Epilogue
Several weeks later, each astride a frisking black Morgan that was displeased at having been pulled up to stand, Emily and Stanton sat looking down over a valley south of Sacramento. In the purpling summer twilight, with a gentle warm breeze stirring poppies and lupines, Stanton was moved to quote Wordsworth:
“It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the Sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder—everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham’s bosom all the year;
And worship’st at the Temple’s inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.”
They were both silent for a moment, admiring the beauty of the valley and the resonance of the words. Finally Emily spoke.
“Didn’t think much of the girl walking with him, did he?” she said.
“Apparently not,” Stanton admitted. He directed her attention to a distant cluster of buildings. Barns, corrals, and other outbuildings stood scattered around a very large, pleasant-looking house with broad shaded porches. There were spreading oaks and flower beds and a vast kitchen garden plot that, even viewed from a distance, made Emily ache to plant something.
“Built by a cattle baron who went bust in the panic of ’73,” Stanton said. “Completely furnished, probably horribly. But there’s six hundred and forty acres with good pasturage and water—perfect for horses. It’s bordered on the west by the Sacramento River, very near Komé’s tribal settlement. We can bring her home to her daughter.” He allowed Emily to absorb the scene in a long silence before speaking again. “So, what do you think? Will it assuage the anguish of living in sin?”
Having engaged in vigorous and passionate debate while on their honeymoon trip from New York, they had arrived at the startling—and rather liberating—conclusion that the marriage itself was not at all necessary. Stanton no longer had a name to give, and taking Emily’s would have involved all the tedium of authority and nonsense they’d hoped to avoid. So, in the end, he had returned to her the simple gold band she had worn for so long, sliding it onto the ring finger of her new right hand. And she had given him a slow soft kiss. They were the only vows required.
“It’s perfect,” Emily breathed. She reached down to pat Romulus on the neck. “Do you hear that, boy? We’re going to start a legacy.”
“Emily, they’re geldings,” Stanton reminded her. “You’re going to have to learn a few things if we’re going to breed horses.”
“I may not know about breeding horses, Will,” Emily said, “but I know all about creating legacies. Now, before the broad sun sinks down any farther in its tranquillity, I suggest we ride down and get started.”
Stanton arched an eyebrow. “Unless I’m pleasantly mistaken, we’ve already done that, haven’t we?”
Emily smiled secretly, the sensitive fingers of her right hand tingling over her belly. Her fingers felt the future, the roar of muddy boy-feet, the promises there.
“Indeed we have,” she said, clucking to Romulus and urging him down the hill in a joyful, flying canter.