Calico Ball

by Kelly, Carla

  She leaned forward, allowing her forehead to rest against his shoulder. “I’m so very tired.” Her voice broke a bit as she spoke.

  “We’ve time before needing to head back. Rest a spell.”

  “I’d be keeping you from your work,” she reminded him.

  His arm wrapped around her and tucked her close, allowing her to sit in the reassurance of his embrace. “Rest, Mirabelle. I think you need it.”

  She closed her eyes, holding back a surge of emotion.

  Oh, Quinn. I need so much more than that.

  “Something’s weighing on her,” Quinn told Da that evening. “She said she was tired, but I know it’s more than that.”

  They sat on either side of the fireplace. Mirabelle was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

  “Was she angry?” Da asked.

  “She seemed more sad than anything else.” Quinn had fully expected to return to the mercantile and find her as cheerful and bantering as she’d been when he’d dropped her there. “I’d only just paid my respects to Ma and sat down with my book when Mirabelle came walking up. She had such a look on her face, like her whole world was crumbling.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Mirabelle. She’s about as likely to crumble as the mountains themselves.”

  For precisely that reason, Quinn couldn’t shake the impact of seeing her so heartbroken. She’d made a valiant effort to hide her feelings, but the pain had been there in her eyes and in the quiver he’d heard in her voice.

  Quinn scratched the back of his head. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Considering you brought her here as a worker, I’d say you’re ‘supposed to’ not be bothered by her unhappiness.” Da’s tone emerged drier than dust. “Less complicated, remember?”

  “I ain’t heartless, Da. She’s hurting. What can I do?” His mind had grown heavy as she’d sat in his embrace. The comfort he’d offered hadn’t seemed sufficient. “What did you do when Ma was upset?”

  “’Twas different between your ma and me. We knew each other well, deeply. There was seldom need for guessing what she needed and why she was hurting.” As always, speaking of Ma brought a sadness to Da’s expression that nothing else did.

  “I don’t have that with Mirabelle.”

  “Then I’d say you have the answer to your question.” Da skewered him with such a look. “You care enough to want to comfort her, so care enough to let her into your life and your heart as well. It’ll be complicated, but it’ll be worth it.”

  “Considering your half decade of agony, I’ve a difficult time viewing things that way.”

  “You think a life spent loving your ma wasn’t enough for me, that I’d rather give that up than grieve?” Da sounded almost offended.

  “You’ve far more than grieved. You’ve disappeared, faded to nothing. If that’s what love does to a man—”

  “No matter the pain I’ve felt, I’d not trade a single moment I had with her. I’d love her fully and deeply, even if it meant hurting more now. You’d understand that if you allowed yourself to care even a little about the woman you’ve made your wife.”

  The sharp rebuke raised Quinn’s hackles. “I do care about her. More than just ‘a little.’ I care that she’s unhappy. I care that she’s lonely. I care that she’s desperate for people to come over because she feels like no one here ever talks to her.” His bluster quickly ebbed. “I do care.”

  “But maybe not enough,” Da said quietly. “Maybe that’s why she’s grown more unhappy.”

  I’m lonely.

  I’d have someone to talk to.

  I found what I’d expected to find.

  Mirabelle’s words that afternoon repeated in his mind but with new meaning. He assumed she’d been saying that she wanted to have company over or that she had a successful bit of shopping. What if Da was right, though? What if she had, instead, been telling him why she was so sorrowful lately?

  “Dinner is on the table, if the two of you are ready to eat.”

  There was something odd in thinking about someone only to have them speak without warning. Da seemed to have no such moment of surprise. He simply nodded and rose from his chair, heading for the dining room.

  Quinn pulled himself together and followed the same path. He slowed a bit as he approached the spot where Mirabelle stood, just outside the dining room doorway. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Whatever had been weighing on her hadn’t entirely lifted.

  “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

  “That nap in the churchyard was just what I needed.”

  Perhaps he had helped her more than he’d realized.

  Da stepped out of the dining room and passed them, holding a dinner plate heavy with food. “I want to eat by the fireplace. You two don’t need to join me.”

  His “don’t need to” held a heavy hint of “better not.” Quinn met his eye. Da motioned with his head back toward the dining room.

  “Talk to her,” Da mouthed silently.

  Talk to her. Da had told Quinn to build something more between himself and Mirabelle than was currently there; he was providing the opportunity to begin.

  I can work on a friendship. There needn’t be more risk than that.

  “Let’s eat, shall we?” Quinn indicated she should return ahead of him.

  She sat in her usual seat, one a bit apart from where he and Da usually sat. Why was that? He’d never asked her nor insisted she distance herself from them. He couldn’t easily talk with her if they sat away from each other. He snatched up the plate meant for him and sat in the chair nearest hers. She looked confused but not upset. He took that as encouragement.

  He chose easy topics to begin with: the ranch, the neighbors, improvements he meant to make around the house going forward. She seemed genuinely interested, offering thoughts and insights. She mentioned things inside the house she’d like to work on over the months and years to come. Some of the weariness in her expression eased as they spoke. He hoped that meant he was helping.

  “I mean to start on my dress tonight for the calico ball. I picked a blue gingham. I’ve always wanted a blue dress.”

  “Blue will look nice with your eyes.” He could easily picture it, in fact.

  She smiled, the upward tilt of her lips so tiny he might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.

  “My friend Caroline showed me a few dance steps. I’ve been practicing them in my room at night. I’m still really terrible, though.” She laughed lightly.

  Quinn let his smile blossom. “I’ve known the steps nearly all my life, and I’m still really terrible too.”

  Amusement twinkled in her eyes. “Perhaps you will distract everyone from my awkwardness.”

  “If that’d help you enjoy the evening, I’d be glad to.” Friends did that sort of thing, after all.

  She swallowed a bite of supper. “I plan to enjoy the calico ball either way. I’ve dreamed all my life of going to a dance. I finally get to.”

  She’d never attended a dance?

  “And to be making a new dress for myself for a change . . . that is a fine thing as well.”

  It was good to see her in better spirits. Ma had always appreciated a new dress or a little bauble.

  “I’m heading to Topeka in a few days,” he said. “Is there anything I can bring you back from there?”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Sam and I need to fetch a few supplies before winter sets in for good.” Da had often made trips to Topeka during Ma’s final years, fetching her trinkets and adornments. “Are you wanting anything?”

  She didn’t look intrigued or excited or anything other than confused. “When are you leaving?”

  He nodded. “In a little less than a week. We’ll be gone about ten days.”

  Her mouth tugged downward. “The calico ball is in only two weeks.”

  “I’ll be back by then.”

  “What if you’re not?” The same look of heartbreak that had touched her face in the churchyard flitted o
ver her features once more. An echoing pain filled his chest.

  “I’ll be back for the ball.” He set his hand on hers where it rested on the tabletop.

  “I’ve dreamed all my life of going to a dance. If I miss it . . .”

  “I promise I’ll be back,” he said.

  She smiled at him, a trusting and pleased sort of smile. Her hand remained in his. He liked the feel of her slender fingers beneath his, but the degree of pleasure he took in it caught him entirely by surprise. He’d been aiming for friendship; he’d do well not to overshoot the mark.

  They sat like that as the evening wore on, hand in hand, speaking easily of whatever topic flew to mind. She seemed happier. He hoped she truly was.

  He had sent for a wife as a matter of convenience, but he’d not appreciated the simple pleasure of a companion, someone to talk with, someone to listen. Someone to hold.

  Someone he could feel himself beginning to truly care for.

  Quinn had not returned.

  “The ball’s started already,” Tiernan said from his place by the fire. “But if you leave now, you’ll not miss all of it.”

  Mirabelle smoothed the wrinkles in her blue dress. She’d been sitting, waiting, for a couple of hours now, and she had the rumples to prove it. “I was holding out hope that Quinn would be back in time. That doesn’t seem likely now, does it?”

  “He has his faults, but the lad keeps his word. If I had m’ guess, I’d say he went straight to the gathering and is there wondering where you are.”

  “I know when the train comes in to town.” She rose and moved to the front window. “If he were going to arrive today, he would have hours ago.”

  Tiernan rose and, to her surprise, crossed to her. He set his hands on her arms and looked at her tenderly, paternally. “He did promise you. I know my lad well enough to be certain he’ll do everything in his power to be there, especially because we all know how much you were looking forward to it.”

  Her heart dropped. “I’ve been dreaming of this. He probably thinks me a little silly for it.”

  “He tries to be logical about things and pretend his head has all the say in his life,” Tiernan said. “But I know that heart of his. It’s more tender than he lets on.”

  “I think yours is as well,” Mirabelle said.

  His expression turned a little sad. “I loved his ma deeply, but we had a difficult go of it early on as we sorted things out between us, figuring out how to build a life together.”

  “I don’t know how to do that with Quinn. Sometimes he seems to want something more than the arrangement we have between us, and sometimes I’m not certain he even remembers that I’m not the maid.”

  “Oh, he remembers,” Tiernan muttered. He stepped away and to the door. “Come on, lass. I’ll take you to the dance.”

  He was offering to take her? Tiernan never went anywhere. He seldom left the house, even.

  “I am so touched that you would offer, but”—emotion solidified as a lump in her throat—“I don’t think I could bear to go.”

  Tiernan looked concerned. “But you wanted to dance.”

  Misery clutched at her. “I wanted to dance with him.” A hot tear pooled in the corner of her eye. “Clearly, I am not logical about things. I was ordered over the telegram like a piece of farm equipment. A man doesn’t rush back to dance with a plow.”

  “He’s a fool. I told him as much myself.” Tiernan wandered back to the fireplace. “I’ve seen the way he looked at you when he left for Topeka.”

  “How did he look at me?” Even as she asked the question, she worried about the answer.

  “Not the way he looks at his plow.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe that. “Then why didn’t he come home when he said he would?”

  “I’ve every confidence there’s a reason.” Tiernan sat in his chair and took up his book.

  Mirabelle made her way slowly to her bedroom. She pulled the blue ribbon from her hair, the same one she’d worn on her wedding day. She hadn’t been certain Quinn would make the connection, but she’d hoped. And it had been such a perfect match for her gingham dress.

  She sat on her bed, hands resting on her lap, and wrapped the ribbon around her fingers. Why did she let herself grow hopeful so often and so easily? She only ended up getting hurt.

  Her next breath shook from her. She needed to pull herself together. There would be other opportunities to attend a dance. Quinn likely had a good reason for not returning when he said he would. Yet it still hurt. It hurt that he hadn’t come back. It hurt that he’d gone despite her worries about the timing. It hurt that she was missing so many things she’d longed for: the dance, companionship, love.

  She pulled her legs up on the bed and wrapped her arms around them, burying her face against her knees. What a fool she was, crying over a missed social.

  Heavy footsteps sounded at the door. It was sweet of Tiernan to check on her, but she couldn’t bear for him to see her sobbing like a child. The footsteps grew closer. The bed shifted beside her.

  She wanted to tell him he needn’t worry, but no words came.

  Two strong arms wrapped gently around her. She knew then it wasn’t Tiernan who’d come to comfort her, but Quinn. Every bit of control she had over her emotions evaporated. Her tears turned to sobs.

  He pulled her closer. “I hate seeing you cry, dear, especially knowing it’s because I broke my word to you.”

  “That’s not why.” She took another trembling breath. “It’s not the only reason.”

  “Tell me what all’s hurting you. I’ll fix it if I can.”

  She turned enough to bury her face against his chest, her hand clutching his vest.

  “I feel so foolish.” Admitting that aloud helped calm her a little. “It is only a dance, and you’ve told me there will be others. It isn’t as if I’ll never have another chance. Yet I feel like my whole world came crumbling down while I waited for you.”

  He didn’t say anything, just continued to hold her. The protective comfort of his embrace chipped away at her protective wall.

  “Your father offered to take me to the calico ball so I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “He did?” Quinn sounded as surprised as she had been.

  “If it really was just the dance I was upset about, I would have gone. But I didn’t. And yet here I am crying about it.”

  “Maybe you . . .” She had never heard such hesitation from him. “Maybe you wanted to go with me.”

  That set the tears flowing again, though without the shoulder-shaking sobs. “I know that’s not our arrangement. I do. We each see to our work; that’s what we agreed on. It’s so silly of me to—” Her breath caught, and she couldn’t continue.

  “I missed you while I was gone,” he said. “I thought of you. Not about your chores or the work you’d be doing. I wondered how your dress was coming along, if you’d had tea with your friends, if Da was being good to you. I wondered if you were upset with me for leaving when I did.”

  He’d thought about her. Worried. Wondered.

  “I was late leaving Topeka, then snow down the line stopped the trains for nearly two days. I sat in a rail station, knowing I was going to be late returning home, and something became very, very clear to me.”

  She wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, not moving from her position tucked into his arms.

  “It wasn’t the delay or the inconvenience or the chores I wasn’t seeing to that weighed on me most. I was disappointing you, and that tore right into me.”

  She turned a bit more, her bent legs resting against him, curled in a ball in his arms.

  “I know perfectly well what our arrangement is,” he said, “and it didn’t matter one bit. Your heart and your happiness held greater importance to me than all of that.”

  She looked up at him, hope and uncertainty warring inside her. He brushed at the moisture on her cheek. How a man as large as he could offer so tender a touch, she couldn’t say. But in that moment, she needed it
. She treasured it.

  “Maybe,” he said, “it’s time we rethought our arrangement.”

  She steeled herself. Hope had too often proved fickle. “You said in your telegram that you were not interested in an emotional or romantic attachment. You were very specific.”

  “Well, as my da often tells me, I’m something of a clodhead.” He touched the pad of his thumb to her chin. “There’s the smile I’ve been missing.”

  Though her eyes burned and moisture still clung to her lashes, she wasn’t crying as she had been. She felt hopeful without feeling afraid. It was an entirely unfamiliar experience.

  “I finished my dress.” She held her breath.

  “I noticed. You did a fine job of it. It’s lovely.”

  A little heat touched her cheeks, though she wasn’t embarrassed. Indeed, she was pleased. Touched. “I would have been quite the belle of the calico ball, you know.”

  He slipped his arms free and stood. She resisted the urge to ask him to come back, to keep holding her.

  “You told me you hadn’t ever danced, which is why I was late leaving Topeka.”

  That made little sense.

  “I saw something in a shop there that I wanted to bring back for you, but I took too blasted long making my mind up about it. My own fault, really.”

  He pulled something from his pocket. She couldn’t see what it was. It fit in his hand, mostly obscured. He returned to the bed and placed the item on her bedside table. A box-shaped something. Metal, with floral designs etched all over.

  “What is it?” She scooted closer.

  He looked at her. “A music box. It plays a waltz. I thought if you had music, I could teach you to dance, then you wouldn’t be so nervous about attending the sociables. We should have had a couple of days for practicing, but the snow came and ruined everything.”

  “You bought this for me?” She shook her head. “It’s too expensive. You have your debts to pay down.”

  He offered a soft smile. “I didn’t go into debt for it. I simply sold a couple of things.”

  “For me?”

  He held a hand out to her. She set hers in it, letting him gently pull her to a stand. With his free hand, he lifted the lid of the box. In notes soft and bell-like, a tune began.