Pearl (7 page)
‘‘No, no.’’ Belle bellowed as the piano stopped midnote. ‘‘Cimarron, pick it up on the second beat. You’re coming in too soon.’’
‘‘I thought I counted it.’’
‘‘Let’s take it from the beginning again. Opal, honey, take a deep breath and let that high note soar.’’ The piano picked up again with Belle counting, ‘‘One, two, and . . .’’
‘‘Up from the grave he arose. . . .’’
They’d have lovely music, the rolls were baked and ready to reheat in the morning, invitations had gone out to everyone in Little Missouri and the surrounding area, the dining room gleamed from all the scrubbing, Charlie would read the Scriptures, and Opal had carefully printed fifteen copies of the hymns they would sing. They had no preacher, but there would be worship and celebration of Christ’s victory over death.
Ruby deliberately kept her mind on today. Thinking back to former Easters, in real churches with real families, brought nothing but a desire to throw herself across her bed and let the tears flow.
‘‘Ruby Signe Torvald, forget the pity production and be grateful for what you have. After all, God wants a cheerful heart. He says that’s better than medicine. So think of things to be thankful for.’’ She pulled another pan of sweet rolls from the oven. ‘‘I am thankful for this kitchen, the wood for the fire, the food we have, for enough guests to pay the bills and then some. And that all of us now have beds to sleep in, no more pallets on the floor.’’ The last made her smile. Who’d have thought that a wooden bed frame strung with ropes in a woven pattern, then padded with pallets, made a comfortable bed? Thanks to Charlie’s and Cimarron’s good hunting of duck and geese, she and Opal now had a feather bed on top of the pallet. What luxury. Having removed the rolls to cool on the table, she now spread a thin frosting on top.
Tomorrow was Easter, and it would bring the first worship service to be held in Little Missouri. Held in a former saloon, with music sung by women who’d turned from their former ways and now believed the message they sang.
Now if only a congregation will come
.
Morning dawned between capricious snowflakes, adding to the two-inch new blanket of white. A chinook wind the last few days had melted all but the drifts and banks around the buildings. The drip off icicles had sung a merry tune, but were now shut off again by the hand of winter.
Ruby entered the kitchen, tying her apron as she came. The smell of coffee had floated up the stairs and hastened her ablutions. ‘‘Christ is risen, Charlie.’’
‘‘He is risen, indeed.’’ His mustache twitched at the look on her face. ‘‘I was raised proper, Miss Ruby, even if I don’t always show it.’’
‘‘Would that all of us showed our caring as often as you. I thought I told you to take it easy this morning, that I’d start the coffee.’’
‘‘Ah, couldn’t sleep any longer. Those sweet rolls were calling my name.’’
Ruby rubbed her hands in the heat of the stove. ‘‘I thought spring had come.’’
‘‘It did, but winter had to bluster one more time. It’s about blowed out. You watch, the sun will send it packing.’’
‘‘I hope so. None of the ranchers will come in if a blizzard is blowing.’’ She popped a plate with two rolls on it into the oven, then brought a pan of cornmeal mush in from the storage room to slice for frying.
‘‘Charlie, you have a new shirt.’’
‘‘Thanks to Cimarron. That woman is a whiz with a needle.’’
‘‘Most assuredly. Would you please slice the ham?’’
‘‘Already finished. I’ll get it for you.’’ He returned from the pantry with a pan of sliced ham.
Ruby folded a dish towel and opened the oven door to take out the rolls. ‘‘Sit, and we’ll have our coffee.’’
By the time they’d cooked breakfast, served the hotel guests, moved the table into the cardroom, and lined up the chairs, time caught up with them.
They all fled to their rooms to change. Ruby snagged Opal before she escaped.
‘‘You have to rebraid your hair.’’
‘‘Ah, Ruby . . .’’
‘‘Get the brush.’’ Ruby fixed her cameo pin to the high neck of her lace-trimmed waist. She’d thought of wearing her deep red traveling outfit with the lace inset in the upper bodice. She kept it carefully brushed and covered by a sheet, the matching hat stored in her trunk. Charlie had warned her early on that it was too fancy for the likes of Little Missouri, that folks might take her for one of the fancy women instead of the nai
ve girl she used to be. Of course, according to Charlie, she still had a lot to learn of life on the frontier, but now she knew much of a life she’d never even dreamed.
With her lower lip protruding, Opal handed her the brush, at the same time finger combing out her hair. ‘‘But we gotta hurry, Ruby. You said so.’’
‘‘I know.’’ Ruby quickly brushed and braided Opal’s waist-length strawberry hair, looped the two braids together, and tied them with a plaid bow.
‘‘There, you look lovely.’’
‘‘Not like the others.’’ Opal dodged away and out the door.
‘‘Now what does that mean?’’ Ruby checked her reflection in the mirror, tucked another strand of fine hair back in her chignon, and followed Opal down the stairs. She could hear the others still dressing.
Charlie, bowtie freshly tied and a black wool vest over the new white shirt, looked every bit the gentleman he claimed not to be. His freshly trimmed walrus mustache set off the razor shine of just shaven cheeks. Charlie would never be considered handsome by anyone’s standards, but the smile that twinkled in his dark eyes created friends wherever he went.
‘‘You’re looking mighty lovely, Miss Ruby. I’m thinking this Easter will be something more special than usual.’’
‘‘Thank you, Charlie. Do you think anyone will come?’’
‘‘Don’t you be worryin’. I know Rand is coming. He said he’d be playing his guitar, and he always lives up to his word.’’
Ruby contained her snort, an action that the mention of Rand always brought forth. Why was it that everyone else thought so highly of the man when she always wanted to whack him in the kneecaps, send him out to play with his cows, catch him dribbling on his chin, anything to take the edge off his perfection? And to think he’d had the gall to ask her to marry him, without courtship, or even a hint of his intentions. And then he had acted affronted when she’d told him exactly what she thought of his proposal. To top it all off, ever since then, he’d acted like nothing ever happened.
What unmitigated gall!
The bell tinkled over the front door.
Ruby made sure a smile lifted the corners of her mouth before she pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen and entered the polished dining room, now set up for church.
Rand Harrison, hat pulled low against the wind, sheepskin coat darkened on the shoulders by snowmelt, and carrying his guitar case, blew through the front door. He set his Stetson on a nearby table, hung his coat on the hall tree, and laid his case on a table to lift out his guitar.
‘‘Mornin’ Miss Torvald. Blustery day out there.’’
‘‘Happy Easter, Mr. Harrison. Thank you for coming.’’
‘‘Happy Easter, Mr. Harrison.’’ With the lilt in Opal’s voice, even Ruby could hear the difference in the greeting.
Opal gazed up at him with something close to hero worship. After all, he owned horses, horses that could be ridden. ‘‘Is Mr. Beans coming?’’
‘‘My men are putting the horses up at the livery in case the weather turns nasty. Hate for them to stand out in a wind like this. Mrs. Robertson and her family are almost here.’’
Ah, good. There will be someone here besides the residents of Dove
House
.
‘‘Rand, how good to see you.’’ Belle’s gravelly voice came from behind Ruby, along with the greetings from the rest of the Dove House staff.
As soon as Ruby turned to ask Cimarron a question she clapped a hand to her throat and felt her smile slipping. ‘‘You can’t wear th-those . . .’’Her voice squeezed to a squeak.
All she could see was bosoms.
Ruby quickly turned her back on the women as she struggled for something to say.
‘‘My, ladies, don’t you look lovely.’’ Rand might well have tipped his hat, had it not been resting on a table in the rear.
I’m going to
. . . Killing him was not appropriate, but even the thought was immensely satisfying. Instead she sucked in a breath, turned back to the girls, and said in her most gentle and strangled voice, ‘‘Oh my, I . . . uh, I . . . perhaps you, I mean, I believe you might want to return upstairs and change your, uh, ah . . .’’—she tried again—‘‘garments.’’
‘‘But, Ruby, you said to wear your best clothes, and these are their best,’’ Opal hissed under her breath. She stared at her older sister, at the same time clenching and opening her fists at her sides.
‘‘I-I’m sorry I was not more clear.’’ Ruby rubbed her hands on the sides of her skirt. ‘‘I . . .’’
‘‘She means, wear your good wool skirts and those downright lovely waists that Cimarron sewed for everyone.’’ Charlie stepped in between Ruby and the wounded faces before him. He dropped his voice. ‘‘You look lovely, all of you. It’s just, well, you know.’’
‘‘I shoulda known better.’’ Belle glared at no one in particular, spun on her heel, and like a mother duck led her brood from whence they came.
Ruby stared after them.
How could you be so thoughtless,
she scolded herself.
Of course they would wear their best dresses, those
brighter than butterfly dresses that scream out their former occupation.
You know you wanted to wear your brick red traveling dress when you
visited the townspeople, and only Charlie’s adamant advice kept you from
that mistake
.
But why do you let those old biddies here in town who won’t even talk
to each other dictate what goes on here at Dove House? Who made them
more perfect than us?
She rubbed the spot between her eyebrows that was beginning to ache.
‘‘Sorry, miss, I shoulda seen that coming,’’ Charlie said in an undertone.
‘‘That was not kind.’’ Opal slit her eyes. ‘‘And you tell me we must always be kind.’’
‘‘I know.’’ Ruby sighed and shot Charlie a pleading look. ‘‘But I just want the other women to like them.’’
‘‘How can they like them when they don’t come to visit? Mrs. Robertson likes us and them too. And she’s nicer’n anyone in town.’’
Ruby sighed again. ‘‘What do I do? All I wanted was for us all to have a happy Easter.’’ Was that compassion she saw in Rand’s gaze? No, it couldn’t be. He must be laughing inside even if he has better manners than to show it. Why couldn’t he have come later?
‘‘Nothing now.’’ Charlie glanced to the door at the tinkle of the bell. Mr. and Mrs. Paddock, who owned the livery, closed the door behind them and shook the traces of snow off their clothing.
Charlie strode across the room, greeting the newcomers and inviting them to sit wherever they wanted. Church would be starting in just a few minutes.
‘‘You going to sing with me?’’ Rand asked Opal.
‘‘Uh-huh. We all sound real pretty.’’ Opal put special emphasis on
all
.
Ruby laid a hand on Opal’s shoulder, hoping to calm her sister.
‘‘Well, we do.’’ Opal’s look showed pure frustration.