Before the morning meal was ready, he’d joined Penn in the livery and helped curry and harness the horses. The air still held a chill, but he knew that would be gone by the time the trio were on their way.
The metal triangle’s clang announced the meal. Based on the lack of conversation, the two ladies were as anxious to get a start on the trip as he was. Ivey sent them on their way with a wicker basket heaped with plenty of food and a big jar of water, so hunger and thirst would not be issues.
Ione settled in on the right side of the wagon seat. In her lap sat a small basket of fabric pieces, and she steadied it with one hand.
“Hup, hup.” Morgan snapped the reins on the rumps of Jughead and Banjo, and the wagon jerked ahead as the horses settled into an easy trot. Once the wagon rolled past the last structures, all that could be seen was the wide plains dotted with spring wildflowers. He didn’t know the names of all of them, but he liked the showy ones. Bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, and lupines were his favorites.
Muttering sounded before Ione leaned forward and shoved the container under the seat.
“Problems?”
“I can’t keep the basket centered in my lap and stitch so it had to go.”
Ahead on the packed dirt road, Maisie put Ginger through a series of short canters, and then she walked her back to the rolling wagon and rode alongside for a few moments. Hair already hung loose from Maisie’s bun. “Thanks again, Morgan, for coming along. I love riding and speed.” She scrunched her felt hat tighter on her head, and then she spun the horse in an about-face and took off at a gallop.
“Mercy, she does love speed.” Ione lifted a gloved hand to shade her eyes.
Morgan thought the gesture was wasted energy, because the wide brim on her straw hat blocked out enough sunlight that he could barely make out her facial features. Although he guessed he’d probably memorized them all.
“Well, I suppose we should converse during our journey.”
The perfect opening he’d been waiting for. “If I may ask, I wondered how you’d never learned to ride.”
Setting down the needlework in her hands, she turned with a frown. “I never said I didn’t know how, I merely said I preferred to ride in a wagon.”
A fly buzzed near his ear, and Morgan flicked it away. What had he missed? “Sorry, but I don’t see the distinction.”
“A mishap when I was younger has caused me to steer clear of horseback riding. From a young age, I had lessons in both English and Western styles.” She faced forward, chin jutting outward. “I’m sure that if my life depended on climbing into a saddle and riding a horse to safety, I would comport myself with all proper expertise.”
Comport, huh? She sure used fifty-cent words when cheaper, and easier to understand, ones would do. “Yeah, well, I’m not much of a rider, either. With four older half-brothers, I didn’t like the constant reminders about holding in my elbows or angling down my heels in the stirrups. They all excel at riding, as does my older half-sister. Once I knew I wouldn’t fall off and embarrass myself, I left the horseback riding to them and went searching for a skill none of them were interested in.”
She angled a look his way. “How big is your family?”
“I’m the eighth of nine children. My mother and her first husband, Franz, emigrated with a large group from Germany in 1846 and settled in the Fredericksburg’s area.” Remembering she was a new arrival, he glanced then pointed off to the side, his arm almost grazing her front. “The family place is about twenty-five miles north of Dorado. They had a farm with cattle and horses but the land also had a few dozen wild pecan trees. Franz increased the size of that orchard. Although he didn’t live long enough to see its success, his two oldest sons have made it a commercial enterprise. Mutter was a widow with five children still living at home before she married my father.” He lifted his hat in response to Maisie’s wave as she raced past the wagon across the nearby plains. “With Drake Shipley, Mutter had three girls and me. Luckily, I’m not the youngest.”
“Nine children.” Shaking her head, Ione laughed. “Mealtimes must have been chaotic, not like the well-mannered ones at the boardinghouse.”
He liked the light-hearted tone to her voice and cast another sideway glance to see the sparkle in her blue eyes. When she smiled like that, she went from pretty to beautiful. His throat tightened at the sight. Better concentrate on the driving. “What’s that you’re working on?”
“This is a quilt patch. At home, I stitch the pieces into squares and then the squares into a large rectangular top using a sewing machine. But hand stitching”—she held up the set of different-sized pink and green triangles—“still gets the patch finished. If I can manage to keep my seams straight on the bumpy ride. Then I can get to my favorite part, which is the quilting.”
He nodded. “One of my aunts does quilting. From her I learned that all the patterns have a name. What’s this one?”
“Flying Geese. I started this when I was attending college and living in Jacksonville, Illinois. Working on it reminded me that I would return home when my studies were complete. Like how the geese migrate.” Leaning close, she extended the square in front of him and pointed as she explained. “See how the triangles look like geese in flight? The tip of the triangle is the head and the two short sides represent the wings. Now imagine several rows of identical patches, and you’ve got a flock in flight.” For a few more seconds, she held it out in front of her. “The swirls I’ll quilt to illustrate the wind will aid the effect.”
“I can see that.” Today, her hair smelled like lilacs, and he took an extra deep breath.
“I’m not as accomplished as my Grandma Mary, but she’s my inspiration.” Ione reached below the seat and brought up a handful of cut pieces then positioned two triangle edges together and applied the threaded needle. “Not only does she make quilts for charity, she sews a quilt as a wedding gift for all the grandchildren. On last count, that was six quilts presented. Each one is different, because she uses a pattern associated with the state where the grandchild marries.”
The fabric dropped to her lap, and she spread out the fingers on her left hand. “Let’s see what I can remember from listening to the letters Mother receives from her kin. Kizzie’s in California, Jessie and Meredith are in Kansas”—she tapped her fingertips with each name—“Monica’s here in Texas somewhere, Pleasance went to Colorado, and Zebulon landed in Montana.”
He turned with a raised eyebrow. “Do you have many cousins?”
“Eight on my mother’s side. My father isn’t in contact with his family, so I have never known about any of those cousins.” She bent her head toward her stitching for several moments then straightened. “If I’m remembering right, Monica’s in Galveston. Is that close by? Maybe I could arrange a visit.”
“More than three hundred miles, and down along the Gulf of Mexico.”
“That far? My goodness, Texas is large. Doesn’t look so big on a map.” She flashed a smile before turning back to her sewing.
“Texas is huge.” Morgan enjoyed hearing her speak of her past. Although he hadn’t gone away to college, moving to Dorado to establish his business had been the first time he’d lived away from his family. He remembered the adjustment of not having someone to look out for his interests. He was the one who had to respond to the alarm and actually get out of bed, instead of smacking it off and then continuing to sleep. On a couple of occasions, he’d neglected to get his clothes set out on laundry day and had to do his own washing. At first, he’d been happy to make new associations and spend time with people from all walks of life.
Then after a month or two, he wondered what his sisters were doing and how the orchard fared. What issues did everyone discuss over the Sunday dinner table when the entire family still gathered? Letters hadn’t proved sufficient, so that first year he’d spent a good-sized chunk of his earnings on coach fare to visit. The thought of his earnings reminded him about the note coming due. In addition to picking up lumber, he hoped to make
a deal with Mister Schreiner about the new hotel currently under construction. All hotels needed furniture, and a contract involving lots of steady work would guarantee he could pay off the loan balance.
Two hours later, the lumber was loaded in the back of the wagon, and he leaned against the side with arms crossed, waiting for the women to finish. But he was no closer to acquiring steady orders. Morgan had been flummoxed when asked for a proposal containing a delivery schedule per item ordered. While he waited, he dug into the lunch basket and grabbed out a ham sandwich.
“Oh, you’ve started eating.” Ione dropped a wrapped parcel over the side of the wagon.
Maisie lifted a bundle on top of the lumber. “We thought a picnic would be nice.”
Like he could afford to waste the entire day. He swallowed a lump before it was fully chewed and glared between the women. “Nice for folks without jobs. What Ivey packed can be eaten while on the move. Select what you want and let’s head back.” He reached for an apple and then spun to stomp toward where the horses were tied to the store’s railing. Realization of how rude his words must have sounded churned the food in his stomach. Sometimes, a guy just had to get out his disappointment.
Whispers floated in the air, but he ignored them as he vaulted into the wagon seat and untied the reins.
The seat jolted when Ione sat.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Maisie launch herself into Ginger’s saddle. “You both ready?”
Apple clamped between her teeth, Maisie snapped a salute before turning Ginger from the railing and heading toward the road.
Ione replicated her friend’s action then faced forward and nibbled on a sandwich.
Morgan gritted his teeth. This might be the longest two hours of his life.
Sometime later, Ione cleared her throat. “I should have said this earlier. Morgan, I appreciate that you escorted us today. Travel here in the West is different. I wasn’t aware of how far the drive to Kerrville was.” She laughed. “Probably not the best admission from the new schoolteacher. Now I realize by the time we arrive in Dorado, you’ll have given up a day’s work so I could buy the things I needed.”
Her tone was sincere, and he relaxed his shoulders that had been hunched near his ears. The irritation wasn’t all the way gone, but he had never been mad at Ione. Instead, he couldn’t accept his ignorance of true business practices. “You saying the teacher failed word problems in arithmetic?”
“Forresters don’t fail anything, except maybe seeing an engagement to its logical end.” She hung her head and stared downward.
“Huh?” She’d been engaged?
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She straightened and glanced over her shoulder. “Was picking up lumber the only task you did with the time spent in Kerrville?”
Should he reveal his own failure? What else was there to do but talk? “I’d hoped to obtain a contract to build furniture for the new hotel being built.”
“I saw the construction. I’m not good at visualizing the place from only the framework, but the hotel will be large and expansive.”
“Three stories, with a sitting room, ballroom and restaurant, plus forty sleeping rooms.” He couldn’t keep the wistful note from his voice. So many rooms, so much needed furniture.
“So, what happened?”
“Mister Schreiner didn’t take me seriously.”
Ione leaned forward to look under the wagon seat. “Where’s your proposal? I can take a look if you want and make suggestions.”
He turned and gawked. “How would a teacher know about proposals to obtain contracts?”
She shrugged. “My fia—er, friend applied for medical grants and had me proofread his proposals for spelling and grammar errors. I can do the same for yours.”
“Problem was I didn’t approach him with one. Since opening my shop, all my deals have been done with a simple handshake. That was how my uncle conducted business for decades, and that’s good enough for me.” Remembering the conversation and the hotel owner’s dismissive attitude brought bile to the back of his tongue.
She opened her mouth then clamped her lips tight and faced forward.
“What?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“Whatever you say can’t make me any more dejected.”
“I’ve seen several types of proposals and could probably assist you in developing one. But only if you wanted the help.” She bit into the shiny apple and angled her body so she faced the grass-covered plains.
For a mile or two, he kept formulating responses to what she’d said. Several versions passed through his thoughts, until he realized that he should take her up on the offer. Then, so much time had passed since they’d spoken, he decided to wait for another opportunity. Now was the time to enjoy the warm air and clear sky.
The silence as they rolled along was broken by an occasional bird cry or idle comment from Maisie when she rode close enough to the wagon to converse. Morgan didn’t mind the lack of conversation. Just having someone in the other position on the seat was companionship enough…for now.
***
Lettering two dozen flyers to distribute to parents and half as many signs to place in shop windows had taken longer than Ione originally estimated. More than a day longer, mainly because her fingers kept cramping. Back in Des Moines, she would have taken her request to the closest print shop—of which she’d have a choice of proprietors—and picked them up the following day.
But that couldn’t be helped, and she would do her absolute best to contact all families with school-age children. What would have made the process easier was if she’d found a student roster or grading ledger left behind in the teacher’s desk. Then she’d have a better idea of which houses to visit. Saturday afternoon after lunch, Ione set out from the boardinghouse with high hopes. By getting the signs in store windows up and down Main Street, she practically guaranteed that those from outlying farms who’d traveled to town would see them. Church services tomorrow offered another opportunity to spread the word. Curiously, several of the shops, including Morgan’s and Anzel’s, were already closed.
Working her way up the residential side streets, she knocked on every door and introduced herself before passing out a flyer announcing:
Dorado School reopens at eight o’clock on Monday next
Bring slates, chalk, lunch pails, reading books, and your zest for learning.
I’m looking forward to meeting you.
Respectfully, Miss Ione Forrester
As she approached the intersection of Third and Water Streets, Ione saw several men striding toward a big building at the outskirts of town. Was there a meeting she hadn’t heard about? A surprising thought because the conversation at mealtimes had covered all sorts of topics. Communication was something she intended to bring up in her letter to the superintendent, as well as the lack of adequate supplies. So far she’d spent more than five dollars of her own money for supplies and paper.
Two men approached the large building and entered, both carrying similar small satchels.
A gathering of any type was a great opportunity to distribute the remainder of her fliers. Reaching the walkway leading to the building, she paused to read the sign: “Dorado Turnverein.” Huh, wonder what that means? The first thing she noticed when she entered the hall was the smell of male sweat and cleaning products. At the edge of the cloakroom, she set down her satchel and patted the edges of the half-sheet fliers into an even stack. The moment she rounded the corner, she dropped her jaw, in total shock at a spectacle the likes of which she’d not seen in her adult years.
Men of all shapes and sizes were engaged in various exercises. Some moved on strange-looking apparatus consisting of wooden bars on posts, and others hoisted themselves onto handles set into a leather block that resembled the back of a horse. All had bared arms and wore clingy garments that she could only describe as their underclothes.
Movement above the floor level caught her attention. Ione turned to watch the graceful
form of a man suspended beneath a set of rings attached to the ceiling by ropes. Her pulse raced, and she clasped the fliers to her chest. Oh my. Now he’d pulled up his body so he was upside down and doing a handstand. The display of the man’s bulging muscles sent her breathing off-kilter. With his next move, he bent himself at the waist and kicked out which set the rings swinging. She watched as mesmerized as when she’d seen the ballet Giselle performed at the Chicago Opera House during senior year at college.
Part of her heard rumbling whispers from behind. But she was too captivated with the athletic man before her to figure out what was being said. Probably about how inappropriate her presence was. But she couldn’t pull her gaze from the performer who now twisted his body forward and backward all while swinging in a slow arc. Suddenly, his arms stiffened straight out from his body and the rings stilled. The cords in his neck stood out, and his face reddened with the obvious effort of maintaining his pose.
Ione gasped and her pulse pounded as she stared into a very familiar pair of hazel eyes under dark brows. The artistic athlete was Morgan Shipley. Because she didn’t believe she’d ever have this chance again, she let her gaze peruse his form, taking note of the V-shape created by his broad shoulders and trim waist. A quiver ran through her stomach, and she swore her knees shook just a little. The man had a fine physique. The same man who’d caught her from falling off the desk and who’d lent his shoulder for a quick nap on the return trip from Kerrville.
Morgan crooked his elbows and dropped to the floor. Then he walked in her direction, never breaking eye contact.
This was the time to turn and walk out, but she was too captivated and her feet were rooted in cement. When he stopped only a couple of feet away, she felt like she looked upon a stranger. His skin glowed with beads of perspiration, and his wavy hair curled even tighter around the tops of his ears.
Ione's Dilemma: Dorado, Texas Book 6 (Grandma's Wedding Quilt 8) Page 7
