Something Blue

Chapter 21

Gabe

Gabe sat in a strange, sunlit fugue that belied the faded atmosphere of the barroom. It was strange how he had never noticed the way the sounds of the saloon rose and fell, swelling and falling away like the slow beat of a heart. It was soothing, in a way. It took him back to when he was too young to realize the reality of his circumstances, when he had dashed about between the legs of patrons and working women, slaying imaginary dragons and delighting in the characters he saw all around him. He spent so much time resenting it, he had forgotten what the barroom truly was-- home.

Perhaps, yes perhaps, his musings had less to do with the saloon itself and more to do with the way he had spent his day. He had labored at the ranch from dawn to just before noon, sweating hard in the stalls. Then he had hopped on Reaper and ridden out for his turn in heaven.

It was his fifth visit, and each one was somehow different and more remarkable than the first.

On the second, he, Isobel, and Katherine had gone for a walk around the property. Isobel had ridden on his shoulders, laughing, and twice Katherine had taken hold of his arm to keep from stumbling in the snow. The contact-- casual, voluntary, and without a trace of nervous worry-- had sent bolts of awareness through his body that brought life back to parts of his soul he hadn't known had withered.

On the third visit, they had broken out Isobel's birthday toboggan and gone sledding. They'd picked a small hill for their first venture, and Gabe hadn't partaken at all. He had sat near the bottom and watched the two fly by in a spray of white powder, and it was impossible to distinguish between the girlish giggles of mother and daughter.

On the fourth, Isobel had fallen asleep while he read to her, exhausted by another day of sledding. Katherine had let him carry her to bed and draw the quilts up over her, tucking her away, safe and warm. Then they had sat there for a long while in a pregnant silence. He had been so sure that she felt what he did-- that this was the way it was always meant to be.

And finally today-- the fifth visit-- Melissa had been gone as she had the first. A good thing, too, as the weather had been foul. Confined to the indoors, Isobel had crafted a magical and nonsensical scenario to act out, wherein the three of them were stranded on a desert island. She christened herself "Robin" and ordered him and Katherine about in a quest for survival. They built a shelter from blankets and kitchen chairs, and set snares for wild animals in the hallway using twine and wooden spoons. By the time he had left, Isobel had been sailing the high sees on a raft made of pillows, dressed in a nightgown with her hair in a wild tangle. Around her waist she'd worn a belt from which hung an assortment of survival paraphernalia-- a small tin cup, a pouch of shiny rocks, a water flask, and of course her favorite blue ribbon.

"What the hell's gotten into you?"

Gabe jerked, bringing his attention back to the present. Caroline stood across the bar from his customary spot in the corner, a worn dishrag over one shoulder and her breasts pushed so high they threatened to spill over the bodice of her cornflower blue dress. It was a pretty, innocent color with pretty, innocent white frills all along the edges. Some men liked that-- to feel as if they were tarnishing purity.

"Nothing," he grumbled, gazing absently around the room. Every night it was the same. Sometimes the faces changed, but it was the same dance. The girls, some forward and some reserved. The men, some confident and some ashamed. Drinking, yelling, laughing, giggling, squealing. Tankards slamming on wooden tabletops, sticky amber liquid splashing out. Cards tossed onto tabletops, facedown or faceup, causing faces to fall into dejection or light up with triumph. Coy smiles and clasped hands, and the rhythmless drum of boots and slippered feet as the girls pulled their chosen clients up the stairs.