Business needs tending, and I can’t see me shuffling around the dry goods while you dither over fripperies. Stay put, and I’ll collect you when I’m done.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Laney went up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss on his cheek.
Four rather steep wooden steps led from the field up to the level of the boardwalk. McCain dropped back a step and kept hold of the girls’ arms to help them balance. Even then, there wasn’t quite enough space up on the boardwalk. Ruth hesitated a moment to allow Laney to move ahead so there would be sufficient room for their hoopskirts. Mr. McCain momentarily released her.
Several cowboys stood on the corner. They murmured greetings and shuffled for a better look at Laney. The next thing Ruth knew, someone bumped her. She lost her footing and tumbled off the boardwalk and straight into the street.
CHAPTER SIX
Now who would this be, fallin’ into my arms?” A young redheaded man caught and righted her just before she toppled in front of a wagon rolling by.
“I’m sorry. How clumsy of me. Thank you.”
“Ruth!” Laney leaned forward and looked down at her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m thinkin’ she’s far more than just okay, Elaine McCain,” the man said as he continued to keep a grip on Ruth. He grinned at her. “The lass is fair as the day is long.”
“O’Sullivan.” Mr. McCain nodded. “Thanks for saving our Ruth. Ruth, are you all right?”
“Yes, thanks to this gentleman.”
“Galen O’Sullivan at your service.” The young man swept off his hat and gave a courtly bow—one that would earn even Miss Pettigrew’s approval.
“We’re much obliged.” Mr. McCain extended his hand to Ruth. From the front of the street, it was one huge step up onto the boardwalk. Ruth reached for his hand.
“Permit me.” Galen cinched his hands about her waist and lifted her as if she weighed as little as Laney.
“Thank you both.” Ruth wished she’d brought her fan. Hot as her face felt, it probably looked red as a barn. No one formally introduced her to Mr. O’Sullivan, and she couldn’t decide whether to introduce herself or stay silent. Just yesterday she’d introduced herself to Madame Velvet. Perhaps it was best for her to hold her tongue.
“You must be more careful,” McCain said gently. “Things here are rough.”
Ruth didn’t want to argue with him, but someone had bumped her. Then again, if she weren’t so awkward, she would have kept her balance.
“All’s well that ends well,” Laney chirped. “We’ll be fine, Daddy. You take all the time you need. Ruthie and I will enjoy ourselves.”
He chuckled. “I know when I’ve been dismissed. Just as well. I have men I need to see.” He opened the door to the mercantile, allowed them inside, and then sauntered off.
“There’s nothing worse than Daddy shuffling from one boot to the other when I shop,” Laney confided. “He has to be the most impatient man God ever made.”
“You’re blessed to have a father,” Ruth said.
“I am. And he spoils me rotten. Come on. Let’s go look at the fabric first. You need curtains, a counterpane, and new dresses.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you if you’d mind helping me make a quilt like the one you have on your bed. I thought it would be fun to make it out of feed sacks. Hilda has a stack in the mudroom.”
“Sure, we can do that.” Laney sashayed toward the fabric.
Ruth admired her smooth glide. Try as she might to move with such grace, Ruth always felt her skirts swayed back and forth like a church bell. Exerting pressure on the sides of her hoops, she managed to compress them sufficiently to walk down the aisle between two rows of sundry items and joined Laney.
“Good day, ladies.” A lanky storekeeper slipped from behind the counter. “How can I help you?”
Laney pulled a piece of paper from her sleeve. “Hello, Lester. Hilda wrote down a list. Could you please fill it while we look around? Thank you ever so much.”
“I’d be delighted to.” He accepted the list, then ran his hand over a nearby bolt. “If you’re looking for material, I got a shipment from Lowell—came in through San Francisco since the last time you were in town.”
“You always carry a wonderful selection,” Laney praised.
Ruth watched as Laney visited a few minutes with the storekeeper. She chatted effortlessly, and the man hung on her every word. Just like the cowboys on the corner, he was smitten. Back at school, all of the pretty manners seemed so frivolous; but watching Laney effortlessly employ them, they were natural and charming. With her feminine ways, petite frame, and sweet words, Laney had probably won the heart of every man for miles around.
I could live to be one hundred and never show a fraction of her poise. When I get to heaven, I’m going to ask God why measles are catching and manners aren’t.
Studying Hilda’s list, Lester ambled off. Laney surveyed the bolts and let out a small sigh. “I’m so tired of wearing the same old thing.”
“Josh said we could get material for you.”
“I know.” Laney trailed her fingertips along a length of brilliant magenta cloth. “But I’ll end up doing the same as I always do. I’ll settle for something brown or cream or gold or green instead of one of the new, vibrant colors that are so stylish. Anything else looks hideous with my hair.”
“I think your hair looks like cinnamon and spice all mixed together.” After the words left her mouth, Ruth felt gauche. “I mean, the color is beautiful. Rich.”
“It’s ugly. Watch.” Laney held the magenta up to her throat.
“I think the color of that fabric is hideous.” Once she realized she’d spoken her thought aloud, Ruth glanced to see if Lester overheard her. To her relief, he seemed too preoccupied to have been eavesdropping. She dropped her volume and used a term Miss Pettigrew used as one of her worst adjectives. “It’s garish.”
“I suppose it might be.” Laney dropped it. “But for once in my life, I’d love to wear pink.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Mama said a redhead oughtn’t ever wear pink.”
A derisive male snort from directly behind them made Ruth jump. The man who caught her when she fell from the boardwalk folded his arms akimbo. “You know my ma, Laney. Redder hair you’ll ne’er see, but she wears pink, and I think she’s beautiful in it.”
“Your mother would look beautiful in a burlap sack.” Laney grabbed Ruth’s hand. “Ruth, this is Galen O’Sullivan. Galen, this is Ruth Caldwell. She’s living with us at the Broken P.”
“Thank you for your assistance earlier,” Ruth said.
“The pleasure ’twas all mine, I assure you.” He grinned at her. “Would you be kin to the dearly departed Alan Caldwell?”
“Yes. He was my father.” Odd, how that one word never felt right. How could she call a man her father when she’d never seen him or heard his voice?
Galen nodded. “I remember Alan havin’ a heart for the Lord those last years. You can be sure he’s walkin’ the streets of gold even as we speak.”
“It’s kind of you to say so.”
Laney squeezed Ruth’s hand. “How is your father, Galen?”
Ruth wondered whether that squeeze had been a supportive gesture or a warning that Galen’s father was in failing health.
“Ma sent me to fetch red flannel. She’s wantin’ to apply an onion poultice to his chest.”
“I’m sorry he’s ill.” Ruth remembered all of the treatments she’d tried in vain to help Mama.
“We have plenty of onions in our garden,” Laney said. “I’ll be sure to bring some by.” Her eyes sparkled as she turned back to Ruth. “The O’Sullivans are our nearest neighbors. Their place is one of the Pony Express exchange stations!”
“How exciting! I read all about the Pony Express when I was back East.” Ruth couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. “It sounds like a very dangerous and exciting undertaking.”
“I suppose you could say that. For sure there are plenty of tro
ubles.”
“Do you ride for the Pony Express?” Ruth asked.
Galen laughed. “Not me, lassie. The riders have to weigh less than one hundred twenty-five pounds. I was born weighin’ more than that—at least to hear my ma tell of it. No, I help with the horses—good, fast horses with the ability to run for at least ten miles straight. That’s where we come in at the station. It’s all a matter of having a horse ready at the right time.” Galen shrugged. “Fine horses, they are. I’d best not dally. With Da under the weather, I’ve plenty to see to.”
“Here, then. Take the red flannel.” Ruth let go of Laney’s hand and reached for the bolt.
“Thanks.” He accepted it and gave Laney a stern look. “I’ll be expectin’ to see you in a grand new dress at church soon—a pink one. Else I’ll have your daddy send you to bed without supper.” With that, he walked over to the counter.
Laney let out a dainty sigh and gave Ruth a helpless look. She stooped, ostensibly to inspect some of the material on the lower shelf. Ruth ducked down beside her.
“He’s so wonderful, but he treats me as if I’m his little sister. I declare, Ruth, I make a fool of myself every time Galen O’Sullivan comes around!”
“Nonsense. You were gracious to offer him onions.”
“I can’t believe I did that. His mother has the best garden in the whole township!”
“That doesn’t mean she planted a lot of onions.”
“I’m sure she did. I’ve eaten her stew.” Laney’s mouth turned downward. “The woman grows everything in abundance—carrots, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, beans—just everything!”
“I noticed the garden back at the ranch.” Ruth couldn’t honestly tack on any words of praise. The patch rated as one of the most sorrowful things she’d seen in a long time. “Perhaps we could ask Mrs. O’Sullivan for some suggestions.”
“We could!” Laney perked up, then blushed and added in a hasty whisper, “Don’t think I’m searching for an excuse just to go gawk at Galen. His mother is wonderful. I love to spend time with her.”
Ruth leaned closer and whispered back, “Even if it were just so you could catch a glimpse of Galen, I’d help you concoct an excuse. Isn’t that what friends are for?”
Laney brightened considerably. “If I don’t go alone, it’s not improper for me to see him.”
Knees cramping, Ruth rose. “That will work out beautifully.”
“What will?” Lester came over and looked at the selection of fabric.
Ruth hastily pulled out a bolt of crisp, pale pink dimity. “This. Won’t Laney be beautiful in this? We need to add lace and maybe a white bodice to it.”
“Not white,” Laney moaned. “I look dead in white. Eggshell or candlelight—but even then, I don’t believe it’s a good color.”
“Miss Elaine, you’d look fetching in any color.” Lester bobbed his head as if to agree with himself. “Yes, you would.”
“What about Ruth?” Laney deflected his attention quite smoothly.
He took the pink from Ruth and cocked his head to the side. “What about that new lavender right beside you, Miss Elaine? The two of you would look like—” he searched for a moment—“like a pair of sweet peas next to one another in the pink and lavender.”
Laney would definitely look dainty as a little sweet pea, but I’ll look more like a spill of wisteria.
“I adore wisteria!”
It wasn’t until Laney’s exclamation that Ruth realized she’d spoken aloud. Ruth muffled a groan.
“Here. We’ll need a dress length of the lavender.” Laney handed Lester the bolt. “Ruth, you’ll need riding clothes. Something dark. Green? Blue? Oh, look at this handsome paisley!”
“It wouldn’t show the dirt.” Ruth figured that was about the best thing she could summon to say about the homely brown print.
“It needs to be livened up. Lester, we’ll want to match this with some grosgrain ribbon. We could bring out the golden yellow and rust, don’t you think, Ruth?”
Ruth wrinkled her nose. “I can’t see going to a lot of fuss over a riding skirt. I’d rather just do something plain.”
“Trust me. I saw a print in Godey’s that would be ideal. In fact, Lester, I want some of that material, too. Ruth and I will have matching riding skirts! Won’t that be fun?”
Laney’s enthusiasm proved contagious. “We could do that. We’ll reverse the ribbon, though. One will be gold on top, and the other will be rust.”
“You’ll be able to tell ’em apart then.” Lester added that bolt to the stack in his arms.
As he walked off, Ruth glanced down, then murmured, “The length alone would tell us which is whose. If we ever switched them, you’d be tripping everywhere, and I’d have to walk on my knees to keep my ankles from showing.”
“What a sight we’d be!” Laney turned back to the fabric. “I need a new Sunday-best dress. My cream-and-brown brocade is far too hot for summer. What do you think of the taffeta?”
“The water-stained green is gorgeous. So is the ombre blue stripe.”
“You take the green. It’s Josh’s favorite color, you know.” Laney draped a swath across Ruth. “Oh, it brings out your remarkable eyes! I’ll take the stripe.”
“You and your brother are very close, aren’t you?”
“Yes. God blessed me with a wonderful big brother. When Mama took sick, Josh helped me care for her.” Laney blinked back tears. “Then he sent me little packages almost every week while I was at school. In fact, he knew it took forever for mail to get through, so he sent some before I even left to make sure I’d have something soon after I arrived!”
“How thoughtful!” Ruth filed those facts away. Mama always said you could tell a lot about a man by how he treated his mother and sisters. Under the circumstances, she needed to assess him. I’ve probably seen him at his worst. Any man learning he might lose a portion of his ranch would have just cause to be in a bad temper.
Laney continued to hold the fabric up to Ruth. “Yes, this green is just made for you!”
“It is pretty.” And if green is Josh’s favorite color, I suppose wearing it to please him wouldn’t be a bad idea. In fact, the notion of making Laney’s big, strong brother happy suddenly seemed like a fine notion. Nodding her head, Ruth said, “I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful!” Laney shoved the bolt into Ruth’s hands and turned to the linen and lace. “What color engageantes shall we make to go with it?”
The whole notion of making lacy false undersleeves struck Ruth as preposterous. “I thought things were simpler in the West.”
“Ladies are ladies, no matter where they abide.” Laney frowned a moment. “Let’s wait to decide what color, because your fabric choices for everyday dresses might influence your decision.”
“We already decided on the lavender dimity.”
“You need more everyday dresses,” Laney chirped.
“This is gracious plenty.”
Laney shook her head. “No, no. Josh specifically told me that you’re to have four everyday dresses, and we only have the one for you so far.”
“Four! Why would your brother—”
“He said I’m to have a few, too,” Laney said absently as she surveyed the bolts. “Among the books and magazines you brought, I noticed you had a copy of Les Modes Parisienne.”
“I did?” Ruth shrugged. “Bernadette must have slipped it in there. I wouldn’t have.”
“I’m glad! We’ll be able to copy the patterns. I’d like to make something especially fashionable for the state fair in the fall.”
“The state fair? You’ll go?”
“Of course we’ll go. I’ll ask Josh to take us. Actually, Hilda will make him. She won second place last year for the best tub of lard. This muslin here went out of style years ago.” Laney skipped a segment of bolts, then clapped her hands. “Can’t you imagine a mantlette of this?”
Ruth couldn’t reconcile a discussion that combined a tub of lard with the latest fashions. For once in he
r life, she was speechless.
Yards of eyelet, cotton, ribbon, and lace, a gallon of whitewash, and brown-paper-wrapped packages for Hilda filled the back of the buckboard. Laney settled herself on one of the packages, smoothed her hoops over many of the others, and smiled down at Ruth. “There’s plenty of room.”
Back home, when Bernadette said hoops could cover a multitude of sins, she meant an extra slice of cake or a few lemon drops. Ruth determined to write Bernadette a letter and expound on just how much her hoops managed to hide today.
One of the local men had lifted Laney into the buckboard. He rubbed his hands together. “You ready, Miss Caldwell?”
“Um …” She positioned her hands to keep control of her skirts. “Yes. Thank you.”
Though she didn’t manage as gracefully as Laney had, Ruth consoled herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t flipped her skirts up over her head.
“Back East, the men weren’t nearly as strong or handsome as they are here,” Laney declared.
A picture of broad-shouldered, suntanned Josh flashed in Ruth’s mind. “Strong and handsome. Yes.” As soon as she spoke, she wondered What’s come over me?
“I don’t care how strong or handsome they are.” McCain leveled a stern gaze at his daughter. “You’re too young to be thinking about that yet.”
Laney dipped her head and made no reply.
Ruth suspected this wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. At seventeen, Laney wasn’t particularly young for some courting. An abundance of women were married by her age. From the way things had gone in town, Ruth could see Laney wouldn’t suffer any lack of swains at her doorstep once her father allowed her some latitude.
Maybe he’s being stern because he’s embarrassed that he couldn’t lift us up. Ruth waited until Mr. McCain started the buckboard into motion, then said, “If your father and brother are any example, I’d have to say Western men are extremely intelligent and kind.”
“We’ve got plenty of men out here. Not half as many women,” McCain said gruffly. “No use in either of you girls being swept off your feet when you’re still wet behind the ears.”
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