Virginia’s laugh was light and airy, held for just the right amount of time, but there was no knowing glint in her eyes, no twinkle of returned amusement. She stared out the window flap into the newly green meadows, absently fanning herself with a simple paper fan. The green of the river valley bobbed up and down, treetops appearing and disappearing from view as the stagecoach rattled along the well-worn grooves of the trail. Brushing her skirts to the side and revealing her white boots, she searched for her other satchel underneath the velvet-padded seat.

Billy watched his reluctant wife closely, not sure what to say next. They and Molly, her young niece, were the only riders on their way back from San Fran, and the child slept as the noonday sun filled the air outside the rolls of burlap. After all the days of travel the last leg of the journey to St. Louis wound down slowly. The driver said there was one more water stop for the horses, then only a short way left to town.

Even after the travel, Billy didn’t have a clear picture of the woman in front of him. She had not wanted to marry him—that had become obvious after the ceremony. In sharp contrast to their courtship, she refused to share a conversation, let alone his bed. She remained distant, laughing pleasantly when the situation called for it but never letting it reach her eyes. She’d take out her kerchief and dab it on her face, absorbing the sweat that layers of skirts and the hot June sun produced. But her eyes seldom strayed to meet his; seldom looked out anywhere but towards the child or the terrain they passed through.

"How was your room last night?" Billy asked.

"Fine," she replied. "There was a big enough bed for me and Molly."

Each day she came out from whatever inn they’d stayed at the night before, tugging the little girl with her and carrying the same two satchels. Even if the driver insisted they leave just after sunrise, she and the child looked impeccable, Virginia’s auburn hair pinned in a topknot under her wide-brimmed hat, the child’s brown locks roped into twin braids that reached her bottom. The little one’s gingham pinafore always looked clean, no matter what she may have spilled on it over the course of their travel—frequently jam, or honey. Virginia wore a tan traveling coat against the slight morning chill, her immense dresses flaring out around their hoop as she floated across the inn’s courtyard, whether it was of dirt, or dust, or prairie grass. She would hand her bags to the driver who slid them into the stagecoach’s compartment, and she herself would lift the girl up towards the door and Billy would take her, setting her on the seat across from his. He would reach a hand down to assist his wife up, and she’d take it reluctantly, her white gloved fingers closing over his own a different way each morning as he helped her into the compartment, the grasp released as soon as she was inside. She would sit down next to the child, arranging her full skirts so that only the very bottom of her blue lace petticoats were visible at the base of the elegant cotton dress.

Of course, the dress didn’t last all day in the June heat. By noon, Molly’s hair began to spring loose from her braids, frizzing along their length. Molly rolled up her dress sleeves, kicked off her pinching black shoes and periodically wiped her face with her apron to keep the salty sweat off her battered schoolbooks. Her brown eyes slowly glazed as the sun began its descent from the top of the sky, and her head drooped till she leaned against the pillow Virginia placed there for that daily nap.

Virginia had removed her traveling coat long before, as the day’s heat began to climb. As Molly snored beside her, she pushed her own sleeves up to her shoulders and unbuttoned the first few clasps of her blue cotton blouse above the bodice, demurely blocking the view of her collarbone as she constantly fanned herself.

"Did they leave water for you?" Billy asked, giving in to the temperature and taking off his suit coat. "I told them to leave a tub and water for bathing."

"They did," Virginia said, pushing damp tendrils towards the side of Molly’s sleeping face. "It was enough to get the dust off." She shifted and for an instant her long skirts swung up and revealed unstockinged legs above her elegant white boots, but she quickly caught the errant hoop and repositioned it. Her hair slipped out of its topknot as she did this, cascaded down around her face and over her shoulders, but it took her only a few moments to re-pin it, although tiny strands now escaped and framed her delicate features and bright blue eyes. Sometimes she employed them and watched Billy as he stared at her, but mostly she gazed out the window at the scenery, making stunted conversation.

"What should I say, Virginia?" After all these days of one or two sentence replies from her, he was reaching his limit. "Are you intending to spend the next thirty years ignoring me?"

Her eyes held the same blank look they’d worn since she locked him out of the room on their wedding night. She sucked her lips in, forming a thin red line across her face, a single limp curl of hair moving slightly in the faint breeze of her fan. She patted her forehead with a handkerchief, removing the small beads of sweat from her brow, her eyes still on his. Billy shifted slightly, trying to be patient and not lash out as she bit on her lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to hide its tremble. "I don’t know, William."

He shook his head. "Billy, not William. You’re not a business partner, you’re my wife. And I’d like you to converse with me, not just respond to questions."

"I don’t have anything to say." She turned away from him and untied the flap of burlap that was above Molly’s window and pulled it down, blocking sunlight from Molly’s face.

"You’re going to make me look foolish if you keep doing this." He reached over and caught her hands, forced her attention back to him. "This was not the Virginia I talked about in my letters home. You used to talk with me."

"I thought I knew you." She tugged her hands away from his, wiped them on her skirt as she stared at her lap. Her fingers interlaced, twisted, then stopped moving momentarily before she brought her fan up again.

"What are you babbling about?" He leaned toward her on the velvet seat, kept his voice low to avoid waking Molly. "You have been ignoring me since the wedding, and it has to stop."

Her eyes glinted as she stared at his face, just a foot away. "Just consider me an uncooperative business partner."

"What in the world is wrong with you? Marriage isn’t a business deal."

"Isn’t it?" She glanced down at Molly, avoiding his face by twitching the fan in her fingers. "You needed a wife for ‘respectability’ and the ladies of Atlanta weren’t biting. And my brother’s wanted to be rid of me since before Father died."

Billy pursed his lips, leaned back in his plush seat. It was the longest string of words he’d heard from her in days, insulting or not. He forced himself to crack a slight smile. "I wouldn’t quite say that. You’re no business deal—but there were no problems with the fine ladies of Atlanta." He tapped a cowboy boot on the wall, disturbing a fly that had settled inside out of the sun. "I found you far more intriguing. And remember you weren’t forced to marry me. You made that choice on your own."

Her lips were pursed again, the slightest hint of troubled thoughts leached the coldness from her eyes. "I didn’t realize what I was agreeing to." She leaned into the cushioned seat back, vigorously fanning her face.

"Didn’t know what you were agreeing to?" Billy resisted the urge to laugh, then had it bounced out of him as the stagecoach hit a larger bump than usual. "Marriage is marriage—what didn’t you know?"

"That it’s business." She watched at him with narrowed eyes. "I know I was a business deal."

Billy’s brow crinkled and he returned the stare. What had she found out? His voice came out sharper and lower than he meant it to, "What does that mean, Virginia?"

She reached into her satchel, a slight sneer on her face as she pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Does this seem familiar?" She waved her hand slightly and let the letter fall open before handing it to him. "You should have burned it."

Billy recognized the handwriting, saw written on it the words "a dual ceremony at the end of spring?" and grabbed the letter from her hand, stuffing it into his jacket beside him.

"I found it when you went down to get fresh water that night," she answered the question he hadn’t voiced. "I opened the nightstand drawer to look for matches to light the lamp. It was next to them." She removed a new handkerchief from her satchel, than snapped it shut. "That’s why the door was locked when you came back."

Billy tugged at his already lose collar, pushed back his dark hair. He had forgotten about the letter. It had lured him to the ranch outside of San Fran, but Virginia had been an intriguing anomaly compared with the vacuous women of Atlanta. "You’ve been ignoring me because of a letter?" He leaned in toward her again, elbows beneath rolled-up cotton cuffs resting on linen trouser-covered knees. "I can explain it."

Virginia was nibbling on her bottom lip—one of her habits he’d found endearing. She massaged the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes tightly and squeezed the inside corners of her lids. "I don’t think you can."

Billy ignored the words, took a deep breath and glanced at his lightly callused hands before returning to her face. "Did Vincent want you out of his household? Yes." He rubbed his knees, wiping sweat off his palms and onto his pant leg. "You are unnaturally independent for a woman, and most men don’t take kindly to that. He used the money as an enticement—he knows business isn’t going well. And he made you sound like a woman who’d interest me for more than a night or two. You are the kind of woman I can not find among the gentrified belles that prance through Atlanta. That is more valuable than any cash."

"Then did you take the money?" Virginia whispered, her eyes now on the passing landscape. The trees outside glittered from a recent rain, providing dramatic shape to the profile of her minutely upturned nose.

Billy rubbed the back of his neck, then stared at the bobbing trees beyond her head. "I did."

The stagecoach stopped, then jolted as their driver jumped off. Molly jerked awake, sleepy eyes blinking in the sunlight. "Are we there yet?" she asked, oblivious to the charged atmosphere she’d woken in.

"Almost Molly," Virginia said, smoothing back the little girl’s hair. "We should get there soon after the horses are done watering."

"Can I pet them?" Molly asked.

"Of course," Virginia answered, putting on her wide-brimmed hat. "Could you hand her down to me?" She gingerly stepped out of the compartment to the carpet of grass below. She pulled the front of her hat down lower to block the glare of the sun, then lifted Molly out of Billy’s hands and onto the ground. As the child rushed over to the horses, Billy jumped down from the coach himself, following after Virginia. She was walking towards a stand of apple trees, her skirts dragging in the tall grass. Her back was rigid, a contrast to the wisps of hair being tugged by a light wind.

"Virginia." Billy reached for her shoulder, but she shrank under his touch and stepped away into the shade of the trees. "I didn’t marry you for that money. I’m a good man."

"Really?" Her tone was frozen, even in the heat. "I know you’re a good businessman. Would you have played suitor if I’d been unappealing? After all, Vincent made me out to be a beauty."

"Fine." Billy paused, concentrated on the leaves above Virginia’s hat brim and how they moved in the breeze. Her accusations settled in, finding perfectly fitted places in his head that he’d hidden from himself. He stepped into the shadows of the apple tree with her, raked his fingers through his hair. "Maybe I did marry you for your brother’s money. But does it matter? You’re beautiful. We have interesting conversations. I’ll keep you in the finer things and our children will go to the best schools. Why does my motivation matter?"

She shook her head, staring down as her fingertips traced the edges of her fan. "Because I thought you loved me."

"Well, I don’t." Billy flinched as the words passed his lips and tears seemed about to appear at the edges of her eyes. "Yet. But I respect you, which is more than I can say for the marriages of most of our parents and peers. Maybe that’ll grow. I don’t know."

She half sniffed, half laughed as he compulsively smoothed the front of his shirt, her face shadowed under her hat brim. "That’s what our parents thought, Billy." She turned away from him and picked up a small hard apple that had fallen down to the grass. "My brother paid you a $50,000 dowry to take me out of his life." She turned the fruit over in her palms, felt no give under the green skin. "Don’t expect more than what our parents got." She dropped the apple back onto the prairie and started back towards the stagecoach through the grass as it bent down in the breeze.

Billy stayed under the apple trees until their driver whistled. He pulled himself up into the compartment, took Molly from Virginia, then offered his hand to help his wife up. She took it, her hand limp inside of his. They settled in their seats, and the horses jolted the stagecoach forward once again. Virginia stared out the burlap flap, her fan drooping between her fingers. Her lids hung heavy over her distant eyes, her lips slightly parted.

Molly tilted her head and looked up at her aunt, saw the veil of resignation she remembered from her mother’s face. She pursed her lips and crinkled her eyes as she examined Virginia, the swing of her little girl legs stopping beneath the seat, her small icy hands balling gingham in her fists.