Sixteen Brides (10 page)

“Ella.” Mama sat down beside her, the bonnet on her lap. “God promises to make all things new.”

“I don’t think he was talking about bonnets.”

“Well, of course he wasn’t. He was talking about things inside of us, and he’s making you new inside, too. On Tuesday when Caroline said Plum Grove wasn’t much, you pointed out the new buildings. When Ruth and Caroline told us what the Emigration Society really meant, already you were thinking how you would cope. How you would use it all to make your own place of light—your own new creation in partnership with the God who will send rain and crops and baby chicks and all good things for us to richly enjoy.” Mama paused. “That’s what I want for you, Ella. I want you to richly enjoy
all
good things.” She traced one of the iridescent feathers. “The morning stars made music when God created the earth. Do you remember reading that? Why shouldn’t we enjoy some music in celebration of your creating a home for us? Why shouldn’t we dance and wear new bonnets and laugh with our new neighbors? If God meant for life to be all sorrow, he wouldn’t have created laughter, Ella.” Mama squeezed her hand.

Ella sighed. Such a little thing Mama was asking. Put on a new bonnet. Go to a dance. Enjoy. It had been so long since Ella enjoyed life, she wasn’t certain she would know how. No one would ask her to dance, of course.
Unless they liked a beefy gal.
She looked down at the new hat. It really was lovely. Mama had such a good sense of fashion. She’d even selected a more conservative color. “All right, Mama.” Ella reached for the hat.
At least it isn’t red.

He had slicked-back hair and a thin red line along his right cheekbone. The cuffs on his shirt were frayed but clean, and if her ankle weren’t throbbing so, Caroline would have loved to have danced with this Bill. He was the third Bill to ask her to dance, and the other two . . . well. The other two just plain smelled bad, and Caroline was thankful for the ability to say, “I’m so sorry, but I cain’t.” She didn’t dare lift her skirt to show them her bandaged ankle, of course, but when she rose and hobbled over to get a cup of punch from the pass-through between dining room and kitchen, Caroline allowed it was testimony enough that she wasn’t just making excuses. Thankfully, neither of the aromatic Bills invited themselves to sit down next to her. This Bill, however, seemed nice enough. And so she accepted his offer to refill her mug and didn’t mind at all when he asked her if he might “set a spell.”

“Nice evening,” he said, cupping his own coffee mug between both hands and staring down at the contents as if they required inspection before drinking. “I heard—I mean, folks are saying—”

“Please, Mr. Miller. Do tell me what folks are sayin’.” Caroline grinned. “I’ve been dyin’ to overhear what folks are sayin’, but this ankle of mine has nailed me to the floor in a corner. I’m just dyin’ of curiosity, seein’ as how it would normally be my habit to be in the middle of every single dance, where I could overhear for myself. So do tell. What are the good folks of Dawson County sayin’ about me and my friends?”

As it turned out, Bill might not be all that good at handling a straight razor, but he excelled at information. City lots were going to be available soon. The board was advertising back east for a doctor and there’d be a school before the end of the year. The late snow had caused problems for the ranchers. “That’s why there aren’t so many people out tonight,” he said. “That and the big doin’s over at Cayote. Most of the boys headed over there to see the bri—” He broke off.

Caroline finished the sentence for him. “To see the brides, I expect.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sat back then. “If it weren’t for that, there’d be dozens more here tonight.” He nodded toward the fiddler. “Bill Toady’s the best in the county. Folks always turn out in droves when they know he’s playing.”

Another Bill.
Caroline smiled. She was just about to comment on the number of Bills and Wills in Plum Grove when this Bill let out a little “uh-oh.” He was looking toward the door. All Caroline could see above the dancers were two cowboy hats. Expecting to see Lucas Gray sashay into the room, she was more than disappointed when the two hats proved to be on unfamiliar heads, although the look in the men’s eyes was not unfamiliar to her.
Uh-oh
indeed.

They’d obviously started the evening at the saloon. They stood inside the door for a moment, watching the five couples on the dance floor, then scanning the room. Caroline followed their gaze, her heart pounding. She turned in her chair, ever so slightly toward Bill. Sally was on the dance floor—had been for every dance so far this evening, as had both Mavis and Helen. Ruth, Zita, and Ella were over by the kitchen chatting with two young couples. And yet, as she scanned the crowd, Caroline thought she detected more than one worried glance in the direction of the two newcomers. Even the fiddler seemed to have changed. Somehow the music was more frantic. As if he wanted to keep the dancers moving.

Caroline wished she could rise and slip through the kitchen door and momentarily out of sight. Something about those two—and then they saw her. Words passed between them and they left.
It’s your imagination. They just happened to glance over here as they were deciding to leave. They could have been looking for anyone.

Except they weren’t. Moments later, with Bill Toady taking a well-earned break from fiddling and the seat next to her having been vacated, Caroline rose and hobbled to where Ella and Zita stood admiring the new baby in a beaming mother’s arms. After being introduced, Caroline said, “I believe I’ll retire a little early. My ankle’s throbbing something awful and the resident doc says I should prop it up—or ice it.” She shivered at the thought.

“Doc?” the young woman asked. “Does Plum Grove finally have a doctor?”

Caroline pulled on her gloves while Zita explained about Hettie, but just as she headed for the door, the cowboys returned with a friend in tow. Lucas Gray’s hand from the train.
Lowell Day.

The only thing certain in life is that things aren’t certain.
Matthew couldn’t remember who’d said that, or if he even had it quite right, but it did apply to how today had gone so far. He’d been convinced that supper with Linney would be a bit awkward. She would press him about moving back to the homestead, and he would feel uncomfortable. Martha would appear to stay out of the discussion, but all the while she would be looking his way with an expression that made him feel he was being scolded by a facsimile of his long-dead mother.

Neither happened. Linney chattered away about the eight ladies now staying at the Immigrant House and how one of them had a son named Jackson. It seemed to Matthew that Linney spent more time on the boy than on the ladies. He didn’t quite know how he felt about that. Either way, supper was grand. He’d excused himself to do a little more work for Otto, mostly because he liked working around the animals, liked working with his hands, and liked being aware of the comings and goings in town without having to directly engage in the hustle-bustle.

What with the snow challenging calving season on the ranches to the north and the whole county jabbering about the “brides” over at Cayote tonight, Matthew was surprised when a half dozen wranglers rode into town, and even more surprised when he realized three of their horses sported the Graystone brand. Maybe the snow hadn’t caused Luke much trouble after all. But then why hadn’t he come into town for the dance? Ordinarily the little southerner—Caroline, Linney said her name was—would have attracted Lucas Gray like a bee to a blossom. On the other hand, Linney said as far as she could tell, the eight ladies who had remained in Plum Grove were bent on homesteading instead of sparking. Luke wouldn’t care for that. He liked women— Whatever obsessive thoughts Matthew would have naturally entertained about Luke were interrupted by the sound of a wagon rumbling up to the open doors at the back of the barn. Matthew straightened up just in time to see Jeb Cooper climb down from his perch. When Matthew called a greeting, Cooper smiled. “Just the man I wanted to see,” he said as he used his teeth to pull the glove off his one hand.

Not normally a man to jump to conclusions about anything, Matthew did now. A myriad of things that could be wrong with the homestead flashed through his mind. The worst, he knew, for a newcomer, would be a leaky roof, and with the recent snow and the melting over the past few days—“I’ll make it good,” Matthew said. “Whatever’s wrong. The roof—I should have checked it—”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Cooper said. “The place is exactly as you promised. A little better than what I expected, to be honest. But it’s . . .” He paused. “. . . unchanged. I can live with it just as it is, of course. But won’t your daughter want her mother’s things?”

Of course she would. But first Matthew would have to tell her he’d sold the place. “I was just headed toward the dining hall—I owe Linney two dances tonight. Care to come along?”

Grateful that Jeb Cooper wasn’t the kind of man who had to fill silence with talk, Matthew tried to plan what he would say to Linney. And when. Dance first . . . news last. Definitely last. How was it that a child could hold such power over a man? He could stand down a bear with less heart pounding than he felt right now. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought it all through before, but thinking it through and actually preparing to do it weren’t the same. He was terrified.

When they came to the dining hall, Cooper stopped in the street. “I’m not much for dancing,” he said. “You go on inside. I’ll be right here when—” He broke off and stared through the windows into the dining hall. His jaw clenched. Matthew had never seen a man of any size move as fast as Jeb Cooper did to get inside.

Ella had just offered to walk back to the Immigrant House with Caroline when one of the cowboys from the train sauntered toward them. The man reeked. Ella was reminded of Milton falling into bed after being away all night, ostensibly playing cards.

“Came for my dance,” he said to Caroline. “Rode all the way over to Cayote tonight but you weren’t there.” He looked around the room, wobbling as he took off his hat and gave a drunken little speech. “Ladies. You’re the talk of Cayote tonight. Funny how that works, ain’t it? The ladies who didn’t go are causing more talk than the ones who are over there dancing up a storm with every man from miles around.” He put his hat back on. “But Lowell Day’s not interested in the ladies that stuck with Drake.” He reached for Caroline’s hand. “Lowell wants to dance with the gal he paid for.”

When Caroline tried to pull away, Day grabbed her free hand as well and pulled her toward him. Her face went white and her ankle must have given way, because she fell forward with a little cry of pain. The man who caught her didn’t reek of anything but soap and fresh air and maybe just a touch of horse. The man who caught her had, just a second before, grabbed the stinking cowboy by his collar and spun him around and away from Caroline before she lost her balance. Then, the instant he caught her and helped her regain her balance, he snatched Day’s hat off the floor, clamped it on his head, grabbed him by the collar again, and shoved him out the door and into the street.

It all happened so fast that half the room probably saw little more than a slightly drunk cowboy being helped outside to sober up. But the three ladies, Caroline and Mama and Ella, saw it all, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next it would be all Ella could do to sound sincere when she scolded Mama for going on so about Jeb Cooper. “After all,” she would say, “he only did what any other good man in that room would have done.”