Over the course of the next three weeks, while Jane was establishing a routine for herself, she observed that her husband and his ranch hands seemed to be more comfortable working outside of one. Or at least they were trying hard to be unpredictable. She stopped asking who would be present for dinner or supper because the only thing she could depend upon was that one or two or even three of them would be missing. They ate breakfast in shifts. Some nights the men stayed on the range instead of returning to the bunkhouse. They did not talk about where they were or what they did in her presence.
Morgan did not ride out, although Jane could tell that he wanted to. She was not certain if she were the reason he stayed behind or if his injuries kept him back. He was improving daily. His limp had disappeared so completely that sometimes Jane could not recall which foot he had injured. His ribs, though, still bothered him. Sometimes when he took a deep breath Jane could hear crackling in the area under his bruise. He allowed her to apply cream to it, but it came from Burnside’s Drugstore. Dr. Wanamaker’s Miracle Liniment and Medicinal Rub was good only for the bottle it came in. Jane had cleaned it out and placed it on the windowsill in the kitchen. It looked pretty to her when it was filled with sunlight.
Morgan walked Sophie every day but not at regular times. He finally got the bridle on her. He could not put himself on her back until he could tolerate the pain if she threw him off. Jane could tell that it frustrated him, but he never talked about it.
One afternoon she walked out to the corral while he was taking a turn with Sophie. He sent her back inside within minutes and refused to explain his reasoning. His refusal to explain himself was something Jane was coming to expect, but it was in no way something that she could tolerate in the long term. She settled on biding her time, watching, and when the right moment presented itself, she would tell him that keeping so many things to himself was unacceptable.
He took out his Winchester and sometimes his Colt and shot at mud bricks or stones that he set on fence posts away from the house but always within earshot of the dinner bell. Jane knew better than to suppose that the bell was only used to announce that meals were on the table. Jem, then Jake and Jessop, Max, and finally Morgan had all come to her at one time or another and found a way to mention the other use of the bell. Yes, she understood she should use it if she needed to bring them to the house; yes, she understood it was not to be moved from the porch because everyone expected it to be there. She believed the intention of this instruction was to make her feel easy that someone would come if she needed help. In fact, their instruction only eased their minds. Jane was much more than merely alerted; she was alarmed.
She asked Morgan several times about teaching her to shoot, but he always put her off. It further supported her impression that he did not want her outside. It did not help her understand why.
Jane overheard Morgan telling Jake that his aim was off with the rifle but true with the Colt. Jake put it down to recoil and Morgan’s ribs, and Morgan seemed to accept that, but Jane noticed that he took particular care that evening with cleaning and examining the weapon. The next day, he spent half again as much time practicing. In the house, Jane found herself snapping to attention every time she heard a shot.
They slept apart just as they had done every night since their marriage. It was not something they planned or even spoke about. It was just the way things were.
In Jane’s mind their separate sleeping arrangement was not unlike Morgan’s trouble with the Winchester. It had something to do with recoil and his ribs. She tried not to think about the day his ribs would finally be healed. Then there would only be his recoil to explain why he was not in her bed.
She was sleeping in the larger room again. Morgan had insisted that she have it, and Jane did not argue. He never moved his belongings from the room. They shared the dresser, the washroom, the clothes cupboard and the wardrobe, but what they did not share, as she had intended, was the space. They did not dance around each other in preparation of either their day or their night. They acted more familiarly in the kitchen than in the bedroom, but Jane believed that Morgan’s behavior there was predicated on whether or not they had an audience.
The presence of one or more of the ranch hands made for odd moments of intimacy, and Jane could not permit herself to attach too much importance to them. To pretend they meant anything except keeping up appearances was to recklessly endanger her heart. There was no bell she could ring to summon help for that, so she did what she watched the men around her do. She raised her guard and kept her silence.
Morgan threw his cards on the table. “Fold,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Jessop asked without looking up from his hand. “You can’t leave. We haven’t even started this round, and you owe me money.”
“You lost money. There’s a difference. And I’m going to do something about the fire in this stove. Why don’t you ever complain about how cold it is in this bunkhouse?”
“Figured you knew,” said Jake. “Give me a card, Max. I’ve got my eye on adding a pretty lady to the pair I already have.”
“Here’s your card,” Max said. “But you’re a liar.”
Morgan opened the door to the stove and poked at the fire. He tossed in a piece of wood and a shovelful of coals and then poked at it some more. “Jane makes a better fire than you do.”
“Jane’s got the dragon,” said Jessop. “What we have isn’t big enough to be the dragon’s smallest egg.”
Morgan pushed the door closed with the tip of the poker, leaned the poker against a post, and warmed his hands in front of the stove.
“Blocking the heat,” Max told him.
“Don’t care.” Still, he moved out of the way and back to the table. He spun his chair around and straddled it, resting his forearms along the back rail. “How much longer do you think Jem will be?”
“Is that the burr under your saddle tonight?” asked Jake. “I stopped keeping count of how many times you’ve been in and out of that chair.”
Jessop looked up at the door as if he expected his brother to walk through it. “He’ll be along directly, I expect. It’ll be something about Renee that’s kept him.”
Max tossed two cards at Jessop when he asked for them. “I gotta say what we’re all thinkin’, boss. Seems like these rustlers have you spooked.” He held up his hands when Morgan pinned back his ears with a look. “I said ‘seems like.’ Maybe it’s because you haven’t been able to ride out yourself, and I figure that’s because of Mrs. Longstreet, not because you got hurt.”
“You can’t be in two places at once,” said Jake. “You gotta trust us to do right by you here or there.”
Morgan said nothing.
“Well, I said it,” Max said, more to himself than anyone at the table. He threw a chip into the pot. “And whaddya know? I still got my head attached to my neck.”
“Jesus,” Morgan said.
Max simply shrugged, but Jessop said, “You’ve been kinda touchy lately.”
“Jesus,” Morgan said again, this time mostly under his breath. He looked at the men. “How long has this been rattling around in your heads exactly?”
