And wound through a small clearing. Don’t you have any self-respect?
He heard Wes Browman’s words next. That Sophie’s nothing but trouble.
Dusty resisted the lure of believing what Wes said at McIntyre’s Restaurant last Sunday. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault that he had been ordered to keep his distance. If he hadn’t talked to her while she was folding laundry, the two of them wouldn’t be under her father’s scrutiny.
You never want to blame her for anything, do you?
The church yard was bare when he arrived. Even the Sunday school teacher, Miss Kinsey, had yet to appear, judging from the lock on the door. He said hello to Reverend Winford and his wife as they came walking up the path. Their cabin wasn’t too far away from the church.
“Good morning, Dusty. You’re early,” Rowe stated. “Where are the Charltons?”
“Still at the house.” Dusty let his horse walk to an appetizing patch of grass flourishing under the shade of a tree.
“That’s strange,” said Marissa. “You usually come with them.”
Of course they knew his habits. He should have stayed by the lake until a decent time had passed before traveling to church. “I thought I’d leave a little early today.”
They frowned at the vagueness of his explanation. He considered changing the subject by asking how they enjoyed being newly married, but it was evident on their happy faces. The Reverend held his wife’s hand as they walked up to the doors.
“You can come sit in the sanctuary if you want,” he offered. “You don’t have to stand outside all morning.”
“I’ll be alright.”
“Suit yourself.” The door closed behind the Reverend and Marissa.
Dusty busied himself by reading a few passages in Genesis from last week’s study of the Bible. Reverend Winford would conclude the sermon today on how Joseph was thrown into prison on the false accusation of seducing Potiphar’s wife. He couldn’t help but compare it to his own unfortunate predicament. He wasn’t going to jail, and he didn’t seduce Sophie, but it seemed like he was being penalized for a crime he didn’t commit. At least Joseph could say he never fancied Potiphar’s wife. For Dusty, being separated from Sophie was turning out to be a definite punishment.
CHAPTER 18
F OLKS STARTED COMING from the direction of town. While waiting for church service to start, they stood near the fence, talking about subjects Dusty had little knowledge of. A snippet about a railroad acquisitions merger, details on another robbery in a town along the Kansas border. Dusty kept to himself and proceeded to finish the Bible chapters.
A half hour later, the Charltons arrived, driving their wagon close to the fence, so that the women of the family wouldn’t get their pastel dresses soiled from walking in the road. Mr. Charlton got down from the fancy carriage to assist his wife first. Mrs. Charlton was dressed to the nines in her rosy gown, lace trimming every corner, with gloves and parasol to match. Dusty hid a smile at the overly corresponding ensemble.
The Charlton matriarch established a similar trait in her daughters. Little Rosemarie followed clumsily after her mother in a child’s version of the same frilly dress, still unaccustomed to wearing long hems. Sophie then emerged from the carriage, and Dusty was glad a fence was there to keep him from stumbling backward.
She was radiant in a peach confection that flattered her coloring. Although not as showy as her mother, she drew glances from the male onlookers. Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she teased her youngest brother Bernard for trying to tip his hat to a female classmate. She then took Rosemarie’s hand to keep the girl from tripping on the hem of her dress.
David jumped down from the wagon and landed on both feet. Spotting Dusty, he called out a loud hello. Dusty nodded once to the boy.
Hearing her brother shout, Sophie turned. Her eyes found Dusty. He was caught staring back like a sheep, and felt the same way. Was it proper to wave or better to pretend to stare at the steeple on the roof? With Mr. Charlton still in the wagon and having full view of the two of them, Dusty chose the latter. Out of focus, he was still able to see how she lingered in place, visibly uncertain of what to say or do. Her little sister made the decision for her, and tugged her arm to go into the church.
“Why are you standin’ by the fence, Sterling?” Wes Browman marched up to him, raising an eyebrow at the open Bible in Dusty’s hands. “Reverend Winford preachin’ outside today?”
Dusty had no heart to laugh at his friend’s lackluster humor. “Just refreshing my memory.”
“Where’s Goldilocks and her family?”
“Inside the church. Stop calling her that.”
“No need to be jealous. I’m not studyin’ her. Got my eye on sweet little Linda Walsh.” The tanner smiled.
“The seamstress?”
“Who else in town goes by the same name? Yes, the seamstress. I sat next to her in church last Sunday, in case you didn’t know.”
“Can’t say I pay much attention to where you sit, Wes.”
His friend snickered. “No, you were probably staring at the back of Sophie’s head, hoping that she’d turn around and look at you if you kept at it long enough. How’s work on the farm going?”
“It’s going.” Like he soon planned to be.
Wes signaled to the road with a movement of his chin. “Here comes the high-falutin’ Hoopers now.”
Dusty saw the mayor and his wife ride up in the black buggy that Chad used to take Sophie on an outing. No sign of their son. Thinking about the man made him angry all over again.
Wes kept talking, oblivious to the change in Dusty. “That buggy must have been shipped on a train from back east. No one drives a contraption like that around here.”
“You sound worse than a gossipy, snaggletooth old hag.”
“Yeah? You’re quick to scold like one. I know you, Sterling. You’re thinkin’ the same thing I am.”
Worse, he was ashamed to admit it to himself. The out-of-place city buggy stood a better chance of withstanding his judgment. “Every thought doesn’t need to be voiced.”
“When I want a Sunday school lesson, I’ll go see Miss Kinsey.”
“Better not. Miss Walsh may get envious.”
“I’m gonna look for her inside.” Wes trampled off with his objective energizing his steps.
Dusty filed in with the other congregants and took a seat on a pew near the back. As the sanctuary filled, he searched the rows for Eli Mabrey. If the man was in church, he’d try to catch him after the service to have a word. He didn’t foresee himself getting out to the Zephyr Ranch at any time during the week.
“Dusty?”
He looked up to see Joe Emmers. The man had his family with him. His wife stood behind him, the loose folds of her dress hinting at the swell of her pregnant abdomen. His daughter wore a simple cotton dress and stood taller than her mother. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen. Dusty held out his hand to Joe. “How do you do this morning?”
This time, Joe didn’t hesitate to shake hands, but warmly accepted the greeting. “I decided I’d take the family to church with me. Do you mind if we sit next to you, seein’ as how y
ou’re a friendly face?”
“Don’t mind at all.” Dusty moved down in the pew so they could sit. He ignored the glances tossed his way by several people. He’d come to terms with the fact that Assurance was no San Antonio, where cultures largely mingled on a daily basis. At least Reverend Winford, his wife and some of the churchgoers were welcoming to visitors, regardless of skin color. Other folks would follow in time, Dusty guessed.
Joe introduced his family. “This is my wife, Helen, and my daughter, Violet.”
Dusty greeted the women as they took their seats. “Is this your first trip into town?”
Violet leaned forward to see over her father’s shoulder. “Papa took me to the general store last week to buy a new saddlebag. I help him train the cutting horses on our land.” Her voice rose, hinting at a feistiness of spirit that Dusty often saw displayed in settlers.
Helen shook her head good-naturedly as she looked upon her daughter with pride. “She’ll give me a head full of gray hairs soon.”
Joe patted his daughter on the knee. “This girl will be runnin’ her own ranch someday. Just wait.”
The organist struck a chord for the latecomers to hurry and find a seat. Dusty stretched his neck to see if more people were coming through the doors. “Is Mr. Mabrey here?”
Joe shook his head and lowered his voice as the music quieted the chatter in the sanctuary. “He took the train to Abilene to see about purchasing a new bull for breeding. You decided that you want to work at the ranch?”
Dusty ran his thumb along the leather spine of his Bible. “I’ll talk more after service.”
The Reverend proceeded to lead the congregation in a worship hymn. Joe’s singing voice matched that of his speech, his deep timbre easily distinguishable from the people around them. Dusty muttered along to the song, grateful to have someone to drown him out. He never was much of a singer.
He glanced at Sophie down in one of the front rows and knew she was doing the same. Was their inability to carry the tune the only thing they had in common?
Mayor Hooper and his wife were situated in their usual pew closest to the pulpit. He wondered how long it would be before the mayor’s son decided to make more public showings of his courtship of Sophie, similar to the way Wes showed his interest in Linda Walsh.
The more Dusty ruminated over Chad’s status as Sophie’s beau, the more he found it difficult to concentrate on the church service. Thinking about how Mr. Charlton told him in no uncertain terms to stay away from his daughter made it worse. Perhaps he should have stayed in the bunkhouse or headed into the next town to distract himself. No one would blame him, but he couldn’t let his anger at the circumstances keep him from going to church and giving his time and offering to God.
He paid attention to the sermon and kept his focus by jotting notes inside one of the blank pages in the back of his Bible. As soon as church service ended, however, the negative thoughts resurfaced. Images of his former life came to mind, when he finished his days at the ranch in San Antonio or completed a cattle drive on the Chisholm Trail. No shortage of money to throw away at the time. If only he saved then instead of squandered. Things would be different today.
He waited outside for Joe while the man and his family greeted the Reverend. Joe emerged from the church shortly.
“You were sayin’ about the ranch?”
Dusty walked with him. “I thought it over some. I’m looking to get hired as soon as it can be arranged.”
Joe didn’t ask what made him change his mind. “Mabrey should be at the ranch again toward the end of this week. Come by midday when we break for a meal.”
His work at the Charlton farm rarely allowed him an afternoon reprieve. Sophie’s father would raise his eyebrows at Dusty for asking to wander off at noon without a good excuse. “What about evening time?”
“That too, if you catch him before supper. I said midday because the foreman would want to see how well you can rope a calf or steer the herd. You got a cutting horse?”
“Gabe over there’s had his share of that. He’ll remember what to do once I get him ’round those Herefords.”
“Come by when you can, then. I’ll tell Mr. Mabrey to be expecting you.” Joe reached his wagon, extending a hand to his wife to help her up. Violet climbed in after her.
Dusty spared a glance at the Charltons as they prepared for the drive back to their home. “If it’s all the same with you, Joe, I’d like to keep this between us. I haven’t said anything to my boss yet. I’m waiting to see if I get the job before I give him notice.”
“Understandable.” Joe got onto the driver’s bench and drove his family away.
Dusty untied his horse from the post and prepared to ride back to the farm. Nothing else to do but wait for the end of the week to come. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sophie glance his way before her friends Linda and Margaret said something to make her turn around.
Sophie managed to catch a glance at Dusty when she was outside before and after service. She had even been tempted to sneak a wave at him, had he not been busy conversing with some of the new settlers. No doubt he was livid at her, thinking she had told on him to her family.
For the next three days her mother found more chores for her to do. On the chance that she had a moment to peek out the window, she’d find Dusty planting the summer hay in one of the fields or cleaning the hog pen.
At night, her family gathered around the supper table without him. His absence was a glaring certainty, so much that on the second night, his chair was removed.
“Where’s Dusty, Daddy?” Bernard asked between a mouthful of peas.
Sophie’s father cleared his throat. “He has more work to do outside, son. He takes his meals out there now.”
“Doesn’t he like us anymore?” Rosemarie chimed.
“Of course he does. Now, who wants a slice of pie?” Sophie had never seen her father hasten so fast into the kitchen. How long could he and her mother keep this up? Even her younger siblings knew something wasn’t right.
On the third night Sophie witnessed her mother putting food leftover from the day before on a plate and ordering Bernard to carry it out to the bunkhouse. The scene made her think of that night Chad came over for supper. Grimacing, she visualized herself and her family carrying scraps of food outside to throw to a dog. All of them were guilty of treating Dusty appallingly.
Wednesday afternoon, a knock sounded on the door. “Answer that while I’m ironing, please,” Sophie’s mother said.
Sophie left the stifling hot kitchen and crossed over the hallway to the front of the house. The door jammed in the frame because of the sticky moisture in the air. When she finally tugged hard enough to get it open she discovered Dusty on the porch. Her stomach constricted at being in close proximity to him again and anxiety at being discovered by her mother. “Why did you knock?”
She felt foolish as soon as the question passed her lips. Of course she knew why he did it. He wasn’t welcome to come and go through the house like before.
“Figured I need to.” Dusty was gracious enough to say nothing beyond that. Sophie still could sink beneath the floorboards to the house’s foundation. “This came for you.”
She
accepted a slender, wooden keepsake box from him. A simple notecard was attached to the ribbon, with her name written on the front. “Who brought it by?”
Dusty put his hands in the pockets of his suspendered work pants. “A teller from the bank. Said it was from Chad.” He left the place where he was standing.
“Wait, Dusty.” Clutching the box, Sophie let the hot wind from the plains blow tumbleweed and prairie sage into the house.
“Is that door open?” her mother called from inside.
Sophie talked fast before she had a chance of being discovered. “I hate what’s happening. I only told them that we talked about Chad, but not the other things . . . you being a contender or a rival. They don’t know that.”
Her mother called louder. “Sophie!”
Dusty’s face was stoic. “You’d best get back in the house.
I don’t want you in trouble because of me.” He carried his back straight as he returned to the fields.
Raw disappointment lurched in her chest. He still protected her when her words did nothing to change the circumstances. She considered her attempt at explanation and apology to be a cheap consolation for her parents’ decision to demote him.
Sophie closed the door on the tumbleweed and carried the box into the kitchen. “Chad had a present delivered to me.”
Her mother set the iron upright to keep it from burning a hole in Rosemarie’s dress she was pressing. Her eyes lit up as though she were the recipient. “It’s always an encouraging sign when a gentleman bestows a gift upon a lady. Quick. Open it.”
Sophie untied the ribbon and lifted the box lid. A single purple flower rested on the red velvet lining, along with a necklace. The same flower bud, crafted in gold, dangled from the chain. She lifted it for her mother to see.
A Windswept Promise Page 16
