by Reina Torres
Near the end of the evening, Olivia, with help from her daughter and a good amount of encouragement from the riders, managed to bring Delia to the piano. She had tried to beg off, using the excuse that it had been quite some time since she’d even attempted to sing out loud.
And even then, Delia hung back, her eyes pleading with Olivia to leave her be. She had sung with the Hawkins family a number of times before. They had shared many family dinners and long quiet nights on the porch, but since her mother had passed on, those quiet family evenings had become long and lonely. Her father didn’t like singing. The songs that they’d all sung as a group now reminded him too much of his wife. He couldn’t stand to hear the melodies, even the soft ballads of love or the rousing songs of heroes and their battles. Even the turn of the page of a book could anger her father.
But even with Matthew sulking in his room to avoid the gathering, the room was full of joy and mirth and it was so tempting to join in. When Anna tugged on her hand, her soft eyes full of hope, Delia had one last hope. “Please don’t make me,” she begged the young girl, “I will only make a mess of the song and no one will want to hear me ever again.”
Anna seized on the opening. “Then what an excuse you will have for every time after this! Please, Delia. I always love to hear you sing.”
Delia shook her head and tried to find the right words in her head to escape and put the attention on to someone else. She turned to Wyeth because he was closest. “What about you, Mr. Bowles?” She was satisfied when he turned and stared at her with shock. “Let’s have a song from you.”
“I’m afraid that would be a dangerous proposition, Miss Burroughs. We don’t have a real doctor in town. The barber serves in a pinch,” he chuckled, “but you know that. I doubt his skills would do much for bleeding ears and stomach aches.”
“Wyeth,” Olivia’s tone was soft but pointed. The motherly tone cast a spell over everyone present, “no need to talk of such things.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He begged off and retreated to the back of the room.
Turning around, Delia began a search for another possibility and stopped. “What about you, Mr. McCain?”
“I sing like I speak,” he explained, “I’d give the bullfrogs on the riverbank a better chance at singing on the stage.”
Olivia’s laughter warmed Delia from the inside out. “It seems that we’ll just have to have you singing for us, Delia.”
“Please, Miss Burroughs,” Ransom’s entreaty turned her head and stole her breath, “I would like to hear you sing.”
She wanted to beg off. She wanted to make some silly comment about her own lack of skill. But while she could wave off Olivia’s request fairly easily, a request by Ransom, especially one where his eyes were focused on her face, his smile softening his usual serious expression, was hard to ignore and even harder to refuse.
“One song.” She said the words before she made up her mind and both Anna and Olivia latched on to the promise. “Just one.”
Anna snatched up a stack of papers and brought them over, holding them out to Ransom. “You choose, Ransom.” The younger of the Hawkins women gave him a pretty smile. “You got Delia to sing, so you should get to pick the song you’d like to hear.”
He took the stack of papers and looked down at the song sheets. He gave Anna a smile and lifted his gaze to Delia’s. “Which songs do you know?”
Delia opened her mouth to speak, but it was Anna that answered him.
“All of them. Delia loves to sing.”
“Loved,” the admission wasn’t intentional, “my mother loved to sing just as much as Olivia and we’d all sing together. But yes, I know them all.” She waited for a moment while Ransom looked through the song sheets. “I might not remember the words,” another softly spoken confession, “but I remember the songs. I can read off of the sheet music if needed.”
She watched as Ransom looked through the papers and finally selected a sheet, putting it on the top of the pile. Anna read the title aloud.
“I remember-”
“I remember,” Delia finished the title and smiled at Ransom. “Is this your test of my memory?”
He shook his head. “My aunt Kate, had a book of poems by Thomas Hood.” He gave Anna a hesitant smile. “She would read this poem to me when I was lonely and I had the poem memorized for years. I’ve only started to forget the words. It’s been years since we lost her.”
Delia heard the soft catch in his voice and reached out, laying her hand gently on his arm. “I am sorry.”
She felt his hand settle over hers and the warmth of his palm startled her.
“Thank you, Miss Burroughs. You’re very kind.”
Shaking her head, Delia looked up into his eyes. “Loss is the great equalizer for us all. And I can hear how much you loved your aunt. I miss my mother just as much.”
Anna wrapped her arms around Delia’s arm with a girlish giggle, and pulled her toward the piano, leaving Ransom to follow after them. Olivia gave the bench a pat and Anna sat down beside her and set the music sheet on the stand in front of her mother. Olivia’s hands traveled over the keys, playing the first few bars of the song once to begin the song and returned to the beginning again for the vocal part. Drawing a breath into her lungs, Delia tried to focus on the song, but she felt all the eyes in the room on her and it was a struggle to calm her nerves. For the riders in attendance, it would be the first time they would hear her voice.
She made no promises for the quality of it, but she knew she had a passable voice and a pleasant tone. And that was what she set her mind upon. Wyeth gave her an encouraging nod, and Luke, Clay and the others left off with their conversations to listen to her. If that wasn’t enough, she could see Ransom standing slightly off to the side, near where Levi was sitting. His quiet contemplation made her heart stutter in her chest. She knew he would compliment her after her song, his manners would dictate that response. But she truly did hope that he would enjoy her performance, for it was the song that he requested and it held meaning for him.
And after this evening, it would have an extra meaning for her as well.
A subtle nod from Olivia was her cue and Delia began to sing.
She struggled at first, a little warble of tone, the air in her lungs running out faster than she would have liked. Faster than she was used to when she had regular practice, but still passable, or at least that was what she told herself. Still, everyone took it with humor when her smile twisted into an expression of chagrin at the final words of the first verse, for her lack of practice had certainly borne her breath away…
The soft laughter from the assembled group helped to ease her nerves and Anna’s playful sigh of happiness gave her more confidence, her mind drawing from happier memories of the past. The second verse began with those longings foremost in her thoughts.
I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
Lured into the sentiments of the song, she felt as if the quiet thoughts of the poem were her own. She felt her heartstrings pull tight as she turned to look at Levi and caught sight of Ransom at his side.
His gaze was direct, but not untoward.
Ransom McCain had become her friend, a good and gentle friend, who made her feel as safe and treasured as she felt among the Hawkins family. She had certainly become friends with several of the riders, but none that held the same sway over her thoughts.
And as she finished the song, singing the melancholy lyrics of loss, she saw the soft shadow of sadness fall over his features and she wished she could comfort him with more than a smile. She longed to touch his hand and tell him that he wasn’t alone, but they were in a room full of people. People, who were suddenly applauding her efforts and praising her voice.
A blush warmed her cheeks and she turned her face away from the others even as she was surrounded by them.
“That was lovely, Delia!” Anna threw he
r arms around her and gave her a tight hug, her long braids bouncing across her back. “Oh, do sing another!”
Delia shook her head and gave a decisive wave of her hand. “You wanted one, and one you’ve had.” She heard the protests of the group and shook her head again. “I am sorry, but the hour-”
As if on cue, the clock perched on the mantle chimed.
“And I have to go and get home to my Pa.”
Anna’s mouth tugged down at the corners. “You could stay here, Delia.” Her voice held the impish glee of a young girl who was used to be indulged. “I would give you my room!”
“Well then,” Delia laughed through her response, “that would make all the difference! But, I am sorry, dear one, the chickens have only just become accustomed to the coop and they haven’t decided if they will forgive me for the indignity. If I’m not there to feed them in the morning, I do believe they will protest by withholding their eggs.”
Anna pursed her lips and shook her head. “You jest.”
Olivia’s laughter joined in with Delia’s. “Of course she jests, my love. But Delia is right. If she doesn’t intend to stay here with us, she must be on her way.”
Levi stood up from the seat beneath the window and turned to Ransom. “Son, would you mind-”
Wyeth anticipated the request, jumping in. “I’ll get Miss Burroughs’ wagon hitched up.” Clay followed along behind him offering to lend a hand, Luke was just a few steps behind.
“Well, that was easy.” Levi nodded in approval before he turned to Delia. “Lovely as always, my dear. But I will happily tell the boys to leave the horses in the stall if you’ll stay the night.”
Delia moved toward him, meeting him in the center of the room for a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for another lovely evening.” She repeated the kiss to Olivia’s cheek and turned to find Anna, but the young girl had disappeared, leaving one last person in the room. Ransom stood a few feet from the door, his hands clasped before him.
“I’ll walk you out.”
Delia felt Olivia’s reassuring hand on her arm, and heard the soft whisper of her voice. “Go on, Delia. Ransom will see you safely to the wagon.”
Nodding, Delia crossed to his side and took the arm that was offered. She could only hope that he didn’t feel her trembling as they walked. His pace was steady and she had no trouble staying at his side as they made their way down the steps and out toward the fence. From where they stood in the cool evening air, they could hear the jangling of tack in the barn as the men hitched her horse to the small wagon.
“That was lovely.”
His words turned her head, but it was the soft look in his eyes that stole her breath.
Still, she managed to reply with her thanks even with something akin to nerves fluttering in her middle.
“It meant a lot to me,” he explained, “that you sang that song. My aunt raised me after my parents passed.” The grin that followed his words was lopsided and she imagined that his cheeks warmed with the memory. “I wasn't an easy child to love.”
She tightened her hand on his arm. “I'm sure your aunt wouldn't agree.”
“Oh, I'm sure she would,” his gaze roamed over her face, “there were a number of times she was driven to distraction by me, but she never gave up.”
“And she taught you to do the same,” Delia added. “You wouldn't have become the man you are if you didn't learn that from her, to believe in yourself.”
He lifted his free hand and settled it over hers. “I have quite a ways to go in that belief,” he shared, “but I feel like I have a good idea of what I'm meant to do with my life.”
Again, something fluttered in her middle when she heard the soft tone of his voice. She was sure it was only fancy, but she felt as if his voice was a caress against her skin. “And what is that?”
“I was meant to come here to Three Rivers,” he turned slightly, facing her so she could see everything in his eyes and still feel the warmth of their hands against the other. “I was meant to take this job so that I could meet you. And I will do what it takes to be worthy of you.” He drew in a long breath. “That is, if you would consent to me, courting you, Miss Burroughs.”
She felt faint for a moment, as if her hand on his arm was the only thing keeping her on her feet, and then she absorbed his words into the very center of her heart and saw the way that he watched her, waiting for her answer, and she felt a strange calm descend over her. For years, since her mother had passed away, she'd struggled to feel as though she was sure of herself.
She knew how to cook.
She knew how to clean.
She could take care of the livestock and saddle anything that could be ridden, but her heart? Her heart had remained asleep when it wasn't in pain.
But standing there, with the sounds of the livery in her ears, and the wind stirring the hem of her skirts, she drew in a breath that filled her lungs with life.
She knew the answer she had to give him, it was the only answer in her thoughts and yes, in her heart. “Yes,” she wondered if he could hear the wavering tone of her voice or feel her elation through their shared touch, “I would like you to court me.”
“Miss Burroughs, I-”
“I think,” she interrupted him and saw a deepening color to his tanned face, even in the dark cast of evening, “that perhaps you could call me by my given name.”
He nodded, slowly, and his lips parted so he could speak. “Delia.”
The name found new life on his lips and she smiled and relaxed under his intent gaze.
Wyeth called out to the couple, his attention focused on the wagon and draft horse that he drew out from the livery stable. “He’s ready for the road, miss.”
She called out her thanks and started to walk down the steps.
“Delia?”
She heard him call out her name and when she turned back they were both smiling gently at each other. “Yes, Ransom?”
She’d startled him. Saying his name when he probably thought that she’d forgotten.
“Good night, Delia. Be safe on your way home.”
“I will,” she answered, “and I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 8
The light was off inside the house when she returned home. Delia stopped the wagon beside the lean-to and stepped down from the seat to the ground with music and laughter echoing in her ears. She hummed as she crossed to the house, peering in through the window to look for her father.
He lay asleep on the table, the lamp on the table had run out of oil and the remains of the supper that she’d prepared for him lay on the plate beside his hand. “Oh, Papa.” She felt more than a pang of guilt as she pushed the door open, but as soon as she smelled the whisky in the air and saw the bottle on the floor in pieces, her guilt deepened into disappointment. “Where did you get that?”
Delia looked about the room and quickly found the broom laying against the wall beside a window. With a few swift strokes, she brushed the broken chunks of glass up against the wall. She’d pick up the smaller pieces in the morning when she could see the room clearly. She laid the broom handle back against the wall so that the wide bristled bottom shielded the broken glass from her father’s stockinged feet.
“Papa?” She crouched down beside him and gently shook his shoulder. “You need to go to bed, Papa.”
Frank shifted his shoulder, nearly brushing her hand away with the movement.
“Please, Papa. You’ll hurt your neck if you stay here.” She gave his shoulder another nudge and succeeded in opening his eyes. She didn’t need light to see that they were bleary and blood-shot, but she knew she’d have to broach that topic at another time. Wrapping her hands around his upper arm she managed to move him toward the edge of his chair. It was the sudden shift of movement that seemed to rouse him, sitting up upright to a certain degree, bracing his hands on the table and knocking a fork to the floor.
“You home early, girl?”
With another tug, she had him on his feet, his chai
r teetering back at the sudden shift. “No, Papa. I stayed to talk to Olivia and Anna after the meal.”
He nodded, but she could see by the slack features of his face that he wasn’t completely awake. “You just watch yourself around those men from the station.”
She felt the corners of her mouth tug upward. “You don’t have to worry about them.”
Straightening even more, he slung an arm over her shoulders. “I always have to worry about you, Del. You’re my daughter.” He lifted his face and looked into her eyes. “And I don’t think I could lose you. I’d be alone.”
Delia opened her mouth to speak, to reassure him somehow. But he sagged against her, his breath wheezing from his lungs, and she knew this wasn’t the time to have any sort of conversation. The likelihood that he’d remember what either of them said…
“Let’s get you to bed, Papa. We have work in the morning.”
He nodded. “Work. Plenty of work.” He staggered as they neared the doorway and nearly drove them both to their knees. “Too much, maybe, for the two of us.”
She blinked back the tears and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We can do this, Papa. I know we can.”
He took his arm from her shoulder and shuffled forward toward his bed, waving her off with a heavy hand. “Sure, Del. Sure we can. Go get some sleep.”
A moment later, he was down on the bed, face-first in his pillow, fully clothed.
Delia couldn’t seem to make up her mind to go and help him or walk away. She knew it was hard enough when he was awake and drunk to get him ready for bed, but a soft snore from the bed told her that she wouldn’t stand a chance to get him to move. Stepping out of his room, she closed the door and cleaned up the dishes in the kitchen, her movements slowing as she did. She was tired, and after seeing her father’s condition, she was quickly losing the last little bits of her energy and her good humor.
The song that echoed in the back of her head was the same one she’d sung at the Hawkins house, but even the quiet reminder of Ransom’s eyes and his smile couldn’t bring back her happy mood. She set the dishes into the wash-bin and reached for the pitcher of water on the buffet, but in one quick motion she lifted it, shocked at how light it was. Looking into the mouth of it, she found it empty.
