Page 45 of Silver Lining
"Max?" She gazed down at her hands. "I've got something to tell you." Keeping her head down, she twisted her wedding ring around her finger, sliding the glow of lamplight along the gold circle. "I'm not pregnant. We're going to have to do, you know—it—again."
Max tilted his head back and turned his eyes toward the darkness outside the bedroom window. Louise didn't think it would have changed anything if they'd known she wasn't pregnant before Wally married Philadelphia , but she didn't know for sure.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
"Me, too." She'd known yesterday, but it had taken until now to push her disappointment down far enough that she could tell him. It didn't seem fair that some people could get pregnant after one poke and other people couldn't.
"We both understood it might take a while." But the way his eyebrows knit together told her that he hadn't really believed it. He'd assumed, or more likely he'd hoped, that one poke had done the job.
Naturally she had hoped that, too.
She slid a quick sidelong glance toward the crisp dark hair curling out of the collar of his silly nightshirt.
At some point she would have to force herself to submit to another poke. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her stomach rolled over in an odd way that almost felt like anticipation.
*
Max awoke before dawn and discovered himself wrapped around Louise, his legs tangled in the cursed nightgown. Paralyzed with surprise and dismay, he tried to think how this might have happened. The air in the bedroom was frigid because he liked to sleep with the window open a few inches. They must have rolled toward each other seeking warmth.
And she was indeed warm. The heat of her buttocks pressing against his groin caused an intimate stirring that grew stronger when he inhaled the warm sleepy scent of her hair and skin.
Embarrassed by his response, he carefully extricated himself and hastily slid out of bed, pulling the nightshirt over his head as he moved through the darkness to the dressing room. He dressed quickly, then carried his socks and boots downstairs to the kitchen where he discovered that Louise had brought in kindling the night before. In a moment he had the stove fired up but he didn't have to wait to shave as the water in the reservoir had stayed warm throughout the night.
As he shaved over a basin in the mudroom, he grudgingly conceded that Louise had the practical think-ahead mind that made for a good ranch wife. She'd brought in the kindling, filled the water reservoir, set the table for breakfast, laid out the skillet, and prepared the coffee-pot. And this was only her second full day. He suspected she'd be handling her duties as efficiently as Ma or Gilly within a week or two.
Lowering the razor, he stared at his lathered face in the lamplit mirror.
She wasn't pregnant.
They would continue together, building habits, reaching small accommodations, learning to understand each other's foibles and strengths. It would happen merely by virtue of living together, regardless how either of them felt about creating a relationship.
The same process would occur with Wally and Philadelphia .
Placing his hands on either side of the basin, he dropped his head and leaned forward.
It would be Wally who sat down to supper with Philadelphia and praised her piecrust. Wally who watched her draw on her stockings and slide the garters into place. Wally who saw her with her hair down, who took the brush from her hand. Wally would learn her habits and mannerisms, would discover what pained or delighted her.
Not him.
By the time Louise passed through the mudroom on her way to collect eggs, he had finished shaving and had temporarily accepted what he could not change. He had tucked Philadelphia behind a mental door labeled: Forbidden.
The trick would be to keep that door shut.
*
Louise stood on the front porch, wiping her hands on her apron, and watched Marva Lee trot down the ruts that served as a road, heading toward the main house where the roundup would begin. In her opinion, no banker had ever ridden a horse the way Max did, as if he and Marva Lee were extensions of each other. Watching his straight back and broad shoulders was a pleasure that warmed her inside.
She was glad he was going.
Maybe some hard riding and hard work would knock the thoughts of Philadelphia out of his hard head.
She knew when Max was thinking about that saintly paragon of womanly virtues, Miss Philadelphia Wonderful Houser, now Missus Wally McCord. A distracted look appeared in his eyes, and he turned cool and distant as he'd been at breakfast this morning.
Turning on her heels, she entered the house and returned to the kitchen. After pouring herself another cup of coffee, she reached in her pocket and removed her copy of the letter Max had written Philadelphia , then smoothed out the pages on the kitchen table.
She had memorized every sentence, but she read the letter anyway, feeling each word like a pin prick against her heart.
It was a happy letter, written by a man to a woman he deeply cared about. After describing parts of the house, Max gently chided Philadelphia for promising that he'd be sorry for abandoning her for the summer. He teased her about her pleasure in the wedding gifts that had begun to arrive. He called her dearest and said he was counting the days until she would be his.
