Трейси Шевалье - At the Edge of the Orchard

“Oh, of course I won’t go anywhere till Nance is better. Give her some time to convalesce at Murphys, then we’ll see.”

They were quiet for a bit, riding down through the pines and cedars lining the road, the sky an intense blue backdrop. Other times Robert had relished this ride from Calaveras Grove, admiring the trees, and the jays and finches and flycatchers flying back and forth, and the layered hills in the distance. Now, though, he was distracted by his companions, noticing, for instance, how closely Billie Lapham was studying the women in the wagon ahead of them. “Your sister gonna be all right?” Lapham murmured under the sound of the wagon wheels and horse hooves.

The question was like a punch to Robert’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

Billie Lapham pulled up his horse and let the wagons move away. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his brow. “Well, now, she’s a little thing, ain’t she, a lot like Nancy. Doctors always warned Nance she was too small to have a baby easily. Said it was a risk she shouldn’t chance. Course, maybe we would’ve tried anyway,” he added quickly when he saw the look on Robert’s face, “but she got sick and that was the end of that. But I tell you what-I could ride ahead and find a doctor in Murphys who can be waitin’ at the hotel, ready to check on Martha as soon as you get there.”

Robert stared at his sister, measuring her swollen belly against her slight frame, and knew Lapham was right. Some women were built to give birth easily; others struggled. Martha was likely to be a struggler. She was pale, too, and a film of sweat glistened on her forehead. Though she was smiling now at something Nancy said, she was also gripping the side of the wagon so hard that her knuckles were white. “You don’t mind going ahead?”

“Not at all. My horse could do with a run anyway after goin’ so slow all morning. You look after the girls. Nance,” he called to his wife, “I’m just gonna ride ahead, take care of a little business at Murphys, get things ready for you. Want to make sure we get rooms out back, away from the saloon. Robert will stay with you. I’ll see you down there, all right?”

His wife nodded; she knew her husband.

Billie Lapham was about to spur on his horse when a wagon appeared in the distance on the road below, climbing towards them. All Robert could see from where he sat was a bright red and yellow parasol, twirling slowly.

“What kind of fancy tourist is that?” Billie Lapham said.

They pulled up and watched the wagon draw closer. After a few minutes it became clear the parasol was made of Chinese silk brocade, and was being spun by Molly Jones, who sat in the wagon bed while a bemused old man drove. There was just enough room for the wagon to stop alongside the one carrying Nancy and Martha.

“Halloo there!” Molly cried. “Well, now, Robert Goodenough, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes-or sore thighs, I oughta say. You never told me the big trees were so damned out of the way!”

Nancy and Martha sat up and stared at Molly, then turned their heads to look up at Robert. Billie Lapham gazed from Molly to Robert and back again, then chuckled. Robert sat frozen on the gray, unable to move for all the sets of eyes on him-even those of the wagon drivers, who had felt invisible up to now.

“Ain’t you gonna come down here and kiss me hello?”

It was only when Robert dismounted and stepped up to the wagon, hesitating with his hand on the edge of one side, that he took in the full enormity of Molly, understanding long after the others had worked it out that she was carrying a child. Carrying his child. Carrying his child he’d thought the day before he had managed to dodge when it turned out to be Martha’s.

Molly leaned over and kissed him full on the lips. “Surprise, honey!”

No one spoke, but the gray whinnied and it sounded like a laugh.

“You ain’t runnin’ away from me now, are you?” Molly looked over at the women in the other wagon across from her-a direct, assessing gaze that said, “Explain yourselves.”

Nancy at least knew how to respond. “I’m Nancy Lapham.” She held out her small, pale hand. “And that’s my husband, Billie.”

Billie Lapham removed his top hat and nodded at Molly. “Ma’am.”

Molly turned her attention to Martha, eyes fastened on her stomach. “Well, now, who’ve we got here?”

Robert was too stunned to speak. Martha, in the midst of a contraction, clutched the side of the wagon again and could say nothing. Their silence brought on the expression Robert had seen in Molly when he was leaving her at French Creek: that desperation, the desire to be in control when it was clear she was not in control. It was almost unbearable, and he did not want the others to see it. “That’s my sister, Martha,” he managed to mutter. “She’s only just come out here from Ohio.”

Immediately Molly’s face cleared and she was able to laugh. “Of course, I should’ve guessed! Ain’t you two the spits of each other. You never told me you had a sister. And look at that, a baby, jest like me. When you due, honey?”

“Soon-now,” Martha gasped.

“I’ve still got a couple of months to go, I think, but I’m as big as you now. Wonder if it’s twins?” Molly pulled the skirts of her yellow dress-already let out in most places-tight over her belly.

“We’re headed down to Murphys,” Robert explained. “Billie and Nancy are moving there, and Martha and I…” He didn’t finish, though several pairs of curious eyes watched him to see how he would finish that sentence.

“What, you’re not leavin’ the big trees when I ain’t even seen ’em yet, are you? I come all this way!”

Robert shrugged, not knowing how to answer her question.

“You gonna stay at the new hotel at Murphys?”

“We are indeed, ma’am,” Billie Lapham replied, clearly sensing that Robert needed help.

“I loved it there. It’s got two floors, with balconies running around three sides. There are basins in every room, and mahogany everywhere! I didn’t like the first room they gave me, so I had them show me all the others and I chose the one in the front, above the street. You can sit out on the balcony and watch all the comings and goings-of which there are plenty ’cause there’s a saloon and a restaurant. And they let me store my mattress in the barn.”

Robert pictured the big feather mattress he had spent so much time in, and began to understand. “Have you left French Creek?”

Molly wrinkled her nose. “Of course! You don’t think I’m gonna bring up a child there , do you? Not with all those rascally miners around, I’m not. No, this baby’s gonna have a better life than that.” She smiled at him expectantly.

“Why don’t you go on up to Cally Grove and stay at the hotel there?” Robert suggested. “I’ll come back up in a day or two.”

“Why would I want to stay there on my own?” Molly spun her parasol again as if trying to mesmerize Robert with it. “Ain’t you gonna come back with me and show me the trees?”

Martha stared at Robert with big eyes, one hand still clutching the side of the wagon as if it had jolted her. The look on her face decided him. “No,” he said to Molly. “Martha’s having her baby now, and I’m taking her to Murphys to see her through it. I’m her brother. That’s what a brother does.”

Molly stopped spinning the parasol. “You hurtin’, honey?” she said to Martha, who nodded.

“Poor thing. You should be in bed, not out here in a wagon! Of course, you all go on. I’ll settle myself up at Calaveras, see what there is to see. Isn’t there a bowling alley up there?”

Billie Lapham sat straighter in his saddle. “There sure is, ma’am!” He was proud of the bowling alley.