* * *
A sudden attack of morning sickness woke Hanna at dawn. She scrambled out of the soft, warm bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where she heaved over the toilet. The baby was making its presence known this morning.
Through the window, the sky outside had just begun to pale with first light. It was early, but Hanna knew she wouldn’t go back to sleep.
A glance into the shadows of the sitting room revealed Blake sprawled on the couch in his clothes, his feet hanging over the upholstered end, one arm dangling to the floor. His hair was mussed, his cheeks and jaw dark with stubble.
She’d awakened after midnight to find him still gone. She knew what kind of businesses thrived in a cow town like Miles City. It was easy to imagine where he’d been and what he’d been doing—something she didn’t want to name, let alone think about.
Letting him sleep, she dressed quietly in her old underclothes and shoes and her prim, gray traveling dress. Her magical day as Cinderella was over. The rest of her married life had begun, and this was how it was to be.
But even this, Hanna reminded herself, was better than she deserved.
One month later
Hanna stood by the parlor window, watching the flying snow through the glass. Behind her, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Her knitting lay abandoned, for the moment, on the ottoman.
The December days were getting shorter, the storms more frequent; but so far they’d been little more than flurries, as this one would likely be as well. But the big storms would be coming soon. They always did. Everyone said so.
These days she saw little of Blake. He spent most of his days on the range with the three hired cowhands, mending fences, checking on the cattle, clearing their water sources, and making sure they had access to graze and salt licks. Most days he came back to the house at dusk, hungry and so tired that he usually fell asleep right after supper.
Sometimes Alvar came to help, mostly as an excuse to see Kristin. He brought Hanna news of the family and took home cash from Blake to buy food and other supplies for them in town.
Hanna missed her family every day. Blake had promised to take her on a visit, but it had yet to happen, and with the weather growing more uncertain, the chances of seeing them dimmed.
The guest room on the main floor at the end of the hall had been converted for Hanna and Blake to share. It was spacious and private with its own bathroom and two separate beds. Blake had hung a blanket down the middle, between the beds, to give Hanna some privacy—not that they spent much time there except to sleep. He was kind but distant, willing to listen to her needs but not to open himself to her in any way. The lines had been drawn and were holding firm.
Hanna returned to the chair and took up her knitting—a colorful cap for her father’s Christmas gift. When she sat, she could see the round bulge of her growing belly rising beneath her skirt. Her morning sickness had ebbed, and she’d begun to feel the slightest little flutters. Were they just gas, or had the tiny life inside her begun to make itself known?
This afternoon she was alone, as she often was. Blake was out on the range. Kristin was studying in her room. And Sarah was checking on a neighboring ranch wife who was due to give birth soon.
For all Hanna’s efforts, her mother-in-law remained polite and kind but still distant. When Blake had first brought her home, Hanna had offered her help around the house cooking, washing, and cleaning. Only then had she discovered that the Dollarhides employed a surly retired cowhand named Shep, who lived in his own cabin on the property. He cooked the meals for the family and the hired cowboys, kept the house tidy, and hauled the weekly laundry to a widow in town who took in washing. And he didn’t socialize with the family.
Later, Hanna had let slip that she’d helped deliver her youngest sister when her mother went into labor, and that she’d be happy to lend Sarah a hand if it was ever needed. Sarah had ignored her offer, leaving Hanna, who’d never known an idle day, with empty hours to fill.
It was Kristin who’d come to her rescue. When Hanna had mentioned that she liked to knit, Blake’s sister had brought her a big basket of colorful yarns with a selection of knitting needles, left over from a long-ago project of Sarah’s. Hanna had come up with the idea of making Christmas presents. She started with her own family—a scarf for her mother and warm hats for the rest, in rainbow hues from different combinations of yarn. Hanna was still lonely, but at least her restless hands had something to do. If she didn’t get a chance to visit her family for the holiday, she could send the small gifts with Alvar. Then, if she had time, she could try making something for the Dollarhides—in the hope that they wouldn’t look down their noses at her poor offering. Surely, if she were to ask, Blake would give her an allowance for her needs—like fabric and new yarn, and maybe the ingredients for special Christmas treats the next time she could get to town.
Now, working to the end of a row, she realized she’d almost run out of the yarn she’d brought from the basket she kept in the bedroom. Putting aside the partly finished hat, she rose and set off down the hall to get another skein of yarn.
The door to the study stood open. As Hanna hurried past, a familiar deep voice called to her.
“Hanna, do you have a minute?”
Turning, she walked back to the open door and entered the study. Joe Dollarhide was sitting behind a desk cluttered with paperwork. Hanna had spoken with him in passing and at meals, but never privately, and she was still a bit in awe of the man. He looked like an older version of Blake, handsome and distinguished, his body still lean, his hair streaked with silver.
Like Benteen Calder, he was among the earliest settlers of this area; and like Benteen, he was something of a legend.
So why had he called her in now? Had she done something wrong?
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward the chair that faced him across the desk.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Dollarhide?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow, a gesture that reminded her of Blake. “Everything’s fine, except for the fact that after all these weeks, you’re still calling me Mr. Dollarhide. I’m not expecting you to call me Dad, mind you. But my name is Joe. Please use it.”
“Thank you. I will . . . Joe.” The name still had a strange feel on her tongue. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
“Because it’s too damned quiet in this place. I need to hear the sound of a friendly voice.” He paused. “How is that son of mine treating you? Any complaints?”
“No. Blake is kind and considerate—what little I see of him. I only wish—” She hesitated, then, overcome by the offer of a sympathetic ear, she began to open up. “I just wish I felt less like a guest and more like part of the family. Nobody needs my help. They’re all busy with their own pursuits. I’ve worked hard all my life.” She shrugged. “I need something to do.”
“You’re growing my grandchild. I take it that’s not enough.”
“It’s just that I feel so useless, as if I had nothing to offer. Your family—they’re so smart, so well spoken. And I’m just a poor farm girl. I know I’m not the kind of woman your wife wanted Blake to marry. But I want to become that woman—polished and cultivated, always knowing how to act and what to say, a woman your family can be proud of. But I don’t even know where to begin.”