by Bella Bowen
“No wonder people love to dance,” she said with a laugh.
He laughed with her.
She was aware only of the lanterns, the cool air, the music…and the living thing beneath her hands. Her joy expanded with the music. It was if someone had opened the doors to let it outside.
There was movement to the side, but it was a man and woman—townsfolk—dancing too. A minute later, there were half a dozen couples dancing between the carriages and the building.
A little sting on her cheek caught her attention. Was she crying? Were her tears freezing on her cheeks?
“It’s snowing,” Samuel said and looked up.
Little flakes of white descended from the dark sky into the circles of light. Together, she and Samuel circled back into that light and the swing of her cloak scattered the little fluffs away.
Far too soon, the music stopped.
A few more precious steps. One more. And Samuel stopped too.
The other couples walked away, arm in arm.
Samuel’s breath formed a cloud that mingled with hers, making it hard to see him clearly. He glanced behind him, then back at her with regret carving lines around his mouth. He sighed and grimaced.
“Thank you for the dance, Miss Brumley.” He glanced down at one of her hands still gripping his coat.
She released him. “My pleasure,” she whispered.
Just over his shoulder, Beauregard’s tall shadow waited by the bench.
Samuel turned to face him. “Treat her well, Ellis,” he said, then stepped away.
Molly watched him until his broad back slipped beyond the reach of the lanterns and disappeared around the corner of the building.
Ellis waited. She realized he wasn’t going to come to her; he was waiting for her to choose him. But how could she? He had to know how she felt about Samuel. How could he still want her if her heart wanted another man?
She gave him a smile but held her ground. Eventually, he sighed and nodded, then went back inside. Fontaine slipped out before the door closed, then she joined Molly on the bench.
“You all right now?”
“I don’t think so. In fact, I think I’m in love.”
Fontaine grinned. “Not many fall in love before the wedding around here. So that’s a lucky thing.”
“No.” Molly leaned her head back and looked up into the snow that didn’t seem nearly as magical as it had a little while ago. “It’s not lucky at all when the man I’m in love with doesn’t want me.”
Fontaine looked off down the street, toward Mrs. Kennedy’s hotel. Molly didn’t look. If she saw him packing up and leaving, she was afraid she might just run after him. And since he didn’t want her, she’d only embarrass them both.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Samuel didn’t regret lingering in Sage River an extra week. Even though he hadn’t won Molly for himself, he’d at least enjoyed that magical dance with her in the snow. In his entire life, he’d never enjoyed a waltz so much as the one he’d danced without touching the woman dancing with him.
He was afraid he would never see a snowflake the same way he once had.
He tossed his few belongings into his saddle bags and headed once more for the stables. It was far too early to be rousing a man from his sleep, but he wanted to get out of town before the sun came up so he wouldn’t have to look anyone in the eye.
He was also anxious to get home.
Of course he wasn’t worried that the place would have crumbled to the ground without him. His ranch was well organized and managed, for the most part, without his help. He had plenty of fine hands working for him. Good people. Strong people—made stronger by the difficult times they’d had in the past. And they were grateful, too. And grateful people didn’t waste their time on silly disagreements. They didn’t complain about the food. Or their lodgings.
In a place like Snow Creek, protected on three sides by high mountains, they rarely had call to complain about the weather.
Samuel had a sweet little ranch waiting for him, full of good people. Finding a good woman to add to the mix might have helped a bit. But if she wasn’t a woman who had been forged in one kind of fire or another, she wouldn’t be worthy of the people of Snow Creek. He realized that now.
And he realized how unworthy he was of those same folks. He’d thought of them as Mustard Seeds—wounded animals that needed his help and his continued protection—instead of mustard seeds of faith, able to move mountains, or move Samuel to be a better man.
They didn’t need Samuel. Samuel needed them.
They were the type of folks who would dig a grave for a big old horse with a huge heart and pretend not to notice when Samuel’s tears mixed with the dirt he shoveled back into the hole.
The kind of folks who would work all day, whistling and humming, and save a piece of apple pie in case it might cheer him a little. Not the kind of workers who would do only what they had to do to keep their pay and skedaddle the first chance they got.
God had led Samuel to the people of Snow Creek. And he now believed God had led him to Molly Brumley so she could show him how little faith he had.
But he was repenting now. And he’d keep repenting until he could get home and ask his ragtag family for forgiveness.
~ ~ ~
The Thursday morning ritual started before the sun was up. Breakfast was served by the ladies who hadn’t yet graduated and therefore had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. They had little trouble rising early enough to begin the cooking.
Molly wondered who was going to be eating all that food, though, since none of the brides put much on their plates. As usual, they were nervous and hopeful they’d receive an invitation to tea. Molly’s lack of appetite was due to a broken heart that might very well be made of glass, the pain in her chest was so sharp. But they all had one thing in common—their prickly moods were all on account of men.
“Eat up,” she said crossly and dug into the plate of sausages nearest her. “You don’t want to be so hungry later that you end up stuffing your gob, do you?”
The brides exchanged horrified looks, then started clamoring for the serving dishes.
Molly sat back, pleased she’d been able to sway someone, since she hadn’t had much luck swaying Samuel Craighton into asking for her. All night she’d berated herself for not trying this or that. And without much sleep, she was feeling bitter. Toying with the other brides eased the hurt, for some reason.
The saying must be true…about misery enjoying company.
Oh, some of the ladies would be grateful when it wasn’t their stomachs growling at the Mrs. Kennedy’s dining table. Just not the brides who ended up coughing it all back up again.
Unrepentant, and feeling mean, she headed back to her room. But soon she couldn’t stand herself and decided that listening to the knocking ritual would help humble her again. Besides, she needed to pay some form of penance for leading Ellis Beauregard to believe she might marry him.
Sarah Lee’s door got a knock, and only four others. It would be a more typical crowd then, and not the large group from last week. And though she couldn’t help holding her breath when Mrs. Carnegie passed by her door, she hadn’t expected an invitation. Beauregard couldn’t want her now, and she’d had little interaction with the other men. But still, she felt a little sting when the woman’s steps faded and never returned.
As a graduated bride, she had no classes to attend and no chores on Thursdays. But that didn’t mean she had to stay locked in her room to be tortured with visions of Samuel Craighton coming to her rescue. So she packed up her painting supplies and her nearly finished canvas and headed outside. The cold wouldn’t hurt her. After all, she’d worked in the cold before. She could certainly play in it.
She wandered around Mrs. Carnegie’s big house, searching for a flowering bush to add to her landscape, but the light dusting of snow from the night before had been too much for the plants and though she gave some a try, there were no blossoms worth painting. And after a while, her water
froze.
Two hours later, when she returned to her room to put the supplies away, she realized she couldn’t blame the flowers for giving up so quickly. She was frozen half through herself. But thanks to her quest for viable blossoms, she hadn’t been forced to watch the successful brides pack up and head to town.
From the room above, Molly heard two women arguing. One of them was sobbing.
“But he said I was pretty! He said I was just what he was looking for.”
“Maybe he’s just waiting another week, Nancy. Maybe he wants to dance with you again.”
“No,” the other one wailed. “He danced the last dance with Fiona. Everyone knows they choose the girl they danced with last.”
The other one laughed. “Where did you hear that?”
“Fontaine said it in class one day. Said it was her secret theory and she’d been right most of the time. They always stop dancing with other girls when they find the one they want. And he danced with Fiona!”
The last words were squealed in a high voice as the girl dissolved into sobs again. Fiona had been invited to tea, Molly was sure of it.
The other one murmured for a while, but Molly stopped listening. She was too busy thinking about Fontaine’s theory and how Samuel Craighton had proved it wrong.
He’d danced with Molly last. But he hadn’t offered for her. And like the young woman upstairs, the man had told her she was pretty, or at least that she would have caught his attention no matter what her circumstances. It was the same thing, wasn’t it?
But he’d never said she was just what he was looking for. Truth was, she didn’t know what he’d been looking for, only that it hadn’t been her.
Maybe in a week or two, she’d use the Ellis Beauregard method of courtship.
“Hello. My name is Molly Brumley,” she said in a quiet voice. “Booneville, Mississippi. I know how to cook and clean and get a varmint from the woods into a stew pot. I expect you can get children off me, but I’m not sure how.” She laughed and fell back on the bed. Then she whispered, “But if you want my heart, I already gave it away, and I can’t get it back.”
She swallowed a passel of tears instead of letting them escape out her eyes, and she thought about the tall man. After he’d gone back inside the town hall, who had he last danced with?
There was a knock on the door.
“Molly? You in there?” It was Fontaine.
“Come in.” She swung her legs off the side of the bed and sat up. “Is something wrong?”
The woman went to the wardrobe and opened the doors. “Nothing’s wrong. You just need to put on something fetching, and do it now. I’ve got to get you into town.”
“Town? Why?”
Fontaine pulled her to her feet. “You’ve been invited for tea. Mrs. Carnegie said to hurry. They’ll have to start without you. Po’s getting a side-saddle ready for you. You can ride one, can’tcha?”
“Of course I can, but who invited me?”
“How should I know?” Fontaine gestured toward the wardrobe and grunted.
Molly shook her head. “I’ll go as I am. I only need my cloak.
The woman gave her the once over and nodded, satisfied.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Twenty minutes later, they galloped into town. The sheriff met them on the street and helped Molly from her saddle. It had been much easier getting onto it than getting off, so she was relieved there was a large, strong man to simply catch her after she unhooked her leg and jumped.
“Miss Brumley, is it?”
“Yes, sir.” She pushed her hood back. “Thank you. And thank you for last week. I never got a chance to apologize about my kin.”
“No need. Some women are just worth fighting for, is all.” He cleared his throat as if his words had left a bad taste in his mouth. Then he took her reins and stepped aside.
Fontaine entered the hotel ahead of her. Molly tried to catch her breath before she stepped through the door.
The foyer was empty except for one man.
Ellis Beauregard stood outside the doors to the dining room smoking a cheroot. He grinned, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and dropped the remainder in a spittoon nearby.
Molly smiled back, but she wasn’t going to let the man get the wrong idea. She’d come to tea because it was the second time he’d invited her and it would be cowardly of her to hide from him again. This time, she was just going to have to be very clear about the fact she loved someone else. The truth, she hoped, would sound good to him.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger to his lips and walked to her.
“I told Sarah Lee,” he whispered, “that I needed to come outside for a cigar. But it was just too cold to wait for you outside.”
“Sarah Lee?”
“Yes. It turns out she’s just the gal for me.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t hide her surprise, so she didn’t try. “I thought maybe it was you who had invited me.”
He winked down at her. “I would have, Miss Molly, but you made it clear last night that I wasn’t your first choice. And I would rather be my wife’s first choice.”
Molly put a hand on his arm. “You deserve no less, Ellis. And Sarah Lee is a fine woman.”
He cleared his throat. “I just don’t want her to ever know that…someone else might have been my first...”
Molly winked back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He sighed in relief, then his grin came back. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your beau. You go on ahead. Wouldn’t look right to go in together.”
My beau?
She was suddenly terrified. She didn’t dare imagine who might be waiting for her. What if it was that man who’d bumped into her? What if he saw marriage as a way to apologize?
Ellis frowned while he watched her face. “On second thought, I think I’d better see you in.” He held out his arm and waited for her to take it.
She hesitated.
He gave her a nod. She took it to mean she could trust him, which she did.
He turned the doorknob and Fontaine swung it open from the inside and stepped back. The dining table was surrounded by couples smiling at her in welcome. The men all stood. She expected there to be an empty seat somewhere, but had to trust Ellis to lead her to it.
“Look who I found,” the tall man said to the room at large.
She found Mrs. Carnegie in her usual seat at the head of the table and begged her, silently, for help.
The woman shook her head subtly. “Welcome, Molly. I’m so glad you could finally join us. You remember Mr. Craighton.” She gestured to her right.
The men standing around the table were suddenly thick trees she couldn’t see between. But Ellis led her around them until she was standing in front of the man from her troubling dreams.
“Miss Brumley.”
“Mr. Craighton? I thought you left town?”
He bowed his head sheepishly. “I did.” Then he looked up again. “But I thought of something I wanted to say to you. So I came back.”
He pulled her chair out for her, and helped her get situated. Then he sat next to her and the rest of the men sat too. Everyone was listening. They would obviously have no privacy.
“Oh?” She put her hands in her lap while he poured her tea. “What was it you wanted to say?”
“I can’t remember now.” He picked up his cup and took a drink while the rest of the party laughed. He put his cup back on the saucer and frowned. “But then I got to worrying…”
“Worrying?”
“Yes. I was worried that if I left town again, I’d only think of something else I wanted to tell you. So I’d only end up coming back again.”
“So you stayed?” She tried to find something flattering in his explanation, but failed. And she was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Carnegie had invited her along just so there wouldn’t be an odd number at the table. Maybe Samuel Craighton hadn’t invited her at all.
“Like I said, it would have been silly to leave again…with
out you.”
She listened to that statement a few times, in her head, to make certain she understood him correctly.
“You want me to leave with you, then?”
He smiled. “Yes. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear. I would very much like you to come with me, so I won’t have to come back to Sage River every time I think of something I want to tell you.”
He hadn’t said anything about marriage.
He put his hand on the table and pointed to it. “Would you mind putting your hand here?”
She smiled and did as he asked. It was just like their waltz. He was waiting for her to touch him instead of the other way around.
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
“Marry me. Please marry me. Now that I’ve met you, I’d be miserable without you.”
She scowled. “Miserable because you’d spend all your time on the road to Sage River?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t be fool enough to leave again until you gave in.” He leaned forward and kissed her ear. “Marry me,” he whispered. “Love me back.”
She beamed and pulled away so she could look into his eyes. “You silly man. I already do.”
For a good minute, they simply smirked at each other.
“Did I miss it?” Sarah Lee smiled at her. “Did you consent?”
“I did.” Molly looked beyond her friend to Ellis.
He smiled and sent her an inconspicuous wink.
Mrs. Carnegie pressed her napkin to the corners of her eyes. “I knew the two of you would be perfect for each other.”
Samuel tilted his head at the woman but said nothing.
“What?” she said, as if she’d been accused of something. “You were a broken man, Samuel Craighton, and you needed someone sound enough to fix you.”
He bowed his head. “Exactly right, ma’am. Thank you.” He turned and looked around the room. Then he frowned at the door, his eyes wide with alarm. “What is it, Fontaine?”
Everyone turned to look, including Molly, but Samuel’s hand rose to catch her chin and turn her back to him. He lowered his gaze to her mouth and pressed his lips to hers. Laughter bubbled around them, but she was too busy to wonder why. She was too busy learning her last lesson, mimicking the man who was teaching her, concentrating on getting it just right.
