Opal (39 page)

‘‘How do you know?’’
Tell her, silly
.

‘‘Your eyes are wearing clouds.’’

‘‘I-I wish Atticus were still here and things were back to the way they used to be.’’

‘‘Oh, my dear Opal.’’ Ruby put her arms around her sister. ‘‘So often we wish for things to change, but once it has happened, there is no going back.’’

‘‘That’s what Mrs. Brandon said too.’’ Opal fought the tears that threatened to overflow. ‘‘H-he was my best friend. Why doesn’t he write to me?’’

‘‘I wish I knew.’’

‘‘Sometimes I think he may be dead, or he hates me.’’ The dam burst and she sobbed against Ruby’s shoulder. ‘‘It’s not fair. He was such a good person. Everybody liked Atticus.’’

‘‘It’s true it’s not fair.’’ Ruby stroked Opal’s hair and let her cry.

When the sobs turned to sniffles, Ruby handed Opal a handkerchief from her pocket. ‘‘Perhaps we should pray that he will write to you, to at least let you know where and how he is.’’

‘‘Would you?’’

‘‘Of course.’’ Ruby used her thumbs to smooth away the moisture under Opal’s eyes. She cocked her head. ‘‘Ah, Rand is back to playing.’’

Opal sighed. ‘‘Think I’ll go see how Per is doing.’’

‘‘I’ll do it. You go have fun.’’ Ruby headed toward the area under another tree that had been blocked off for the smallest children. Some of the older children took turns playing with the babies, while others copied those dancing for a while, then ran yelling after someone who teased them.

Opal sniffed once more, swallowed the rest of the tears, and made her way back to the table where punch filled a tin tub and Pearl stood dispensing cups of the refreshment to those who stopped by.

‘‘Hi, Opal. You want some?’’

‘‘Yes, please.’’ She took the cup and sipped, watching the dancers over the rim. Linc and Little Squirrel waved as they sashayed by.

‘‘You all right?’’

‘‘I guess.’’
Am I wearing a sign that says I’m sad?
‘‘I’d rather be home working with the horses.’’

‘‘I’m thinking the men here are just glad to be off their horses for a time.’’

‘‘Most likely.’’

‘‘Don’t you like dancing? You looked to be having a good time.’’

‘‘Miss Opal?’’

She turned to see one of the hands from the Triple Seven waiting. ‘‘Can I have this dance?’’

‘‘Sure.’’ She set her cup down. ‘‘Thanks, Pearl.’’

As she whirled into the schottische, she saw Edith standing off to the side. The look on her face matched that of a lovesick cow.

Oh-oh. I bet Mr. Chandler hasn’t been paying her enough attention
. Opal glanced around to see Mr. Chandler dancing with a young woman and laughing at something as he twirled her under his arm.
He is one fine-looking man
. The thought caught her by such surprise she missed a beat and would have stumbled but for the firm hand of the man she danced with.

The deep blue of Mr. Chandler’s shirt made his eyes seem bluer than ever, and the sun glinted on hair the color of prairie grass ready for haying. She turned away when she caught him glancing her way. When the dance ended, she headed back to the table for another drink. At a tap on her shoulder she turned, her elbow catching the midriff of the man behind her. The drink sloshed over the rim, splashed on her arm, and decorated Mr.

Chandler’s shirtfront.

‘‘Oh, sorry.’’
Ground, swallow me up. How can I be so clumsy?

With one hand he brushed off the droplets, all the while keeping his gaze on her. ‘‘Could I please have this dance?’’

‘‘I . . . ah . . .’’ She glanced down at the dark spots, traveled up over dark blue material stretched over a broad chest, past a square chin, faltered on lips that quirked a bit, leaped over a straight nose, and locked on eyes that crinkled at the outside edges, the blue of a hot summer sky, intense and yet hinting at gentleness.

‘‘Miss Torvald?’’

The sound of his voice broke her reverie. What was it he wanted?

‘‘This dance. Would you dance with me? Please.’’ The ‘‘please’’ tacked on at the end of the thought as if he’d just been reminded of his manners.

‘‘Ah, sure.’’ What in all that grew green had happened to her?
You ninny. It’s just Jacob Chandler. You’ve been trying to teach him to
rope and ride. Why are you acting so silly?

He stretched out his hand and took hers.

She allowed him to lead her out into the dancers, place one hand on her waist, and then hold her right hand in the air. The waltz plucked at her feet, and they never touched the ground until the music stopped.

‘‘Thank you. Care to dance this next one?’’

Opal nodded.

‘‘All right, all you dancers, form your squares.’’ Mr. Adams from the general store loved calling the square dances as much as the people loved dancing them. Rand on the guitar, Pearl on the piano, and one of the Triple Seven hands on the fiddle paused their playing as four couples moved to make up each square. ‘‘That’s right, folks, there’s room over here for one more pair.’’ He nodded to the musicians, and the music started up again.

Opal curtsied, swung with her partner, and promenaded around the circle. Once around and she moved to a new partner. Chaps swung her around, and the pattern continued.

‘‘You done caught that young man’s attention,’’ he told her as he swung her to his side before twirling her under an upraised hand.

Opal waited until they were close together again to ask, ‘‘Who? What?’’

Chaps winked at her as he handed her off to the next partner.

Jacob crossed his arms and did a do-si-do around his partner, all the while wondering at the swell of emotion he’d felt when waltzing with Opal. He was right. The times he’d felt that before weren’t counterfeit. Opal Torvald attracted him like no woman had since his days with Melody.

He passed his partner on to the next just in time to take Opal’s hand again. Her smile set his heart to tapping to catch up with his feet.

Today she looked far different from the horse trainer in britches, long-sleeved shirt, and no-nonsense hat. Blue and white gingham suited her, as did a full skirt and puffed sleeves with white lace around the neckline.

He caught her on the spin and tucked her under his arm for a promenade back home. Tall as she was, she just fit. He smiled into her upturned face and released her into a grand right and left back home. Surely following the complicated patterns wasn’t enough to set his heart to dancing this way.

At the end of the dance another man claimed her, and Jacob leaned back against a cottonwood trunk, the better to watch the dancers. He chuckled when he saw Joel, his face screwed up in concentration as he danced by with Ada Mae.

He wandered back over to the table and thanked the young woman pouring when she handed him a cup of punch.

‘‘I don’t think we’ve met.’’

‘‘No. I’m Jacob Chandler. I work out at the Robertsons’.’’

‘‘I’m Daisy Higgins and pleased to meet you. How do you like our badlands?’’ She handed a filled cup to someone else.

‘‘Very much. Moving here has been a good thing, even though I’m still not much of a wrangler.’’

‘‘My Charlie’s not either. Not everyone was born to sit a horse.’’ She handed a child a cup. ‘‘You’re welcome,’’ she replied to his thank-you.

Jacob lifted his cup. ‘‘Refill?’’

‘‘Sure enough.’’ She dipped out more and filled his cup. ‘‘You come on by and visit us sometime. Anyone invited you to join us for church?’’

‘‘Ah, yes. My son and I will be coming next time.’’ He almost explained that he had not come earlier due to that head injury, but instead he just nodded and turned away. Now he’d really committed himself. He followed his nose to the fire pit where half a beef was being turned on a spit. The fragrance made his mouth turn to liquid.

‘‘You want to take a turn?’’ Joe from the Harrison ranch offered.

‘‘Sure, why not?’’ Jacob took hold of the crank.

‘‘Keep it nice and slow.’’

Jacob gave the crank a turn. The sizzle of dripping fat, the flare of the coals at the grease gave him a feeling of a different space, here away from the music and dance.

‘‘Hi, Mr. Chandler, how are you?’’

The voice from behind him caught him unaware, but he recognized it well.

‘‘I’m fine, and you, Miss Robertson? I’d think you’d be over there dancing.’’

‘‘I was hoping, ah . . .’’

He gave the crank another slow turn.

‘‘Can I get you anything? Something to drink? They’ve set cookies out.’’

‘‘No thanks. I’ve got some.’’ He indicated the cup he’d set on a nearby rock.

‘‘I’m glad to see you are doing so well.’’

Guilt sizzled like the juices on the coals. ‘‘Thanks to the graciousness of you and your mother. No one has had better care. Thank you.’’ Why couldn’t he care for her? It would make things so easy.

But not if you care for another
. The small voice could hardly be heard above the dying grease drops flaring in the yellow and white coals.

Surely someone would come to relieve him soon. He turned the crank again. The fire’s flame heated his hands and face. Had he known he’d be doing this, he’d have brought his leather gloves along.
Why didn’t I talk with Cora as I had planned?

Time for brutal honesty.
Because I was uncomfortable. Lord, have
I not learned my lesson? Apparently not. I do not want to hurt this lovely
young woman, yet better a gentle hurt now than something terrible happening.
What if Mrs. Robertson asks me to leave if I bring this up? There are
other jobs, but none so perfect for both my son and me
.

‘‘Mr. Chandler?’’

‘‘Yes?’’ He kept his attention on turning the crank. It had a tendency to whip around halfway through the turn, an easy way to crack a wrist.

‘‘I . . . um . . . I could you bring you another drink if you would like.’’

‘‘Thank you, but I’m fine.’’ As soon as he said that, a thirst the size of the badlands attacked his throat.

‘‘Oh. Did I tell you about the new book I’ve been reading? It’s
David Copperfield
by Charles Dickens. I’ll be reading it to the family in the evenings now that it gets dark so early.’’

‘‘Good for you.’’

‘‘You could join us if you like. I’m sure Joel would enjoy the story too.’’

Not fair. The quicksand is sucking me down. If I stay in the bunkhouse
and send Joel, I’m being surly. If I keep him with me, he’ll miss out
on a good thing. If I go, I encourage you
.

‘‘I . . . ah . . . I guess I will see you back at the dancing.’’

‘‘Everyone seems to be having a good time.’’ He glanced over to the musicians who were tuning up again, Rand one of them.

‘‘Would you like me to ask one of the other men to take a turn there?’’

Oh, please, yes
. He wiped the running sweat from his brow and temples. ‘‘Someone will surely come by.’’

‘‘As you wish.’’ Her tone wore a touch of starch.

He watched her march back to the gathering.
Now you’ve
offended her
. He sighed. There was no winning this . . . this . . . what? It wasn’t a battle, really, but an insidious attack.

After he endured a few more wrestling matches with the crank, Beans wandered over.

‘‘Mite hot there, ain’t it?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘I better throw more wood on. The coals seem to be dyin’ some.’’

Not that I can tell
. He watched Beans stack the fire just so.

‘‘There’s an art to keeping the coals just right.’’

‘‘Looks that way.’’

‘‘You want me to take over for a bit?’’

‘‘If you’d like.’’ Jacob stepped back from the heat. ‘‘If this tastes as good as it smells, there won’t be one lick left over.’’

‘‘Folks fight over the bones even. The sweetest meat is right down on the bones.’’

‘‘You don’t say.’’ Jacob took out his handkerchief to wipe his brow and the back of his neck.

‘‘You go on and get yerself a drink. If you want some cider, that’s over to the store.’’

‘‘Cider?’’

‘‘Got a bit of a kick to it, if you know what I mean.’’

‘‘Oh.’’
I hope he means only apple cider and not the hard stuff. I’d
hate to see someone get liquored up and create a scene
. He’d heard stories of the goings-on across the river, thanks to a few local and colorful characters.

‘‘Thanks. You want me to spell you in a while?’’

‘‘Nah, you took your turn. Someone will amble on over.

Should be slicing it for supper pretty soon.’’

Jacob nodded and headed for the punch table but veered off to the public pump. Something sweet wouldn’t satisfy his thirst as well as plain water.

He pumped and drank, soaked his kerchief to mop his face and neck, drank some more, and pumped for a couple of little boys who then half-soaked themselves drinking from the spout. Within seconds he had a line of children waiting their turn, giggling and shouting to others.

Jacob resigned himself to his new duty, laughing and teasing them as they took turns. When he realized they were drinking then running to the end of the line to come up again, he let the pump handle slow to a stop.

‘‘Sorry, that’s all.’’

‘‘Please, mister. One more time.’’ The plaintive cry came from several hopeful faces.

‘‘Nope. Your mas might come after me for letting you get all wet.’’

‘‘But you washed our hands and faces too.’’

‘‘So we’re all clean for supper.’’ Two held out hands for good measure.

‘‘I’ve got a better idea. How would you like to hear a story?’’

‘‘You gots a book to read?’’

‘‘No, but some folks say I tell a good story. How about we go on over to that oak tree and sit in the shade?’’

‘‘And you’ll tell us a story?’’ The children clustered around him, dancing and giggling their delight.

‘‘What story you gonna tell?’’ One little girl took his hand, beaming up at him.

‘‘I thought perhaps . . .’’ He rubbed his chin with one finger as if deep in thought.

‘‘‘Three Billy Goats Gruff’?’’

‘‘‘Jack and the Beanstalk’?’’

‘‘How about ‘David and Goliath’?’’ He looked from upturned face to upturned face.

‘‘Is it a good story?’’

‘‘Yes, it most certainly is.’’ Jacob crossed his legs and sank to the ground, several children copying him, others just sprawling.