Betty shook her head. Jane snuck those into the house, too.
“It’s all about women and...” Jane shrugged. “Sex.”
“Sex?” Betty’s heart began to pound. Jane couldn’t know about what she and Henry had done that one night. That was impossible. She also couldn’t know the outcome. No one, not even her sisters could know about that.
“Yes, and more.”
“More of what?”
“Articles. I just pulled it out from under my bed to read until it’s time to start chores, and flipped it open, and started to read.” Jane turned the magazine around. “This is the article.”
“‘Pregnancy: What to Expect.’”
Betty’s insides turned to ice, but she kept her head up, prepared to deny everything. She had to.
“You’ve been throwing up every morning,” Jane said. “And you’ve been dizzy, light-headed, faint.”
Betty’s mouth was dry; as much as she wanted to deny those symptoms, to lie to her sister, she couldn’t.
Jane threw her hands in the air, and the magazine. As it fluttered to the floor, she said, “You’re pregnant.”
Betty gnawed on her bottom lip, knowing if she opened her mouth the truth would come out.
“When did you have sex?” Jane asked. “And why didn’t you tell me? Who did you have sex with?” She pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “Please don’t say it was James.”
Betty’s stupor disappeared. “Of course it wasn’t James.” She jumped off the bed and started pacing the floor, feeling frantic.
Jane grabbed the magazine off the floor. “Let’s see, morning sickness. Dizziness. Feeling faint. Are your boobs tender?” Jane asked.
Betty grabbed for the magazine, but Jane twisted out of her reach. “I don’t need a magazine to tell me anything.”
Still reading, Jane continued, “‘Overemotional. Crying for no reason. Exhausted. Confused. Mood changes.’”
Betty snagged the magazine this time and tossed it on the bed.
“What about your nipples?” Jane asked. “Are they dark? You can compare them to mine, if you need to.” Jane had pulled out the front of her yellow-and-white-striped dress and was peering down.
“I don’t need to compare anything.” Betty plopped down on the bed.
“How long have you known?” Jane asked softly.
“Not long,” Betty answered, placing a hand on her stomach.
Jane sat down beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Betty’s entire body was trembling. “Because there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing any of us can do.”
“Henry is the father, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Fully despondent, Betty closed her eyes against the tears already trickling out. “Oh, Jane, what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to tell me about it,” Jane said. “Every sordid detail!”
Betty wasn’t about to do that; some parts were too private, too special, but she did tell Jane the things she’d wished she’d been able to before. About how she and Henry had met up in Seattle three years ago and how they’d met again at the Rooster’s Nest the night they won the dance-off. About their nights in the tunnel.
She stopped there, not sure how to explain anything else.
“At least you don’t have to marry James,” Jane said.
Betty’s tears flowed faster as she pressed both hands to her stomach, wanting to protect the baby inside her. “That is the one thing I have to do.”
“No. You can’t.”
“I have to—if Father finds out—”
“He won’t. Because you’ll marry Henry.” Jane leaped off the bed. “You’ve told him, right?”
Betty shook her head.
Jane grabbed her hand. “Come on—you have to get over to the house and tell him. You can’t be having a baby six months after you get married. Everyone will know you were pregnant when you got married.”
“I know that,” Betty said. She wanted to tell Jane more, about why she had to marry James and not Henry, about how she couldn’t be someone she wasn’t, but Jane wouldn’t understand. No one would understand.
Henry sat back on his haunches, and glanced at Betty, who had spread apart the tree branches to get a better view of the man and the creek in the small valley below.
“What’s he doing?” she asked.
“Sluicing for gold,” Henry answered. William Dryer was dumping shovelful after shovelful of dirt into the sluicing box set in the middle of the creek. As rich as he already was, Dryer still wanted more, and must still be convinced there was gold in the Santa Monica Mountains.
Henry had to wonder why a man who had everything—money, a family, a beautiful home, successful business—could still want more. That was how it was for some people. Enough was never enough.
Dryer had put time and money into wanting more, too. The dump truck parked near the large pile of dirt was brand new. The sluice box looked modern, too. It was a large one, and made of metal. He was seriously looking for gold.
From the looks of it, Dryer spent plenty of time out here. The road was well used, and hosted a large gate, complete with a chain and lock, so no one else could drive all the way to the creek. There was also a small cabin, which looked old, but well maintained.
“This must be where he goes every day,” Betty said.
Henry had parked down the road from the Dryer house this morning, and had followed William, far enough behind that the man had never noticed him. All the way to the road that led to the creek. Then he’d gone back to the Dryer house, and when Betty had walked out the door, to go to the abandoned house, he’d brought her to the car, and then they’d driven up here together.
He’d parked his car in the cover of some trees and they’d walked in. He hadn’t been sure what he’d find, but it hadn’t been this.
She let go of the branches slowly, so they eased back into place.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded.
They made their way back down the hill and he double-checked the backseat before letting either of them climb in.
“I remember the only time I heard my parents argue,” she said as he got in and closed his door. “I was about ten, we’d
