Crossings (35 page)

Parting with Jake was going to be the hardest thing she ever did. She didn't want to watch him ride away, only to have him periodically come back into her life and make her wonder if the splendor had all been nothing but a dream. She'd been able to reconcile letting her parents go because she knew they weren't coming back. With Jake's leaving, it would be like a death, but he was free to return. It would be torture of the worst kind.

Because she'd fallen in love with him.

He'd come to mean more to her than all the flourishing Express stations, dowry parcels, and profitable general stores. Attaining success with material things wasn't enough anymore. She wanted Jake more. But he was bent on leaving, and she'd told him he could go.

Helena would have asked to go with him if she could work out a way to be in two places at once. Horses were her livelihood. She would gladly work
hand in hand with Jake to capture and break them. But there was Emilie. The Pony Express. And the many responsibilities she couldn't just walk away from, despite wanting to in the worst way. She was duty-bound to her family and her business. They had to come before anything else.

If only Jake would consider staying. She hadn't asked him. From the beginning, she'd made it clear she didn't want him to. She hadn't expected to fall in love with him. Maybe if she explained how she felt, he would remain. After the dance tonight, she'd tell him she wanted him with her.

“Don't fret, Lena,” Emilie said, her enthusiasm spilling a bubbly tone into her voice. “He'll be back.”

Helena smiled at her sister, taking comfort in the fact that today Jake truly would come back for many days to follow. And she intended to make the most of them all. “I know he will,” Helena replied.

Emilie was so excited, she was pushing her food around her plate, unable to eat any of the soup and corn cakes Ignacia had prepared. Emilie's face when Helena had told her she could attend the dance after all had been filled with pure joy. Her expression had been so full of life and love, it had touched a note inside Helena. She never should have said no in the first place. It wasn't her right, and she was glad Emilie could finally revel in the tunes of a fiddle while twirling on a dance floor with the man she'd set her sights on.

“I'll have Ignacia alter one of my Pennsylvania dresses for you,” Helena had offered that afternoon in the store when she'd approached Emilie with her change of heart. “There's not enough time to make a new one.”

“That won't be necessary, Lena,” Emilie had replied in a breathless voice as sweet as a lark's. She'd nearly dropped the bottles of elixirs she'd been inventorying. “I don't need anything new. I'm just happy to be going. I . . . I can't believe you're letting me go.”

Helena had nodded, feeling nothing but goodness well inside her. “Believe it, Emilie. You're really going.”

Looking at her sister now, it was clear Helena had made the right choice. She wouldn't have done so without Jake's wisdom. Unburdening her secret had been the best thing for her. Jake understood where her fears rested. But he'd made her see the error of her ways and accept that holding Emilie back would only make her race forward. Perhaps by little steps, the two women would come together once again. And hopefully return to the camaraderie they'd had while growing up.

Attending the Candy Dance was as much of an event for Helena as it was for Emilie. Helena hadn't been to a dance since she was in the Kansas Territory. She wasn't even sure she recalled the fancy footwork necessary for quadrilles and schottisches. Did Jake know his way across a floor? Or would she embarrass the both of them?

After supper, Helena and Emilie made use of the bathtub, and Helena retired to her room to dress. Yesterday she'd gone through her trunk and unfolded several of the dresses she hadn't worn in years. These clothes had been so inappropriate for Genoa, they were ridiculous, and Helena had packed them away. There was nothing wrong with any of the dresses—they were just the ordinary clothes of a girl living in Pennsylvania. Her traveling dress was a dark blue camel's hair with a velvet jacket. The others were a black silk, a navy day dress with layers of flounces, a halfway sensible blue serge, and a white poplin gown trimmed with broad, black velvet bands. There had been the blue with the tiers that had worn out straightaway before she'd given up dressing in eastern clothes. These four had been stuffed in the trunk ever since without even a glimpse.

But this morning Helena had decided to have Ignacia iron the white poplin. It had been a long while
since she'd worn a light color. Even before Father had died, she'd worn somber colors in memory of her mother. She hoped her father's spirit saw no disrespect in her going against the dictates of mourning. It was time she learned to live again.

An hour later, Helena slowly descended the stairs, feeling awkward and self-conscious in the abundant white skirt that brushed both sides of the stairwell because of her wide crinoline. On her feet were a pair of fashionable slippers trimmed with appliqués that pinched her instep in comparison to her work shoes. She'd heated her mother's curling iron in the lamp and had painstakingly tamed her curls into springy ringlets that she'd adorned with a headdress of ribbon mingled with sprigs of leaves and white lilies. Only twice had she burned herself with the hot rod. Not used to the confining entrapments of party wear, she felt too frothy being dressed so fancy. The whalebone nip of her satin corset—relaced ever so much tighter in order for her to fasten the front closures of her dress—barely enabled her to breathe. She wouldn't be able to swallow one bite of food, which was just as well since she was nervous beyond comprehension.

Once in the sitting room, she found no one there. In a surprised lift of her brows, she realized she was the first one ready. And it had taken her forever. Earlier, she'd asked Emilie if she required help, but her sister had said she could dress herself without aid. Helena had given her a brand-new corset from the ladies' goods counter. She'd shown Emilie how to mold it without stretching the laces too tight; but Emilie already knew how to fit the garment. Then Helena proceeded through the store and gave her sister a pair of lightweight stockings, lace petticoat with double ruffles, pink-trimmed camisole, and kid leather shoes of smooth, white hide. Emilie had asked if she could take a bundle of the dried flowers. Helena had nodded in agreement.

The tiny, glass-domed clock on the mantel chimed
the quarter hour. Fifteen minutes to seven. It was time to go or they would be late. Jake hadn't shown his face since leaving for his cabin, and Helena couldn't quell the trepidation in her stomach.

Helena glided toward the room's doorway and asked, “Emilie, are you almost ready?”

The call in return was delayed, but came out as an eager “Yes. Almost.”

A knock on the store's front door caused Helena to frown. They'd closed two hours ago. As she walked toward the drawn shades of the windows, she had to hold her skirts at an angle so she wouldn't snag the fabric on any sharp merchandise cluttering the aisle. As she minded her steps, she told herself whoever needed anything would have to return tomorrow. As she grasped the knob with her gloved hand, the bulb spun beneath her slick fingers.

“Oh  . . .” she sighed, not accustomed to the sheer gloves. She gripped the knob with a steadfast hold and swung the door open before lifting her gaze. “I'm sorry, but we're  . . .” The words died in her throat as she raised her eyes and met Jake's clean-shaven face. “It's you.” But she could say nothing more, as her heartbeat was an endless pulse of flutters. Suddenly she grew very insecure about her appearance. She didn't want him to think she was unappealing, so she couldn't meet his eyes just yet in case she saw he thought she looked preposterous.

Standing next to Jake, Thomas McAllister held a bouquet of vibrant prairie flowers in blues, violets, and reds. He'd spruced and polished himself in such a way, she almost didn't recognize him. With his blond good looks and deeply tanned face, she could see why her sister fancied him. Thomas was a very handsome man in his black wool suit, crisp white shirt, and ribbon tie.

Thomas doffed his hat and held it underneath his arm. “Good evening, Mrs. Carrigan,” he said politely. “I've come to call for Emilie.”

Helena smiled at his manners, stepping aside so that both men could enter. “She'll be ready in a moment. If you'll come this way, both of you.”

The three of them couldn't exactly wait in the store, so Helena maneuvered her way back to the sitting room—thankfully without mishap. But getting there in one piece wouldn't solve the problem of taking a chair. Helena feared if she did, she'd snap in two. So neither man took an available seat. They stood in front of the fireplace, Thomas with his hat in his hands, and Jake wearing his. She wasn't offended, as she admired the light gray against the dark color of his hair. Jake hadn't said a word to her . . . but she hadn't been able to think of a coherent phrase to say to him. What was he thinking? Her own thoughts were filled with visions of her husband. He'd never looked finer. With wayward peeks in his direction, she couldn't keep from staring.

He cut quite a dash in a pair of foxed breeches. A heart-shaped piece of leather the color of off-white parchment had been sewn into the seat and extended down the inside seams of the legs. His broad chest and muscular arms filled out a cream-colored flannel shirt with a pinkish stripe woven into it. It didn't matter that he wore no suit jacket. He looked all the better without one. His freshly washed, inky hair was unruly at his forehead; the gray hat's brim with the thongs tapering to the bead in back made him all the more handsome.

Helena had never been so tongue-tied. She couldn't think of a single sensible thing to say. Some hostess she was. If Emilie hadn't appeared in the doorway just then, Helena might have made a fool out of herself and begun to jabber.

One look at her sister and Helena forgot to be nervous. Emilie looked beautiful. She wore a blue calico dress—fashioned from the fabric in the store—in a style that accentuated the slim curves of her figure. Helena had been unaware her sister had
even sewn a dress with perfect stitches, puffed sleeves, and ribbon trim. The color on her was a perfect match with her sparkling eyes. She'd unbraided her hair and swept the length into a soft bun at the crown of her head, and she'd put dried flowers in the strands to highlight the golden color. Though she wore no cosmetics, her lashes were fuller, her eyes wider, her cheeks a subtle shade of rose, and her mouth a dusky pink. The natural beauty within Emilie had come out, and the girl before Helena was not her little sister anymore. She was a woman. A lovely, attractive woman.

“Why . . . Em . . . you're all . . .” Helena felt a pride in her well so strongly, she was too choked up to find the proper words to express her emotions. “You're beautiful,” she whispered to her sister as she embraced her.

Emilie whispered back, “I wish we had a full mirror.”

“You don't need a mirror, honey. You look just like Mother. So very pretty.” Fighting the moisture in her eyes, Helena pressed a kiss to her sister's cheek. “I love you, Em. Have fun tonight.”

“I will.”

The two women drew apart and Thomas presented Emilie with his flowers. She went to the kitchen and returned with Ignacia and Eliazer, who'd donned their Sunday best clothing as well. The women carried trays of candy they'd made that week, and the six of them were ready. As the stars came forth in a twilight that wasn't lingering, they left the store for an evening of unbridled entertainment.

16

S
ingleton's Hall had been festooned with streamers and colorful decorations that hung from the ceiling and draperies. The strains of a fiddler tuning his instrument drifted through the noise of conversations, while the press of people holding punch cups and talking in loud voices bore down on Carrigan. He took everything in with a slight wince, telling himself that it was a small price to pay for being in the company of his wife.