat me out.” “He’s nearly as dull as Woodrow Call, but he’s nicer,” Clara said. “He’ll do what he’s told, mostly, and I’ve come to appreciate that quality in a man. I could never count on you to do what you’re told.” “So do you aim to marry him?” “No, that’s one of the things I’m through with,” Clara said. “Of course I ain’t quite—poor Bob ain’t dead. But if he passes away, I’m through with it.” Clara smiled. Augustus chuckled. “I hope you ain’t contemplating an irregular situation,” he said.Clara smiled. “What’s irregular about having a boarder?” she asked. “Lots of widows take boarders. Anyway, he likes my girls better than he likes me. He might be ready to marry again by the time Sally’s of age.” At that moment Sally was chattering away to young Newt, who was getting his first taste of conversation with a sprightly young lady.
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“I like her,” Clara said, ignoring him. “I expect you’ll marry her and I’ll have to watch you have five or six babies in your old age. I guess I’d be annoyed, but I could live with it. Don’t take her up to Montana. She’ll either die or get killed, or else she’ll age before her time, like I have.” “I can’t tell that you’ve aged much,” Augustus said.
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“He suits me,” she said. “Two racehorses like us would never get along. I’d want to be in the lead, and so would you.” “I never thought you’d marry a man with nothing to say,” he said.
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Even when she had accepted Bob, Gus’s presence in her life confused most people, for she had soon demonstrated that she had no intention of giving him up just because she was planning to marry. The situation had been made the more amusing by the fact that Bob himself worshipped Gus, and would probably have thought it odd that she had chosen him over Gus if he had been sharp enough to figure out that she could have had Gus if she’d wanted him.
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He remembered what she had said when she told him she was going to marry Bob—that she would want his friendship for her daughters. He would at least go and offer it; besides, it would be interesting to see if the girls were like their mother.
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“Yes, she’ll know you’re a human being,” Augustus said. “You don’t have to duck your head to nobody. Half the women in this country probably started out like you did, working in saloons.” “She didn’t,” Lorena said. “I bet she was always a lady. That’s why you wanted to marry her.” Augustus chuckled. “A lady can slice your jugular as quick as a Comanche,” he said. “Clara’s got a sharp tongue. She’s tomahawked me many a time in the past.” “I’ll be afraid to meet her, then,” Lorena said. “I’ll be afraid of what she’ll say.” “Oh, she’ll be polite to you,” Augustus assured her. “I’m the one that will have to watch my step.” But no matter what he said, he couldn’t soothe the girl’s agitation. She felt she would lose him, and that was that. She offered her body—it was all she knew to do. Something in the manner of the offer saddened him, though he accepted it.
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“That’s short acquaintance,” Clara said. “The smartest man alive can’t learn much about a woman in two weeks.” “Well, she wanted to marry,” July said. It was all he could remember about it. Ellie had made it clear she wanted to marry.
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“You’ve missed your calling, Jasper,” Augustus said, highly amused by this display. “You ought to try dancing in whorehouses—you might pick up a favor or two that you otherwise couldn’t afford.” “Reckon the Captain will let us go to town once we get to Nebraska?” Needle asked. “It seems like a long time since there’s been a town.”“If he don’t, I think I’ll marry a heifer,” Bert said.
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“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” Augustus said. “You’re so sure you’re right it doesn’t matter to you whether people talk to you at all. I’m glad I’ve been wrong enough to keep in practice.” “Why would you want to keep in practice being wrong?” Call asked. “I’d think it would be something you’d try to avoid.” “You can’t avoid it, you’ve got to learn to handle it,” Augustus said. “If you only come face to face with your own mistakes once or twice in your life it’s bound to be extra painful. I face mine every day—that way they ain’t usually much worse than a dry shave.” “Anyway, I hope you leave her,” Call said. “We might get in the Indians before we get to Montana.” “I’ll have to see,” Augustus said. “We’ve grown attached. I won’t leave her unless I’m sure she’s in good hands.” “Are you aiming to marry?” “I could do worse,” Augustus said. “I’ve done worse twice, in fact. However, matrimony’s a big step and we ain’t discussed it.” “Of course, you ain’t seen the other one yet,” Call said.
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“I doubt it,” Augustus said. “That woman had two or three chances to marry me already, and she didn’t take them. She’s an independent type, like you used to be.” That was so, Lorena reflected. She had been quite independent, but now all she could think of was keeping Gus. She wasn’t ashamed, though. He was worth keeping.
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Augustus chuckled. “Dern right, I’ll die,” he said. “What else worries you?” “I’m feared you’ll marry that woman,” she said.
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“Let’s go, Zwey,” he said. “She don’t want the baby.” Zwey started the wagon, and they were soon out of sight of the house, but he was bothered. He kept looking back at Ellie, propped against the buffalo skins, her eyes wide open. Why didn’t she want her baby? It was a puzzle. He had never understood the whole business, but he knew mothers took care of babies, just as husbands took care of wives. In his eyes he had married Ellie, and he intended to take good care of her. He felt he was her husband. They had come all that way together in the wagon. Luke had tried to marry her too, but Zwey had soon stopped that, and Luke had been behaving a lot better since.
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With her, it was different. He had never raised a hand to her, though she provoked him often, and deeply. Perhaps it was because he had never quite believed that she would marry him, or never quite understood why she had. The shadow of Augustus McCrae had hung over their courtship; Bob had never known why she chose him over the famous Ranger, or over any of the other men she could have had. In her day she had been the most sought-after girl in Texas, and yet she had married him, and followed him to the Nebraska plains, and stayed and worked beside him. It was hard country for women, Bob knew that. Women died, went crazy or left. The wife of their nearest neighbor, Maude Jones, had killed herself with a shotgun one morning, leaving a note which merely said, “Can’t stand listening to this wind no more.” Maude had had a husband and four children, but had killed herself anyway. For a time, Clara had taken in the children, until their grandparents in Missouri came for them. Len Jones, Maude’s husband, soon drank himself into poverty. He fell out of his wagon drunk one night and froze to death not two hundred yards from a saloon.
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Never before had she given any thought to marrying a man. It had not seemed a likely thing. She had had enough of the kind of men who came into the saloons. Some of them wanted to marry her, of course—young cowboys, mostly. But she didn’t take that seriously. Gus was different. He had never said he wanted to marry her, but he was handier than most at complimenting her on her beauty. He complimented her still, almost every day, telling her she was the most beautiful woman on the plains. They got along well; they didn’t quarrel. To her, it all said that he might want to marry her, when they stopped. She was glad he had waved the boy over for breakfast. The boy was harmless, even rather sweet and likable. If she was friendly to the boy, it might make Gus think better of her as a wife-to-be. Though he had still not approached her, she felt him stirring when they slept close at night, and she meant to see that he did approach her before they got to Ogallala. She meant to do what she could to make him forget the other woman.
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It was enough of a life, and better than any she had had before. But she could not forget the other woman Gus had mentioned. The other woman was the one thing he didn’t talk about. She didn’t ask, of course, but she couldn’t forget, either. She dreaded the day when they would come to the town where the other woman lived, for then the simple life might end. It wouldn’t if she could help it, though. She meant to fight for it. She had decided to tell Gus she would marry him before they got to the town.
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