True Grit - "With No Lodestar In Sight", Mattie/LaBoeuf, T
Title: With No Lodestar In Sight - 11/?
Author:
lindentree
Rating: T
Character(s): Mattie Ross/LaBoeuf, Rooster Cogburn
Word Count: 6,641
Summary: Five years after her adventure in the Choctaw Nation, Mattie Ross runs afoul of a fugitive. She soon finds herself in familiar company, if not familiar territory.
Thanks to ishie once again for always being the first to see it. Hearts!!
love is the reason
Mattie sat on the end of her brass bed, staring out the window. The sun was going down, and the room had grown cold. The bare branches of the tree outside scraped against the clapboard siding, and the sound felt lonely to her. She frowned. The sound was the result of the wind - it expressed no feeling. The tree did not have senses or emotions. Nor did the wind.
She stood and struck a match against the bedside table, and lit the lamp. She was replacing its delicate glass top when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Mattie?”
“Yes, Mama,” Mattie replied.
The door opened, and her mother entered, closing the door behind her. Her dark, delicate brows were drawn together in a frown, and she looked pale.
“Are you all right, Mattie? You have not taken sick again, have you? Only you have been up here for hours, and I began to worry that perhaps -”
“I am all right. Or I am not ill, at least,” Mattie replied. She saw the pained relief that crossed her mother’s face. Mattie cleared her throat. “Mr. LaBoeuf has asked me to marry him.”
“Oh, Mattie!” Mama exclaimed, clutching her handkerchief to her bosom. Her expression came alive with delight, two spots of pink appearing high on her cheekbones. “He said the other night that he might wish to speak to me, and I admit I wondered what he had planned.”
“He might have asked your permission first, as that is the proper way of things,” Mattie griped.
Mama tilted her head at her. “I believe Mr. LaBoeuf is familiar enough with your character that he knew that yours is the only permission he truly needs. Not mine.”
Mattie nodded, not having a response to this. Silence fell between them and Mattie found she could not meet her mother’s eyes.
“Marriage can be a solace in hard times,” Mama said, after a long pause. “A husband and wife can lean on one another in a way that one cannot do with other acquaintances.”
“That may be true enough for some, but as for me, the Lord is my solace,” Mattie replied.
Mama looked at her with a sad, anxious expression in her eyes. “Mattie, there is scarcely a day that goes by that I do not think of your Papa, and miss him. Nor is there a day that goes by that I am not grateful for the time we had together, those happy years, few as they turned out to be, and for you, and Frank, and Victoria.” Mama paused and looked away, shaking her head. “Consider Mr. LaBoeuf’s offer with care. I know you are proud and headstrong, and God strike me down, I would not have you another way, for you have been like a rock to me. Only I do not wish for you to regret him. My true desire is for you to be as happy as I have been.”
To this, Mattie found she had no response. With a sigh, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, her hand holding the brass bedpost.
“Your Papa would approve of him, though, that is for certain,” Mama continued.
“Truly, do you think so?”
“Why, of course! Mr. LaBoeuf has an honourable occupation, although it is dangerous, and by all appearances he is dutiful and cordial. There is no reason I can see for your Papa or myself to disapprove.”
Mattie’s thought was that Papa had been too lenient and kindly in his judgments of others generally, but she did not say so. “Mr. LaBoeuf tells me he plans to retire from the Rangers and take part in a bail bonds business with an acquaintance of his in Ysleta. He owns a good piece of land there with a pecan grove. He desires for me to oversee it.”
Mama’s gaze was soft, and she tilted her head. “There are not many men who would be so obliging to their wife’s peculiar ways as to ensure an occupation for her as part of their proposal.”
“My ways are not peculiar,” Mattie replied sullenly. “Rather I think they are very reasonable.”
“I know you do. But I think you will find that most men will not see it as you do.”
“I care little for what most men see or do not see.”
“Mattie, please,” Mama entreated her. “Do not be stubborn. You know that if you wish never to marry any man, I will not harangue you, and you will always have a place at home. I would not have you marry any old ragamuffin who came asking for you only because he came asking. Yet... Mr. LaBoeuf, he has told you that he has an affection for you?”
“He tells me he loves me sincerely, and that he has only stayed here and not returned home out of an interest in my well-being,” Mattie replied.
“Oh, Mattie,” Mama sighed. “You will do what you think is best, but my girl, do not casually dismiss what is being offered to you because you fear compromise.”
“I do not fear compromise,” Mattie said, confused as to Mama’s meaning. She shook her head. “Be it what it would, I think perhaps our adventures have simply harrowed up some desire of his to settle and have a family. He would be just as content if not more so with some other person, a woman from Texas. His head will be turned soon enough.”
Mama frowned. “Mr. LaBoeuf does not seem the kind of man who casts idle proposals of marriage all about the country. He is an honourable man. If he has told you he cares for you and wishes to be wedded to you, I imagine he is very intent on you in particular.”
Mattie looked down at the floor. It was true enough, she supposed. She doubted LaBoeuf travelled the country offering empty promises to every woman he met. Rather she suspected he liked to believe he left a trail of pining hearts in his wake. She bit her cheek to kill the smile the thought conjured.
“You have told me of Mr. LaBoeuf’s proposal, and his feelings, and your practical objections. But you have not told me of your feelings. Do you feel nothing at all for him?”
Sharply, Mattie looked up to meet Mama’s calm, steady gaze. She swallowed.
In truth, “nothing” was not how she could most accurately describe her feelings for LaBoeuf. What she felt for him was not within a mile of “nothing.”
“I cannot give you instruction in this, Mattie,” Mama said gently. “You must choose for yourself. Only remember that having someone love you and take you as you are is a rare and precious thing in this world.”
Mama came forward and bent to kiss Mattie on top of her head. She turned and walked to the door.
“Consider his offer with care,” she said again, her hand resting on the door knob. “You have always had a strong will of your own, my dear, and it has served you well. Do not let this be the moment when you lead yourself astray.”
Mama left then, closing the door behind her, leaving Mattie alone. The lamplight flickered, warping her shadow where it was cast on the far wall.
Mattie stared straight ahead at the window where LaBoeuf had been standing when she awoke from her fever.
She did not know what to do, and such a state of indecision was foreign to her.
If she refused him, he would leave. His pride would not allow him to stay in her presence under such circumstances, she knew. It was likely that he would not care to write to her or get a letter from her, either. If she did not agree to marry him, she would never see him again. It was as good as certain. He would return to Texas and perhaps find another woman to marry.
Mattie’s hand clutched the bedpost, and she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Feeling lightheaded, she attempted to compose herself. That was no reason to marry. One ought to marry for security, and for practicality, not out of fear.
Mattie frowned. What was it she feared? Becoming estranged from a person whom she had grown to respect and even admire, after a fashion, she supposed. Also the fear that she would, as Mama suggested, regret him. Fear that he would ride back to Texas and never think of her again. She knew if he left, she would think of him, and that such thoughts would pain her.
She did not need his shelter or his help. What other good reason was there to marry a person and bind yourself to him for the whole of your life?
Love, said a small voice from deep inside her. Love is the reason.
Even as she castigated herself for being foolish, she knew. She knew that the fear and sorrow she felt at the thought of being parted from LaBoeuf came from her love for him. Love was the reason for it all.
It gave her an uncanny feeling to unearth this truth within herself. It was strange and familiar at once, brand new but old as well, as old as anything. It was obscured from view, hidden away, but it had been there all along. It was necessary, like her very bones.
Love was the reason for it all.
This was not something many people would understand about her. Most thought her hard and cold and strange, an unnatural girl who shed no tears over her father’s death and who cared only for money and cotton and the unyielding word of the Lord. She knew people thought this; they had said as much to her, and much harsher words, she reckoned, behind her back.
They did not understand. Mattie had loved her father more than any person, and so she could not rest until his killer met justice at her own hand. Her determination, her doggedness and fearlessness - it all stemmed from the love she had for Papa.
If it had not been for the fierce love that burned inside her, she would not have pursued Tom Chaney, or met Rooster and LaBoeuf, or had her arm cut off to save her life. She did not regret a moment of it, or a moment since. Every time she moved to grab something with a hand that was no longer there, she felt an emptiness inside which was filled right away with the knowledge that she had not let her father’s murder go unchecked. She remembered that she did right by him.
If no one understood this about her, she did not mind it. It was only that her ways made her seem untouchably heartless. The rude boarder in Hot Springs had not been the first to tell her she was a “spinster in the making.” No one could see the more tender part of her, except perhaps Mama.
Except perhaps LaBoeuf, it seemed.
The thought of him made her chest ache. Perhaps she was strange or unnatural, she did not know, but she was by no means cold or hard. She was by no means heartless. And cotton and money and her church were not the only things she cared for, not by far.
What if she had spurned LaBoeuf’s silly pride too badly in trying to refuse him? What if he would never speak to her again? What if he did depart for Texas and find some handsome woman, some warmer woman with a sweeter disposition with whom he could “settle down”?
What if he had already gone?
Mattie stood, her head pounding. She turned and caught sight of herself in the small looking glass on the washstand. The forlorn expression she spied there made her almost unrecognizable.
Shaking herself, Mattie turned and extinguished the lamp on the bureau. She threw open the door, slamming it closed behind her before hurrying down the stairs. She sped through the foyer, passing the parlour full of guests visiting and drinking their after supper tea and coffee.
“Why, Miss Ross!” someone exclaimed as she passed. Mattie did not answer. Where would he be? Not with the other guests in the parlour. It was twilight; he was likely on the porch, smoking his pipe.
Mattie opened the front door, and stepped out into the cool October night.
There he was.
LaBoeuf sat on one of the porch chairs in a square of diffused light thrown by the oil lamps in the parlour, his elbows leaning on his knees and his head bowed. He was smoking his pipe, and Mattie’s thought was that he looked very much like he had the moment she first laid eyes on him, only considerably less smug.
She closed the door behind her, and cleared her throat. “Good evening, Mr. LaBoeuf.”
LaBoeuf turned and was on his feet in an instant, his pipe abandoned and his hat in his hands. His look was pensive.
“I have spoken with my mother,” Mattie said.
“I see,” he said. He seemed wary of her, and it pained her to think that she had the power to wound him, and that he was prepared for her to do so. “And what did she have to say?”
“She sees no reason to object to it.”
LaBoeuf nodded, his eyes searching hers. “All right. What do you have to say?”
Mattie looked down at the toes of her shoes, poking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. “I say... Will you command my obedience and order me about like a servant?”
LaBoeuf regarded her, befuddled. “No, I will not,” he replied.
“Will you run around town, gambling and drinking and carousing?”
“I will not.”
“Will you be cruel and neglectful?”
“I will not.”
“Will you use harsh and vulgar words when speaking to me, or use a switch when you do not like what I have to say?”
“I will not.”
“Will you wallow in filth and expect me to delight in cleaning up after you?”
“I will not.”
“Will you attend church with me every Sunday, come rain or shine?”
LaBoeuf’s whiskers twitched, and he seemed to be holding back a smile. “I most certainly will.”
“Well, in that case... All right.”
LaBoeuf’s mirth disappeared and he stepped forward, dropping his hat to the floor and taking her hand in his. “You agree to it? Truly?”
“I agree to it, Mr. LaBoeuf,” Mattie replied.
He clasped her hand between his for a moment, and then pulled her to his chest. Mattie was stunned for a moment at his abruptness, but she relaxed, letting him hold her. His arms were not tight; she could have pulled away at any moment. She laid her head against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating under her cheek. He smelled of leather and saddle soap and pipe smoke, and Mattie found she liked the curious combination. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“That is quite the sigh,” LaBoeuf said softly, his low voice rumbling through her. Mattie shivered and opened her eyes.
“This seems untoward,” she replied.
“It would only be untoward if we had not first made our acquaintance in a boarding house bedroom,” LaBoeuf reasoned. “Anyhow, I have long since learned that what is untoward is of little consequence to you. Or to me, now that I think on it.”
Mattie leaned back to look at him. “Are you implying that I am a woman of loose morals?”
LaBoeuf laughed, and pulled her close again. His chin rested on her head. “There is nothing loose whatsoever about your morals, Mattie Ross.”
They stood that way for some time, and Mattie felt a sweet sense of peaceful relief fill her chest. She blew out another deep breath. He had not gone. He would not quit her and go to Texas and marry someone else. He would be with her all the time, now, until God chose to part them.
“When you fell ill, I thought perhaps the Lord had other plans for you and I would never have the opportunity to hold you in this way,” he said, after some time. He paused again, and then cleared his throat. “I have decided that it is all right if you do not love me as I love you. I believe that, with time, you will come to feel a similar fondness for me.”
Mattie leaned back to examine his face. He had a look of resignation about him, and she could not help the smile that stole across her own face.
“Rooster Cogburn was right; you are a silly old fool,” she said. “I already feel a ‘similar fondness’ for you, or else I would not have consented to marry you. Do you think I would marry for any other reason? I can get by perfectly well on my own in every other way; I have no need for a husband generally.”
LaBoeuf frowned at her. “If you believe you have no need for a husband, I wonder that you have consented to this at all.”
Mattie paused, trying to find the right words. Everything she thought of seemed foolish and sentimental. Yet it was true, also. Could romantic words at times be pragmatic by virtue of the fact that they contained the bald truth? She steeled herself. “Mr. LaBoeuf, I consent to this because I am fond of your company, and because when I was faced with the prospect of returning home and perhaps never seeing you again, the sadness such thoughts placed in my heart would not be dislodged. That is, I mean to say that I love you already, and you will not have to wait any length of time for me to become fond of you.”
“All right, then,” he said, his eyes soft as he regarded her. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “I would like very much if you would call me by the name my family most often uses for me, now that we are to be married.”
“Which of your names is that?” Mattie asked. “Do your nieces and nephews call you Uncle Virgil?”
LaBoeuf exhaled a laugh. “Virgil is my first given name, but it belonged to my father’s brother, and so I was always called Emery from when I was small.”
“Then you would like for me to call you Emery?”
“I would, yes.”
“All right. Emery.”
His cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat before taking her hand in both of his. “It is silly to be so pleased, but there is nothing for it. May I beg a kiss of you?” he said.
Mattie felt her face heat. He was so stiff and formal; the boys at home tended to thrust a kiss upon you whether you wanted one or not. Indeed, he had been guilty of such behaviour himself.
“You are not going to simply steal a kiss?” Mattie asked. “You have already stolen more than one from me.”
LaBoeuf had the decency to look chagrined. “I thought perhaps things might go easier for me if I asked rather than took.”
“That was wise of you,” Mattie replied. She took a step closer to him. “You may have a kiss, if you like.”
As LaBoeuf leaned in to take his kiss, Mattie ducked her head and craned to land a peck on his warm, stubble-roughened cheek.
“There,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “Now we are very nearly square.”
LaBoeuf smiled at her, his expression delighted and surprised, and then leaned in once more, pressing a kiss to her lips. One of his arms slid around her waist, pulling her close, and the other cradled her shoulders. She rested her hand against his buckskin-covered back, and marvelled at the strange quiver which ran along every nerve of her body, leaving goose pimpled skin and a shiver in its wake.
“You are cold,” LaBoeuf said, pulling back enough to look at her. He released her and unbuttoned his coat.
“I am not cold,” Mattie replied. “I am merely happy, I think.”
“Happiness has the same effect on you as a draft,” LaBoeuf said, his eyebrows raised. “That is very peculiar, but then I reckon I should not be surprised.”
Mattie blushed, frowning at him. LaBoeuf held his coat open.
“Come here,” he said. “Then if you stop shivering I will know that you are neither cold nor happy.”
Feeling rather unlike herself, Mattie stepped forward, allowing him to envelop her in the warmth of his coat, where he held her very close. She laid her head on his chest, and again she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
“Would you like to go and share the happy news with your mother?” LaBoeuf asked.
Mattie shook her head. “I think I would like to stand here with you just a little longer, Emery.”
LaBoeuf laid his cheek against her head and tightened his arms around her.
“If that is what you would like,” he said, “then I will be the last man to prevent you from having your way.”
***
The following day passed in a haze as Mattie and her mother prepared to return home to Yell County. At breakfast, LaBoeuf explained that he expected it would take several months at least to build an adequate house on his land in El Paso. He was quite insistent that Mattie not come out to Texas until he had a “respectable home” for her to live in, and Mama seemed to agree. Mattie did not much care, as they had spent the majority of their acquaintance either in boarding houses or sleeping on the hard ground, but she acquiesced. It was agreed that LaBoeuf would come to Arkansas when the house was completed, and that they would marry there. As for their more immediate plans, Mattie and Mama were on the train to Arkansas the next morning, and LaBoeuf would be headed in the opposite direction in the afternoon.
It all happened very fast.
After breakfast, Mama discreetly took her leave, and Mattie and LaBoeuf retired to the side porch, out of the way of the comings and goings of the front of the boarding house. They sat on the bench there, and LaBoeuf smoked his pipe.
There seemed to be no reason to speak, and so Mattie thought about what the coming months and weeks would hold, as well as their life together once they were married. A nervous knot began to form in her stomach as she contemplated it all. She was not one to dwell on events too far in the future to be worth worrying about. It was, after all, a waste of time and energy to fret over things which had not yet come to pass. But she could not help it. El Paso was a long way from Yell County. What did she know of life in El Paso? Could she be happy in such a place, even having LaBoeuf close by to cheer her? Could she be happy living so far away from Mama and Little Frank and Victoria?
“If we are to be married, there ought to be honesty between us,” Mattie said, turning to look at LaBoeuf after a long silence.
“There ought to be, yes,” LaBoeuf agreed. “What troubles you?”
“Although I am not one to shirk the challenges God presents me with, I admit to you now that the thought of leaving Arkansas and my family and all that is familiar and dear to me behind forever gives me pause.”
“Forever?” LaBoeuf’s mouth gaped for a moment in an expression of disbelief. “By God, Mattie, I do not plan to spirit you away to Texas and keep you as my prisoner! We shall visit your family as often as you like, and indeed they can visit us. It will not be long before the railroads will connect those two places, and then it will be no trouble at all. I know how dear your family is to you; I would not deprive you of their company.”
“Oh,” Mattie replied, suddenly feeling foolish. She frowned and looked away from him.
“I think you will like El Paso,” he said. “I know you are loyal to your own homeland, and that is all right, but I believe you will see that El Paso possesses fine qualities that will suit you very well. And I will do all that I can do make you at ease there, to increase your happiness.”
“I know you will,” Mattie said. She did not like to think of leaving him the next day, but she did not like to think of leaving Mama and her siblings behind at some moment in the future, either. Perhaps it was best not to think of it at all.
They fell silent again for several moments before LaBoeuf cleared his throat. “Cogburn warned me off you that morning, by the bank of that little creek. Do you remember? He doubted my intentions, and thought you had no interest in being pursued,” he said, frowning. “In earnest, I had myself convinced of the same. I do not know what changed Cogburn’s mind, but by the time you recovered from the fever here, he had turned right around on the subject and was giving me all manner of unsolicited advice.”
Mattie grimaced. “He did the same to me, just before we arrived in Texarkana the first time. He suggested I give you some ‘encouragement’ before your head was turned by another.”
“Well,” LaBoeuf guffawed, “although I would not have resented some encouragement from you, having my head turned is unlikely, regardless of the circumstances.”
“Is it?” Mattie asked, turning to look at him.
LaBoeuf regarded her for a moment, his eyes soft on her. When he spoke, his voice was soft as well. “You do not doubt yourself a moment in any other matter, yet here I see you pause. You doubt the appeal you hold for me?”
Embarrassed, Mattie looked away and shrugged her shoulders. LaBoeuf picked up her hand from where it lay on the bench, at her side. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, gently pressing each of the fine bones of her hand as though they were piano keys.
“Doubt some other thing, Mattie,” he said, his voice gruff. “Do not doubt that.” He enfolded her hand in his, and cleared his throat. “Anyhow, Cogburn seemed to think I planned to ‘fill your head with romantical ideas,’ as he put it, and then skedaddle with your good reputation in my saddlebag. Rooster Cogburn, lecturing me on a lady’s honour! I reckon he does not know you or me half so well as he thinks he does. But he certainly has a peculiar regard for you. He treated me as a father might treat a suitor for his daughter, in his own way.”
Mattie smiled at the picture he painted. It faded, though, as she thought of Rooster riding out for who-knew-where, just him and Whiskey Jack and whatever liquor he ‘confiscated’ on his way. She considered voicing her concern, but then she recalled LaBoeuf’s strange remarks about her and Rooster being ‘bosom friends’ on the trail. She glanced at him, and then thought of what Mama had said, about a man and wife being a solace for one another.
“I worry for him,” Mattie said finally. “He is the most alone person I have ever encountered. He did not seem to know entirely where he was headed, or why, or how, or if there would be anyone there to greet him when he arrives. If he arrives.”
“He provided me with an address where I might send his portion of the reward when I return to El Paso, but I do not know. It would not surprise me if he failed to collect it.”
“If the address comes to nothing, do you think we might try to find him? I want to ensure that he receives the funds to which he is entitled, and I would like to invite him to our wedding, whenever it shall be. He ought to know he is welcome.”
LaBoeuf turned and gave her a long look, frowning slightly. “I see his regard for you does not go unreciprocated.”
“No, it does not,” Mattie agreed. “Do you mind it?”
LaBoeuf did not reply right away, continuing to look at her. Finally he cleared his throat and looked away. “No, I suppose I do not mind it. Although I do not think he is altogether deserving of your admiration.”
Mattie smiled. “Well, I do not know about that. But I do know that the admiration I have for Rooster Cogburn bears little resemblance to the admiration I have for you.”
That seemed to placate LaBoeuf, for his face reddened and he cleared his throat, and had soon changed the subject of conversation to the scheduling of the trains in the morning, and no more was said about Rooster Cogburn.
In the afternoon, Mama and Mattie prepared for the journey home and looked after some errands in town. Mama insisted on having Mattie sit for a photographer, which in Mattie’s opinion was a costly waste of time. She did not think she looked her best, either, for although her bruises had healed, she was still scrawny from being ill. But Mama would not have it another way.
Supper was a quiet affair, for there were not many guests staying at the boarding house that night. After coffee with Mama and Mrs. McNabb in the parlour, Mattie stood with LaBoeuf outside as he smoked his pipe.
It was curiously quiet between them. Mattie supposed that everything useful had already been said. In any case, she found she enjoyed simply being near him as the night deepened and turned cold, and their breath turned to plumes of steam in the air. When he finished his pipe he took her hand and kissed her cheek, and said it was foolish for her to be out in the cold so soon after being ill. They went inside, and everyone retired to bed.
Nothing was said about their parting the next day, and Mattie was glad. To anticipate the pain of leaving his side was akin to wallowing in it, and that was not something Mattie would do.
In the morning, Mattie and Mama said their goodbyes to Mrs. McNabb, and then they all travelled to the train depot together. Mrs. McNabb’s stable boy had gone ahead with the horses, and LaBoeuf looked after Mattie’s luggage as well as Mama’s. They did not have much in the way of baggage and could have managed themselves, but LaBoeuf was insistent, and said he did not mind. When they arrived on the platform, a porter whisked it all away, and Mama delicately said that she would leave them, and disappeared down the length of the great iron machine to find their seats.
“Here,” LaBoeuf said, reaching into his pocket and placing two small packages in the palm of Mattie’s hand. They were wrapped in crisp brown paper.
“It is not appropriate for a man to give gifts to an unmarried young woman,” Mattie murmured, eyeing the contents of her hand speculatively.
“Under the circumstances, I think some minor adjustments to courtship rituals are all right,” he replied. He pointed at the smaller of the two packages. “Open that one first, if you please.”
Handing him back the other package, Mattie used her thumb to work the brown paper aside. Small, finicky jobs were the hardest to manage with only one hand, but she did not want to call attention to it by requesting his assistance. The paper fell away, and in her palm was left a silver-plated thimble with wee filigreed thistles around the base of the cup.
“I gather that, these days, some fashionable young men will bestow a gold ring on their intended as a token of their engagement, but as I am neither fashionable nor young, I hoped you might not expect such a thing from me, and would not mind a more traditional conveyance of my intentions,” LaBoeuf explained. His voice was gruff, and he looked away from her, out over the milling crowds on the platform.
Mattie did not know what to say. She had never received such a gift before. It was simple and practical, and its beauty and worth lay in those qualities. She knew that every time she held it or used it, or even spied it on her bureau, she would think of him. Swallowing, she shook her head. She still did not know how to graciously accept a compliment. But then, LaBoeuf knew that about her already, and much better than most.
“I do not know what to say,” Mattie said earnestly, looking up at him. “I wish I had a poetic spirit so that I might adequately express myself to you, but my oratorical skills lay more in the region of the pragmatic. So I will say simply that it is a lovely thing, and that I will cherish it always.”
Although his expression remained serious, Mattie could tell that he was pleased. He went all red in the cheeks and cleared his throat. He returned the second package to her. “The frivolity of this gift will, I hope, make amends for the lack of it in the other.”
Mattie worked the second package open, and discovered two silver-plated combs, each one about the size of her thumb from knuckle to fingertip. On the end of each was a posey of delicate filigreed flowers.
“I am told that the flowers are forget-me-nots, but I do not know,” LaBoeuf said.
Mattie turned the little combs over in her palm. She never expected to have such fine things to call her own, and she certainly did not expect a man to buy them for her. The delight she felt was foreign, and almost certainly wicked.
“Forget-me-nots are said to signify true love,” Mattie mused, glancing up at him.
“Do they? Well,” he replied. His eyes were steady on hers, and his tone implied that he knew that already. Mattie blushed and looked away. “Would you like me to put them in your hair?”
“Oh, no!” she replied, closing her fingers protectively over her treasures. “I want them right where I can see them for the journey home. You never know what kind of riff-raff you will encounter on a long train ride.”
LaBoeuf huffed out a short kind of laugh and smiled at her. “As you wish.”
“I have something for you, as well,” Mattie said, remembering the tintype tucked in the inner pocket of her coat. She placed his gifts safely there and extracted the photograph, handing it to LaBoeuf in its neat black paper sleeve.
He removed the photograph and examined it, his expression revealing nothing to her. Abruptly she felt foolish.
“It was Mama’s notion to have it taken,” Mattie said, looking out over the platform at the other travellers who were milling about. “As for myself I think it rather silly.”
LaBoeuf’s gaze met hers, his blue eyes bright in the afternoon sun. She could feel the heat rise in her face, and it only served to embarrass her further.
“It is not silly. It is not silly in the least. I will keep it with me always,” he said. His voice was gruff, and he cleared his throat. He seemed about to say something more, but was interrupted by Mama’s voice calling her from down the platform.
“Mattie!”
Mattie looked over her shoulder and saw her mother waving to her, a hesitant and careworn expression on her face, visible even from a distance.
“It seems the train is boarding,” LaBoeuf said. “Do you have everything you will require for your journey?”
“Yes. My only concern is for Alma. She has never been on a train before.”
“Would you like me to speak to the porter?” LaBoeuf asked.
“No, that is all right. While you were dealing with the luggage, I told the ticket agent and the conductor that Alma is to arrive in the same condition in which I left her in their care, or the railroad will be in my debt for her full value,” Mattie replied.
LaBoeuf’s whiskers twitched as though he were trying to hold back a smile. “I ought to have known that you would already have seen to it.”
The engineer blew the whistle then, and the train gave a great groan and released a plume of steam into the air.
“All right, then,” LaBoeuf said, the smile dropping from his face. He reached down and took Mattie’s hand in his, and began walking down the platform to where Mama waited. “You will write to me, will you not? You need not be concerned that frequent letters are any kind of exceptional burden, for our mail service is good enough. You need not even await a reply - send as many letters as you like.”
“I will write to you,” Mattie replied.
“Good,” he said as they came to a stop in front of Mama.
“I am terribly sorry, but the porter has told me that we will be departing very shortly,” Mama said, her tone fretful.
“It is all right, Mama. Go find your seat and I will join you,” Mattie replied.
“Goodbye, Mr. LaBoeuf,” Mama said. LaBoeuf helped her onto the train with his free hand, and she favoured him with a warm smile before disappearing into the great iron beast.
“Would you like me to see you onto the train?” LaBoeuf asked.
“No. I will find my seat all right,” Mattie replied.
They stood watching each other a moment, neither knowing what to say. The train let out a shrill whistle, and the porter leaned his head out of the train and informed Mattie that she must board.
LaBoeuf frowned. His hand grasped her elbow and pulled her close, the other cupping the nape of her neck. He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, and then said, “Troublesome woman. I shall miss you, I fear, but I will build that house as quickly as I am able.”
“I know you will,” Mattie replied. She breathed in the tobacco and buckskin and fresh air scent of him, and swallowed.
He pressed a scratchy kiss to her temple, and released her. “Go on now,” he said.
Mattie turned from him, not wanting to meet his eyes. She felt the gentle press of his hand when he briefly touched the small of her back as she boarded the train.
Inside the compartment, she saw Mama and went to her. Mama moved aside and let Mattie have the seat nearest the window.
Although Mattie knew she would see LaBoeuf again, her heart was heavy at the sight of him standing alone on the platform, eyeing the train with a frown on his face. It was bearable, but when the train shuddered and gave a lurch as it began to pull out of the station, she felt tears prick at her eyes. She pressed her palm against the sooty window, and she knew he saw it, for his shoulders drooped and gave a little shake of his head.
The train lurched again and began to pull away, and LaBoeuf took two steps forward and laid his hand on the window for the briefest of moments before removing it as the train gathered speed. They would have been touching if not for the glass.
Mattie craned her head and watched him standing there on the edge of the platform with his hand still raised in farewell, until the train rounded a curve and he disappeared.
Chapter 12
Author:
lindentree
Rating: T
Character(s): Mattie Ross/LaBoeuf, Rooster Cogburn
Word Count: 6,641
Summary: Five years after her adventure in the Choctaw Nation, Mattie Ross runs afoul of a fugitive. She soon finds herself in familiar company, if not familiar territory.
Thanks to ishie once again for always being the first to see it. Hearts!!
love is the reason
Mattie sat on the end of her brass bed, staring out the window. The sun was going down, and the room had grown cold. The bare branches of the tree outside scraped against the clapboard siding, and the sound felt lonely to her. She frowned. The sound was the result of the wind - it expressed no feeling. The tree did not have senses or emotions. Nor did the wind.
She stood and struck a match against the bedside table, and lit the lamp. She was replacing its delicate glass top when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Mattie?”
“Yes, Mama,” Mattie replied.
The door opened, and her mother entered, closing the door behind her. Her dark, delicate brows were drawn together in a frown, and she looked pale.
“Are you all right, Mattie? You have not taken sick again, have you? Only you have been up here for hours, and I began to worry that perhaps -”
“I am all right. Or I am not ill, at least,” Mattie replied. She saw the pained relief that crossed her mother’s face. Mattie cleared her throat. “Mr. LaBoeuf has asked me to marry him.”
“Oh, Mattie!” Mama exclaimed, clutching her handkerchief to her bosom. Her expression came alive with delight, two spots of pink appearing high on her cheekbones. “He said the other night that he might wish to speak to me, and I admit I wondered what he had planned.”
“He might have asked your permission first, as that is the proper way of things,” Mattie griped.
Mama tilted her head at her. “I believe Mr. LaBoeuf is familiar enough with your character that he knew that yours is the only permission he truly needs. Not mine.”
Mattie nodded, not having a response to this. Silence fell between them and Mattie found she could not meet her mother’s eyes.
“Marriage can be a solace in hard times,” Mama said, after a long pause. “A husband and wife can lean on one another in a way that one cannot do with other acquaintances.”
“That may be true enough for some, but as for me, the Lord is my solace,” Mattie replied.
Mama looked at her with a sad, anxious expression in her eyes. “Mattie, there is scarcely a day that goes by that I do not think of your Papa, and miss him. Nor is there a day that goes by that I am not grateful for the time we had together, those happy years, few as they turned out to be, and for you, and Frank, and Victoria.” Mama paused and looked away, shaking her head. “Consider Mr. LaBoeuf’s offer with care. I know you are proud and headstrong, and God strike me down, I would not have you another way, for you have been like a rock to me. Only I do not wish for you to regret him. My true desire is for you to be as happy as I have been.”
To this, Mattie found she had no response. With a sigh, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, her hand holding the brass bedpost.
“Your Papa would approve of him, though, that is for certain,” Mama continued.
“Truly, do you think so?”
“Why, of course! Mr. LaBoeuf has an honourable occupation, although it is dangerous, and by all appearances he is dutiful and cordial. There is no reason I can see for your Papa or myself to disapprove.”
Mattie’s thought was that Papa had been too lenient and kindly in his judgments of others generally, but she did not say so. “Mr. LaBoeuf tells me he plans to retire from the Rangers and take part in a bail bonds business with an acquaintance of his in Ysleta. He owns a good piece of land there with a pecan grove. He desires for me to oversee it.”
Mama’s gaze was soft, and she tilted her head. “There are not many men who would be so obliging to their wife’s peculiar ways as to ensure an occupation for her as part of their proposal.”
“My ways are not peculiar,” Mattie replied sullenly. “Rather I think they are very reasonable.”
“I know you do. But I think you will find that most men will not see it as you do.”
“I care little for what most men see or do not see.”
“Mattie, please,” Mama entreated her. “Do not be stubborn. You know that if you wish never to marry any man, I will not harangue you, and you will always have a place at home. I would not have you marry any old ragamuffin who came asking for you only because he came asking. Yet... Mr. LaBoeuf, he has told you that he has an affection for you?”
“He tells me he loves me sincerely, and that he has only stayed here and not returned home out of an interest in my well-being,” Mattie replied.
“Oh, Mattie,” Mama sighed. “You will do what you think is best, but my girl, do not casually dismiss what is being offered to you because you fear compromise.”
“I do not fear compromise,” Mattie said, confused as to Mama’s meaning. She shook her head. “Be it what it would, I think perhaps our adventures have simply harrowed up some desire of his to settle and have a family. He would be just as content if not more so with some other person, a woman from Texas. His head will be turned soon enough.”
Mama frowned. “Mr. LaBoeuf does not seem the kind of man who casts idle proposals of marriage all about the country. He is an honourable man. If he has told you he cares for you and wishes to be wedded to you, I imagine he is very intent on you in particular.”
Mattie looked down at the floor. It was true enough, she supposed. She doubted LaBoeuf travelled the country offering empty promises to every woman he met. Rather she suspected he liked to believe he left a trail of pining hearts in his wake. She bit her cheek to kill the smile the thought conjured.
“You have told me of Mr. LaBoeuf’s proposal, and his feelings, and your practical objections. But you have not told me of your feelings. Do you feel nothing at all for him?”
Sharply, Mattie looked up to meet Mama’s calm, steady gaze. She swallowed.
In truth, “nothing” was not how she could most accurately describe her feelings for LaBoeuf. What she felt for him was not within a mile of “nothing.”
“I cannot give you instruction in this, Mattie,” Mama said gently. “You must choose for yourself. Only remember that having someone love you and take you as you are is a rare and precious thing in this world.”
Mama came forward and bent to kiss Mattie on top of her head. She turned and walked to the door.
“Consider his offer with care,” she said again, her hand resting on the door knob. “You have always had a strong will of your own, my dear, and it has served you well. Do not let this be the moment when you lead yourself astray.”
Mama left then, closing the door behind her, leaving Mattie alone. The lamplight flickered, warping her shadow where it was cast on the far wall.
Mattie stared straight ahead at the window where LaBoeuf had been standing when she awoke from her fever.
She did not know what to do, and such a state of indecision was foreign to her.
If she refused him, he would leave. His pride would not allow him to stay in her presence under such circumstances, she knew. It was likely that he would not care to write to her or get a letter from her, either. If she did not agree to marry him, she would never see him again. It was as good as certain. He would return to Texas and perhaps find another woman to marry.
Mattie’s hand clutched the bedpost, and she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Feeling lightheaded, she attempted to compose herself. That was no reason to marry. One ought to marry for security, and for practicality, not out of fear.
Mattie frowned. What was it she feared? Becoming estranged from a person whom she had grown to respect and even admire, after a fashion, she supposed. Also the fear that she would, as Mama suggested, regret him. Fear that he would ride back to Texas and never think of her again. She knew if he left, she would think of him, and that such thoughts would pain her.
She did not need his shelter or his help. What other good reason was there to marry a person and bind yourself to him for the whole of your life?
Love, said a small voice from deep inside her. Love is the reason.
Even as she castigated herself for being foolish, she knew. She knew that the fear and sorrow she felt at the thought of being parted from LaBoeuf came from her love for him. Love was the reason for it all.
It gave her an uncanny feeling to unearth this truth within herself. It was strange and familiar at once, brand new but old as well, as old as anything. It was obscured from view, hidden away, but it had been there all along. It was necessary, like her very bones.
Love was the reason for it all.
This was not something many people would understand about her. Most thought her hard and cold and strange, an unnatural girl who shed no tears over her father’s death and who cared only for money and cotton and the unyielding word of the Lord. She knew people thought this; they had said as much to her, and much harsher words, she reckoned, behind her back.
They did not understand. Mattie had loved her father more than any person, and so she could not rest until his killer met justice at her own hand. Her determination, her doggedness and fearlessness - it all stemmed from the love she had for Papa.
If it had not been for the fierce love that burned inside her, she would not have pursued Tom Chaney, or met Rooster and LaBoeuf, or had her arm cut off to save her life. She did not regret a moment of it, or a moment since. Every time she moved to grab something with a hand that was no longer there, she felt an emptiness inside which was filled right away with the knowledge that she had not let her father’s murder go unchecked. She remembered that she did right by him.
If no one understood this about her, she did not mind it. It was only that her ways made her seem untouchably heartless. The rude boarder in Hot Springs had not been the first to tell her she was a “spinster in the making.” No one could see the more tender part of her, except perhaps Mama.
Except perhaps LaBoeuf, it seemed.
The thought of him made her chest ache. Perhaps she was strange or unnatural, she did not know, but she was by no means cold or hard. She was by no means heartless. And cotton and money and her church were not the only things she cared for, not by far.
What if she had spurned LaBoeuf’s silly pride too badly in trying to refuse him? What if he would never speak to her again? What if he did depart for Texas and find some handsome woman, some warmer woman with a sweeter disposition with whom he could “settle down”?
What if he had already gone?
Mattie stood, her head pounding. She turned and caught sight of herself in the small looking glass on the washstand. The forlorn expression she spied there made her almost unrecognizable.
Shaking herself, Mattie turned and extinguished the lamp on the bureau. She threw open the door, slamming it closed behind her before hurrying down the stairs. She sped through the foyer, passing the parlour full of guests visiting and drinking their after supper tea and coffee.
“Why, Miss Ross!” someone exclaimed as she passed. Mattie did not answer. Where would he be? Not with the other guests in the parlour. It was twilight; he was likely on the porch, smoking his pipe.
Mattie opened the front door, and stepped out into the cool October night.
There he was.
LaBoeuf sat on one of the porch chairs in a square of diffused light thrown by the oil lamps in the parlour, his elbows leaning on his knees and his head bowed. He was smoking his pipe, and Mattie’s thought was that he looked very much like he had the moment she first laid eyes on him, only considerably less smug.
She closed the door behind her, and cleared her throat. “Good evening, Mr. LaBoeuf.”
LaBoeuf turned and was on his feet in an instant, his pipe abandoned and his hat in his hands. His look was pensive.
“I have spoken with my mother,” Mattie said.
“I see,” he said. He seemed wary of her, and it pained her to think that she had the power to wound him, and that he was prepared for her to do so. “And what did she have to say?”
“She sees no reason to object to it.”
LaBoeuf nodded, his eyes searching hers. “All right. What do you have to say?”
Mattie looked down at the toes of her shoes, poking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. “I say... Will you command my obedience and order me about like a servant?”
LaBoeuf regarded her, befuddled. “No, I will not,” he replied.
“Will you run around town, gambling and drinking and carousing?”
“I will not.”
“Will you be cruel and neglectful?”
“I will not.”
“Will you use harsh and vulgar words when speaking to me, or use a switch when you do not like what I have to say?”
“I will not.”
“Will you wallow in filth and expect me to delight in cleaning up after you?”
“I will not.”
“Will you attend church with me every Sunday, come rain or shine?”
LaBoeuf’s whiskers twitched, and he seemed to be holding back a smile. “I most certainly will.”
“Well, in that case... All right.”
LaBoeuf’s mirth disappeared and he stepped forward, dropping his hat to the floor and taking her hand in his. “You agree to it? Truly?”
“I agree to it, Mr. LaBoeuf,” Mattie replied.
He clasped her hand between his for a moment, and then pulled her to his chest. Mattie was stunned for a moment at his abruptness, but she relaxed, letting him hold her. His arms were not tight; she could have pulled away at any moment. She laid her head against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating under her cheek. He smelled of leather and saddle soap and pipe smoke, and Mattie found she liked the curious combination. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“That is quite the sigh,” LaBoeuf said softly, his low voice rumbling through her. Mattie shivered and opened her eyes.
“This seems untoward,” she replied.
“It would only be untoward if we had not first made our acquaintance in a boarding house bedroom,” LaBoeuf reasoned. “Anyhow, I have long since learned that what is untoward is of little consequence to you. Or to me, now that I think on it.”
Mattie leaned back to look at him. “Are you implying that I am a woman of loose morals?”
LaBoeuf laughed, and pulled her close again. His chin rested on her head. “There is nothing loose whatsoever about your morals, Mattie Ross.”
They stood that way for some time, and Mattie felt a sweet sense of peaceful relief fill her chest. She blew out another deep breath. He had not gone. He would not quit her and go to Texas and marry someone else. He would be with her all the time, now, until God chose to part them.
“When you fell ill, I thought perhaps the Lord had other plans for you and I would never have the opportunity to hold you in this way,” he said, after some time. He paused again, and then cleared his throat. “I have decided that it is all right if you do not love me as I love you. I believe that, with time, you will come to feel a similar fondness for me.”
Mattie leaned back to examine his face. He had a look of resignation about him, and she could not help the smile that stole across her own face.
“Rooster Cogburn was right; you are a silly old fool,” she said. “I already feel a ‘similar fondness’ for you, or else I would not have consented to marry you. Do you think I would marry for any other reason? I can get by perfectly well on my own in every other way; I have no need for a husband generally.”
LaBoeuf frowned at her. “If you believe you have no need for a husband, I wonder that you have consented to this at all.”
Mattie paused, trying to find the right words. Everything she thought of seemed foolish and sentimental. Yet it was true, also. Could romantic words at times be pragmatic by virtue of the fact that they contained the bald truth? She steeled herself. “Mr. LaBoeuf, I consent to this because I am fond of your company, and because when I was faced with the prospect of returning home and perhaps never seeing you again, the sadness such thoughts placed in my heart would not be dislodged. That is, I mean to say that I love you already, and you will not have to wait any length of time for me to become fond of you.”
“All right, then,” he said, his eyes soft as he regarded her. He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “I would like very much if you would call me by the name my family most often uses for me, now that we are to be married.”
“Which of your names is that?” Mattie asked. “Do your nieces and nephews call you Uncle Virgil?”
LaBoeuf exhaled a laugh. “Virgil is my first given name, but it belonged to my father’s brother, and so I was always called Emery from when I was small.”
“Then you would like for me to call you Emery?”
“I would, yes.”
“All right. Emery.”
His cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat before taking her hand in both of his. “It is silly to be so pleased, but there is nothing for it. May I beg a kiss of you?” he said.
Mattie felt her face heat. He was so stiff and formal; the boys at home tended to thrust a kiss upon you whether you wanted one or not. Indeed, he had been guilty of such behaviour himself.
“You are not going to simply steal a kiss?” Mattie asked. “You have already stolen more than one from me.”
LaBoeuf had the decency to look chagrined. “I thought perhaps things might go easier for me if I asked rather than took.”
“That was wise of you,” Mattie replied. She took a step closer to him. “You may have a kiss, if you like.”
As LaBoeuf leaned in to take his kiss, Mattie ducked her head and craned to land a peck on his warm, stubble-roughened cheek.
“There,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “Now we are very nearly square.”
LaBoeuf smiled at her, his expression delighted and surprised, and then leaned in once more, pressing a kiss to her lips. One of his arms slid around her waist, pulling her close, and the other cradled her shoulders. She rested her hand against his buckskin-covered back, and marvelled at the strange quiver which ran along every nerve of her body, leaving goose pimpled skin and a shiver in its wake.
“You are cold,” LaBoeuf said, pulling back enough to look at her. He released her and unbuttoned his coat.
“I am not cold,” Mattie replied. “I am merely happy, I think.”
“Happiness has the same effect on you as a draft,” LaBoeuf said, his eyebrows raised. “That is very peculiar, but then I reckon I should not be surprised.”
Mattie blushed, frowning at him. LaBoeuf held his coat open.
“Come here,” he said. “Then if you stop shivering I will know that you are neither cold nor happy.”
Feeling rather unlike herself, Mattie stepped forward, allowing him to envelop her in the warmth of his coat, where he held her very close. She laid her head on his chest, and again she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
“Would you like to go and share the happy news with your mother?” LaBoeuf asked.
Mattie shook her head. “I think I would like to stand here with you just a little longer, Emery.”
LaBoeuf laid his cheek against her head and tightened his arms around her.
“If that is what you would like,” he said, “then I will be the last man to prevent you from having your way.”
***
The following day passed in a haze as Mattie and her mother prepared to return home to Yell County. At breakfast, LaBoeuf explained that he expected it would take several months at least to build an adequate house on his land in El Paso. He was quite insistent that Mattie not come out to Texas until he had a “respectable home” for her to live in, and Mama seemed to agree. Mattie did not much care, as they had spent the majority of their acquaintance either in boarding houses or sleeping on the hard ground, but she acquiesced. It was agreed that LaBoeuf would come to Arkansas when the house was completed, and that they would marry there. As for their more immediate plans, Mattie and Mama were on the train to Arkansas the next morning, and LaBoeuf would be headed in the opposite direction in the afternoon.
It all happened very fast.
After breakfast, Mama discreetly took her leave, and Mattie and LaBoeuf retired to the side porch, out of the way of the comings and goings of the front of the boarding house. They sat on the bench there, and LaBoeuf smoked his pipe.
There seemed to be no reason to speak, and so Mattie thought about what the coming months and weeks would hold, as well as their life together once they were married. A nervous knot began to form in her stomach as she contemplated it all. She was not one to dwell on events too far in the future to be worth worrying about. It was, after all, a waste of time and energy to fret over things which had not yet come to pass. But she could not help it. El Paso was a long way from Yell County. What did she know of life in El Paso? Could she be happy in such a place, even having LaBoeuf close by to cheer her? Could she be happy living so far away from Mama and Little Frank and Victoria?
“If we are to be married, there ought to be honesty between us,” Mattie said, turning to look at LaBoeuf after a long silence.
“There ought to be, yes,” LaBoeuf agreed. “What troubles you?”
“Although I am not one to shirk the challenges God presents me with, I admit to you now that the thought of leaving Arkansas and my family and all that is familiar and dear to me behind forever gives me pause.”
“Forever?” LaBoeuf’s mouth gaped for a moment in an expression of disbelief. “By God, Mattie, I do not plan to spirit you away to Texas and keep you as my prisoner! We shall visit your family as often as you like, and indeed they can visit us. It will not be long before the railroads will connect those two places, and then it will be no trouble at all. I know how dear your family is to you; I would not deprive you of their company.”
“Oh,” Mattie replied, suddenly feeling foolish. She frowned and looked away from him.
“I think you will like El Paso,” he said. “I know you are loyal to your own homeland, and that is all right, but I believe you will see that El Paso possesses fine qualities that will suit you very well. And I will do all that I can do make you at ease there, to increase your happiness.”
“I know you will,” Mattie said. She did not like to think of leaving him the next day, but she did not like to think of leaving Mama and her siblings behind at some moment in the future, either. Perhaps it was best not to think of it at all.
They fell silent again for several moments before LaBoeuf cleared his throat. “Cogburn warned me off you that morning, by the bank of that little creek. Do you remember? He doubted my intentions, and thought you had no interest in being pursued,” he said, frowning. “In earnest, I had myself convinced of the same. I do not know what changed Cogburn’s mind, but by the time you recovered from the fever here, he had turned right around on the subject and was giving me all manner of unsolicited advice.”
Mattie grimaced. “He did the same to me, just before we arrived in Texarkana the first time. He suggested I give you some ‘encouragement’ before your head was turned by another.”
“Well,” LaBoeuf guffawed, “although I would not have resented some encouragement from you, having my head turned is unlikely, regardless of the circumstances.”
“Is it?” Mattie asked, turning to look at him.
LaBoeuf regarded her for a moment, his eyes soft on her. When he spoke, his voice was soft as well. “You do not doubt yourself a moment in any other matter, yet here I see you pause. You doubt the appeal you hold for me?”
Embarrassed, Mattie looked away and shrugged her shoulders. LaBoeuf picked up her hand from where it lay on the bench, at her side. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, gently pressing each of the fine bones of her hand as though they were piano keys.
“Doubt some other thing, Mattie,” he said, his voice gruff. “Do not doubt that.” He enfolded her hand in his, and cleared his throat. “Anyhow, Cogburn seemed to think I planned to ‘fill your head with romantical ideas,’ as he put it, and then skedaddle with your good reputation in my saddlebag. Rooster Cogburn, lecturing me on a lady’s honour! I reckon he does not know you or me half so well as he thinks he does. But he certainly has a peculiar regard for you. He treated me as a father might treat a suitor for his daughter, in his own way.”
Mattie smiled at the picture he painted. It faded, though, as she thought of Rooster riding out for who-knew-where, just him and Whiskey Jack and whatever liquor he ‘confiscated’ on his way. She considered voicing her concern, but then she recalled LaBoeuf’s strange remarks about her and Rooster being ‘bosom friends’ on the trail. She glanced at him, and then thought of what Mama had said, about a man and wife being a solace for one another.
“I worry for him,” Mattie said finally. “He is the most alone person I have ever encountered. He did not seem to know entirely where he was headed, or why, or how, or if there would be anyone there to greet him when he arrives. If he arrives.”
“He provided me with an address where I might send his portion of the reward when I return to El Paso, but I do not know. It would not surprise me if he failed to collect it.”
“If the address comes to nothing, do you think we might try to find him? I want to ensure that he receives the funds to which he is entitled, and I would like to invite him to our wedding, whenever it shall be. He ought to know he is welcome.”
LaBoeuf turned and gave her a long look, frowning slightly. “I see his regard for you does not go unreciprocated.”
“No, it does not,” Mattie agreed. “Do you mind it?”
LaBoeuf did not reply right away, continuing to look at her. Finally he cleared his throat and looked away. “No, I suppose I do not mind it. Although I do not think he is altogether deserving of your admiration.”
Mattie smiled. “Well, I do not know about that. But I do know that the admiration I have for Rooster Cogburn bears little resemblance to the admiration I have for you.”
That seemed to placate LaBoeuf, for his face reddened and he cleared his throat, and had soon changed the subject of conversation to the scheduling of the trains in the morning, and no more was said about Rooster Cogburn.
In the afternoon, Mama and Mattie prepared for the journey home and looked after some errands in town. Mama insisted on having Mattie sit for a photographer, which in Mattie’s opinion was a costly waste of time. She did not think she looked her best, either, for although her bruises had healed, she was still scrawny from being ill. But Mama would not have it another way.
Supper was a quiet affair, for there were not many guests staying at the boarding house that night. After coffee with Mama and Mrs. McNabb in the parlour, Mattie stood with LaBoeuf outside as he smoked his pipe.
It was curiously quiet between them. Mattie supposed that everything useful had already been said. In any case, she found she enjoyed simply being near him as the night deepened and turned cold, and their breath turned to plumes of steam in the air. When he finished his pipe he took her hand and kissed her cheek, and said it was foolish for her to be out in the cold so soon after being ill. They went inside, and everyone retired to bed.
Nothing was said about their parting the next day, and Mattie was glad. To anticipate the pain of leaving his side was akin to wallowing in it, and that was not something Mattie would do.
In the morning, Mattie and Mama said their goodbyes to Mrs. McNabb, and then they all travelled to the train depot together. Mrs. McNabb’s stable boy had gone ahead with the horses, and LaBoeuf looked after Mattie’s luggage as well as Mama’s. They did not have much in the way of baggage and could have managed themselves, but LaBoeuf was insistent, and said he did not mind. When they arrived on the platform, a porter whisked it all away, and Mama delicately said that she would leave them, and disappeared down the length of the great iron machine to find their seats.
“Here,” LaBoeuf said, reaching into his pocket and placing two small packages in the palm of Mattie’s hand. They were wrapped in crisp brown paper.
“It is not appropriate for a man to give gifts to an unmarried young woman,” Mattie murmured, eyeing the contents of her hand speculatively.
“Under the circumstances, I think some minor adjustments to courtship rituals are all right,” he replied. He pointed at the smaller of the two packages. “Open that one first, if you please.”
Handing him back the other package, Mattie used her thumb to work the brown paper aside. Small, finicky jobs were the hardest to manage with only one hand, but she did not want to call attention to it by requesting his assistance. The paper fell away, and in her palm was left a silver-plated thimble with wee filigreed thistles around the base of the cup.
“I gather that, these days, some fashionable young men will bestow a gold ring on their intended as a token of their engagement, but as I am neither fashionable nor young, I hoped you might not expect such a thing from me, and would not mind a more traditional conveyance of my intentions,” LaBoeuf explained. His voice was gruff, and he looked away from her, out over the milling crowds on the platform.
Mattie did not know what to say. She had never received such a gift before. It was simple and practical, and its beauty and worth lay in those qualities. She knew that every time she held it or used it, or even spied it on her bureau, she would think of him. Swallowing, she shook her head. She still did not know how to graciously accept a compliment. But then, LaBoeuf knew that about her already, and much better than most.
“I do not know what to say,” Mattie said earnestly, looking up at him. “I wish I had a poetic spirit so that I might adequately express myself to you, but my oratorical skills lay more in the region of the pragmatic. So I will say simply that it is a lovely thing, and that I will cherish it always.”
Although his expression remained serious, Mattie could tell that he was pleased. He went all red in the cheeks and cleared his throat. He returned the second package to her. “The frivolity of this gift will, I hope, make amends for the lack of it in the other.”
Mattie worked the second package open, and discovered two silver-plated combs, each one about the size of her thumb from knuckle to fingertip. On the end of each was a posey of delicate filigreed flowers.
“I am told that the flowers are forget-me-nots, but I do not know,” LaBoeuf said.
Mattie turned the little combs over in her palm. She never expected to have such fine things to call her own, and she certainly did not expect a man to buy them for her. The delight she felt was foreign, and almost certainly wicked.
“Forget-me-nots are said to signify true love,” Mattie mused, glancing up at him.
“Do they? Well,” he replied. His eyes were steady on hers, and his tone implied that he knew that already. Mattie blushed and looked away. “Would you like me to put them in your hair?”
“Oh, no!” she replied, closing her fingers protectively over her treasures. “I want them right where I can see them for the journey home. You never know what kind of riff-raff you will encounter on a long train ride.”
LaBoeuf huffed out a short kind of laugh and smiled at her. “As you wish.”
“I have something for you, as well,” Mattie said, remembering the tintype tucked in the inner pocket of her coat. She placed his gifts safely there and extracted the photograph, handing it to LaBoeuf in its neat black paper sleeve.
He removed the photograph and examined it, his expression revealing nothing to her. Abruptly she felt foolish.
“It was Mama’s notion to have it taken,” Mattie said, looking out over the platform at the other travellers who were milling about. “As for myself I think it rather silly.”
LaBoeuf’s gaze met hers, his blue eyes bright in the afternoon sun. She could feel the heat rise in her face, and it only served to embarrass her further.
“It is not silly. It is not silly in the least. I will keep it with me always,” he said. His voice was gruff, and he cleared his throat. He seemed about to say something more, but was interrupted by Mama’s voice calling her from down the platform.
“Mattie!”
Mattie looked over her shoulder and saw her mother waving to her, a hesitant and careworn expression on her face, visible even from a distance.
“It seems the train is boarding,” LaBoeuf said. “Do you have everything you will require for your journey?”
“Yes. My only concern is for Alma. She has never been on a train before.”
“Would you like me to speak to the porter?” LaBoeuf asked.
“No, that is all right. While you were dealing with the luggage, I told the ticket agent and the conductor that Alma is to arrive in the same condition in which I left her in their care, or the railroad will be in my debt for her full value,” Mattie replied.
LaBoeuf’s whiskers twitched as though he were trying to hold back a smile. “I ought to have known that you would already have seen to it.”
The engineer blew the whistle then, and the train gave a great groan and released a plume of steam into the air.
“All right, then,” LaBoeuf said, the smile dropping from his face. He reached down and took Mattie’s hand in his, and began walking down the platform to where Mama waited. “You will write to me, will you not? You need not be concerned that frequent letters are any kind of exceptional burden, for our mail service is good enough. You need not even await a reply - send as many letters as you like.”
“I will write to you,” Mattie replied.
“Good,” he said as they came to a stop in front of Mama.
“I am terribly sorry, but the porter has told me that we will be departing very shortly,” Mama said, her tone fretful.
“It is all right, Mama. Go find your seat and I will join you,” Mattie replied.
“Goodbye, Mr. LaBoeuf,” Mama said. LaBoeuf helped her onto the train with his free hand, and she favoured him with a warm smile before disappearing into the great iron beast.
“Would you like me to see you onto the train?” LaBoeuf asked.
“No. I will find my seat all right,” Mattie replied.
They stood watching each other a moment, neither knowing what to say. The train let out a shrill whistle, and the porter leaned his head out of the train and informed Mattie that she must board.
LaBoeuf frowned. His hand grasped her elbow and pulled her close, the other cupping the nape of her neck. He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, and then said, “Troublesome woman. I shall miss you, I fear, but I will build that house as quickly as I am able.”
“I know you will,” Mattie replied. She breathed in the tobacco and buckskin and fresh air scent of him, and swallowed.
He pressed a scratchy kiss to her temple, and released her. “Go on now,” he said.
Mattie turned from him, not wanting to meet his eyes. She felt the gentle press of his hand when he briefly touched the small of her back as she boarded the train.
Inside the compartment, she saw Mama and went to her. Mama moved aside and let Mattie have the seat nearest the window.
Although Mattie knew she would see LaBoeuf again, her heart was heavy at the sight of him standing alone on the platform, eyeing the train with a frown on his face. It was bearable, but when the train shuddered and gave a lurch as it began to pull out of the station, she felt tears prick at her eyes. She pressed her palm against the sooty window, and she knew he saw it, for his shoulders drooped and gave a little shake of his head.
The train lurched again and began to pull away, and LaBoeuf took two steps forward and laid his hand on the window for the briefest of moments before removing it as the train gathered speed. They would have been touching if not for the glass.
Mattie craned her head and watched him standing there on the edge of the platform with his hand still raised in farewell, until the train rounded a curve and he disappeared.
Chapter 12