One True Love (Cupid, Texas 0.5) (6 page)

Chapter Six

T
HE DANCE MARATHON
started at noon on Saturday in the Cupid High School gymnasium. John had registered us for the contest that morning, and when he came to the house, he brought me a white corsage that matched the lilies of the valley on the floppy green hat.

“Oh, John,” I whispered as if he’d actually come to pick me up for a date. “It’s beautiful.” By the end of the marathon the flower would wilt, just as we would, but in the moment I was enchanted.

“Here,” he said. “Let me put it on for you.”

He ducked his head and leaned over me, his fingers grazing my skin as he expertly pinned the corsage to my dress just below my left shoulder. No fumbling, no hesitation. This man knew how to pin a corsage.

“It’s my first corsage,” I admitted.

“It won’t be your last,” he said so convincingly that I believed him. “You’ll soon have boyfriends swarming around you.”

I didn’t want boyfriends swarming around me. I only wanted John. What a foolish dreamer I was!

Maybe so, but today, the dream was all mine.

Penelope had spent the night on the sofa in the parlor because she couldn’t make it up the stairs with her swollen ankle. The doctor had come by previous afternoon and diagnosed it as a severe sprain. She was sitting on the sofa with her foot propped up on an ottoman. Addie sat on the floor in front of her while Penelope braided her daughter’s hair.

“You look boo-de-ful, Millie,” Addie proclaimed.

“Why thank you, Miss Addie.” I curtsied for her and she giggled.

Even Mr. Bossier came into the room to see what was going on. He had young Ernest on his shoulders, and the chubby-cheeked toddler was tugging on his hair. “Why Millie,” Beau said. “You’re going to make the other girls at the dance jealous.”

My faced heated and I ducked my head. I felt so scandalous in Penelope’s mint green dress. Just like a daring flapper. And when John held out his elbow for me to take his arm, I almost swooned.

“Win that trophy for me, Millie!” Penelope said, looking wistful.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Beau is going to borrow a wheelchair from the hospital,” Penelope said. “So I can come watch. We’ll be there later today to cheer you on. Mother and Father are coming with us too.”

For a moment, I felt like I was one of them. Not merely a maid, but a proper member of the household. I had no idea, at the time, how dangerous such a notion could be.

John escorted me to his Nash roadster and I went from feeling like a flapper to part of the family to a regal queen as I slid across those cushy seats. When we got to the high school I was amazed to see all the vehicles. More than what was usually parked in front of the church on Sunday morning. Penelope’s dance marathon was off to a great start.

Over the entrance to the gymnasium was a big sign: “Dance Marathon Today. 25¢ Admission for Spectators.” Then below it, in smaller letters, was another sign that read: “All proceeds go to the Ladies’ League Charity Fund.” Off to one side of the gymnasium, a first aid tent had been set up where nurses in white stood at the ready with rolls of bandages and bottles of Mercurochrome.

I’d never seen anything like this. I was a simple country girl from Whistle Stop. I shifted my weight on the balls of my feet, shuffling from side to side as we waited in line to get in. My toes were moving around a little too much in Penelope’s high heels. They were a half size too big and I’d stuffed paper in the back of them.

John put a hand on my shoulder. “Nervous?”

If I wasn’t before, his touch cinched it. I gulped. Nodded.

From inside the building came the sound of the band tuning up by running through a quick medley of songs, and six weeks of training took over. My toes automatically started tapping.

“Your eyes glow when you’re happy,” John murmured.

He was right. I was happy. More than happy. I was over the moon to be here with John. Soon we would be dancing. Touching. For hours and hours on end.

We checked in and received numbers. Volunteers pinned them to our backs. John and I were couple number 12.

“My lucky number,” John said.

The gymnasium was a hubbub of excitement. There were more people here than in the entire population of my hometown. Couples took to the dance floor to await the official noon start of the marathon. Spectators climbed to find seats on the bleachers. The band was set up on the stage at the back of the gym. On the opposite end of the building, long tables had been erected and they were loaded with refreshments. The smell of strong coffee and popcorn wafted in the air.

Rosalie was on the dance floor with Buddy Grass. They were couple number 30. She wriggled her fingers at me. We hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other since the day she abandoned me at the caverns. I didn’t hold a grudge. Because of her, I’d gotten to ride on the back of Goldie behind John. She was the one who’d avoided me. Embarrassed about her behavior, I guessed.

I blew out a deep breath, rubbed my damp palms down the outside of my thighs.

“You’re going to do fine,” John lowered his head to whisper, his breath warm and tickly against my ear.

To distract myself, I counted the contestants. Fifty-five couples in all. A few minutes before the clock struck twelve, the promoter got up on stage. Using a bright yellow megaphone, he introduced himself, talked about the Ladies’ League charity, and then explained the rules. “For the next twenty-four hours you will be dancing. If only one couple is left on the dance floor before noon tomorrow, the dance marathon will be over at that time.”

“What if there’s more than one couple left by noon tomorrow,” someone called out.

“Then the marathon will continue until there is just one couple remaining.”

“What if that takes days?” someone else asked.

“Then it takes days.”

That sent a murmur rippling through the crowd. My own pulse did a ripple of its own.

The promoter went on. “All couples must remain touching at all times. Failure to maintain physical contact results in automatic disqualification. There will be spotters on the sidelines making sure the dancers stay in body contact the entire time.”

The crowd tittered.

It was a scandalous thought. Constant physical contact with a man who was not even my boyfriend. A man I was secretly in love with. I could hardly breathe.

John reached over to take my hand.

My heart thumped crazily.

We were joined now, until the end of the marathon, or we were disqualified.

“All couples must remain moving at all times,” the promoter continued. “You can sway, but you cannot stop. If you stop, you’re automatically disqualified.”

I was so pepped up with energy and promise I couldn’t imagine that not moving would be a problem. Even now I was fidgeting, anxious to get started.

“Every two hours there will be a ten-minute break. When you hear this horn . . .” He honked a loud horn and everyone jumped. “It’s the start of your ten-minute break. It will be honked a second time after nine minutes, indicating you should return to the dance floor. If you haven’t returned at the ten-minute mark, at which time the band will begin again, you will be disqualified. Any questions?”

No one said anything.

The promoter eyed the clock mounted on the wall above the gymnasium door and nodded toward the band. “Ready, set . . . dance!”

The band launched into the Charleston.

We were off.

Except that the Charleston is a difficult dance to complete while touching your partner throughout. A quarter of the contestants were disqualified during that first dance.

But John was smart, the minute the band struck the first notes of the Charleston, he whispered, “Never let go of my hand.”

And I didn’t.

We flew through the next six hours, with those short breaks every two hours, swinging from one dance to the next. The beads on my flapper dress made soft little clacking noises as they tapped together as we spun, twirled, and whirled. It was exhilarating in the same way as galloping on a spirited horse across the desert flats, but this was better because the whole time, John and I were touching.

It was magical. A day to remember forever. We were so attuned to each other. The way we moved together you would have thought we’d been dancing partners for years. I barely even noticed the blisters starting to rub on the sides of my pinky toes from the too-big shoes.

On and on we danced.

Others around us were wilting, but John and I bloomed.

The third horn sounded and while we were slightly winded, we were both feeling strong and ready for more. Penelope, Beau, Addie, Ernest, and John’s parents were in the stands cheering us on. John took off his jacket and I doffed the floppy hat and we gave them to Penelope for safekeeping.

We drank a cup of coffee and wolfed down chicken salad sandwiches for energy and then we were back on the dance floor again for “Nobody’s Sweetheart.”

John’s fingers were laced through mine.

My chest fisted. I wasn’t anybody’s sweetheart, but how I wanted to be John’s!
Dreaming, Millie. You’re too sensible for that.

A sigh escaped my lips.

“What is it?” John asked, his gaze swallowing my face.

I shook my head.

“Come on.” John winked and twirled me. “You can tell me.”

I ducked my head, and did not answer.

“Tell me your secrets, Millie,” John coaxed.

I shrugged and stepped forward.

“You’re trying to lead.”

“Your sister’s fault.”

He laughed. “So, you’re not going to tell me why you were sighing?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Then why not tell me?”

“You’ll think I’m foolish.” I dared to meet his dark eyes. They looked like simmering pots of melted chocolates. The room was suddenly far too hot.

“Never.”

“I feel like Cinderella.”

His smile was tender. “Have you ever been to a dance?”

“Not like this.” I waved my hand. “Square dances.”

“I don’t think you’re foolish.”

“I know it’s silly, but it’s my one special night. If your sister hadn’t hurt her ankle I wouldn’t be here.”

John lowered his head to mine. “Shh, don’t tell anybody this.”

“What?”

“This isn’t very nice of me, but I consider it a happy coincidence that she hurt her ankle. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of dancing with
you
.”

My body heated all over. I couldn’t believe that John Fant was saying these things to me.

“I’ll tell you something else.” His voice was so low I could scarcely hear him above the music.

“What’s that?” I whispered.

“I feel a bit like Prince Charming with you in my arms. It is one special evening.”

The band picked that moment to start playing “It Had to Be You.”

John’s eyes hooked to mine.

Mesmerized, I stared back, unable to look away. What if? What if? What if? The question beat through my temple. But hope is a dangerous thing and I didn’t have the courage to crush it out.

“You’re different from any girl I’ve ever met.” John lowered his eyelids and peered at me through thick black lashes.

“In what way?”

“You’re quite sensible for one so young. Naive to be sure, but underneath it, you have a surprising capacity to quickly grasp reality.”

I canted my head, not sure if this was a compliment or not.

“You don’t seem to care about frivolous things,” he went on.

“That’s because I come from a poor family,” I said. “You’re accustomed to society women, who have the time and money to worry about frivolous things.”

“Society women don’t have a market on frivolousness,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Maids can be just as frivolous. For instance the young maid who works for the Farnsworths. She’s making a big mistake dating Buddy Grass.”

“Who says Rosalie is dating him?” I asked. “Just because they’re dancing together.”

“True enough,” he conceded. “But I see the way she looks at him.”

The same way I looked at John? I quickly glanced over at Rosalie and Buddy so he wouldn’t see the stark desire on my face for something I could not have. “Is Buddy Grass a bootlegger?”

“You’re not interested in him yourself, are you?” John sounded alarmed.

“No.” Couldn’t John see that I only had eyes for him?

“Stay away from the likes of Buddy Grass,” he growled. “He’s no good.”

Was he jealous? My heart flip-flopped and I couldn’t stop a smile from plucking at the corners of my lips.

Many of the spectators had gone home to their dinners, including the Fants and Bossiers. The bleachers were less than half full now and the dancers had dwindled to thirty-two couples. Rosalie and Buddy Grass were among them. We were still a long way from claiming the prize.

Twilight pushed the sun from the windows of the gymnasium. We were all moving slower now, shuffling instead of lively high stepping. The band members had changed out, bringing in fresh musicians at the last break. The Ladies’ League volunteers had switched out too.

“May I ask you a question, Millie?” John asked.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“What were your hopes and dreams for the future before your father died?”

I shrugged. “Same as anybody else, I guess. Get married one day, have children.”

“Nothing more?”

“What else is there?”

“No big dreams? No secret fantasy that you’ve never told anyone?”

Oh yes. “There’s dreams, Mr. Fant,” I said, “and then there’s reality.”

He looked amused. “We’re back to Mr. Fant? I thought we got over that a long time ago.”

“There’s only so many options for the daughter of a silver miner with seven kids. No sense setting yourself up for heartbreak.”
Go ahead. Tell it like you believe it.
Too late. It was too late not to set myself up for heartbreak. I was already there.

“You’re smart as a whip, Millie Greenwood, you could be anything you want. A teacher. A nurse. A shop owner.”

Smart. He’d called me smart. “Those things cost money.”

“If you wanted to go to school, I’d be happy to send you.”

“Mr. Fant, you don’t owe me just because my daddy died in your mine.”