“Clementine.”
“Ask him,” Clementine repeated.
Then she turned and walked away.
Martha followed so quickly that her skirt caught against the doorway.
Harrison remained beside Mabel.
Outside, fiddles played.
People laughed beneath lanterns.
Inside, Mabel stared at the empty doorway.
“What happened in Cheyenne eleven years ago?” Harrison asked.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
And that, more than Clementine’s threat, frightened her.
By breakfast the following morning, all of Oak Haven knew.
Not about Cheyenne.
About the hand.
Harrison Cole had held Mabel Higgins’s hand.
Mrs. Abernathy at the dressmaker’s shop claimed he had kissed it.
The telegraph operator’s wife insisted he had proposed.
By nine o’clock, someone had somehow added an elopement.
By noon, the story had become so elaborate that Mabel was reportedly expecting twins.
She learned this while purchasing yeast.
The shopkeeper looked at her stomach three times before handing over the package.
Mabel walked home furious enough to burn bread.
The Higgins house sat on the northern edge of town, an aging two-story home whose porch sagged slightly and whose faded white paint peeled in long strips.
It had once belonged to one of Oak Haven’s prosperous families.
Now creditors visited more often than friends.
Mabel entered through the kitchen door.
Her father was waiting.
Josiah Higgins had once been a handsome man.
Debt had narrowed him.
His shoulders seemed perpetually bent beneath invisible weight, and gray had spread through his beard.
“What did you say to Cole?” he demanded.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Mabel.”
“We talked.”
“About what?”
“Books. Ranching. Food.”
His expression sharpened.
“Ranching?”
“Yes.”
“What about ranching?”
Mabel set the yeast on the counter.
“Winter feed costs. Cattle mortality. Whether hay should be purchased earlier in summer when prices are lower.”
Josiah stared.
Mabel stared back.
Finally he said, “You had no business discussing such matters.”
“Why?”
“Because they do not concern you.”
“They concern anyone capable of arithmetic.”
“Mabel.”
The kitchen door opened again.
Clementine entered.
She had changed from velvet into pale blue muslin, but she looked as if she had not slept.
Josiah turned on her.
“And you.”
Clementine stopped.
“What exactly did you tell Cole?”
“Nothing.”
“You mentioned Cheyenne.”
Mabel watched her father.
His reaction confirmed what she had feared.
There really was something.
“What happened there?” she asked.
Josiah ignored her.
Clementine gave a bitter little laugh.
“You should have seen Mother’s face.”
“Enough!”
Josiah slammed his fist onto the table.
Mabel had never seen him lose his temper that violently.
The yeast packet jumped.
“So,” Mabel said quietly, “something did happen.”
Josiah looked at her.
Then away.
“Nothing that concerns Harrison Cole.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
“Mabel—”
A knock interrupted him.
Three hard raps.
Nobody moved.
The knock came again.
Clementine crossed to the window.
Then she swore.
Martha appeared in the hallway.
“Who is it?”
Clementine looked at Mabel.
“Your admirer.”
Harrison Cole stood on the porch.
He was not carrying flowers.
Mabel liked him better for that.
He held a book beneath one arm.
Her copy of Jane Eyre.
“You left it in the kitchen annex,” he said when she opened the door.
“I wondered where it went.”
“That’s only partly why I came.”
Of course it was.
Behind Mabel, she could practically feel her family listening.
Harrison glanced toward the parlor.
“Would you walk with me?”
Oak Haven would likely have them married by supper.
Mabel almost refused.
Then she thought of Clementine’s expression.
Her father’s anger.
Cheyenne.
“Yes.”
She removed her apron.
Martha appeared instantly.
“Mabel, perhaps—”
“I’ll be back before lunch.”
Her mother stared.
For once, Mabel did not wait for permission.
She walked outside.
Harrison’s smile was small.
“Was that rebellion?”
“Don’t exaggerate. I removed an apron.”
“Every revolution begins somewhere.”
She laughed despite herself.
