A Home in Which To Die
Chapter
Eleven
Go to A Home in Which to Live site
c. 1995 by Robert Nielsen
Ann Longely and Joan Evans pulled up to Doctor Reese Bingham's office and residence in Mancos, Colorado, at a little after 5:00 o'clock, P.M., November 25, 1896.
Joan thought it was only polite they should ring the bell to the office door rather than walk around to the back and knock on the door of his residence, as Ann had suggested. There was no light burning in the office window and Ann was afraid that he may be inclined to ignore the pedestrian summons. She had felt that they should cut straight to an importunate knocking on his back door.
Soon, a petulant muttering could be heard and the form of a man could be seen making his way through a dimly lit door and out into the office toward the door behind which Ann and Joan were waiting.
"I can see why you don't like this one." Ann stepped away from the small window in the office door.
The door opened and a rather burley old man in his late fifties squinted at the two of them in the pre-dusk sunshine.
Since he apparently wasn't going to invite them in, Joan addressed him at the door. "Hello, doctor Bingham. This is my sister, Misses Ann Stewart Longely.
"From what I have told her, earlier this afternoon, she believes that I may be expecting, again. Could . . ."
The doctor had given her a look of disdain and one of disbelief. He interrupted her and asked, "Have you been nursing your little girl?"
"Yes, doctor. Bu . . ."
"Then, it's just another woman's complaint. Come back at eight o'clock, tomorrow morning. I'll see you first thing." He closed the door and went back in through the office.
Ann could see the door to his residence close as she peered through the small window in the office door.
As they made their way out to the wagon, Ann looked at her sister and said, "Not a very cheerful bedside manner, I'd say".
"To say the least." Joan decided, right then, to consult the doctor in Cortez. It wasn't going to be that night but, if she were going to see any doctor, it wasn't going to be Reese Bingham. "I think that the nicest he has ever been to me is when he told me that there wasn't any reason for him to have come, when Ben had his accident. I had Gemma ride all the way into town and that's what he said to me. Well, there isn't any reason for him to be concerned with us, from here on in, because I shall seek medical assistance, elsewhere."
Ann gave Joan a rather startled look. "Is there another qualified physician here in town?”
"No. But, I understand that there is a new one, from back east, somewhere in Cortez, now. I'll bet a bob to pound he's better than this one." Joan pursed her lips and almost said, ‘What a quack’, but she stopped herself, noting her sister's intent anticipation.
Their mother always had taught the two girls, “If you don't have something good to say . . .” And, Joan certainly didn't want to have to hear Ann repeating the entire axiom. She simply stepped up into the wagon on the passenger side and clasped her hands with a gentle sigh.
Ann waked around the horses, gently stroking both of them, inspecting their harnesses, looking at their bits, and examining their teeth. "Hmm, this one is just a bit too old to be renting out for shipping service. I'm quite surprised that Harold didn't pay a little closer attention, his owning the kind of business that he does."
Joan looked over to her and gave Ann a strange expression. "Ann, the more I think about it the more I feel that I am carrying Ben's child. I have been resisting the thought and I don't know why, but I have thought that, for some reason, it just couldn't be true, since Ben is no longer with us, how I could still give birth to his child. But that's absurd. Isn't it?"
By this time, Ann had climbed up onto the seat and put her arm around her sister. "As far as Ben's part is concerned he has already done his bit, hasn't he?” Ann said to her sister and smiled. “Can you reach that lantern and check in it, the level of oil? I don't want to start off without first knowing that we shall have a light. It looks as though it may be dark, before we reach your home."
Joan picked up the old oil lantern and jiggled it. "It feels as if it has been filled but I didn't see any matches, nor do I have a flint."
There were no people out on the street to ask and Harold had left all of his illegal 'white phosphorus' matches, back in England, not wanting to be arrested when they entered the United States. Little did he know, they were not illegal in the States.
Ann thought for a moment and suddenly an idea came into her head. "I think that we could try to find your friend, the deputy Sheriff. Now what was his name?"
"Oh, no. Ann, I really wouldn't want to encourage that young man." Joan almost tossed the lantern back into the back of the wagon.
Ann took it from her and said, "I'll go. You wouldn't want us running off the road. Would you? There isn't any moon, tonight, to speak of. Is there? Besides, he's likely home with ma and pa, sleeping off the too many yams he has eaten, any road."
She set the lantern down between her feet and whacked the horses with the reigns.
The sheriff's office was just a few doors to the south of the hotel. Joan had been watching as they had vaulted forward but was not prepared when Ann yanked on the brake handle. She nearly fell onto one of the horses as they stopped, just short of their destination.
Ann grabbed onto the handle of the lantern, adroitly walked over to the office door, and entered without a word.
There were only large white letters to indicate what the building contained.
Jail
Mancos, Colorado
Actually, the jail was located just behind the sheriff's office, in a low, flat, root cellar looking structure, which was said to be impossible from which to escape.
Ann returned to the wagon without the lantern, and stood, apparently waiting, with arms folded, smiling and winking at Joan.
Soon, Jerry Ratliff, Douglas' brother, could be seen out back, struggling to find the right key to open the jailhouse door. Finally, he set down the lantern and started trying each key in a more devoted attempt.
The Sheriff came out and patiently took the keys from him. He opened the heavy metal door almost as though it had been the front door to his own house and they went inside. Presently, he walked out to the women carrying the lantern that he'd been able to light, which he kept adjusting as he walked. He was about six foot, two inches tall, brown hair with grayed temples and his clean shaven face exposed a, normally, irrepressible smile on a rather convoluted, wrinkled visage.
He looked at Joan, tried to smile, and said, "Ma'am, I'm Ron Pruitt. Uh, I'm the Sheriff, here in Mancos". And then, as though he had just taken some kind of large pill, he said, "I'm sorry. I’ve heard about Ben. I liked Ben. My first wife passed on twenty-one years ago. She froze when we come out here from the Carolinas. We come out to Trinidad. She was just a schoolgirl from Raleigh, North Carolina. Not much used to the cold". All the while, he kept trying to fasten the lantern to the bracket in front of the wagon.
The younger horse didn't seem to like him trying to put the hot item back where he couldn't see. It made the horse afraid his legs would be burned. He began to lift his tail as though he thought to extinguish the flame, but the sheriff just smacked him on the rear and said, "Not on me, you don't."
He finally took care of the lantern and Joan quietly spoke in response to his former expression of condolence. "Thank you very kindly for your sentiments. I'm sorry to hear about your wife. Am I to assume that you have re-married?"
"I was married again. I'm afraid that she passed away more than six years, ago. Some sort of lung disease. I believe the doctor said it was com . . . consungtion."
Ann did her best to rescue his attempt to articulate something he did not want to remember. "Was it consumption?"
"Yea, I think that's what it was. We had to send her to Phoenix, in Arizona territory for treatment. Didn't do 'er one bit a' good."
Joan felt very badly. "I am so sorry, Mister Pruitt. I . . ." Suddenly, she understood other people's not being able to find the words to express themselves when trying to convey their sympathy to her. "I'm sorry", she said and looked down at her hands.
Jerry rode up along side them and introduced himself.
Joan told him that he looked a bit like his brother, Douglas, and he said, "It's fine with me, if you say so, ma'am. But I hope that you wouldn't say that in front of Doug. He'd fly off at the handle. Wouldn't simmer down fer days. He'd be depressed fer weeks. I'm 'a joshin'. He'd only be depressed for about two days, I guess."
That blew the dark cloud off of the sheriff's expression and he laughed along with Jerry, but the two women had to try to force a chuckle, never having known either one of them.
Joan thought to herself that it might be nice to hide the information away in her arsenal. She rehearsed to herself, 'My, my, Douglas, you do look like your brother, Jerry', if ever she needed to discourage any advances from the young man. Although, she felt at that point there may never be a need.
Jerry had been asked by the Sheriff to ride with out the two women to the cabin where Joan lived. He had, with him, another lantern to shine in front of them as they traveled along.
The two men had been standing outside of the Sheriff's office, looking up the street, when Ann and Joan had stopped at the doctor's place. Sheriff Pruitt had decided when the women were turned away that he would have to go to the Evans' residence later that night to suggest they try the new doctor in Cortez. So, due to the change of events, he had given Jerry a note that had the new doctor's address, but it included nothing about his suspicions.
Ron Pruitt had already had one unfortunate experience with that particular doctor.
It was Bingham who had made arrangements and pushed very hard for Ron's wife, Elizabeth Jewel to be sent to Arizona territory for experimental treatment, in 1890.
There were a number of reasons why Ron Pruitt had strong misgivings about the necessity of her long wagon trip to Phoenix, at that time. But, when she died, was cremated, and her remains were mysteriously disposed without his permission, it started a long and tenuous investigation that may never be resolved.
And, the doctor's brand-new surrey was no comfort to anyone involved in the investigation.
Nothing could ever be proved. Even when the parents of the woman, the Downeys of Raleigh, North Carolina, had tried to extract information from the medical records they were blocked by an injunction from the territory of Arizona. This had demonstrated to Ron Pruitt that they who had orchestrated the acquisition of the TB patients were extremely resourceful.
When the Federal Marshal's office offered him a position, Ron turned them down. Instead, he ran for the office of Sheriff of Montezuma County, Colorado and won.
He made arrangements with those in the law enforcement community who had spearheaded his election to be able to live in Mancos. By all rights, he was due to live in the county seat, which was Cortez, but he preferred to keep an eye on Reese Bingham, who, after six years of constant surveillance, was beginning to feel the pressure. Sheriff Pruitt had tried several very subtle ways to try to exacerbate Reese Bingham's discomfort but the doctor wasn't responding to any annoyance or obstinate scrutinization.
Sheriff Pruitt wasn't very articulate, but he was stubborn, tenacious, and intelligent.
Jerry Ratliff became a very helpful asset to Ann and Joan. The short trip home may have become fairly hazardous as there was a new moon, or no moon, actually. And, it had begun to snow by the time they had cleared the first rise, west of town.
Harold was determined to return to Mancos that night, since there was really no place for him to sleep at the Evans cabin.
Jerry was quite relieved that he would have their company on the way back and Harold was extremely pleased that he had accompanied them out to the cabin, to begin with.
"Oh, before I forget," Jerry handed Joan the note. "The sheriff wants me to give this to ya."
The note read: “Mrs. Evans, If you need to get a good doctor there is one in Cortez. He is good doctor and someone who can be trusted. His name is Dr. Collins. His office is a block north on Market Street on the Northwest corner. I would feel better if you went to him. Montezuma County Sheriff Ron Pruitt
When Joan had read the note, Harold asked to see it. Then, he said, "Jerry, I would like to have a chat with the sheriff, when we reach his office, if you don't think that he would mind, dreadfully".
Incidentally, Jerry hadn't been privileged with any information, from Ron, about the doctor and his alleged misdeeds. He only knew that his boss, and a great deal of other people in the area, didn't like Bingham, as their doctor, or even as a person.
"I think it'll prob'ly be aw’right. He'd be in his office 'til at least eleven o'clock, tonight. Sound okay?"
"Very good, deputy. I shall be seeing you, there." Harold said as he helped his wife on with her coat.
Gemma and Jimmy were patiently waiting to have the use of their bedroom as Joan and Ann watched Harold escorting the deputy out to the wagon.
Joan hadn't wanted Harold to know she felt she was expecting. She felt Ann may have already decided to stay and help out, and an eight-month absence of his wife would not be what Harold had in mind for the coming year.
On the one hand, she desperately wanted for her sister to be there with her. And, on the other, she very much did not want to create any friction between the two of them. She thought it a good idea to discuss it with her, the next day.
"Ann, I am hoping that you would be willing, if the weather will permit, to ride with me tomorrow into Cortez. I just want to be sure before we make any decisions or mention this little issue to anyone. Would that not be the best course to take?" Joan hoped she hadn't said too much in front of Gemma. She delicately and soberly glanced over in her direction.
Ann caught her drift and slipped out of the door with Joan, right behind her.
Joan closed the front door. They walked further out onto the porch and found it had stopped snowing.
It wasn't really an occasion where they could converse about the more pressing issue, since Harold and the deputy were quietly having a candid discussion about what it was that Jerry knew, or what he thought he knew, on the subject of doctor Bingham; so, the women merely bantered about, on a few ideas relating to Ann's improved relationship with her husband.
Immediately following the Deputy and Harold's discussion, Jerry Ratliff solemnly walked over to his horse, took up his lantern, mounted, and rode up to the two women standing on the porch. He turned up the illumination of the lamp so they could see his face. "Looks like the snow's let up now, Mrs. Evans, ma'am. I guess Mr. Stewart is raring to go, now. So, I'm gonna be goin', now. I thought I ought’a try to say so long, this time. Well, so long, ma'am." He pulled the lantern down from his face so that his blushing wasn't so evident.
Harold walked over to them and said, "Joan. It's been ever so much a pleasure. Shall we be going now, Ann, darling?"
Ann joined her husband. And, as they walked hand in hand out to the wagon, she turned to wave, and asked, "Will eight o'clock be alright, then, love?" After Joan shook her head, Ann turned to Harold and said, "Oh, Harold. Joan and I would like to go into Cortez, tomorrow morning. Would that be all right with you?"
Harold appeared as though there was something on his mind. "Why, yes, of course, darling. I may have a few things to do in the morning, myself, if it will be agreeable with you."
They worked out a plan for Ann to hire another horse in the morning as they drove away and turned to see Joan going into the cabin, before they waved again.
The trip back to town had been very nice as the wind had ceased blowing and it was calm and rather pretty in the new snow. The stars were particularly visible which was further endowed with charm by the relative silence of a new snow.
Jerry had set the lantern onto the back of the saddle as he held it, with one hand. He half kneeled on his saddle with one of his boots thrust into a bedroll strap on the side which he had supported himself in the stirrup.
Harold Longley had taken his beautiful and exhausted wife to the Hotel Mancos. He had warmly embraced and kissed her goodnight, returned to his rented wagon, and drove down to the Sheriff's office to inquire about what it was that the note, which had been sent to Joan, had really meant.
He hadn't pressed Ann on the reason they had gone to see the doctor, in the first place.
He had a fairly good inclination as to why the two women had been so secretive and immediately set out on such an unexplained and untimely excursion to a town where there was neither any real commerce, nor was there any apparent reason upon which to call. That made it practically obvious.
The complexities of the thought that Joan might be pregnant boggled his mind. And, the implications as to his place in the scheme of things left him groping for an immutable and more bearable solution.
Surely his wife would want to stay in Colorado to help Joan cope with all of the rigors involved with her term of gestation. And, it wouldn't simply be for the duration of pregnancy. There would be the first six months of the child's development, at least, Harold had thought. Ann would feel she’d have to be there, lending a hand.
He and his lovely wife had only recently decided to make another earnest effort to finally have a child themselves. They had been married for over fifteen years and had only one close call. He may not soon have to surrender his powers of procreation, but he knew his wife would. And, at thirty-five years old, she was considered, at that time, to be right on the threshold. Ann would be turning thirty-six at the end of February of that next year.
There was something about the wording in that note that caused Harold a great deal of consternation and he wanted to set his mind at ease before Ann brought up the subject of staying there with her sister, for the next year.
The Sheriff emerged from his office just as Harold reached the path that led to the front of the building. Ron put his finger to the side of his nose and tapped on it twice before beginning to scratch it, as though he had an itch. "Thanks, Jerry, for yer comin' by on such short notice. I think I might could use ya ' couple a times before Christmas. But, don't go settin' yer sights on makin' enough money to go a buying anyone any gifts. Not unless the Wild Bunch should happen to show. And I hear they're holed up, someplace on the other side a Vernal. See ya boy. Say hello to ol' Dusty and yer ma."
Jerry Ratliff quietly made a few undeterminable comments to the Sheriff which made him frown. He congenially wished Harold a pleasant evening and went out back to the hitching post, where he mounted his horse, and rode off without another word.
"I'll have to have a good long talk with that young man, the next time I get the chance. All this about the doctor is only just supposin'. I take it that you've heard a good piece of it from Jerry."
Harold scratched his head at the temple. "He seems to think that doctor Bingham has taken advantage of the medical treatment of your late wife and has failed to sufficiently exonerate himself of suspicion."
The Sheriff looked at him with curiosity. "Now, this word egg-sonrate. Does it mean to free hi'self from suspicion?"
"That's correct. And then, it appears as though there aren't too many people here who have very much liking for the man."
"That is true too, sir. But, I ain't going to arrest some fella' fer not bein' liked."
Ron motioned for Harold to step into the office. "At this point, I gotta sorta look at things like I'm just supposin'. Now I never did say nothin' to Jerry Ratliff 'bout any a' this. But, I can be pretty sure there's more gossipin' about it than I've persumed, so far. It wouldn't be right fer me to gossip. Now, would it? So, why don't we start off, sittin' down, an' I'll tell ya what I know to be the facts. Okay?"
Harold agreed and Sheriff Pruitt introduced himself as he made more coffee. There was something about Harold. Ron wasn't really sure what it was, but he had a great deal of confidence in 'the slick lookin' limey', as he began to call Harold, within himself.
"A man's innocent 'til he's proved guilty", the Sheriff began. "Some folks used ta hang a man fer bringin' back a lost animal, just 'cause they'd gotten some fool notion it'd been stolen. I've found, 'bout a third a’ the time, hasn't been any wrong done."
This caused Harold to think. "All of the time, driving over here, I was wondering what it was doctor Bingham might have done to take advantage of my sister-in-law. I was allowing myself to be taken in by the fear, planted into my head by your deputy's detachment from that very lofty precept. A man is innocent until he is proved guilty."
"Uh, yeah. That's . . . right." Some of Harold's phraseology took Ron a few moments to process. Sheriff Pruitt was an extremely intelligent individual, but he had quite a hard time reading. It might be safe to assume that he had some form of dyslexia. "If you're havin' the law dealin' with ya, you wouldn't want anyone ta go off half cocked. Well, just let's try to keep that in mind and I'll tell you what's gone on.
The sheriff began with his move from Trinidad, Colorado to Mancos in 1877. He gave Harold a brief sketch of his career as a rancher, meeting his second wife, Elizabeth Jewel Downey, her having contracted TB, and Bingham's failed attempt to treat her. He told him of how he had taught his son, Richard, to take care of the cattle ranch and how he had traveled around the country, trying to seek justice for his second wife's unexpected demise. And, he elucidated his ultimate entry into the field of law enforcement.
"I can't just arrest Reese Bingham fer somethin' I can't prove or I'd be the one who's got trouble. The doctor might just be no more'n a cranky ol' codger an' the real folks who's ta blame are the one's at that fly-by-night conshunshun clinic."
"I take it that this clinic is no longer in operation?" Harold's face became more stern.
"No, but I found some a' the people who was there, attending the patients. They wouldn't tell me nothin'."
"Perhaps, there was nothing to tell."
"Yeah. Maybe nothin' they could tell. The real mystery's the disappearance of the urn."
Harold's piqued curiosity made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "You mean that you have been unable to locate her remains?"
"I wasn't even able ta find out why they had her body cremated. And, with the territorial government fightin' tooth and nail ‘ta get statehood, they don't seem ta wanna cooperate," Ron said as he offered Harold a cup of coffee.
"No, thank you. I think I had best get back to keeping company with my wife. I guess I had better inform you that it is possible Joan Evans may be expecting another one of Ben's children. And, it is also possible that my wife will likely be staying on to help Joan with the difficulties. I am sure that I can trust you to keep this to yourself. I thought that you might want to be comprised of the situation. It would be a great relief to me. Knowing that you knew that there were two very beautiful women, living alone, just a few miles west of here." Harold lowered his eyes and tried not to think about the worst that could happen, but his emotions caused him to sit and take a deep breath.
The Sheriff took a long, devoted look at Harold. He finally said, "Sir. I don't think I could avoid noticin' those two women as they stood out 'n front a the doctor's office, this afternoon. Puttin' myself in your place, I sure would want to know someone was keepin' an eye out. And, I'll be sure to do my best."
"Thank you, sir. I certainly would appreciate it if you would." Harold stood and warmly shook the sheriff's hand. "I had best shove off, then. I shall be sure to see you, before I leave. And, again, thank you, very much."
Ron had walked around the desk and opened the door for him. He put his hand on Harold's shoulder and said, "Don't ya fret. They‘ll be fine. Now, have a good night, sir. Goodbye."
Sheriff Pruitt put on his coat and locked the door, behind him. He stopped to button it up before he mounted his horse and thought, 'Well, that's double time for another little while'. He thought as he waved goodbye to Harold. He playfully asked his horse "What do ya think 'bout ridin' out by that ol' MacLery's place, two or three times a week?"
It only took Harold about one hour from the time that Ann had gone into the front door of the Hotel until he entered at their room, at a little after 12:30 AM. To Harold, it had seemed a little longer.
They sat down onto the bed and Harold told his wife that sheriff Pruitt had waited up for Jerry and there was likely nothing for Joan to worry about.
"There was nothing about which Joan need worry?" Now, Ann was a bit concerned with what it was about, his having gone to speak with the sheriff.
"Ann, darling. I have guessed that your sister is likely expecting another child and that you should want to stay, to help her."
"How on earth did. . . ?"
"Dear heart, I am not a schoolboy. I have seen enough of the world to know what it means when two women take flight, in such inopportune circumstances, without pageantry of any sort, to run off on an errand of apparently enormous import, only to return with little or no explanation."
"If you want to stay, I shall return in April, to visit with you."
"Harold, I was so afraid that you might object." Ann's eyes began to tear. "And, I am so afraid for my sister, Joan."
She put her arms around him, with her head on his shoulder, and she cried softly which put a strength in Harold he didn't even know that he had possessed.
He held her tightly and spoke slowly and in easy, quiet tones. "Ann, I know that all the money in the world could never replace the love which we have found for each other. And, I know that the love which you have for your younger sister is just as great, but in a much different way. She may never need you quite as much as she needs you, now.
"I feel that it is important for you to support her in such a worthy undertaking. Granted, if Ben were alive, I would not be so inclined to feel that your help was expedient, but with things as they are, I believe that it is the right thing for you to do."
He held her until she was no longer crying.
She dried her eyes and took him by the shoulders.
Ann looked her husband in his eyes and said in a light, but serious tone, "Harold Albert Longely", she paused for a moment, "are you sure about what you have just said to me?
"It will mean that I shall be here for more than a year. You may not see me for close to five months. And, I suppose I should say that I would not be able to see you for that long, either.
"Honestly, Harold dearest, I would do anything to see that Joan and her family came to England, again, to live, so that we would not have to be apart. I would not want to be away from you, even for a week, if I had my way about it."
Harold suddenly felt drained. It seemed to him that if they continued to discuss the situation, that, he may, himself, begin to cry. It was a feeling to which he was entirely unaccustomed.
Ann released him, stretched herself, and said, "I am quite exhausted, Harold. Do you mind terribly, if we were, simply, to get some sleep. We shall see what the doctor has to say in the morning.
"With more information, there can be more with which to make plans."
"Very well, dear heart. We shall discuss this tomorrow." Harold was quite devitalized, but after they had gone to bed, he found that Ann was very pleased with him.
They may have gone to sleep at about three or four. There is no telling.
November 26, 1896
Doctor Timothy Brian Collins was a second generation American Irishman, fresh out of Harvard medical school at Boston.
He wasn't very tall, probably in the neighborhood of five foot, six inches. He was very nice looking, with light brown hair, dark green eyes, and a fine mustache he kept trimmed from under his nose.
At twenty-six years of age, he had decided to try general practice as a first resort and wanted to do what he could to help the Indian population in the southwest. Little did he know that his fate was to be determined by the economics of necessity.
Ultimately, he had found that the Native American population was restricted to their reservations where they, in effect, had to remain in a state of poverty, unable to support a doctor's immediate livelihood. Eventually, he had ended up opening an office in Cortez, traveling to a few of their villages, teaching hygienic sanitation, and riding out to their emergency calls according to demand.
He was delighted to begin prenatal treatment for Joan and always looked forward to her appointments with anticipation.
There was an unqualified majority of men in Cortez at that period of time. Even though most of the workers on the water acquisition projects had left, quite a few of them had remained to try their hands at farming. And, most of the married workers would rather move to less populated, more arid and better-established communities, than Cortez.
After a few tests, Doctor Collins had determined that Joan was definitely expecting a child.
On their return home, Joan had discussed her needs with Ann and it was determined that she would only be staying until the baby was six to eight weeks old. When they had arrived, Harold was overjoyed to learn that he would be able to come to Colorado, perhaps in early July, to take his wife home.
Joan had convinced Ann that since she would be staying with her it might be a good idea for her and her husband to take a little time for themselves.
Harold had also agreed with Joan. He and Ann would set out for Durango that next morning.
Gemma wanted to get on with taking Ann's advice, to put Jeremiah's attentions to the test, but Harold hadn't wanted to allow her to go into Webber. He had acted as though he might be unable to handle the situation without her help. Harold's assessment of Gemma's sense of duty had paid off as there had not been any having to refuse any request, at all.
Gemma had seen right through his ruse and readily understood his reluctance to have allowed her. After all, she could easily have asked for her mother's consent, before they had gone. But, Gemma knew that Joan would not simply have acquiesced.
Besides, it felt good to know that her uncle Harold had the sagacity and diplomacy to have composed such a finely tuned denial.
She had begun to have a greater admiration for him than she had thought when first he had arrived. Regardless, to Gemma Evans, Jeremiah Smith wasn't all that important, anyway.
For the rest of that day, Harold had taken the opportunity to get to know Gemma, realizing that he soon would be traveling to England and could easily miss his chance to become more familiar with Joan's oldest; who, when ten years old, had boarded a ship to America and had become someone almost entirely different from the impulsive, little corker whom he had found difficult to bear, less than three years before.
Harold had grown up in a home where children were merely tolerated, and that, for only as short a time as possible.
He had not had any siblings with whom to associate, when in his formative years, and neither did he have any close friends at his boarding school.
The closest he had come to having had a real friendship was with the owner of the racehorse breeding-farm at Chapel en le Frith, and even then it was no more than with an appreciative employer who had a high regard for an extremely reliable employee.
It seemed a great deal easier to be a senior relative. And, Harold also had found it less difficult to give an ear to inane concepts and give them significant consideration from someone who thought the world of his spouse, or at least, that is to what he had credited Gemma's irrepressible esteem.
The truth is that Gemma's esteem was her own and her esteem for Ann and Harold was the result of her own esteem for herself. It simply had not been shattered by any injuries sustained of malicious teasing or torment from someone for whom she held in esteem, at least, not lately.
And, Harold's delight and his admiration for her youthful resilience made his deference to her quite effortless.
They had walked for some time and even went out to try to find the place where Gemma thought that the outlaw may have fallen when struck by the bullet that had killed him.
Mostly, they had spoken of literature. Gemma was amazed that someone who appeared as young as Harold might have become so thoroughly familiar with English fiction.
When they had returned to the cabin, Gemma had asked if he might like to see her 'hidden vale'. And, Harold had to point out that it had already been thirty minutes since they had been told that dinner would be ready in twenty. She did her best not to seem discouraged.
Harold had noticed her disappointment and told her they would just have to chalk it up to the casualties of the sickle of father time.
Gemma realized that Harold may not have been so exhilarated by the place, anyway. His sense of adventure and his imagination weren't severely limited, she had thought, but it seemed as though he preferred to be told about, rather than experience, most things of which she was most enthused.
After their dinner, Ann and Harold had left for Mancos.
The next day they traveled to Durango and had practically been snowed in at their Hotel.
They only had planned on staying until Tuesday, at the latest. But, since they had become so much closer than ever they had been, they decided to make it an even week.
The staff at the Purgatory Hotel had secretly begun to call the adorable couple, the newly-weds. And by Monday, Ann had even begun to ask Harold, "What shall we eat on this, the third day, of our second honeymoon?"
This had made it even more difficult for Harold to leave his lovely wife and travel back to England.
Saturday afternoon, at a little before one o'clock, the train from Durango pulled into the station at Mancos.
December 4, 1896
Joan, Jenny, Gemma, and Jimmy were there waiting at the train station in Mancos.
Harold had sent a telegraph the night before and Joan had received it earlier that morning while she and her family were eating their breakfast.
It hadn't snowed so much in Mancos as it had in Durango, but the clouds had all cleared off and the air had become extremely cold.
Ann stepped off the train, looking as though she had just stepped out of a time machine which had taken her back to the day that she had met her Harold. She glowed effervescently.
A porter from the train station followed her with a cart upon which were several packages and a few suitcases.
"Where d'ya want these set, ma'am?" The porter looked about seventeen, not at all used to wearing a uniform, and he seemed impatient.
Ann turned and handed him a penny. "This will be just fine, thank you.", she said, without smiling to him. She turned to Joan, and again, resumed her bright features.
Joan gave her a rather perplexed look and asked, "Well, is Harold on a train to Denver? Or, is he going on to Silverton?"
"Harold," Ann took a deep breath and a sigh, "is on a train headed for Denver. And, I am quite sure that he is asleep." She gave Joan a very certain wink. "I believe, perhaps, that I should become better acquainted with your good-looking doctor Collins."
Gemma was bent down, struggling with trying to pull out a suitcase from under some packages, when she turned her head to look at her aunt. "You don't mean . . . ?" She had to pull her hair from her face.
Joan knew exactly what it was that Gemma had begun to say and didn't want to have it broadcast at the train station. "Gemma, dear. We need to set these packages into the wagon, before the suitcases. And, let's not speak of such things in public. Si tu plaît?" She picked up one of the smaller packages, handed it to Jimmy, and smiled at her daughter.
The fact that Joan had asked her so politely was a mighty consolation to Gemma. She had of course used the familiar form of the word 'you', when she had asked Gemma, 'if you please', as an adult would, when speaking to a child. This had served to put Gemma into her place and she responded fittingly by silently wearing a silly grin every time she looked to her aunt, as they loaded the rest of the luggage onto the buckboard.
There wasn't word spoken until Jimmy tried to pick up a large package. It was too much for either of them to carry alone and Gemma had attempted to give him a hand.
He whined and boldly shouted, "I can do it!" And, then, he implored, "Gemma".
By now, she was in much too good a mood to try to tussle with him over it. She held up both of her hands and said, "Very well, James. Do be gallant. I shall try not to get into your way".
Christmas went along much like Jimmy's fourth birthday, with not much to be told.
Three weeks before, at the train station, Ann and the Evans' had loaded eight large and two smaller packages onto the buckboard wagon, marked, 'not to be opened until Xmas'. The two smaller pack-ages had contained cooking utensils that the Longelys had bought for Joan to hint at the gift which would be forthcoming, sometime before the first of the year.
The eight larger packages had contained gifts, not only those which the Longelys had meant to be given the Evans', but those for which Joan had sent money with Ann and Harold to purchase gifts in Durango for things unavailable in Mancos. Harold also had sneaked in a few very special gifts for his wife which hinted toward his return and their reunion, some months ahead.
The children's gifts were mostly of the practical sort, clothes, some nuts, and fruit, which would keep until opened, Christmas morning.
Jenny got a couple of cute little dresses and another rattler. Jimmy got two new pairs of jeans, another cotton shirt, and a hand carved toy buckboard wagon with horse figurines. And, Gemma got some new school supplies, another pair of jeans, a shirt, and a letter from Harold which told her how much he had enjoyed their time spent together and a promise that he would travel to Paris and shop for a dress, just like the one she had told him that she had imagined.
An immense crate had arrived on the 29th of December. Within it was a beautiful new Marshal wood stove in which you could burn coal, as well. This was important to Joan as coal was the fuel which she had been most accustomed.
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