A Hopeful Heart (12 page)

“Afore we start again, let’s get Aunt Hattie’s girls out here! Don’t seem right to have men dancin’ with men when there’s women available.”

A mutter of agreement rolled across the single male population. Everyone, male and female alike, turned to face Aunt Hattie. Abel paused in carrying a slice of apple pie to the plate. A tingle crept across his scalp—men could get fractious when denied something they wanted, and he didn’t want to see Aunt Hattie get caught up in an ugly exchange.

She balled her fists on her hips and shook her head, her eyes seeking the crowd. “Len Meyer, was that you?”

The lanky cowboy separated himself from the murmuring throng.

“Yes’m, it was me. An’ I’m tired of dancin’ with Glendon. He keeps steppin’ on my toes.” He paused while the crowd roared. “If I gotta get trompled, I’d rather it was by somebody with dainty feet. So let your pupils dance, Aunt Hattie. What would it hurt?”

An answering chorus rose, all men’s voices begging Hattie for a chance to partner with one of her girls.

“Now, fellas, don’t think I’m not sympathizin’ with you.” Hattie kept a friendly smile on her face, letting her focus bob across the eager cowboys. “If I was you, I’d rather dance with any o’ my girls than Glendon Shultz. He’s got a big heavy foot, an’ there’s no denyin’ it.”

Once more, laughter rang, and Glendon’s face turned bright red.

Chuckling, Hattie continued. “But y’see, these girls’re new around here. They need a chance to feel at ease before we throw ’em out in the middle. ’Sides, this won’t be the summer’s only party. End o’ August, when these young ladies’ve had a chance to really settle in, I’ll be hostin’ a big party, invitin’ everybody in the county. These ladies’ll know how to dance by then, as I’ll be teachin’ ’em myself.” She gave a little jig that brought another round of laughter. “An’ I promise you’ll get the chance to fill their dance cards with your marks. But . . .” She shrugged, pursing her lips. “For now, they’re just watchin’.”

Mumbles started again, but Hattie turned her back on the crowd and herded her pupils to the other side of the food tables, well away from the dancing circle. Abel noted a couple of the girls looked longingly toward the dance floor, and the one who’d accused him and Miss Tressa of dallying lagged behind, but Aunt Hattie looped elbows with the girl and hurried her along.

The fiddler started a new tune, and the dancers set their feet into motion once more. Abel finished filling Vince’s plate, glancing back and forth from Hattie’s pupils to the single men. Although Hattie had managed to squelch an open rebellion, tension was still hanging in the air.

He tossed a napkin over Vince’s plate and carried it to his wagon. After sliding the plate under the seat, he turned and looked across the grounds. Aunt Hattie’s girls were standing in a tight circle peering over Hattie’s shoulders at the dancers. Even from this distance, he could read frustration on several faces. He whistled through his teeth. The end of August was a ways off. Aunt Hattie might be hard-pressed to keep the men—and some of those girls—reined in that much longer.

12

Tressa heaved a sigh of relief when Mrs. Wyatt suggested they head for home. As the afternoon lengthened, the sun had seemed to burn a hole through the top of her straw skimmer, searing her scalp. She was ready to return to the ranch she now thought of as home.

Mrs. Wyatt pointed to the wagon. “You gals go ahead and climb on in—I’ll say our thank-you an’ good-bye to Brewster an’ be with you in a jiffy.”

“Can’t we say our own good-byes to everyone?” Luella folded her arms over her chest. “You’ve hardly let us say two words all day . . . except to the women.” Luella made “women” sound like a dirty word.

Aunt Hattie shook her head. “Now, you knew up front we’d be makin’ friends with the ladies but not the men today, Luella. No sense in cryin’ in your buttermilk over it now. Mr. Hammond’ll accept a group thank-you from all of us, so get on with you. Evenin’ chores’re waitin’.” She spun and charged in the direction of the porch, where Mr. Hammond stood with a few other townspeople.

Tressa eagerly turned toward the wagon, but she walked slowly. Her full stomach didn’t encourage rushing. How she had enjoyed the food! The simple but tasty fare had rivaled that served at any of her aunt’s lavish dinner parties in New York. After weeks of cooking for the others residing at Mrs. Wyatt’s ranch, she’d found great pleasure in eating someone else’s cooking.

She passed the roasting pit, giggling a bit at her initial reaction to the skinned calf turning on a spit over the fire-filled pit. Her stomach had trembled at the sight, but with the first taste of the meat from that calf, the image fled. She’d never eaten such succulent beef.

Sallie, Paralee, and Mabelle darted ahead of her, their heads together, tongues wagging. Luella sidled up to Tressa, her face angled over her shoulder. She swayed her hips in a way that made her skirts twirl around her dusty hightop shoes. Raising one hand, Luella waggled her fingers at someone behind them. Tressa glanced over her shoulder and spotted Gage Hammond leaning on a fence post, toe planted in the dirt, grinning after them. He tipped his hat and winked. Tressa spun forward, her face hot.

Luella snickered. “No need to get all pink-cheeked. He wasn’t winking at you.”

Tressa shot the girl a questioning look. “How do you know?”

“Never you mind.” Luella tossed her head, her dark locks flying over her shoulders. “I just know.” She gave a little skip, scurrying forward to climb into the wagon.

Tressa’s footsteps slowed even more. Might Luella have sneaked out of the house to meet Gage Hammond? She risked another quick glimpse over her shoulder. Gage remained at the post. His tugged-low hat shielded his eyes, but it couldn’t hide his smirk. A chill wiggled down Tressa’s spine. Why did she find that young man so disquieting?

“Come now, Tressa.” Mrs. Wyatt hustled to Tressa’s side and captured her elbow. “We got critters at home waitin’ to be fed, so we need to hurry.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tressa trotted the remaining distance to the wagon and climbed in. As she settled into one corner, she looked at Luella. The other girl wore a secretive grin that matched Gage’s. Despite the summer afternoon sun, another chill attacked. Tressa needed to talk to Mrs. Wyatt about Gage and Luella. But first she needed proof.

Tressa deliberately dragged out the kitchen cleanup after supper, delaying the final tasks until the sun touched the horizon and painted the sky in a soft peach glow. Mrs. Wyatt shuffled into the kitchen dressed in her unpretentious cotton gown and tattered housecoat. Her light brown hair, streaked heavily with gray, lay in thick waves across her shoulders.

Hands on hips, she shook her head. “Land sakes, girl, you’re slower’n molasses in February tonight. What ails you?”

Tressa ran a soapy cloth over the worktable, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Nothing, ma’am. Just feeling . . . pensive, I suppose.”

“Pensive?” The woman tucked her chin down and raised one brow high. “What’n dried beans is pensive?”

With a soft laugh, Tressa said, “Pensive . . . thoughtful . . . dreamy.”

Mrs. Wyatt chuckled. “Well, I reckon every young woman is entitled to a dreamy evenin’ now an’ then.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Would that dreaminess be connected to someone? Maybe a particular fella who caught your eye this afternoon?”

Two pictures immediately vied for prominence in Tressa’s mind— one of Gage Hammond leaning on the fence post with a smirk marring his face and one of Abel Samms standing on the outside of the circle of dancers with a look of loneliness creasing his brow. Gage’s image brought a shiver of distaste; Abel’s a wash of sympathy coupled with a splash of confusion. He’d gently tended to her wound but then escaped as quickly as a mouse fleeing Isabella’s pounce. She found his behavior puzzling and her own concern toward him even more bewildering.

But her reason for delaying bedtime had nothing to do with either man. Uncertain how to respond, she headed for the pantry to retrieve the water pails. “I need to fill the stove reservoir.”

Mrs. Wyatt chuckled again, her eyes twinkling. “Pretty sure you’ve got more on your mind than fillin’ the stove’s water tank, but I won’t force nothin’ out o’ you.”

For a moment, guilt teased the edges of Tressa’s conscience, and she considered divulging the reason she wanted to be downstairs when night fell. But until she knew for sure what Luella was scheming, she’d only be telling tales. She hadn’t cared for Luella jumping to conclusions about her with Mr. Samms; she’d discover the truth before opening her mouth to Mrs. Wyatt.

“Thinkin’ I might sit out on the front porch an’ breathe in a little pipe smoke. Watchin’ all that dancin’ today . . .” Mrs. Wyatt sighed. “Got me lonesome for Jed. Why, nobody could hold a candle to Jed an’ me when it came to dancin’ a square.”

Tressa tried to imagine Mrs. Wyatt swinging around the circle with her husband, but the image eluded her. Then she jolted, her thoughts unfolding one on top of the other. If Mrs. Wyatt were out on the porch, she’d surely see someone creeping around in the yard. If Luella tried to sneak out again tonight, she’d find it difficult to evade Mrs. Wyatt’s notice. And if Mrs. Wyatt caught Luella, there would be no reason for Tressa to play Pinkerton detective.

She wrung the cloth into the washbasin and hung it over the edge of the dry sink. “It
is
a pleasant evening to sit outdoors. . . .”

Mrs. Wyatt yawned widely, not bothering to cover her mouth with her hand. “Then again I might go straight to bed. The others’ve all gone up—already hear snorin’ comin’ from Sallie. Even though it was a day o’ rest, bein’ out in the sun can wear a body out.”

Tressa held her breath, waiting for Mrs. Wyatt to make up her mind.

The older woman crinkled her brow in thought. Then she blew out a long breath. “Oh my, I think I’m too tired to even light a pipe. I’m goin’ on up to bed. Tressa-darlin’, be sure to blow out all the lamps when you’re finished down here, will you?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

The woman shook her head as she moved toward the doorway, mumbling, “ ‘Ma’am,’ she says. . . . Land sakes, girl, just call me Aunt Hattie. Everybody does. No need to be so formal. . . .” Her voice faded away as her shuffling footsteps led her around the corner.

Tressa quickly filled the stove reservoir, put the buckets on the pantry shelf, and then fetched Isabella from her spot beneath the stove. She hated disturbing the sleeping cat, but Mrs. Wyatt preferred the animal spend the night in the pantry. With Isabella safely tucked away, she blew out the remaining lamps. Darkness engulfed the kitchen.

Feeling her way, she moved along the wall to the staircase and thumped to the top, deliberately setting her feet down firmly enough to be heard. When she reached the top, she paused for a moment and then turned and tiptoed back down. The actions felt deceitful, but if she was going to catch Luella, it would take a small measure of stealth.

She darted around the corner into the dining room. The heavily draped windows prevented even a hint of moonlight from entering the room. Cloaked completely in dark, Tressa leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. She aimed her ear toward the doorway and listened intently. Several minutes ticked by before a creak on the stairs warned of someone’s approach. The thud in her chest carried to her ears, nearly covering the sound of footfalls, and she tried to slow her pulse with a slowly indrawn breath.

Just as she released the breath, a shadowy figure in a full skirt crept around the corner. Tressa flattened herself against the wall, but despite the effort to make herself disappear, the woman walked straight into her. Both released a squeak of surprise, and then a hand clamped around Tressa’s arm.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me—Tressa.”

“What’re you doing down here?”

Although deep shadows hid the woman’s features, Tressa recognized the voice. She whispered back, “What are
you
doing, Luella?”

Maintaining a painful grip on Tressa’s arm, Luella dragged Tressa through the dining room and into the kitchen. Soft moonlight sifted through the uncovered window above the sink, giving Tressa a glimpse of Luella’s fury.

“You little sneak! You were watching for me, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was!” Tressa wrenched her arm free. Luella stood several inches taller, but Tressa squared her shoulders and looked directly into the other girl’s face. “I saw you leave the house last night, and I thought you might do it again. Mrs. Wyatt made it quite clear that it isn’t safe for us to wander away from the ranch alone, and especially not at night.”

“I can take care of myself.” Luella hissed the words through clenched teeth. Then a sly smile curved her lips. “Besides, I won’t be alone for long.”

Gage’s face flashed in Tressa’s memory. “Are you sneaking off to meet Gage Hammond?”

Luella’s eyes narrowed. “That’s none of your affair. And if you dare say a word to Aunt Hattie, I’ll make your life miserable!”

Tressa couldn’t imagine how the girl could create any more misery than she’d already accomplished. She tossed aside the threat. “It would be irresponsible for me to keep silent.” Despite Luella’s past unkind treatment, worry rose in Tressa’s breast. “Luella, I don’t think it’s wise to spend time with Gage Hammond. That man—”

“That man has the means to give me everything I want.” Luella’s tone turned hard. “I won’t risk being passed over by refusing to give him what he wants.”

The insinuation struck Tressa so forcefully her knees began to tremble. “Luella, you aren’t . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words.

Luella emitted a short, scornful snicker. “Stop being such a baby, Tressa. You think some man is going to choose you because of your cooking and cow-roping skills? No matter what Aunt Hattie says, a man wants more from a woman than three meals a day, a tidy house, and help with his critters. I know what pleases a man, and I intend to let Gage Hammond know what he can expect if he chooses me. Now get out of my way.”

She pushed past Tressa, nearly knocking her against the dry sink. But then she whirled back and grasped Tressa’s arm again. Her fingers clamped down on the bandaged cut, and Tressa cried out. Luella squeezed harder. “Keep quiet about this, Tressa.”

Tressa tried unsuccessfully to pry Luella’s finger from her arm. Her wound throbbed painfully. “Luella, let go!”

“Do you promise not to tell?”

“I
have
to tell! It’s against Mrs. Wyatt’s rules to—”

“Forget the confounded rules!” She shook Tressa by her arm and then abruptly released her.

Tressa caught her balance and clutched her aching elbow.

“Think about this, Tressa.” Suddenly Luella’s tone turned wheedling, almost friendly. “You like Aunt Hattie, don’t you?”

Gooseflesh broke out on Tressa’s arms. She nodded slowly.

“Well, think how her reputation could be tarnished if one of her pupils managed to sneak off in the middle of the night with a local rancher’s son. The fine townspeople of Barnett wouldn’t take too kindly to that, now, would they?”

Tressa stared in shock. “How could Mrs. Wyatt be held accountable for what you chose to do?”

“She’s supposed to be in charge, isn’t she? So she’d be blamed.” Luella advanced on Tressa, a malicious smile playing at the corners of her lips. “If you want to protect your dear Mrs. Wyatt, you’ll keep your mouth shut.” She patted Tressa’s cheek with her open palm, then spun and slipped out the back door.

Tressa started after Luella, but then turned and took two stumbling steps toward the stairway. But she stopped again, her entire body quivering in worry and indecision. “I don’t know what to do . . .” she whispered to the empty room. Suddenly Mrs. Wyatt’s advice from weeks ago flitted through her mind:
“Missy, you can always depend on God.”

Crossing to the window, Tressa pressed her fingertips to the glass and raised her gaze to the star-laden sky. The beauty of the night sky created a tug on her heart, but at the same time an emptiness engulfed her. Tears stung her eyes, blurring the twinkling stars. Mrs. Wyatt had told her she could depend on God to help her, but Tressa had no idea how to ask for His help.