On his way to the ferry that would take him across the bay, he began to have doubts. Miriam would want to know the name of the ship. She would want to know the people to whom he’d spoken. She would want to know a hundred details he would have to make up. One big lie he could manage, but not a tapestry of smaller ones.
Standing in the heavy fog, a chill started from within Paul. It wouldn’t work. No matter what story he conjured up, Miriam would know. She always knew. Just as Michael had known what had happened between Paul and Angel on the road without a word about it ever being spoken aloud.
Furious, he went back to the clapboard building. Seeing no reason to knock, he walked right in. Before him was a small foyer sparsely furnished with two benches and a hat rack. There were no hats on it. In fact, there was no one to ask him what he wanted, let alone whom.
He heard women talking. Removing his hat, he entered a large sitting room and froze. It was filled with women, mostly young, and all staring right at him. Heat filled his face.
Several things came to him at once. The girls were all sitting in straight-backed wooden chairs. There were no men in the room other than himself, and the place looked more like a classroom than a brothel parlor. They were all wearing the same somber gray dresses that Angel had been wearing yesterday. Angel wasn’t among them.
A tall woman standing before the others smiled at him. Her brown eyes were alight with amusement. “Are you lost, sir? Have you come to mend your ways?” The younger women laughed.
“I…I…beg your pardon, ma’am,” he stammered, confused and embarrassed. What was this place?
“He thinks this is a hotel,” one of the girls said, looking at the pack slung on his back. The others laughed.
“Oh, I bet he thinks this is something else all together, don’t you, honey?” another said, looking him up and down.
Someone laughed. “He’s blushing! I haven’t seen a man blush since ’49.”
“Ladies, please,” the tall woman said, quieting them. She put down the piece of chalk. She brushed the white dust from her slender fingers and walked toward him. “I’m Susanna.” She held out her hand, and he took it without thinking. Her fingers were cool, her grip firm. “How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone. Angel. Her name’s Angel. At least, she used to go by that name. I thought I saw her come in here yesterday afternoon.”
“Paul?”
He turned sharply and saw her standing in the doorway. She looked surprised and dismayed. “Come with me, please,” she said. He followed her down a hall and into a small office. She took a seat behind a big oak desk. Papers were strewn over it, as were several books. On one corner was a plain brown hatbox with a slot in it. “Please, sit down,” she said.
He sat and looked around at the simple, pristine setting. He couldn’t make any sense of it. Why would a madam have an office more suited to a nun? What sort of classes were being conducted in the other room? Arithmetic problems had been written on the board, but now that he faced Angel again, he didn’t think to ask. The old animosity was back in full force.
If it weren’t for her, he would be home with Miriam.
Angel was looking at him with her same directness, but she was different somehow. He looked back at her coldly, trying to figure out what it was. She was still beautiful, so incredibly beautiful… but she had always been that: beautiful, cold, and hard as stone.
He frowned. That was it. The hardness. It was gone. Now there was a softness about her. It was in her blue eyes, her faint smile, her quiet manner.
She’s serene.
The thought stunned him, and he shook it away. No, not serene. She just doesn’t feel anything at all. She never did. He remembered the day on the road. He couldn’t exorcise it. He wanted to say something and couldn’t think of a word. He was angry, resentful, depressed, but he kept reminding himself he wasn’t here for himself. He was here for Miriam. The sooner he got things said, the sooner Angel could refuse to return, and he could leave in good conscience.
Angel spoke first.
“You’re looking well, Paul.”
He had the oddest feeling she was trying to put him at ease. Why would she want to do that? “Yes. So are you,” he said, sounding stiffly polite. It was true. Even in gray, she looked good. Better than ever. She was one of those women who would be beautiful even in her sixties. A devil in disguise.
“It was a shock seeing you,” she said.
“Yes. I’m sure it was.”
Her eyes searched his face. “What brings you to the House of Magdalena?”
Let her sweat. “Whose house is this?”
“Mine.” She didn’t elaborate. She waited for him to say something.
“I saw you on the street yesterday and followed you here.”
“Why didn’t you come in?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” he said. “Do you still go by Angel’?” He couldn’t get the edge out of his voice, and he couldn’t understand the look in her eyes, as though every word he said grieved her deeply. Why should it? Nothing had ever grieved her before. It was another act.
“I still go by ‘Angel,’” she said. “It seemed appropriate.”
Again that directness. Straightforward, to the point, yet gentler in some way than he could ever remember her being. “You look different,” he said and glanced around. “I expected you to be living in higher style than this.”
“Lower, you mean.” She looked amused, not defensive.
He let a sneer show on his face. “Nothing changes, does it?”
Angel studied him. He was right, in one sense. At least where his hatred of her was concerned. Not that he didn’t have enough reason. Still, it hurt. “No, I guess not,” she said quietly. “It’s understandable.” She had so much to answer for. She looked away. She couldn’t stop thinking about Michael. She was afraid to ask about him, especially from this man who loved him so much and hated her with equal intensity. What was he doing here?
Paul didn’t know what to say. He sensed he had hurt her. She sighed and looked at him again, and he wondered if she was as calm as she seemed, if anything really touched her. It was one of the things he had despised about her. No arrow he shot had ever drawn blood.
“Do you ever go back to the valley?” she asked.
The question caught him off guard. “I live there.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised.
“I never left.”
She didn’t rise at the accusatory tone. “Miriam told me you were planning to go back to the gold fields and try your luck again.”
“Out of desperation,” he said. “Miriam talked me out of it.”
Angel’s face softened. “Yes, I suppose she would. Miriam was always saving a soul. How is she?”
“She’s going to have a baby this summer.” He watched the color ebb from Angel’s face and then come back slowly.
“Thank God.”
Thank God?
She smiled, but it was sad and wistful. He had never seen her smile like that before. He wished he knew what she was thinking.
“That’s wonderful news, Paul. Michael must be very happy.”
“Michael?” He gave a soft laugh, confused. “Well, I suppose he is.” He felt driven to say, “He’s been doing real well for himself the last few years. He bought some more land and a small herd of cattle last spring. He put up a bigger barn this fall.” She didn’t have to know she had taken half his heart with her when she left. Michael still had faith in God, and God would find him a good wife.
He didn’t expect Angel to smile at his news, but she did. She didn’t look the least bit surprised. She looked relieved and happy. “Michael will always do well.”
The heartless witch. Was that all she could say? Didn’t she know how much Michael loved her, how much it had ripped him up when she left?
“And you, Paul? Have you worked things out with him again?” He hated her for the reminder of what had happened. He hated her so much he had the taste of
steel in his mouth. “As soon as you left, things went back to the way they were,” he said, knowing it was a lie. Michael had never held a grudge. He was the one who couldn’t let it go. Nothing was the same. She was still a wall between them.
“I’m glad,” she said and looked it. “He’s always loved you, you know. He never stopped.” She saw his expression and changed the subject. “You can help him build an addition on the cabin. He’ll need one now.”
“An addition? What for?”
“With the baby coming,” she said. “He and Miriam will eventually need more room. And there will be more children in time. Michael always told me he wanted lots of children. Now he will have them.”
Paul couldn’t breathe. He felt cold and sick.
Angel frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He saw the truth, and the feeling in the pit of his stomach was nothing to the lump of pain in his chest. Oh, God. Oh, God! Is that why she left him?
He could feel Miriam’s presence and hear her words. “You never understood her, Paul. You never even tried.” Miriam with tear-filled eyes. “Maybe if you had tried, just once, things might have been different. Amanda would never let me inside. Not completely. I don’t think she ever let anyone know how much pain she felt, not even Michael. Maybe you could have tried to help her!” Miriam standing firm before his scorn. “I never knew Angel. I only know Amanda, and if it weren’t for her, I never would have had the courage to come to you.” Miriam on the day she had come to his cabin. “I have to do what’s best for you.”
Angel was searching his face. “What’s the matter, Paul? What is it? There’s nothing wrong with Miriam, is there?”
“Miriam is my wife, not Michael’s.”
She drew back, stunned. “Yours?”
“Yes, mine.”
“I don’t understand,” she said shakily. “How can she be your wife?”
He couldn’t answer. He knew what she meant. How many times had he thought he wasn’t good enough for her. She was just right for Michael. He had kept thinking that, all the while he had fallen in love with her himself. He had been convinced right up to the day she had come to him in his cabin. “Angel, Michael’s still waiting for you to come home.”
Her face went deathly white. “It’s been over three years. He can’t still be waiting.”
“He is.”
Paul’s words struck her squarely in the chest. Oh, God. She shut her eyes for a moment. She stood and turned away. She pushed the lace curtain back to stare out the window. It was raining. She couldn’t breathe past the pain in her chest. Her eyes were on fire.
Paul saw the way her hand clutched the curtain until her knuckles were white. “I think I understand,” he said bleakly. “You figured if you went away, he would turn to Miriam. Eventually he would fall in love with her and forget about you. Isn’t that it?” Hadn’t he expected that to happen as well? Hadn’t the possibility torn at his guts?
“He would have.”
She didn’t even have to say it: “If you hadn’t interfered.” Once, Paul had said to Miriam that he didn’t think Angel had the capacity for pain or love. Those words came back to taunt him now. How could he have been so wrong about her? When she turned and looked at him, he was ashamed.
“Miriam is perfect for him,” Angel said. “She’s the sort of wife he needs. She’s pure and intelligent and tender. She has a tremendous capacity for love.”
He heard so much more than words this time. “That’s all very true, but Michael loves you.”
“He wants children, and Miriam could have given them to him. They understand one another.”
“Because they’re friends.”
Her eyes flashed. “They could have been more.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, facing his own selfishness. “If I’d had the courage you did and if I’d left. I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Until this moment he’d thought it was because he loved Miriam too much, but he saw clearly now that he had loved himself more. Angel had understood a higher quality of love: sacrifice.
Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands. Now he knew why Miriam had been so insistent that he be the one to find her. “I was wrong,” he groaned, “I was wrong about you the whole time.” His vision blurred. He looked up again. “I’ve hated you, hated you so much I—” He broke off, unable to say anymore.
Angel sat down behind the desk again, saddened. “You were right about me in a lot of ways.”
Her words only confirmed what he now knew. He gave a bleak laugh. “I never even came close. And I know why. That day on the road, I knew you were right. You were right. I betrayed him.”
Her eyes filled. “I could’ve said no.”
“Did you know that then?”
She didn’t speak for a moment. “Some part of me must have known. Maybe I just didn’t want to. Maybe it was my way to draw your blood. I don’t know anymore. It was so long ago. I never wanted to think about it again, and then every time I saw you, there it was. I couldn’t get away from it.”
She remembered the darkness in which she had lived. She remembered all those months that Paul had stayed away and how his absence had hurt Michael. She could imagine Paul’s pain at the separation as well, and his shame. And the horrible guilt of it all. Hadn’t she kept company with her own?
It was on her head. She had allowed it to happen. For whatever reason. What did it matter now? She couldn’t cast blame on anyone but herself. The choice had been hers. She had never even thought of consequences. The repercussions had been like a stone flung into smooth water. The splash, then the widening circles. It was a long time before the water was smooth again. And the stone was always there, lying cold and hard in the silent pool. Michael. Paul. Herself. Ruptured souls desperate to be put together again.
The torment and rift between Paul and Michael had grown wider, not because Michael couldn’t forgive, but because Paul couldn’t forgive himself. Wasn’t that just what she had felt most of her life? That everything that had ever happened to her had somehow been her fault, that she was guilty even of being born? She had learned in the last few years that she wasn’t alone in those feelings. She heard them every day from other women who had experienced the same abuses she had. Forgiving others for what they had done to her had come far easier than forgiving herself. There were still moments of struggle.
Her mouth trembled. “Paul, I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. Truly, I am.”
He sat for a long time, unable to speak, thinking of all the time and all the persecution she had endured. From him. And now she was apologizing. He had plotted her destruction and destroyed himself in the process. From that time, he had been consumed by hatred, blinded by it. I have been insufferable and self-righteous and cruel. The revelation was bitter and painful, but a relief, too. There was an odd sort of freedom in standing before a mirror and seeing himself clearly. For the first time in his life.
If it hadn’t been for Miriam, what would he have become? Loving her had softened him. She had seen something in him he’d never imagined anyone but Tess could see. And she’d seen something in Angel he couldn’t. He had wondered at it but had stubbornly held to his own convictions. Michael’s wife had always been Angel to him, the high-priced soiled dove from Pair-a-Dice—and he had always treated her accordingly.
Now that he thought back, he couldn’t remember one time when she had defended herself. Why hadn’t she? He knew the answer to that as well. She had just given it to him when she said he was right about her. It hadn’t been disdain or arrogance that had kept her silent, it had been shame. She believed everything he said about her. She believed she was soiled and unworthy, fit only to be used.
And I helped convince her. I filled the role Michael refused to play.
Remorse overwhelmed him. It hurt to look at her. It hurt even more to see the truth—that he was greatly to blame for Michael’s pain as well. If he had reached out just once as Miriam had said, maybe things would have been different, but he had been too proud, too sure
he was right.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “So very sorry. Can you forgive me?”
She wondered if he knew tears were pouring down his face, and she felt a sudden, inexplicable warmth toward this man. Michael’s brother, her brother. “I forgave you a long time ago, Paul. I left the valley and Michael of my own free will. Don’t lay blame for that on yourself.”
She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly on the desk blotter. “Let’s leave all that behind us. Please. Tell me everything that’s happened since I left.” She smiled slightly, teasing him gently. “Especially how a man like you ever managed to win a girl like Miriam?”
He laughed for the first time in months. “God only knows,” he said, shaking his head. He sighed heavily and relaxed. “She loves me. She told me she knew the first time she met me she was going to marry me.” Talking about Miriam made the warmth come flowing back. “I’d watch her and want her so much and find every kind of reason why I wasn’t good enough to kiss the hem of her skirt. Then she came to me one dawn in my cabin. She said she was moving in with me, and set about convincing me how much I needed her. I didn’t have the strength to send her home.”
Angel laughed softly. “I can’t imagine Miriam being that bold.”
“She told me she learned courage from you.” He hadn’t known what she meant then. Now he did. Angel had loved Michael enough to leave him when she thought it was in his best interest. Miriam had come to him for the same reasons. If she hadn’t, he would have gone back to the goldfields and drinking and spending time in the brothels—and he probably would have died up there with his face in the mud.
“Miriam sent me to find you. Amanda, I want to take you home.” He meant it.
Amanda. Her throat closed, and she smiled. Another burden lifted, and she was grateful, but it wasn’t that easy or simple. She couldn’t let it be. “I can’t go back, Paul. Not ever.”
“Why not?”
How much did he have to know to understand and become her ally? “There’s a lot about me you still don’t know.”
“Then tell me.”
She chewed on her lip. How much was enough? “I was sold into prostitution when I was eight,” she said slowly, staring down at nothing. “I never knew any other way of life until Michael married me.” She looked at him again. “And I never understood him, not the way he hoped I would. I can’t change who I was. I can’t undo the things that happened.”