A Windswept Promise

by Brandi Boddie

  “Bernard, don’t pull your sister’s hair again. And girls, both of you sit down. There’s plenty enough time for you to get to the stage after I take the wagon to the livery.” Mr. Charlton settled his children.

  Sophie remained in her alert stance. “But, Daddy, the other ladies are already lining up on stage. I won’t be eligible to enter the contest if I’m late.”

  “Mr. Charlton, I can escort Miss Sophie to the admission table,” Dusty offered. “Won’t be a problem.”

  The patriarch jerked his head to look back at him before focusing on the street again. “I thought you were going to view the new saddles Wes Browman said he was bringing to sell.”

  “That can wait a few moments. I understand how important this contest is to your daughter.” He caught Sophie peeking out at him through her bonnet. He winked when no one else was looking. She huffed and turned away.

  Mr. Charlton slowed the wagon to a halt. “Sophie, go with Dusty, then. We’ll stand at the front of the stage to see you shortly.”

  Sophie stood and took two steps toward the back end of the wagon. Dusty dismounted and came to help her down. Her pink cupid’s bow of a mouth formed a frown. He raised his arms.

  “I’ll hold your basket and parasol.” Linda reached for the objects to free Sophie’s hands.

  Dusty allowed himself to savor the brief moment when her hands came to rest on his shoulders. He lifted her at the waist and made sure to set her down where there wasn’t a mud puddle or horse offal to dirty the creamy leather of her shoes. With nary a thank you to him, Sophie took her belongings back from Linda.

  “What about your horse?” Obviously, Sophie was trying to make him go away but Dusty considered himself a patient man. She’d have to do much better than that to scare him off, especially when the prospect of winning a picnic with her was so close at hand.

  He patted Gabe on the nose. “I’ll take him to the stable when I get back. He ain’t going anywhere.”

  “That isn’t a word.” She left him and began walking toward the stage. The closer she got to the admission table, the more swish went into her walk. Dusty didn’t mind having to catch up.

  “I’m supposed to be escorting you to the table, not running after you.”

  “Then try to keep up. I would think all that work on the farm would have you fit as a fiddle.”

  “A cowboy never runs if he doesn’t have to.”

  At the admission table, the blacksmith Taylor Hastings raised his head when their combined shadows fell across the sign-in book. “Well, well, Miss Charlton. You’re finally entering the town belle contest after all, huh?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hastings. I didn’t know you were volunteering today.”

  “I’d be judging the contest if I could. Sign your name there and put your initials on the next page for the basket bidding.”

  Sophie handed Dusty her parasol. “Hold that, please.” She bent to pick up the fountain pen next to the book. The blacksmith made no secret in eyeing her while she signed. Dusty gave him a warning glance.

  The stage filled with Assurance’s eligible young ladies. Dusty recognized almost all of them from seeing them around town, although there were a few unfamiliar faces. Ever since the MKT Railroad finished laying the tracks in Assurance last year, new people arrived from the east and west—white, black, European immigrants—all eager to make a fresh start in Assurance as well as the smaller settlements outside town on the wide rolling plains.

  “What you doing here, Sterling?” The blacksmith called him to attention. “Don’t think you’d have any luck in this contest.” He smirked at the parasol Dusty still held.

  “I’m here to bid on one of the baskets these pretty ladies put together. Too bad you can’t get in on the festivities as a volunteer.” He smiled in triumph as Hastings’ smirk dissolved.

  “Don’t mind Dusty.” Sophie finished signing. “Do I need to carry my basket on stage?”

  “They go on that long table to your right, where Mrs. Euell is waiting to give you a number.”

  “Thank you.” Sophie picked up her basket again and took the parasol from Dusty. “And thank you, too. I don’t think I’ll need any more assistance today.”

  “If you say so.” Dusty tipped his hat as she went by. He’d have a gander at that table once she left. If he knew the number assigned to her basket, he’d be one step ahead of all the other fellows looking to bid.

  Pretending to change focus, he walked up to Wes Browman’s stall situated next door to the basket table. “How do you do, Wes?”

  “Just fine, Dusty. I got three saddles for you to look at here.” The tanner swept his hand over the merchandise on the bench.

  They were nice saddles, but Dusty let his gaze wander over to Sophie. He saw Mrs. Euell hand her a piece of paper, likely an assigned number. Sophie’s parasol was in the way of his seeing what it was.

  “This one here’s got wide stirrups.” Wes proceeded to highlight the appeal of his work. “And the black saddle’s got toe covers in case you run into brush around that farm.”

  “I don’t like toe covers.” When was she going to lower that parasol? Dusty saw two more girls come to deposit their baskets, both identical to Sophie’s. He tried to remember what color cloth she wrapped the food in.

  “Where’s your horse? I can let you try the saddle on him.”

  Dusty flicked his gaze over to the stallion he left on the opposite side of the street. Gabe stood patiently and watched the buggies pass by. “Maybe later.”

  “Suit yourself. Say, did you hear about the Lubbett Brothers?”

  “The who?” Dusty viewed the other table out of the corner of his eye. Sophie and the two girls left. Their three baskets had numbers Fourteen, Two, and Nine in dark ink hanging from the handles.

  “The Lubbett Brothers, boys out of Texas. Paper says how they robbed banks in Fort Worth and Denison before crossing into Indian Territory. Said they’re wanted for a thousand dollars each.”

  “I didn’t know. I don’t read the newspaper too much.”

  Wes chuckled and leaned back in the wooden chair. “What do you do, Sterling, ’cept for bale Charlton’s hay all day and try to get his daughter to notice you?”

  He chose not to comment on Sophie, seeing as how Wes and the boys from the livery always got a source of amusement from his fondness of her. “There’s plenty of work to do on a farm.”

  “You know you’d rather be ranching.”

  Dusty did miss his old days as a cowhand in San Antonio. When he was twenty, his family sold their ranch to pay off debt accumulated during the War Between the States, an action that, while necessary, hurt deeply. For a time he traveled around Texas, taking work where he could as a wrangler or cattle driver for ranchers looking to sell their longhorns in Kansas and back east. Three years ago, after the cattle market went south, he signed on as a farmhand with Mr. Charlton.

  Dusty considered the truth in Wes’s observation. He was going on twenty-five, about time for a man to start putting down roots. He couldn’t see himself being a farmhand forever. “I’m going to tie up my horse before the judging starts.”

  He passed the bidding
table. Finding Sophie’s basket was a lost cause. Every girl entering the contest got smart and brought the plainest basket possible in order to have a fair chance of winning. Mrs. Euell would announce the contents of those baskets. He couldn’t recall the name of Sophie’s recipe but he remembered her saying she made it spicy.

  Dusty paid for two hours’ boarding at the livery for his horse and returned to the stage. He edged his way to the front where Sophie stood on the stage’s left end, still twirling that parasol like a peddler’s wheels headed for the next town.

  Mayor Hooper stepped up on the platform to begin judging the contest. Dusty figured he was making the appearance to strengthen his chances of reelection this year.

  As owner of the town bank and its most powerful citizen, he was expected to win, but his opponent Trevor Fillmore also made an appearance in the crowd. “I’d like to welcome the good folks of Assurance to our annual Founders Day Festival. We like to start the event off with the choosing of this year’s new town belle.”

  Applause erupted. The mayor nodded and went on. “Last year it was Miss Juney Tower who held the crown. Who will it be this year?”

  People shouted out names of the contestants. Dusty chuckled when several of the girls onstage preened when they heard their names. He considered calling to Sophie, but it didn’t matter to him if she became town belle. That picnic with her was all he wanted.

  “Let’s cast the votes with a show of hands. Starting with Miss Abigail Corgan.” Mayor Hooper stood beside the fetching brown-haired girl dressed in robin’s egg blue. She received a hearty round of applause. “Miss Gwendolyn McIntyre.” The restaurant owner’s daughter got a promising ovation as well. And so it went, seven more ladies down the line, until the mayor stopped before Sophie. Before he could get out her full name, the stage area burst with handclaps, whistles, and a few foot stomps. She covered her mouth to hold back a giggle.

  “We have us a winner. May I present Miss Sophie Charlton, Assurance’s town belle of 1871.”

  Dusty clapped for Sophie as she received a spring bouquet from last year’s winner. The red sash they put around her was a bit too long for her petite torso, but she carried it off with grace as she smiled and blushed fetchingly under her wide brim bonnet.

  Mayor Hooper raised his hand for quiet. “Congratulations, Miss Charlton. This year we’re doing something a bit different. We’re asking the town belle to devote herself to a worthy cause. It can be anything from leading a Sunday school class to bringing meals to the boys and girls in the schoolhouse. Do you have an idea of what you’d like to do?”

  Dusty saw Sophie’s expression go from delight to a blank stare. The parasol froze in mid-twirl. What was she going to say?

  CHAPTER 3

  S OPHIE’S KNEES TREMBLED beneath the layers of her dress as she stared out at the faces of the town. Every pair of eyes met hers. She could not afford to disappoint. Why didn’t Mayor Hooper give the contestants advance notice of the new rules?

  Her mind raced with ideas of things she could do for the town. She liked studying the latest fashions back east and having tea at McIntyre’s, but those pastimes wouldn’t be important to Assurance’s residents. She thought of other people she knew besides Linda, her friend Margaret, and the ladies from her mother’s circle. What did they concern themselves with?

  Sophie bit her lower lip and scanned the crowd. She heard snickering toward the back. In front of the stage Dusty stood gawking at her. She didn’t want to make eye contact with him. He knew she was stumbling for something to say.

  “Do you have an answer, Miss Charlton?” Mayor Hooper asked.

  She noticed her little sister Rosemarie in the crowd. Last week, she heard her mother talking with the newspaper editor’s wife, Mrs. Euell, about the abhorrent state of the children’s school supplies. Mrs. Euell mentioned that if women could vote in the town, things would be much different.

  “Miss Charlton?”

  “Voting.” She blurted the first word that came from her head and landed on her tongue.

  Mayor Hooper’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows formed a hairy caterpillar across his forehead. “I beg your pardon?”

  Sophie locked her knees and steadied her voice. “Voting. That’s what my cause will be.”

  A train whistled off in the distance as it signaled to arrive at the station. No other sound commenced in the streets of Assurance. The mayor turned aside to her while still projecting his voice for the crowd. “What do you mean your cause will be voting?”

  She stalled to come up with an answer. “This is an election year.”

  “Yes, I certainly know that.” The mayor gained a laugh from the citizens. “However, women don’t have a vote in our town. Or any town in Kansas, except for school elections.”

  “Well, we don’t get to vote for those elections here, and we have two schoolhouses.” She received an odd look from the mayor, but she didn’t stop to consider what it meant. She had a cause now. “I’m going to work on getting the women of Assurance to vote in school elections.”

  People shifted in front of the stage and talked in muffled tones. Was that Dusty smirking? Did no one think she could do it?

  “Alright, Miss Charlton. We’ll see what you can do.” Mayor Hooper’s tone wasn’t friendly anymore. “Now it’s time for the basket bidding.”

  What was it she said to get him upset? It wasn’t his office she attacked. No matter. She’d won the town belle contest and saved face by thinking up a good cause. That was what counted.

  She went down the steps where her family waited. Linda was missing. She must have gone to her mother’s seamstress stall. Sophie clapped her hands with a smile. “I won.”

  Her siblings remained quiet. Her mother and father did not appear happy at her success.

  Dusty let out a low whistle. Sophie was in the hot pan with her folks. The mayor, too, for that matter. She made him look bad onstage when she started on about women voting in school elections. Guess now he would have to address that in his upcoming reelection campaign.

  Dusty cast his thoughts on politics aside when two men came onstage toting a table. They were followed by Mrs. Euell carrying the contestants’ baskets, aided by three other matrons. Basket number two was placed on the end. Fourteen and nine went toward the middle.

  “Alright, gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for,” Mrs. Euell announced. “Let’s start the bidding.” She lifted the first basket, a light-colored wicker in the shape of a square. “In basket number one we have chicken pot pie, fresh-baked butter rolls, and shortbread cookies. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  It did sound appetizing, but it wasn’t what Sophie prepared. Dusty waited for several men to bid before it came time for basket two.

  Mrs. Euell held it up with both hands. “This is a heavy one. The lucky man who buys this will have his belly full for the rest of the day. There’s a whole pudding pie inside, and I hear the lady who prepared this made the main course hot and spicy.”

  Dusty’s hand shot up. “Two dollars.”

  “Two dollars. Do I hear two-fifty? Three dollars?”

  “Three dollars.” Chad Hooper, Mayor Hooper’s son, joined the bidding. He tossed a quick glance at Dusty before raisin
g his hand.

  “Three dollars coming from our new young banker. Anyone want to bid higher?”

  Dusty raised his hand again. No way was he going to let that rich tenderfoot win a picnic with Sophie. “Four dollars.”

  Mrs. Euell smiled down at him. “Four dollars from Dusty Sterling. Come on, men. This basket smells good enough to make me enter the bid. Can anybody bid higher?”

  “Five-fifty,” said Chad.

  “Seven dollars,” said Dusty. He heard a response from the crowd. Sophie stood off with her family. She turned around and gave him a pleasant enough look. He was encouraged.

  “Seven-fifty,” Chad persisted.

  Mrs. Euell held up three fingers. “Seven-fifty going once. Going twice—”

  Dusty shouted for all to hear, “Ten dollars!”

  “You going to bid any higher, Mr. Hooper?” Mrs. Euell prompted. Chad shook his head. “Sold. To Dusty Sterling, one basket of plum pudding pie and Hoppin’ John.”

  Hoppin’ John? That didn’t sound right. Dusty frowned at Sophie in question. She smiled sweetly.

  “Come up and get your basket, Mr. Sterling.” Mrs. Euell walked to the edge of the stage. “You just bought yourself a picnic with the pretty Margaret Rheins.”

  Dusty felt his stomach land in his feet. Margaret Rheins, that girl from England? It couldn’t be.

  He saw Margaret come up to the stage steps, hair bows, brown sausage curls, and all. Her parents were English immigrants, the third wealthiest family in town, after the Hoopers and the Charltons. She never spoke a word to him before.

  He walked up the stage after Margaret. She flattened her mouth as he approached, and trudged to hand him her basket. If a dirge were playing, Dusty would be convinced she was taking part in a funeral procession.