Page 78 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
As she grew used to it, she slithered farther along the edge. The water gradually grew deeper. She had never learned to swim, but she and Pearl had often waded into the neighbor’s pond on hot summer days. This was better. Marigold found a flat rock near the embankment and settled onto it.
The water covered her chest and met over her shoulders. She sighed, listening to the hiss of the wind in the drying vegetation around her. Sleet continued to peck her cheeks, but she turned her face into it, feeling invincible against it. She had a fleeting thought that she ought to look for watercress or any other plant tricked into believing it was spring because of the warm water here, but she closed her eyes, mind drifting to other things.
As birthday gifts went, this might be the best one she had ever received. She was thrilled with all that Pearl had sent her, but every single thing meant work—planting and harvesting, instructions for foraging and preserving, preparing tonics and poultices. Having a break from thinking and working and minding the children was invaluable.
Not that she resented them. They were wellsprings of love, providing affection and a sense of value that had been missing from her life for far too long, but the younger two were demanding. Harley had to be watched closely, and Nettie never ran out of questions. She reminded Marigold of herself at that age. Marigold spared a moment of pity for her parents, the headmistress at Miss Linnington’s Academy for Young Ladies, and poor, beleaguered Uncle Felix.
She hadn’t thought of her parents in a long time. In many ways, she had only been able to think of survival since they’d died in a carriage accident. She and Pearl had been caked in grief when Uncle Felix had told them they would have to leave Bedford and go to boarding school. Marigold had thought she couldn’t feel so abandoned as when they arrived there and were forced into separate rooms.
The academy had been a constant test, full of snobbish girls who had families to go home to on summer and Christmas break. She and Pearl had struggled to find their place, Pearl less so because she was naturally warm and compliant. Marigold was more assertive and competitive with her grades. She had wanted to become a teacher, but the pressure to marry had been enormous. Everyone had said she was doing the right thing marrying Ben. She had thought it would give her the stable, fulfilling life she had longed for since her parents had passed. That had been the dream that had got her through her own shitty days.
She hadn’t had any sort of fantasy to get her through her days in court, though. Her character had been publicly assassinated, and friends began crossing the street to avoid her. When Uncle Felix suggested moving to Kansas Territory, she had thought it couldn’t be any harder than what she’d been through. At least the daily struggle would be for a good cause, she had reasoned.
There had been a heartening promise in homesteading. At first, she had made a few friends through the suffragists. They had supported her decision to rid herself of her no-good husband and had loaned her books to read, then engaged in stimulating conversation about the texts.
There had been that other element, however. The angry, denigrating people who knew what she stood for—not just a free state, but voting rights for all and abolishing slavery. She believed women should be allowed to own property and pursue an education—professional employment, even! What a scandal! But if she had been allowed to obtain a law degree, perhaps she would have kept her house in her divorce.
For those radical views, she’d become a pariah, so much so that Pearl had often tried to hush her in public.Don’t say anything. Don’t embarrass me.
Uncle Felix had been equally vocal, but men were allowed to have opinions. As they had stood outside their burning house, Pearl hadn’t sent baleful looks at Uncle Felix as the reason for the arson. She had asked Marigold,Why couldn’t you let things be?
Marigold liked to think she knew better, she supposed. That she couldmakethings better. If she didn’t try, who would? That’s why she had interfered with Hiram, nudging him toward Pearl.
Her sense that shedidknow better had been reinforced on that bleak morning when they had found themselves homeless. Hiram’s mother had extended an invitation to Pearl. Marigold had yet to receive a letter announcing their engagement, but she was sure it was only a matter of time. She took a lot of comfort knowing Pearl was in a good situation, and yes, perhaps she was a little smug about it, too.
It struck her that she missed her sister sorely, but she had stopped wishing that she could have stayed in Topeka. Uncle Felix had been offered a room at a men’s boarding house, but the one for women was only for spinsters and widows.I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis, but you seem to attract the wrong sort of attention. Even the church had been hard-pressed to find someone willing to let her sleep on their screened porch for a few days.
So she’d come here.
Against the odds, she had begun to feel as though she had a place in this world, until things with Virgil had become so complicated. Lately, they walked around the small cabin like a pair of horseshoe magnets aligned on the same poles, pushing against one another with invisible force. She kept trying to let go of the silly pipe dreams she’d had about him, but now he had done this incredibly nice thing for her, bringing her up to this pool and leaving her to—
Wait. Had helefther here? Completely alone?
“Virgil?” she called, fighting sudden panic.
Even if he was nearby, what if he was attacked by a wolf or a mountain lion? Her heart began to race as she realized how vulnerable she was, like a newborn baby helpless in the wilderness. She could die trying to find her way back to the cabin.
“Virgil!” she shouted.
A tromping crash sounded. He waded through the patch of cattails and looked around, then scowled at her with confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She sank back to her chin, feeling silly. “I didn’t know where you went.”
“To plant your raspberries.”
“You found a suitable place?”
“Yes. They’re in the ground.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze met hers, then quickly shot off into the distance. “Are you enjoying the soak?”
It struck her that she was in her chemise and the lace-edged calico would be hiding little now that it was soaked through.
He didn’t leer, though. His profile only held a sense of listening closely, as though it mattered to him whether she was pleased.
“Very much. Thank you,” she said shyly.
