“It could happen,” she insisted. “They’ve got Emma and Juliana, don’t they?” Her sisters were petite and feminine, just like Mama, with their perfectly curled hair, stylish skirts, and bustles. “They’re sure to marry up in no time,” she added, for Darby’s benefit.
“You think no man in Cross Creek is ever gonna want to marry you. Is that it?” Darby crushed the brim of his Stetson between his hands—hands that had been as big as serving platters ever since he was a boy of twelve, when he’d come to live with them after his folks died. He couldn’t have realized what he was doing—he loved that hat.
Mandy made some small gesture to draw his attention to it, but he just kept staring at her, his exasperation plain.
“I know what I know,” she said firmly, making sure there was no hint of bitterness or discouragement in her voice. He had to see she was resigned to the facts. That she didn’t pity herself. She’d made peace with her future. She was going to help her father on the ranch and continue writing for the paper for as long as she could. She liked it, and it made her happy.
So why, all of a sudden, did she feel a big empty hole in her chest where her heart was supposed to be? Why, all of a sudden, did she long for something more?
What was this—this sharp yearning sensation? And how could she get rid of it?
The papers crinkled in her grasp, making her realize she’d almost made a fist.
“Well, I know what I know too,” Darby said, “and that’s just plain stupid.”
“Oh, it’s stupid, is it?” Mandy repeated, stung. Looking at him now, she could see his face was turning quite red, and he looked angry—well, angry for Darby anyway. Darby never truly got angry. He was too good-natured.
“You have too low an opinion of yourself, Mack,” he said, pointing right at her, evidently for emphasis, “and you always have.”
“Oh, I do, do I?”
“I know what I know. Just give me the papers.” He snatched the packet from her. Her precious column.
“You’re going to take them to Gus?”
“I’m going to take them to Gus,” he said.
“And you’re not going to tell a soul?”
He let out a breath and lifted his face to the big blue sky above them as if to ask for divine help. Here, in the lap of the stone-faced Rockies, it certainly did feel like God was close by, practically within reach. Watching over you. “And I’m not going to tell a soul,” he said.
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” He chucked her under the chin and then swung up into the saddle.
Mandy stood in the stable yard and watched as he left. That whole thing about her having “too low an opinion of herself” was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her in her life. Not that she’d ever let Darby in on that little fact. And not that she believed a single word of it.
The rest of the day Mandy spent doing ranch chores. Darby seemed to be gone longer than usual, but she tried not to let that worry her too much. He might be drilling Gus with questions about Ask Mack, about how it came into existence, demanding to know why Gus would let Mandy embark on such a foolhardy endeavor. Darby might stop at other places of business too. Possibly even the Girards’ ranch, trying to convince his friends to dance with her at the social coming up this Saturday—a notion that filled her with icy dread. The image of Darby urging his friends to dance with her was utterly mortifying.
The truth was, Darby could be doing any number of things she didn’t want him to do, but she simply had no control over the matter, so there was no point worrying about it.
Except, she did wonder if anyone would ask her to dance. She liked to dance, after all. She just didn’t care to dance with either of the Girard brothers, that’s all. They were decent enough men now, she supposed, but as boys they’d tormented her. Russell, especially.
If there was one man she would like to dance with, well, that had to be Adam Booker. She could admit that to herself. They’d danced together before, and they’d even laughed a bit, talked at length several times. She liked him. But these days she had the most difficult time looking straight at him—at church, for instance—where before, she’d simply nodded or smiled.
Although, truth be told, she did do more than her fair share of looking. It was only when he caught her at it that she went all shy inside.
He had eyes the most piercing shade of blue—eyes that could look right into your heart. She tried not to stare, but it was difficult, and oftentimes she got caught. In a moment of fluster, she’d have to page through her Bible or her songbooks, depending on what part of the service they were in.
Adam Booker wrote to Ask Mack and signed himself as Banks, a pseudonym she’d quickly seen through. He trusted Mack with some of his most embarrassing questions about ranch life. Though he didn’t know her true identity or gender, he exposed his weaknesses to her, admitted his doubts. He’d come to trust her—as Mack—and knew she wouldn’t publish every word he wrote to the paper. Though he couldn’t possibly know what those letters meant to her, she’d come to cherish every one.
Banks trusted her.
He listened to her. He let her in—in her anonymous state—and perhaps without realizing it, exposed his very heart. She knew Adam Booker better than any man, better than Papa or Darby, or anyone, really.
Would Adam ask her to dance? Could she bear it—the heady excitement and the rush of nerves?
After exercising Columbus, the most pleasant of her father’s carriage horses, Mandy gave the sleek dappled gray gelding one final loving pat on the nose and closed the paddock gate behind her, making sure it latched securely. Daisy was by her side in an instant, tail wagging so hard her whole body swayed with a sort of puppyish joy, despite her age.
“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” Mandy crooned. She scratched behind the hound’s floppy ears, where Daisy’s short caramel-colored fur was as fluffy and silky soft as ever. Though she was old now, past retirement as a hunting dog, she was still full of affection and good humor. “Oh, you’re so soft, aren’t you? You’re just a baby. Yes, you are.”
Daisy wiggled and leaned hard into Mandy’s shins, bumping her head into her knees again and again. Wanting to be loved. Wanting any scrap of attention. Not unlike most creatures under God’s big blue sky.
Mandy continued to pat, scratch, and croon, enjoying a little attention herself.
All around her, ranch life bustled on to its own incessant rhythm. There was always something to be done and someone doing it. Her father was off at a neighboring ranch, negotiating terms over sharing watering holes, planning for new irrigation, and installing pumps in a cooperative effort. A dozen cowboys in chaps and Stetsons were herding cattle, just dark specks on the rolling green hills in the distance. Closer to home, another few ranch hands were chucking flakes of hay over the paddock fences to feed the horses and filling water buckets and troughs from the pump. She heard the chickens squawking in their fenced-off coop, wanting their feed too, though they’d already been fed. She’d seen to that herself when she gathered eggs first thing this morning. In the side yard up by the main house, Mama and Mandy’s sisters were doing laundry. In navy blue everyday skirts and white blouses, they worked in practiced unison, taking down the dry linens from the line—safely upwind of the earthier scents of the ranch. As they moved between the sheets, the bright white swathes of fabric flowed in the breeze, catching the scent of wildflowers in the field.
Mandy watched as Emma and Juliana stood on either end of a long sheet, shaking it out, letting it fall into halves then fourths, then finally meeting in the center—in what seemed a homey sort of ballet. Finally, they got it folded down into a neat square and handed it to Mama. Mama gathered it to her face, pressing the warmed cloth to her nose. After baking in the summer sun, it probably smelled fresh and wonderful, bearing the combined scents of laundry soap, wildflowers, and a summer breeze. Mandy could almost smell it herself, having folded many sheets in her lifetime. Tonight her bed just might smell
like Colorado sunshine.
Mama caught sight of her and paused. Mandy raised a hand to wave at her. Her mother set the folded sheet in her basket and waved back. She pushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead, but the wind whipped it back, playing with it. In the bright midday sunlight, her gray streaks glittered like silver among the shiny black strands, a sharp reminder to Mandy that her mother, though only in her late forties, was getting older.
Mama seemed to stare at her a little longer than she normally would have, her hand arrested at her temple, as if she were lost in thought. Then she lifted the laundry basket to her waist and headed for the back porch of the main house, her dark navy blue skirts billowing out behind her.
What was that all about?
It didn’t have to be about anything, Mandy told herself, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Mama was worried about her.
She wished she could wipe all that worry away and tell her mother that everything was going to be all right. Assure her that she was perfectly content with her lot.
Mandy watched as her sisters trailed after Mama with their own laundry baskets weighting down their skirts, and she was suddenly aware that they were over there, and she was over here, alone. Well, not precisely alone—because she was surrounded by men, horses, cattle, goats, sheep, chickens, scrambling herding dogs, and one old hunting hound begging for attention—but she wasn’t with them, the womenfolk of the ranch. In many ways, she wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t exactly one of the ranch hands either. And she certainly wasn’t a cowboy.
Mandy dropped to her knees onto the dirt drive by Daisy’s side. Her riding skirt was going to be streaked with dust and muck, but she simply felt the most urgent need to hug Daisy close. She buried her face in the dog’s soft neck fur, wondering why she suddenly ached inside.
Why did she suddenly ache with emptiness, like she was missing something important? It was silly. Some stray passing sadness. She’d felt similar waves of sadness when she was younger, in her teenage years. And that was all this was too, surely. Wasn’t it? A passing wave. Her emotions fluttering about, like those sheets had been, catching the breeze.
What could she possibly want that she didn’t already have?
Daisy held perfectly still in her embrace, seeming to understand that Mandy needed her, needed to listen to the comforting thud of a heartbeat beneath her ear.
Mandy breathed in and out, closing her eyes and simply feeling.
She had a life she loved here. She had a family who loved her, and she lived in the most beautiful spot on earth. The grass was greener here than anywhere. The mountains were more magnificent, surrounding her like the most comforting hug. Whenever she stepped off the back porch, she always felt like she was stepping into paradise. And she had Ask Mack, a little secret that brought her pleasure and another layer of meaning to her existence. She enjoyed helping others, answering questions. Her life was good.
Why now did it feel as if life wasn’t complete? That there might be something she was missing. Some purpose she had yet to fulfill...
That purpose tickled at the edges of her mind, luring her toward an unknown destination—beyond sight or knowledge. And she had to go there. If she didn’t, she knew in some deep unshakable place inside of her that she would have failed. But at what? What was it, where was it, and how did she find it?
Again she remembered the sharp yearning sensation she’d felt while talking to Darby earlier. It was silly, surely. It didn’t seem right to yearn for something more when she already had so much. It especially didn’t seem right when she had no clear indication of what that something missing was.
Mandy straightened and brushed down her skirts, a futile task, since the stains wouldn’t come out even in the next wash. She wandered back to the barn to fill water buckets from the pump. Daisy tagged along, a faithful shadow.
As she worked, her mind kept spinning. It was a puzzle. While she normally enjoyed a good puzzle, the presence of a puzzle in her own life was a most unpleasant itch. She wanted all the loose pieces to fall into place with a satisfying click. Now. She wanted everything to fit properly. For everything to be where it was meant to be. And it wasn’t.
Something was...off.
But what?
Dear Mack,
With the troubles on the ranch... I wonder if I’m meant to be here.
The men are against me (now even more since I’ve had to fire that man, the one we discussed). Daily I feel my spirits flagging. I could sell the property and return to my old life, but that feels like quitting. And quitting doesn’t sit right.
I always appreciate your good advice. Tell me: Am I a fool to stay on?
Sincerely yours,
Banks
Dear Banks,
Please do not lose heart, my friend! I believe I can now call you friend after all this time.
You are never a fool for endeavoring to succeed, especially at something you love. And from all your letters, I can see you love your ranch. You love this new life. Mostly.
Despite the challenges and these temporary difficulties—for I feel they are indeed temporary—I encourage you to persevere. I believe in time you will reap a good harvest if you do not give up.
Persevere, persevere, persevere!
Yours sincerely,
Mack
Dear Mack,
You call me friend... It’s odd. We’ve never even met, yet you seem to know me. Better than most of the people in town.
I don’t know if you’re young or old. I don’t know what you look like. But it doesn’t seem to matter. I too have come to see you as a friend. I value your good advice and appreciate your listening ear.
Some days I feel very alone here. I miss my family back home. The troubles on the ranch weigh on me. It means a lot to be able to share my burdens with you. To talk about what is going on, if only in letters. Despite the fact that we are essentially strangers, you seem to care. You’re always so willing to offer a word of encouragement.
Thank you,
Banks
My Dear Banks,
Your words of appreciation echo here. I appreciate you as well and look forward to each and every one of your letters. Thank you for sharing your life and troubles with me so openly. I value your integrity and your desire to succeed in this new endeavor of yours. You have my respect.
If I in turn have offered you any encouragement, it is only because you deserve it. Continue to persevere and do not give up. I do indeed care, and I am ever so sure you will succeed, for you have impressed me as a man who will always give your all, who will always strive to do your best.
I’m honored to be counted your friend! Please know I think of you often and wish you the very best in all things.
Sincerely yours,
Your friend Mack
Chapter 2
The next day, Mandy stopped by the Cross Creek Post Office, a stately little brick building on Main Street. She clutched a package of fabric to her chest from an errand she’d just completed. The correct package of fabric. The one Darby had fetched from town yesterday had been a horrible puce-and-violet-striped muslin. Entirely a mistake with her complexion. A mistake she had taken up with Mr. Avery, of Avery’s Dry Goods and Haberdashery down the street.
“Thankfully he had the correct shipment in the back,” Mandy said, after recounting her tale to Miss Judith, the postmistress. “The other would have looked miserable on me. And there would’ve been no time to put in another order with the church social almost upon us. Are you going this time?”
“I’m still thinking.” Miss Judith was a short spinster woman of indeterminate age. As usual, she wore a plain white shirtwaist and a navy skirt that complemented her plump frame nicely. Her brown hair was loosely pinned back in a bun at her nape. Miss Judith intrigued Mandy for her apparent independence. It appeared the woman had no family to her name, or at least no one who ever came to visit.
“Oh, please do come,” Mandy urged.
“Well...”
“Y
ou’re coming,” Mandy insisted playfully.
Miss Judith looked pleased. “Maybe I will.”
“Well, I suppose I should be going.” Mandy smiled with genuine regret. She’d never had girls her own age to play with growing up in Cross Creek. Just her own sisters. Certainly not the same as having girl friends with whom she could have chatted with. “I better get this fabric back home to soothe my mother’s poor nerves.”
Miss Judith stepped out from behind the counter, her manner quite companionable now, as if their friendship had warmed a degree. She gave Mandy a sympathetic smile, showing a pair of dimples in her full round cheeks.
“Are you on your own today?” she asked, nodding to Mandy’s horse hitched out front.
“No, I rode in with Darby. He was going to meet me back here after his trip to the sawmill, but perhaps I’ll get a head start. The mill’s on the way back.”
“Tell him I said hello,” Miss Judith said. “Your mother too.”
“I’ll do that.” Mandy swung out the door, stepping backwards to give the postmistress a final wave.
A look of alarm crossed Miss Judith’s face. “Miss Amanda! Behind you!”
Mandy spun around, expecting to find a crate on the boardwalk behind her that she hadn’t noticed and was about to trip over.
What she—and her bulky package—collided with instead was a wall of chest. A man. Strong arms fastened around her, preventing her from tumbling backward off the boardwalk into the street. He set her back a bit without releasing her.
“I’m so sorry...” she said. Her words stumbled to a stop as she found her bearings and met the man’s eyes. A pair of piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the deepest blue sky.
Those eyes.
Adam Booker’s eyes.
He stood before her, so close. His face oh-so familiar. Freshly shaven, it looked like. Handsome. Refined. And yet entirely masculine. The ends of his dark, richly brown hair curling to just above his collar. Broad shoulders. That brown Stetson. A bright blue chambray shirt. A pair of nicely worn denims. Polished boots.
Only the Heart Knows Page 2
