The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  “If you decided to move to town, the house would be yours,” Frisco said to Caroline. If she didn’t feel any compassion for him, maybe she’d pity this family. “Think of it, Miss Adams. Instead of lonely evenings by the river, you could live in this exciting metropolis.”

  She lowered her eyes. Frisco hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable in front of his friends, but if she would only consider . . .

  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

  And that must be his cue. Millie remained bent over the kettle, stirring it aimlessly. Caroline stayed on his far side, nearly hidden as well. But the conversation had run its course.

  “I’ll be back after dark,” Frisco said. “There’s a social we’re expected to attend, so don’t wait up for me.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” Patrick said.

  The sun lingered over the tops of the tents and house frames that spread for a half mile. The air had cooled and turned crisp. Caroline would want his jacket before the evening was over, and Frisco would be happy to loan it to her, if she’d take it. Had he pushed her too hard? If her silence was the product of guilt, then he might have miscalculated. She wouldn’t become enamored with someone who made her feel ashamed.

  The lot next to the bank’s brick wall had been set aside for the city offices, but tonight it was a dance floor. Chairs had been placed around the edges of the lot—Frisco wondered if the chairs were leased—and a rope stretched across the side bordering the street to make a barrier. Having been on the wrong side of that barrier for most of his life, Frisco teetered between pride and annoyance. Yes, he was finally included, but so many worthy men weren’t. Well, one had to start somewhere. He’d use his influence for the best.

  Before they found the gateway through the rope, they were stopped by a man wearing a striped shirt and knickers.

  “How about a commemorative photograph with the lady?” he asked. “Years from now you can boast to your children that you were at the first ball of Plainview.”

  “We’re not married,” Caroline said. “He’s only escorting—”

  “But a photograph would be a novelty,” said Frisco. “Don’t you want a memory of tonight?”

  In all his life, Frisco had only had two photographs taken of him. Once when he was a toddler and they were trying to place him with a family, and the second time when he’d posed with a group of boomers for a Kansas paper sympathetic to their plight. Yet people of his class—or at least the class he aspired to be a member of—had pictures of themselves in their homes. Framed proof of their significance.

  Caroline’s gaze traveled toward the music and the dancing couples. She smiled. “You’re right. Why not, indeed?”

  “If I may impose, is my cravat straight? Any red dirt from my work on the roof?”

  Caroline did a slow appraisal of him. She gently brushed off one shoulder and then, grasping his neckcloth with both hands, gave it a slight tug sideways. “You look dashing, Mr. Smith.”

  “I was aiming for respectable.”

  “You are respectable, but that doesn’t mean you must look it, right?” She met and held his gaze.

  She was no longer protected by her tender age. Did she think she was safely out of his reach? That she could flirt with impunity and nothing would come of it?

  A reckless desire ran through him. He grinned. “Let’s get a photo and be a part of history.”

  A painted canvas was pegged to the side of the photographer’s wagon, and an oriental carpet was spread on the grass beneath. He had two braziers lighting up the mountain scene painted on the canvas. Caroline stood next to the Grecian column, and Frisco stood tall and straight next to her.

  “Angle toward each other,” the photographer directed. “Yes, that’s it.”

  “I’ve never posed for a picture with anyone outside of my family,” Caroline said, trying not to move her lips.

  “I’ve never posed with any family,” Frisco replied. He tilted his hat up so the flash wouldn’t shade his eyes.

  “All right now, on the count of three I’ll pull the cord,” the photographer said. “Be ready. It’s bright when it blows.”

  Caroline was prepared. Shoulders back, chin lifted, and hands folded sedately, she knew the proper pose, but her lips curled with a hint of a confident smile. He wasn’t as sure how he was supposed to look, but he turned to the camera’s glass eye and prayed that he didn’t look too out of place next to this beautiful woman.

  The flash was blinding. Frisco squeezed his eyes closed, but a purple cloud filled his vision.

  “One more picture,” the photographer called.

  With a grimace, Frisco resumed his station, and this time the flash wasn’t as painful. When the photographer thanked them, he knew they should leave, but all he could make out were the braziers burning on either side of them.

  He felt Caroline’s hand on his arm. “I’ve never had that done at night,” she laughed. “Can you see?”

  “Not a thing.” He took her arm. “Blind leading the blind?”

  She leaned on him, bumping against his arm as she missed a step. “He said the picture will help us remember the event, but we’re going to be incapable of actually seeing it, much less dancing.”

  The big blob of color in his vision was fading, as was her melancholy. They’d stumbled somewhere out of the way, but Frisco kept up a hand so they wouldn’t trip over the boundary rope. He couldn’t help but join her laughter when he thought of how ridiculous he must look. Making a good impression was his first aim, and here he was, blinded and helpless.

  But they were having fun.

  “It’s getting better,” Caroline said. “I can see people, just not their faces.”

  “I hope we’re not introduced to anyone before the faces come back.” But through the purple blot, he could see the hint of devilment in her eyes. “There, I think I’m ready now.”

  “I’ll follow your lead.” Although she didn’t release his arm, she straightened for a more formal entrance.

  It was no more than a grassy lot, but the participants walked about with the pride of a ballroom, or at least that was what Frisco figured, since he’d never been to a ballroom. A trimmed and combed gent stopped fiddling with his cuff links when they approached.

  “Your names?” he asked.

  “Mr. Frisco Smith and Miss Adams,” Frisco said.

  “I don’t know—”

  Caroline leaned forward. “By invitation of Deputy McFarland.”

  “Oh, Mr. McFarland told you to come?” He lifted the rope that stretched between two chairs. “C’mon in, then.”

  Frisco had to admit, Caroline’s artfully timed interjection was more successful than the challenge he’d been fixing to issue. But once inside, Frisco knew how to meet the right people. Or at least he thought he did. Mr. Feldstein made introductions nicely enough, but he might as well be leaning for the weight of the chip on his shoulder. Anthony Bledsoe, the new mayor, kept looking at the top of Frisco’s head as if trying to measure who was taller—Bledsoe was—and Melvin Sorenson asked him twice where he got his suit made and if he knew a good tailor in the territory.

  But word had already gotten around about Miss Adams. Instead of offensive challenges, she was met with deferential questions about her father’s health and what it was like to grow up surrounded by the reservations.

  Caroline answered graciously but adroitly turned the conversation to current matters. “What did you say your profession was, Mr. Feldstein? Oh my, another federal deputy? How did you go from blacksmithing to law enforcement? Mr. Sorenson, you don’t have a horse? However did you get here in time to claim a lot on foot? The Premiers of Plainview, that’s what people are calling you? How quaint. Yes, Mr. Bledsoe, please introduce me to your wife. I’m quite an admirer of the arts. Perhaps we could arrange a musical evening soon.”

  Caroline set them at ease, while Frisco only ruffled feathers. It was no wonder that he and Caroline parted ways early in the evening, but after a discussion on the levying o
f fines for gambling in the street grew dull, Frisco approached her with an offering of raspberry punch in his hand.

  Caroline rose from the bench of ladies when she saw him coming. The burning braziers behind her shadowed her face, but her red hair caught every fiery hue. No wonder heads turned when she walked by. Not everyone knew her pedigree, but her beauty was evident.

  She cradled the cup in her hands. “Has your time been beneficial?”

  Terrific. He’d gone from valuing her for her connections to evaluating her on her appearance. But he couldn’t have his head turned. He had to remember how much he stood to lose. A true relationship with her was off-limits.

  “Do you want to dance?” he asked. Frisco had always had a hard time observing limits.

  “That’s why I came.” Caroline set her drink down on a nearby barrel. “The festivities are nearly over, and I haven’t accomplished anything.”

  Oh, but she had. She’d gotten him past the first awkward introductions and established him as someone with connections and class. With Miss Adams at his side, he was respected and envied. The association would get him into the circles he longed to move in years before he could have earned the right on his own. He owed her a dance or two.

  If only he knew how to dance.

  “Shall we wait until the next song begins?” he asked. He needed a few minutes to figure this out. He watched as the couples moved gracefully over the ground, alternating steps but doubling up on the third. The primary objective seemed to be to show off the lady’s dress and avoid collisions with other couples. Frisco might get the steps wrong, but if the song was slow enough, he could figure it out as he went.

  His attention shifted from the dancers’ feet to the dancers themselves. So these elegant people were the upper echelons of Plainview? How fascinating that they’d been thrown together and were now finding their place. Many claimed to have been leaders from their hometowns, proving that even though the city was new, there was no such thing as an even playing field in life. Whether by experience, talent, funds, or desire, these people were destined to guide the city through its infancy until it was ready to stand proud in the new land. And if robbed of his own plot, Frisco would be a leader here.

  “Y’all grab your favorite girl, because we’re going to stop with the sleepy music and play something to wake you up.” The speaker was Bill Matthews, the councilman-come-lately. “We have the best caller west of St. Louis here tonight. The band will kick it up, and we’ll get to toe-tappin’.”

  Hearing the fiddle player break into a lively tune, the spectators on the other side of the rope crowded forward, while the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen moved away from the center. Frisco took Caroline’s hand to lead her away. He knew a jig or two and could do some stomping with the best of them, but Caroline, like the other fine ladies, wouldn’t approve. It was a pity. The music was good, the air festive . . .

  “You promised me a dance,” Caroline said.

  “It’s a barn dance. Do you know—”

  “How to do-si-do and promenade? Those enlisted men danced every week, and they don’t like to waltz with each other.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe you don’t know how. . . .”

  Frisco took off his hat and tossed it onto the barrel. “Try me.”

  Matthews and his wife had taken the floor. His daughter had found a partner, and the Sorensons joined them. Four couples.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested this,” Matthews said, “but it seemed a more fitting kind of dance for the people I represent on the council.”

  “You did the right thing,” Caroline assured him as they formed a circle. “This will be great fun.”

  And it was. Frisco and Caroline stood across from each other. Her shoulders bounced as if hammered by the rhythm of the music. The light reflected off the sheen of her dress as her skirt snapped in the wind. Mr. Matthews and his wife skipped to the middle and joined hands. Frisco could only catch glimpses of Caroline as the couple spun between them. The finery Caroline wore didn’t seem to fit the folksy outdoor music, but her vivaciousness couldn’t be contained indoors.

  Matthews and his wife parted, and Frisco and Caroline danced toward each other. They spun so quickly that if his hands had slipped, they both would have fallen on the ground. He held fast. They didn’t fall. Her smile remained clear while the people behind them blurred into bright colors.

  He’d once seen her riding bareback, streaking toward the fort with her hair flying out behind her. It had surprised him, because she’d always seemed jaded, on her guard lest her dignity be questioned. But that glimpse showed him an unbridled side of her that he hadn’t suspected. And here, her mouth open, head thrown back, stomping her heels against the soft grass field as they paired off for another promenade, he saw the same woman who longed to live life to the fullest instead of being constrained by convention. The kind of woman who would make a death-defying run in a race and then hold on to the land she’d won by her fingernails, even if it was certainly hopeless that she would ever succeed.

  Frisco caught her around the waist and held her to his side for their next revolution. Despite the scented powder she wore, her fair complexion glowed pink from the exertion. The fiddler increased the tempo. Mr. and Mrs. Sorenson were huffing to keep up with the steps. Mrs. Matthews finally stepped out of the set with a hand against her bosom, leaning on her husband’s arm.

  Caroline didn’t falter. Frisco lengthened his stride so they covered more ground with each rotation. Without pause, she matched him, their bodies moving in tandem. Her skirts flew as he spun her, then switched sides to spin counter to the clock. Her nimble feet didn’t lag as the crowd shouted their encouragement. Her eyes flashed. Her hair dampened against her neck. His own suit felt confining.

  This time her feet left the ground as Frisco turned her. She had both hands on his shoulders, her face below his, and then she was gone for another quick sashay as the set rounded to a close.

  They’d somehow found their original positions opposite each other. The woman standing across from him looked nothing like the one he’d taken a photograph with earlier. Her dress had been impressive then, but now . . . now no one would even notice what she wore. Her clothing was inconsequential compared to her beauty. Just like the bright light of the flash pan had temporarily blinded him, his own breath dulled his hearing. Gradually he became aware of the crowd cheering them on. Remembering their audience, Frisco bowed gallantly to his lady. Caroline swept her gown to the side and curtsied, then came toward him with her hand extended.

  She was still winded. So was he, but not so tired that he couldn’t take her hand.

  “That was fun,” he said. “We need to do this every night.”

  “I agree. Forget the cares of the world—”

  “Mr. Smith, that was quite a show,” Deputy McFarland said. Mayor Bledsoe and the banker had joined them as well. “You and Miss Adams are adept at winning the admiration of the crowd, and that’s a useful skill.”

  The crowd? At that moment, Frisco wanted to be alone with Caroline more than anything.

  “Mr. Smith has always been a persuasive leader.” If heightened color could give an opinion more credibility, Caroline’s word was as good as gold. “He has a sense for what the common man wants, and he knows how to get it for them.” Breathless praise, perhaps only because she was catching her breath.

  “That’s what I was just telling Mr. Bledsoe.” McFarland pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his uncrumpled suit and dabbed at invisible perspiration on his forehead. “We are certainly glad you’ve decided to get involved in Plainview. The both of you are an asset.”

  Frisco darted a sideways look at her. None of his campaigning had ever been so successful, or so enjoyable.

  For the last week at her homestead, she’d felt so alone, so isolated, but tonight had been a night of dreams. The spirit she’d tried to hide in Galveston and the skills that were useless at the fort had come to her aid when she’d needed them.

  Lea
ving the glow of a hundred campfires behind them, Caroline and Frisco set off across the dark prairie to her home in the hill. The new moon shed no light on their way, but the clear sky gave them stars by the millions. And in her opinion, each of them twinkled.

  “I can’t tell if I’m exhausted or exhilarated.” Caroline hopped over a rabbit warren that she’d barely seen coming.

  “What’s the difference?” Frisco asked.

  “Whether I think I could do it some more,” she said.

  He grinned and took her hand. Higher and higher he swung it while they walked, until it was high enough that she could pass beneath his arm for another spin.

  “Knowing how irrepressible you are, I should’ve guessed that you’d dance like a fury,” he said after her pirouette.

  “Knowing how persistent you are, I should’ve figured that you’d dance until they dragged you off the floor.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and motioned for him to pass under the arch. He scrunched down to fit, bumping against her side as he twisted through. Emerging, he threw his arm out wide and spun around to swoop her up against himself.

  This was no longer a dance. Her feet were back on terra firma, and she was in his arms, held against his warmth. Wind whistling over the grass was the only music they swayed to now, rocking each other gently. The cool night air caressed her bare arms as they stretched up around his neck. An auburn curl caught the wind and teased his face.

  At the dance, Caroline had thrown caution to the wind. She’d ridden the excitement wherever it had led, but it was leading somewhere definite now. Or was that what Frisco wanted her to think?

  “Caroline?”

  She’d heard the same tone from the swains in Galveston, but she hadn’t expected Frisco to be able to mimic it so precisely.

  “You’re calling me Caroline now?” She tilted her head back and wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s why Father always cautioned me against robust dancing. ‘It leads to familiarity,’ he said.” She stepped away, vaguely aware that her inhibitions were fading. But as long as she remembered the consequences of letting down her guard . . .