Chapter 29

The Queen Abdicates

Niobe’s coat shone in all its auburn glory. No wonder after Josiah had groomed her for the past half hour. Niobe was the dearest being Josiah knew; and when she nudged him with her soft nose, and searched for treats in his hand, he buried his face in her silky hide. Niobe was his job, and she was his safe haven. He fled to her whenever times got rough.

Miss Jones had made a fool out of him this morning, when she had ordered him to the front of the class to read out his essay about the French Revolution, an admittedly sloppily researched piece, written in haste secretly, by the light of an oil lamp long after bedtime, at the end of a weekend he had spent hunting toads with Will rather than doing homework. It had been riddled with faults which the other pupils were prompted to point out. He had provided a big laugh for everyone, and even after school the kids had joshed him. Not even Will, his best friend, had stuck to him, and when Josiah had told him what he thought of friends who laughed about him when he was already shattered, they had ended up brawling. Naturally, Miss Jones had come out of the schoolhouse just then, and had given him another set of lines.

It was a good thing he had a place to hide from the world a bit. Josiah had run all the way from school to Mrs. Hawkins’ barn, and had plunged into his daily duties. He had cleaned the stall, given Niobe hay and oats and a left-over apple from his school-lunch, and then thoroughly groomed her. He felt better now. It was good work, and he did it well. Miss Heatherstone had said so. He was a boy doing a man’s work, that was what she had said, and that he was doing it well.

Josiah straightened his shoulders. Yes, he was doing a man’s work, and maybe he wasn’t a man now, but soon he would be a man. And when he was a man he would take Miss Heatherstone out for lunch, like Mr. Cartwright always did. Only he wouldn’t walk on eggshells around her, like his mum said Adam Cartwright did, but would speak up and ask her to marry him. That way she wouldn’t have to pay him for looking after her horse anymore, he could actually ride Niobe, and he could forbid Mr. Cartwright to meet her ever again. Perfect.

The boy was startled out of his fantasies but crashing noises at the barn wall. It were loud thuds, clearly coming from outside, and Josiah decided to find out what it was and stop it before it spooked Niobe, who had already put back her ears and now was becoming restless. He sprinted to the barn door, but just before he went through, the loud voice of Mrs. Hawkins made him stop in his tracks.

“Lady Juliet, stop that this instant! What do you think you’re doing?”

Josiah cautiously peeked his head out of the door. At the edge of the barn, half hidden behind some hydrangeas and completely covert from view of the street, he spotted Miss Heatherstone. Mrs. Hawkins was hurrying towards her.

“I am kicking the barn, obviously.” Miss Heatherstone didn’t sound quite like herself. She sounded furious, which wasn’t totally uncommon, but also somehow…forlorn. Nevertheless, Josiah had to giggle. He clasped both his hands over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Mrs. Hawkins stood in front of Miss Heatherstone now, shaking her head. “Do you hate my barn?”

“No, but I hate Adam Cartwright!” And to Josiah’s utter horror, she started to cry.

“There, there, child,” Mrs. Hawkins said surprisingly low, nearly inaudible for Josiah, “Surely things can’t be that bad.”

Mrs. Hawkins pulled Miss Heatherstone into an embrace. Josiah nodded to himself. He’d do the same if he were grown up, he’d pat Miss Heatherstone’s back like the widow did now, and then, when Miss Heatherstone had stopped crying he’d go and punch Mr. Cartwright. Well, he’d be grown up then, and he sure would look like Hoss Cartwright, so he would have no trouble punching Mr. Adam. For now, however, he’d have to confine himself to imagining punching the culprit.

Miss Heatherstone shrugged out of the embrace and wiped her face with a handkerchief she had wrestled from somewhere in her dress. “Things,” she started in a choked voice, but then she paused, looked at Mrs. Hawkins with a quivering lower lip, and then suddenly took in a sharp breath. “No, things aren’t that bad. They are just normal, like they use to be, like they always used to be, and like they always will be. Now and forever and ever and ever.” Tears started to fall again, and Miss Heatherstone dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. It looked rather violent, Josiah thought.

“I just thought things might be different this time, that’s all.” With the last word, Miss Heatherstone kicked the barn once again. “But of course, why would he consider…”

“Why would who consider what?” Josiah was glad Mrs. Hawkins asked that; he would have liked to know it, too. He was quite sure that “who” was Mr. Cartwright, and he couldn’t fathom why the widow didn’t seem to know that, but the “what” was a great mystery for him, too.

Miss Heatherstone looked at Mrs. Hawkins and said nothing. For a moment Josiah feared she’d cry again, but her face remained impassive. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and then she heaved a shuddering breath and looked down.

“Child…Juliet,” Mrs. Hawkins soothed and took her hand. “What has Mr. Cartwright done to put you into such a state? He didn’t do anything…disreputable, did he?”

“Of course not!” Miss Heatherstone yanked her hand out of Mrs. Hawkins’ grasp. She sounded very much like herself now. “Mr. Cartwright would never do such a thing.”

Josiah frowned. Why for Pete’s sake did she defend him? She’d said she hated Adam Cartwright, and now she rebuked Mrs. Hawkins for thinking badly of him. This didn’t sound like she hated him at all. If she would only say what the man had done that made her so unhappy, so that Josiah could know what for he’d imagined punching Mr. Cartwright.

Mrs. Hawkins tried to say something, but Miss Heatherstone waved her off. “Mr. Cartwright didn’t do anything. He did…not do anything.” It sounded disappointed, and Josiah had no idea why. Doing nothing couldn’t hurt someone, could it?

“I did something wrong,” Miss Heatherstone continued. “I did wrong in assuming—well, never mind. I asked for advice, and I got what I asked for: a logical, emotionless evaluation. No more, no less.”

Josiah saw her straighten her back and lifting her chin. Whoopee! This meant a statement was about to be delivered, and Josiah hoped that the statement would contain further information about why she hated or did not hate Adam Cartwright. Her next words, however, disappointed him, and in more ways than he had thought Miss Heatherstone could ever disappoint him.

“Well,” she announced, “I’m going to take the advice. I will leave Virginia City for New York on Saturday. Be so kind, Mrs. Hawkins, as to have my bill ready by tomorrow night.”

“No!” Josiah’s scream made the two ladies swirl around.

“No,” he cried again and lunged at Miss Heatherstone. “You cain’t go, you cain’t go, you cain’t go!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, and then he threw his arms around her waist and whispered, “You cain’t jest go and leave me alone.”

Miss Heatherstone took his face in her hands and made him look into her face. “I’m sorry, Josiah. Listen, this has nothing to do with you. But I have to carry on; I have to…think of my future—and my future lies not here, it seems.”

There were a billion things Josiah wanted to say, most of which would qualify him for a thorough flogging. He briefly considered telling her he would give her a future in Virginia City, if she waited for him a few years, but somehow he suspected it wouldn’t make her change her mind. And so the only thing he could find to say was, “What about Niobe?”

Miss Heatherstone smiled at him, but her smile didn’t make her face less sad. “It would be very kind of you to keep on looking after her for a while; I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do with her. Maybe I’ll have her delivered to New York later, or she’ll be sold back to the Ponderosa. I’ll write Mr. Cartwright about that, and then he’ll take care of everything.”

Josiah bit his lip. He looked down at his feet. Bare feet, blackened by the street dust, directly next to Miss Heatherstone’s pale blue skirt. He moved his left foot only a few inches and stepped onto the hem of her dress, clawing his dirty toes into the silky fabric. As he pulled back, the blackish imprint of his toes remained. Guiltily Josiah looked up, but Miss Heatherstone’s gaze had wandered over his head to the flowerbeds in Mrs. Hawkins garden, to the hydrangeas, the lilies, and the full blown roses, he had seen her pruning so often.

She tousled his hair, and this time the smile reached her eyes. “Josiah, I assume I’ll see you at the stage coach on Saturday. We’ll say goodbye then, all right?”

All Josiah could do was nod, and then watch Miss Heatherstone quickly making her way to the house, with Mrs. Hawkins bustling behind her.

He still wasn’t sure why, but he really had to grow up real quickly, and then he’d go and punch Mr. Cartwright. Hard.

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There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow