Sisters (36 page)

“I didn’t think
of it. She’d left it lying on her desk, and I could have easily
taken it, but I didn’t think.” He paused. “If I’d
meant to kill her, I would have thought of it.” He made the
admission so calmly it astounded her. This was the equanimity for
which she’d always admired him. And now she hated it!

“You killed her,
Paul! You killed her! Doesn’t that bother you in the least?”

“Of course it does.
It’s not what I wanted,” he said evenly. “The thing
I’ve always wanted most is your happiness. And you’re
wrong if you think it’s been easy for me all these years. At
the fort, seeing how you loved Joe because you thought he was your
grandfather—“

“That wasn’t
the only reason—“ she started to protest, but he held up
his hand.

“And never trying to
make you understand that we were much closer, you and I, the two of
us. And I had no say in your life, none at all. I didn’t want
them to send you away to school, but I was given no part in the
decision. I couldn’t fight for it, couldn’t risk arousing
emotions which might bring the truth to light. You think I’m
unfeeling, but what choice have I but to keep the grief I’ve
felt under control? When Joe and Emile first sat your mother and me
down to tell us we were half-brother and sister, I understood that to
gnash my teeth and pull my hair wouldn’t change things a whit.
Most often in life, we have only one choice—acceptance.”

“You weren’t so
very good at controlling yourself when you confronted Helen, though,
were you?”

“Because I didn’t
want you to know! I didn’t want you to live with this knowledge
in the way I’ve had to. All these years I’ve worked to
keep that from happening. I never came to see you, not once, because
I was afraid that if I did, you might begin to wonder. I saw you only
when you came here. I’ve seen you three times in twenty-five
years! And you’re my firstborn, Sophie. Do you know how
difficult that’s been? I love you.”

He looked at her, his gaze
steady and direct, and she had no reply. She turned and left the
room, leaving him there. She had to get outside. She wanted to
breathe deeply of the pure, clear air.

*

She walked up and down in
front of the house, and in a few minutes James joined her. “What
will you do?” he asked.

“I’ve been
thinking what Helen would want.”

“And?”

“Probably to do
nothing.”

He nodded, but she couldn’t
tell whether he signified agreement or mere understanding.

“She wouldn’t
want all this brought out. It would serve no good purpose, merely add
to unhappiness. And I don’t think she’d want him
punished.”

He nodded again, as
noncommittally as before, and she began to feel defensive. “I
don’t think he meant to kill her.”

He looked at her,
apparently surprised at the feeling with which she spoke. “I
don’t think so either, Sophie. But I don’t want to sway
your judgment. This has to be your decision.”

“She was your wife.”

“And your sister.
You’re the one who understood her.”

“Not in the
beginning.” She shook her head ruefully. “I thought I was
different, different from all of them.”

“I’ve never
known a woman like you. You are different.”

“Not in the way I’m
talking about. And I don’t mind being the same. It’s like
a corridor behind me, stretching back and back into the past, a
corridor with arches repeating again and again. Or the kind of effect
you get by lining up mirrors to face each other so you see a
reflection in a reflection.” They walked a long way in silence,
and then she spoke again. “I don’t want to go back into
the house as long as he’s there.”

“He wanted to leave.
If we walk on toward town, it’ll give him a chance.”
After a few minutes he asked, “Will you ever see him again?”

“I don’t know,
I don’t know. I’m not sure I can ever… forgive
him, but he’s my father.” There was pain in her voice.
“Right now, what I want is to get away. I’m going back to
New York.”

“When.”

“Tomorrow. I’d
like to go tomorrow.”

“Would you like me to
make the arrangements?”

“Please.”

And they continued to walk,
only now without breaking the silence.

“Connie, leave us a minute!” James commanded, bursting
into the room where Sophie and the maid were packing. He waited until
the girl left, then closed the door. “Sophie, I want you to
marry me.”

“Why?”

He looked at her in
astonishment, then threw back his head and laughed. “A yes or
no, I was prepared for one of those, but how many women would ask
why? All right, I’ll give you the why of it. I think our lives
would be better, fuller, if we were joined together. I don’t
need to spend as much time in Cheyenne as I do, particularly if I
sell off some of the Cloud Peak ranches.”

“Sell them off? How
could you, the way you love this land?”

“I don’t have
to own all of it to love it,” he replied good-naturedly.

“That wasn’t
the impression you left earlier.”

“You don’t let
a man get away with a thing, do you?” He smiled. Then his
expression sobered. “Actually, it’s a business decision
in part. There are too many cattle on the range, and if it’s a
hard winter… well, it could be the end of the Cloud Peak Land
and Cattle Company. The best thing for the company might well be to
take a little profit now and reduce the potential for disaster.

“And, the point is
that I—we—could spend our summers here in Cheyenne, our
winters in New York. All I need is to find a capable manager, someone
to take over in the slow winter months. And then you could get away
from your office in the summer, couldn’t you? And maybe
sometime in all this, we can see a way to go to Europe. I want to
take you to Scotland, you and the girls, show you Edinburgh—High
Street, Holyrood House, and the university. Well, you can see I’ve
been thinking about this.”

“James…”

“No, I want you to
think about it too. I want you to take two weeks to think about it.
Delay your departure fourteen days, travel with me to the XVH, and
think about it. I won’t say anything more about it until you
bring it up.”

“Go to the XVH? How
far is it?”

“I’ve already
arranged for fresh teams ahead, so we can travel day and night and
get there in just over two days.”

“James, if I go off
alone with you, I’ll never be able to raise my head in Cheyenne
again, much less marry you.”

“No, no, I’ve
planned this excursion with all the proprieties in mind. We’re
taking children, servants. Bring Connie if you like. It will all be
quite respectable.”

“But I’ve
already telegraphed my office I’d be there next week.”

“You can telegraph
them again. Write the message for me now, and I’ll take it down
and have it sent off instantly.”

Now it was her turn to
laugh. You’ve foreseen my ever objection.”

“I’ve tried. I
want you to come.”

“All right, James. I
will.”

*

The second morning out,
they breakfasted in a valley looking up a canyon. Sophie was stiff
from having slept the night sitting up in a coach, but as she looked
up the canyon, which was still lightly hung with morning mist, she
was glad she had come on this journey. Atop one of the hills which
formed the canyon, she could see a meadow. With the morning sun on
it, it was a light green color, a color of spring, and here, near the
canyon entrance, were bushes of a darker green, and there, a little
in front of the bushes, grass whose green was lightly tinged with
blue. She leaned back against a rock and studied the scene leisurely,
discovering a multitude of shades. Who had ever thought that this
parched land could yield up so many variations on green?

She could smell food being
cooked for breakfast, and somewhere near she could hear the sound of
running water. She listened to the sound, letting it carry her along
until she could almost feel the water moving, sense its kinship with
the blood rushing through her veins.

She let her thoughts settle
on James’ proposal. She liked being with him, wanted to know
there would be abundant time with him in the future, but she didn’t
feel certain that was reason to marry him. If she truly wanted to be
with him, and he with her, wouldn’t they manage it without
being married? If marriage meant they would be together more than
their inclinations dictated, then wasn’t it a kind of duress?
They should seek companionship and love from one another because they
wanted it, not because they were obliged by the forms and
expectations imposed upon those who married.

She shifted her back on the
rock and thought of it another way. Was there definite reason not to
marry him? Her career perhaps? But she did have good editors; she
could get away as she was doing now, and she’d been focusing on
her work for so long, with such intensity, a more balanced life would
be welcome. And she didn’t have to quit working during summers
spent in the West. She could write about it. She might even finally
do the article on the homesteaders versus the big cattlemen.

Which brought her to James
himself. She remembered how angry she had been with him the day of
Joe’s funeral. He could be so stubborn, so fiercely stubborn in
his opinions, even when it was clear to her he was wrong. He’d
defended lynching, rule by vigilante—she knew that was wrong.
But still… would she want him if she could sway him on every
point? Probably not. It sounded dreadfully dull.

She could think of no other
cause to refuse him, but she wasn’t sure she had sufficient
reason to accept, either. And yet… and yet, she wanted to.

Esther and Sally
approached. “You have to come, Aunt Sophie,” said Esther.
“You really must come see.”

She got up and followed them down a gentle slope toward the rushing
creek, carefully heeding their signals to walk quietly. Near the
bottom of the slope, they stopped and motioned her on ahead, both of
them pointing. And there, on the other side of the creek in the midst
of birch and willows, she saw a doe with her fawn. They were drinking
from the creek, nibbling on the bushes, and then the doe looked up
with her huge brown eyes, and in an instant they were gone.

Sophie turned and looked up
the slope at Esther and Sally. The morning sun behind them had haloed
their heads with gold, and suddenly she knew she had found the reason
she had been looking for. The children. Esther and Sally. The mirror
images extending infinitely forward as well as back. Yes, that was
it, that was the reason. A sacred ceremony, an exchange of vows not
just with James, but for the daughters, for the future.

She said nothing while she
ate, though she felt buoyant, ebullient, and found it hard to
restrain herself. When they were ready to leave, James decided to
drive one of the coaches, and she asked to sit up on the box with
him.

“You’ll have to
strap in tight,” he warned her. “The road’s rough
along here.”

When they were well under
way, she shouted at him—had to shout to make herself heard
above the pounding hooves and rushing air: “James, I want to
marry you!”

“Oh, you do, do you?”
he said, smiling broadly, keeping his eyes on the team.

“Yes, dreadfully.”

“There’ll be a
preacher waiting when we get back to Cheyenne.”

“There’s one
thing I must do before.” She saw his disappointment and rushed
her words. “It won’t take long. I’m sure it won’t.
But I have to do it. I’m going to Denver to look for Julia. And
I’ll find her. I know I will. And then I’ll be back in
Cheyenne, and we’ll be married as soon as I step off the train.
The very first thing.”

It took him a moment to
accept it, but then he smiled again. “The very first thing?”

“James, please, it’s
only proper!” She put her hand on his knee, and then she turned
to look ahead. On the distant horizon a thin bolt of lightning
flashed through the sky, but it was too far away to hear the thunder.