Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (24 page)

Work’s waiting. Get to it.”

Once the men left, Sydney turned to face him.

His expression was remote and his eyes icy. He didn’t say a word; he just turned on his heel and strode off.

One place setting. The next morning, the breakfast table held only one place setting. Sydney let out a silent sigh and slipped into the seat. Velma bustled in. Sliding a plate in front of Sydney, she made a face. “Eat up. Fast. We’re about to have visitors.”

Sydney glanced at the clock. “At seven-thirty?”

Velma swished her hand at the plate in a rushed gesture. “Yeah. They waited till after breakfast and morning chores.”

It felt odd to start eating without a prayer. Sydney searched for a memory of something appropriate.
For the gifts we are about
to receive, we give thanks. Amen
.

Velma was already dashing back toward the kitchen. In the weeks Sydney had been in Texas, she’d never seen Velma in a dither. That, more than anything, made an impression.

“You use tools when you shouldn’t. . . .”
Tim’s words flashed through her mind as she reached for her fork. Sydney tore open her biscuit, slid the ham inside, and ignored the egg. Getting up from the table with her plate, she headed toward the kitchen, eating as she went. Dumping the egg into the swill bucket, she took in how Velma had already put a pot or kettle on each of the stove’s burners.

“Shoulda known word would get out.” Flour puffed into a small cloud as Velma dumped it into a large red-striped earthenware bowl.

“How do you know anyone’s coming?”

“Dust. A horse doesn’t make much ’less he’s at a full gallop. Look out the window. Dust moving slower than that. Means a wagon. Since none of Forsaken’s wagons is gone, it means the wagons are coming to us.”

Sydney’s eyes widened. “Three?”

“Four. One’s hidden by that stand of trees.”

A rueful laugh bubbled out of Sydney. “I have an odd suspicion they’re not going to drop off calling cards so we know to visit them in the next little while.”

“Well, we’re going to make the best of it. Finish that food and dash upstairs. The bottom drawer of my bureau has a dresslength in it. Yellowish. Go fetch it.”

Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Yellow wasn’t an appropriate color for someone in second mourning—but it was more proper than britches. Sydney complied with Velma’s order.

The kitchen door banged. “Velma!”

Sydney found the fabric and, clutching it to herself, she crept to the head of the stairs. Eavesdropping wasn’t right; then again, Tim’s booming voice didn’t indicate that he wanted privacy.

“Folks are coming. Women are okay—but no men. Got that? Not a one.”

“Men ride a horse when they’re going on a visit.” Velma sounded calm as could be.

“Not when they want to court!” Something banged, as if to punctuate his frustration. “I knew this was going to happen.

What a mess. I don’t have the time or patience for this.”

“Look out the window. It’s just women and a baby or two.”

“For now.” Tim’s voice vibrated with irritation. “Keep it that way.” The door slammed shut.

Sydney let out a deep sigh and looked down at the material in her arms. This was the beginning of the end. Now that Tim knew she was a woman, he was going to grouse and growl over everything until he got rid of her.

In a little while, four wagons pulled up to Forsaken’s front porch. Miriam Stauffer was the first one to arrive. She had little Emmy-Lou with her. She’d sewn two petticoats for Sydney, knowing the day would come when the truth came to light.

Mrs. Smith and the older woman for whom the cabin had been erected arrived next. Three children accompanied them. Emmy-Lou joined them on the porch, and they started playing.

Waving a magazine, Lena Patterson cheerfully announced, “I have April’s
Peterson’s Magazine
. We’ll have to make Lady Hathwell a gown!”

Until now, Sydney had to meet and remember men’s names. Now it was women. She made a quick mental connection—Lena Patterson with
Peterson’s Magazine
. “How thoughtful. But please, just call me Sydney. I do hope we’ll all become friends.”

Velma grinned. “Sydney, you’ll love these gals. Women hereabouts all pitch in and help one another.”

Sydney gave a reply. It must have been acceptable, because the women were all smiling.
I’m going back to a woman’s world. I’ve
already slipped back into the manners and know the rules. But the time I
spent as a man—I’m going to miss it! The challenges and the excitement
and my time with Tim. No friendship ever meant as much to me as Tim’s
.

“Well, here’s Etta!” Velma brightened.

Sydney turned toward the woman in the doorway. “I’ve heard your baby is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Etta allowed Velma to swipe the tiny, blanketed bundle from her. “If it weren’t for Velma, I don’t know how I would have managed. I need to go back out. I brought a bowl of my carrot-raisin salad.”

“Nobody makes carrot-raisin salad like you, Etta.” Velma cradled the baby. “Sydney even commented on it the day we built the cabin over at the Smiths’.”

In Etta’s absence, Velma turned to Lena. “I’m glad you brought that magazine. I bought that material over on the table, and we were going to make Sydney a dress today.”

“That hue will look lovely on you. Any shade of yellow is the height of fashion this year. The color of that piece reminds me of goldenrod.” Lena went over and lifted the fabric. “It’ll drape beautifully. Let’s decide on a style.”

The magazine featured a fold-out. “I’ve not yet seen an American magazine. So Parisian styles are all the rage here. In England the fashions are going more toward plain or gored fronts to the skirts with ample draping over the bustles. Oh, look at this print—someone hand-tinted it quite elegantly.”

“The carriage and walking dress—we could make that gown for you.” Lena indicated that model. “Aren’t the sleeves on it marvelous?”

Sydney gently took possession of the magazine and turned the pages toward the front. “Here we are!”

“But those are everyday dresses.” They all eyed the three sketches.

“Precisely!” Sydney tapped the second one. “I especially like this one.”

“A wash dress?!” Mrs. Smith sounded scandalized. “Besides, you’d need striped cloth in addition to the solid.”

“Velma has a wonderful selection of feed sacks. Do you mind if we use a few, Velma?”

“Not a bit.”

Mrs. Smith let out a nervous giggle. “You’d use feed sacks? A lady wearing something made of feed sacks like us commoners?”

Sydney smiled at her. “Each and every one of you are ladies. Furthermore, I find your gowns quite pretty.”

By midmorning, a skirt from the amber material was sewn together. Etta sat off to the side to nurse her baby while Lena and Linda White matched the stripes as they pieced the jacket bodice.

Sydney started hemming the skirt. “That postillion back is the height of fashion, yet so practical.”

Linda commented on how a few gathers or pleats yielded so much more ease to a garment.

Pants, dear ladies, were far more liberating
.

“Gramma!” A child ran in through the open door. “A wagon is coming. It gots lotta ladies in it.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Richardson and her three eldest daughters rushed into the house. “It’s true!” Katherine shrieked. “You are a girl!”

Marcella gawked at her. “I heard Big Tim was mad at you. If I ever told a lie like you did, Daddy would take a switch to me.”

Linette shook her head. “You made a laughingstock out of Tim. He’ll never forgive you.”

Sydney swallowed hard. “We cannot make fools of others, only of ourselves. Mr. Creighton has proven to be both wise and kind. I, on the other hand, fear I’ve succeeded in making an utter fool of myself.”

Linda White cleared her throat. Her eyes reflected confusion, not condemnation. “We were all wondering why you did it.”

I didn’t just fool Tim and the hands. I did it to everyone
. “I owe everyone an apology. It started out as a misunderstanding. I telegraphed Uncle Fuller, and he thought I was a boy.”

Velma wrapped her arm around Sydney’s waist and squeezed. “Fuller wrote her and said he had no use for a girl. So there our Sydney was, stranded and alone in New York.”

“You poor dear.” The old woman for whom the cabin had been built pulled a hanky from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I know how hard it is. You lose someone, and you can’t think straight.”

Mrs. Smith took the old woman’s hand in hers and gave it a tender stroke. “But you’re with us now, and everything is working out fine. I’m sure Sydney will settle in, too, given a little time.”

“While you’re all helping her settle in, I’m going to go stir the soup and take the bread out of the oven before it burns,” Velma said.

“We brought over cobbler.” Mrs. Richardson slid a pan into Marcella’s hands. “Didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

Sydney realized Mrs. Richardson didn’t intend to be mean, though the Smiths couldn’t possibly afford to have brought anything. She simply didn’t think about what she said any more than her daughters did. “I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it. Each of you brought something sweet today—the offer of your friendship. I’m deeply touched.”

“My baby’s blanket,” Etta said from the corner, “was a gift from Linda. Every time I swaddle my daughter in it, I know Linda made it with love. I hope you’ll think kindly of us whenever you wear this dress we’re making.”

“I’ll be robed in your thoughtfulness.” Sydney ran her hand over a small scrap. “Velma chose the perfect color. Friendship is golden.”

Tim descended all five church steps by stepping only on the center board, strode over across the churchyard, and elbowed no less than three men out of the way before reaching Forsaken’s wagon. A gaggle of women had invited themselves over for a sewing bee yesterday, and he knew they’d stitched up a gown for Sydney—but until that moment, Tim hadn’t known exactly what they’d accomplished. His jaw tightened as he reached to help her alight from the conveyance. Illuminated by the bright morning sun, the woman resembled a golden statue.

He’d quelled concerns about coming to church early to see to things, but he refused to compromise his commitments. He hadn’t dropped his standards when Syd was a “boy,” and he sure wasn’t going to now that she’d revealed her duplicity. In one aspect, gender didn’t matter: As a boy or a girl, Sydney had to change to fit in at Forsaken. But then things took a savage twist. As a woman, she posed a whole new, bigger set of problems now—and the proof surrounded him in the form of a pack of men gawking at her.

“Miss Sydney,” Orville Clark proclaimed, “you’re a sight to behold.”

“It’s Lady Hathwell. You have no right to be so familiar, Clark.” Jim Whitsley poked out his elbow to offer Sydney his arm. “I’ll be happy to escort you to worship.”

Tim yanked Sydney away from them and rested his hands on her shoulders. The minute he did so, he knew he’d made a mistake. New fabric ought to be stiff and a tad bit scratchy. Well, her dress was, and it probably itched. The bubble-covered shoulders he’d seen in that bathtub were milky white and undoubtedly sensitive. With her habit of causing trouble, she’d probably end up rashy.

“What’s wrong?” Nestor wondered aloud.

Tim’s hold on Sydney tightened. “This young woman is young.”
Great. I’m making a fool of myself
. “By that, I mean she’s still a minor and Fuller’s kin. By all rights, any matters pertaining to her go through him. Until he gets home, Forsaken—and Lady Hathwell—are off-limits to all the bachelors.”

More than a few men moaned. Jim Whitsley looked outraged. “Nothing awrong with being sociable.”

“There’s nothing wrong with giving Fuller the courtesy and respect he’s earned,” Tim shot back. “That’s the way it’s going to be.” He motioned to Velma, who bustled over and stood on Sydney’s other side. They escorted her into the sanctuary, and Tim made sure they sandwiched Sydney between them.

Sydney folded her gloved hands in the lap of her new gown and looked straight ahead. At some point—Tim couldn’t imagine when—she’d managed to locate a little straw hat. Flowers made from the same yellowish material from her dress and a cream-colored ribbon decorated the affair. She looked every inch the demure lady.