Summer of Promise (18 page)

“May I have another dance?” Oliver asked as the set came to a close.

“And risk your toes?” Abigail shook her head. “I’m afraid not. My sister told me that etiquette says a lady may not dance more than once with a man unless they’re married or engaged to be married.” Though she had apparently flouted convention by speaking to Leah, Abigail wasn’t willing to break any rules tonight.

Oliver shrugged as if he’d expected her refusal. “Then there’s no problem. All you need to do is agree to marry me.” He took a step away from her and placed his hand on his heart. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. And yet instead of sparkling with mirth, Oliver’s eyes appeared serious. Abigail took a deep breath and began to recite the words she’d tried to drum into her pupils’ memory. “As greatly honored as I am by your proposal, I fear I must . . .”

A frown marred Oliver’s face. “You don’t have to continue. I can tell that your answer is no.” He gave her an appraising look. “I know I took you by surprise. Next time will be different. You’ll learn that I don’t give up easily.”

Before Abigail could reply, Ethan stood at her side, ready to claim his turn as her partner.

“She refused me,” Oliver announced as he headed toward Charlotte.

Ethan fixed his eyes on Abigail, and she saw a hint of amusement in them. “What did he do, ask you for a second dance?”

“That was part of it. He also proposed marriage, although I doubt he was serious.”

As the fiddler began to play, Ethan drew her into his arms. “He was serious. Oliver is always serious when he falls in love. The problem is, he falls in love every time an unmarried woman comes to the fort, and he falls out of love just as quickly.”

“I thought so.” Abigail smiled as she whirled across the makeshift dance floor in Ethan’s arms. Though there had been moments of awkwardness with Oliver and she’d been conscious of the unevenness of the canvas beneath her feet, now Abigail felt as if she were floating an inch or so above the surface. Suddenly, the fact that she was dancing on canvas rather than polished wood and that mosquitoes buzzed nearby seemed like an adventure, not an accommodation to the realities of life on an Army post.

As the dance steps took them to the perimeter of the floor, Abigail saw Oliver smiling at Charlotte. “If I’m not mistaken,” she told Ethan, “Lieutenant Seton has recovered from his disappointment.”

“Fickle man.” Ethan tightened his grip on her hand when they reached the edge of the canvas. “I would never be so callow.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never fallen out of love.” A man as handsome as Ethan Bowles had to have had at least one sweetheart.

“It’s the truth,” he insisted. “How could I fall out of love when I’ve never fallen in?”

Though his words were light, Abigail sensed there was more to the story than he’d told, but now was not the time to ask. Instead, she matched his casual tone. “That is a definite problem.”

“And one you don’t share.”

“Oh no.” Abigail feigned a serious expression. “When I was eight years old, I was convinced that the grocer’s delivery boy—he was all of ten years old and a grown man in my eyes—was my knight in shining armor.”

The darkness had fled from Ethan’s eyes, leaving them sparkling with mirth. “And then what happened?”

“He gave Charlotte a bouquet of dandelions.” Abigail blinked her eyes as if trying to restrain her tears. “My heart was broken . . . for at least a day.”

As she’d hoped, Ethan laughed.

Ethan stood at the side of the parade ground, watching the dancers take their places, looking at the sky and trying to judge how long it would be before the fireworks began. He had no other dances promised. Not only were there too many men, but he didn’t enjoy dancing . . . except with Abigail. She was unlike any woman he’d met—smart, caring, and not afraid to laugh at herself. If he were a marrying man, which he most definitely was not, she would be the type of woman he’d want for a wife. And, even if he were a marrying man, there was Woodrow.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Oliver’s voice held the same fatuous tone it had when he’d declared himself in love with Miss Smyth, the post’s newest laundress.

Though he knew the answer to the question, Ethan couldn’t help teasing Oliver. “Isn’t who wonderful?”

Oliver’s eyes widened, as if the answer should be apparent. “Miss Harding. Abigail. She’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.”

Ethan wouldn’t disagree with that assessment, even though he could not imagine Abigail as Mrs. Oliver Seton. “You think she’s wonderful even though she refused you?”

“She’ll change her mind. I know she will. I tell you, Ethan, she’s the woman for me, even if she’s not as beautiful as her sister.”

Ethan blinked in surprise. “You think Charlotte’s prettier than Abigail?”

Oliver nodded. “Any man with eyes can see that, but Jeffrey spotted her first. Lucky man. Abigail’s next best.”

The thought of Abigail as second best made Ethan clench his fists. Charlotte had a head filled with air. She would never have tried to help him out of the doldrums as Abigail had done, for she would not have even known he had sunk into the mire. Second best? Hah!

“You’re crazy, Oliver. Anyone can see that Abigail’s twice the woman Charlotte is. I’m not denying that Charlotte is pretty, but Abigail is in a class of her own.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Ethan. “It sounds like you’re interested in her yourself.”

Ridiculous. The thought was absurd. “Of course I’m not. I’m only pointing out the facts.”

“I’m warning you, Ethan. You may outrank me, but you’d better not be setting your sights on Miss Harding, because I aim to marry her.” Without waiting for a reply, Oliver stalked away.

Ethan frowned. There was no reason Oliver’s words should have left a sour taste in his mouth. After all, neither of them would be marrying Abigail Harding. So, why did Ethan care that Oliver seemed so determined to woo her? It was foolishness, plain and simple.

Ethan walked around the perimeter of the parade ground. He wasn’t looking for Abigail. He simply needed something to do until the dancing ended. He didn’t care if she was dancing. He didn’t even care if she granted Oliver a second dance. It didn’t matter. But, though he told himself he didn’t care, Ethan’s eyes searched the makeshift dance floor, looking for a beautiful woman in a red, white, and blue dress.

There she was. Ethan felt the blood drain from his face. What on earth was she doing now?

The man was unhappy. While the others who weren’t dancing gathered in groups, talking, gesturing, and appearing to be having a good time, this one stood alone, his back to the crowd, his slumped shoulders betraying his feelings. Abigail frowned when he turned slightly and she recognized him as the soldier who had helped her in the stable. Corporal Keller. He’d been outgoing that day, and now something had made him morose. Unbidden, the thought of desertion planted itself in Abigail’s mind. Surely the corporal wasn’t planning to leave the Army, and yet . . . Ethan had said that several of the most recent deserters had been German-speaking. One of the would-be stagecoach robbers had been of German descent. Could it be that Corporal Keller planned to join them?

Fixing a smile on her face, Abigail approached the soldier. “I wonder if I could ask a favor of you.” As he turned, a startled expression on his face, she continued. “It seems I have no partner for this dance. I know it’s horribly forward of me, but would you keep me company?” She wouldn’t dance with him, for that would cause Charlotte to frown, but surely there were no regulations forbidding an officer’s sister-in-law from talking to an enlisted man.

Corporal Keller nodded. “
Ja
, I vould be honored.”

As they walked a short distance away, Abigail smiled at the corporal. “Are you enjoying the celebration?” Since she’d spoken to him, he appeared to have dismissed whatever had been bothering him. Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he had had only a moment of melancholy and hadn’t been considering anything as drastic as desertion.

He wrinkled his nose in feigned annoyance. “It vould have been better if my mule had been slower.” He had taken second place in the slow mule contest. “But it has been a good day.”

Abigail thought about the day, trying to recall what she had seen the corporal doing. “You had to translate instructions for some of the men, didn’t you?”

“
Ja.
I mean yes. They vant to learn to speak better, but it is hard.”

“Why? I understood that the garrison has classes for the men as well as the children.”

“
Ja
, but . . .” The corporal’s expression sobered. “The teacher is not very patient. He makes a man feel like a
Dummkopf
.”

Abigail’s frown matched Corporate Keller’s. “That’s terrible. No teacher should do that.”

“He is the best we have. Better than no one at all. That is vat I tell the others. Ve learn something.”

“What does he teach you?”

“History and arithmetic.”

“But not English?”

“No.” Corporal Keller opened his mouth as if to add something, but as the music changed, so did his whole demeanor. The sparkle left his eyes, and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Abigail might not have noticed it, had she not seen him standing alone before.

“Is something wrong?” she asked softly.

For a moment she thought he might not respond, but at last he said, “It’s the music. It reminds me of Marta.” When Abigail raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue, he said, “She is my girl back home. The last time I danced vas vith her, and this vas the song the fiddler played.”

“When was that?”

“Almost a year ago. Ve vanted to get married before I enlisted, but her father said ve had to vait. Now I save every penny to bring her out here as my bride. It is lonely vithout her.”

Abigail suspected Corporal Keller’s story was shared by others. Enlisted men’s pay was barely enough to sustain a single man, much less a family, and unlike the officers, who had more freedom, enlisted men could not marry without permission. Loneliness was a fact of life.

“I understand. There’s a man waiting for me back in Vermont.” Abigail closed her eyes briefly, but the image she conjured was not Woodrow. Instead she pictured a tall blond man with blue eyes. Ethan.

He was waiting when the dance ended, his lips pressed in a tight line, his eyes filled with what appeared to be anger. “Did you have a nice time with Corporal Keller?”