Once in a Blue Moon (30 page)

Amanda grinned.
“Deal!”

Everyone laughed.

The ladies continued to
study the patterns, discussing possible variations; bustles
definitely included. The cowardly chickens.

They
chattered about the picnic and Melissa reached for the design she
was planning to use for her own dress and studied it. Excitement
swelled in her chest. Her dress would knock them all dead,
would
not
have a
bustle, and would definitely show up the town’s snooty seamstress
once and for all. She relished the imagined reaction.

“Pardon me.”

Melissa glanced up.

Hannah--neat, tidy, and
frumpy--stood inside the open doorway of Sarah’s cabin. “Sarah, I
need to get the loaf pan you borrowed.”

Sarah didn’t get up or
even look at Hannah. “It’s on the shelf beside the stove.”

The excited chatter
continued unabated.

Slowly, Hannah came
inside, paused beside the table, and picked up one of Melissa’s
drawings. She studied it, her expression turning wistful.

A pang of sympathy hit
Melissa.

She knew exactly what
longing felt like. She’d lived it as a child, and lived it every
day of her miserable life since landing in the nineteenth
century.

Should she offer to
make Hannah a dress? She really didn’t have the time. The picnic
was in nine days, and she was already making one for herself, and
now for Amanda too. She knew from making Jessica’s dress that the
sewing machines were inferior and the work slow. Besides, no doubt
the others would need some direction if they decided to try
something new.

Hannah’s expression
turned sad.

The
pang in Melissa’s heart intensified. On the other hand, she
had
decided to be
Hannah’s friend. She studied Hannah’s unflattering brown work-dress
and tried to picture her in a stylish gown. A green...or a
blue...jewel tones? No, too bright for her complection.

It would be a
challenge; one Melissa was more than up to. Her enthusiasm boosted
a notch.

Sewing for hours at a
time wasn’t a hardship; she was used to it. Besides, surely the
children and Richard could help out with the cooking and whatever
else needed doing? “Hannah, pull up a chair. Do you have any
material?”

Hannah looked startled,
a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression clouding her face. “No.
No, I don’t.” Cheeks reddening, she quickly turned away and reached
for the loaf pan.

Melissa should let it drop right there. After all, she’d
tried. But the widow had given Melissa some material and didn’t
even like her. Certainly she’d give Hannah some. Or perhaps Hannah
had some savings? After all, what did she spend her wages on?
Certainly not clothes. “Well, could you
get
some material?”

Hannah’s gaze dropped,
the pan clutched in her hands. “No. That’s not possible.”

Not possible as in she
had no money? Or because the widow would refuse to give her
material? Or because Hannah was unwilling to make the effort?

Melissa glanced at her
own material, then at Hannah. The pastel would go well with her
dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. It might even look better on
Hannah than on Melissa herself.

Melissa’s mouth parted.
She couldn’t believe she’d even thought that! She turned her
attention to the Godey’s style book in front of her and ignored
Hannah, who once again looked at the sketches in a peripheral
way.

Sarah slid a sketch
forward along with a pattern book. “What do you think of this for
me?” she said, pointing to the pattern book. “With the sleeves and
neckline you’ve drawn and with a bustle, of course.”

Gladly, Melissa turned
her attention to Sarah. With her big bust, the neckline would look
fabulous. “It would be exquisite on you.” Funny how easily she
slipped back into fashion guru mode.

Hannah still
loitered.

No one was getting
Melissa’s prized material. If she was to give her material to
someone it would go to Jessica, not Hannah. Just because Melissa
was feeling warmly toward Hannah for sticking up for her at the
church, and just because Melissa had decided to be her friend,
didn’t mean she needed to give away a prized possession. Being nice
was one thing. Being stupid quite another.

Hannah, apparently
having seen enough, finally left without a word. Her sturdy
shoulders looked a bit slumped as she walked out the door and down
the steps.

She was probably just
tired. No doubt the widow worked her like a dog. That was something
Melissa had a lot of experience with lately.

Without consent, Hannah’s wistful expression replayed once
more in Melissa’s mind, and her fists clenched in her lap. It
was
not
her
problem.

The ladies’ excited
chattering was starting to give her a headache. Obviously Melissa
was tired, or hungry, or both. Otherwise she wouldn’t be thinking
such stupid thoughts.

She stood. “Time for me
to go. I’ve got to get dinner started.”

The ladies protested,
but were quickly distracted again and Melissa slipped away.

No one was getting her
material.

* * *

Arms over her head,
Melissa stretched, trying to work a kink out of her back. After
finishing Amanda’s dress in four days, and working on the pastel
blue for two, her legs needed a rest. The widow’s treadle sewing
machine with its annoying pump wasn’t the finest equipment she’d
ever worked with, but it was the best on the ranch, better even
that Amanda’s, and it sure beat stitching by hand.

She smiled in
satisfaction as she studied her workmanship. The pale blue,
two-piece cotton dress was coming together quite nicely. When it
was finished, the tightly-fitted dress with its fully-lined bodice
would have matching lace trim at the collar, wrists and waist. The
skirt was slimmed in front, but the back would balloon out over a
bustle framework. She sighed. She still couldn’t believe she was
making a bustle with her precious material.

Narrow at the waist,
the bodice had straighter lines and larger sleeves than anything
currently in fashion. It would cause quite a sensation at the
picnic. Gleefully, Melissa grinned. No doubt the seamstress in town
would regret not hiring her when she saw this creation.

Melissa bit her lip, wishing once more she dared forgo the
bustle. Within the next three years they’d be out of style for good
anyway, but she didn’t think Hannah could handle being a leader in
fashion. Simply being
in
fashion was going to be hard enough for
Hannah.

Speak of the devil.

At
that moment Hannah walked in, threw a panicked glance at the
half-finished gown and turned away to dust the night-stand. Again.
“I didn’t ask you to make that dress, and I’m not wearing it to the
picnic. I’m not even
going
to the picnic.”

“Yes, you are,” Melissa
said. After the agony Melissa had gone through to make the decision
to give her material away, Hannah was going.

“I won’t fit anyway.
You didn’t even take my measurements.”

“44-30-42. A perfect 12
petite. Narrow shoulders, big bust, I’m dropping the dart an inch
and making the waist shorter and the hips fuller. Piece of
cake.”

Hannah gaped for a
moment, then snapped her mouth shut and turned away. “I’m not
going,” Hannah said as she left the room.

Melissa chuckled. “Are
too!” she called after her.

Actually, there was
still a part of her that couldn’t believe she was doing this. She
hadn’t even told Richard or the other ladies, and they’d no doubt
be horrified when Melissa showed up in one of her old dresses at
the picnic.

But when she’d finally
made the decision to create Hannah’s dress, she’d felt really good
about it; excited even. She might be playing this friendship thing
by ear, and maybe she wasn’t good at it. But outfitting Hannah and
digging her out of the house and off the ranch was the best Melissa
had to offer, so Hannah was going.

She started sewing
again, and a short while later Mrs. MacPherson appeared in the
doorway. Again. Good grief, Grand Central Station here. These two
definitely needed to get out more.

“You’d better not hurt
Hannah with your foolishness,” the widow said, her voice gruff.

Melissa stopped sewing
to stare with widened eyes. “First Hannah, and now you? I’m not
hurting her, I’m helping her. I thought you’d be on my side.”

Eyes full of worry, the
widow gripped the gold locket hanging from her neck. “Hannah’s had
a hard life.”

“Yes, she has, even I
can tell that. But there’s more to life than hiding out. And
Hannah’s strong. I think she can handle whatever comes her way,”
Melissa grinned. “And if she can’t, I can, so don’t worry so
much.”

The widow looked
unconvinced. “Just don’t hurt her,” she said and left the room.

Talk about fear of
change. These two could make a fortune on daytime television
discussing panic attacks. Melissa sighed, rolled her eyes, and got
back to work.

Less than a minute
later, Hannah returned again, this time to wash the window.
Apparently she couldn’t stay away. “I am not wearing that
dress.”

Melissa fed the fabric
under the needle. “Are you dissing my work?”

“Dissing?”

“Disrespecting.”

“Dissing,” Hannah said
the word softly, trying it out.

Melissa smiled at
Hannah’s fascination with the slang word. She racked her brain for
another and found she knew plenty. “It’s not like I’m going to make
you look skanky or anything. You’re really going to like this. It’s
a good look for you. I promise.”

“Skanky?”

“You know, like the way
a ho dresses?”

Hannah looked at her blankly. Then her mouth opened and shut,
then opened again. “You mean
whore
?” Hannah practically whispered
the word.

Melissa laughed at her
astonished expression. “Exactly. I plan to deck you out, but don’t
worry, I won’t let you look cheesy so you don’t need to wig out or
anything.”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed
and her spine straightened. “I’m not going and I’m not wearing no
wig.”

Melissa laughed, easing
off on the treadle, her knee weaving drunkenly as the motion slowed
and came to a stop. “Come on, we’ll just go hang out at the dance.
You don’t have to groove unless you want to. Just stand around and
show some teeth. Who knows, maybe we’ll get you a big rock out of
this.”

Hannah’s eyes were
wide. “Whatever you’re saying is not tricking me into going. I’m
not and that’s final.”

“Da Nile isn’t just a
river in Egypt.”

Hannah stared, her eyes
moving back and forth a moment, then she threw back her head and
laughed, the sound rusty from disuse. Melissa looked on in
bemusement. Hannah looked pretty when she laughed.

Hannah’s laughter
finally faded and she wiped her eyes, and stared down at the
carpet. “What you’re trying to do for me, well, I appreciate the
kindness. But I can’t accept.”

Something had happened
to this woman; even an imbecile would be able to tell that. Melissa
hesitated, not wanting to pry, and not wanting to be deluged with
emotion, but realizing that perhaps Hannah needed to talk. “Why
not?”

Hannah hesitated,
swallowed, met Melissa’s gaze, looked at the carpet and took a deep
shuddering breath. “I don’t like to be around men. They scare
me.”

Like that was news.
Hannah was scared of everyone. “I’ve noticed. What’s the
problem?”

“I can’t tell you.
You’ll think badly of me,” she practically whispered the words.

Pity welled in
Melissa’s heart. “Honey, I promise you I won’t. I’m not here to
stand in judgement of you and if I find out you dance naked in the
saloon on Saturday nights, I’m not going to so much as bat an
eyelash. I just want to be your friend.”

Hannah looked
horrified. “I don’t...I mean I’ve never danced...I used to be with
a man,” she said the words in a rush. “He wasn’t my husband. I
thought he would marry me. He didn’t. But he used to beat the
stuffing out of me every chance he got.” She paused. “I just don’t
like to be around men.” She whispered the words.

Compassion filled
Melissa. She’d suspected as much and worse.

“I had a child,” Hannah
continued. “A daughter. She died. I wanted to die too.”

A child. Melissa
suppressed a sigh and wished someone would show up with some words
of wisdom, but unfortunately, Hannah was stuck with her. “Perhaps
you could meet someone new. Get married and have another
child?”

Hannah shook her head.
“I’m thirty-four years old. Too old for such nonsense. My time has
come and gone.”

And that was fine, if
Hannah meant it. But she didn’t. Melissa heard the wistfulness in
her voice loud and clear and suddenly knew exactly what to say.

“Hannah, you listen to me. I’m a full year older than you,
and no one is
ever
going to tell me to sit on a shelf and dry up. No one
is
ever
going to
tell me my time has come and gone and that I should stop reaching
for my dreams. My dreams, your dreams, they’re who we
are.”

Melissa took a deep breath and continued. “You’re still
young. You could have more children. I know lots of women who bear
children well into their forties. You just need to take the chance.
You just need to be
willing
to take a chance.”

Hannah continued to
look at the carpet for a long moment. Then she lifted hope-filled
eyes. “Do you really think so?”

Hard pressed to keep
the tears out of her eyes, Melissa nodded. “Yes. Yes, Hannah, I
really do.”