Imitations of a Lady

by Kate Marie Clark

  Jesse stood and made for the door.

  “I expect you for dinner at seven o clock, precisely,” Mrs. Davis called. When her grandson said nothing in reply, she turned to Cora. “Jesse, like all the men around here, is habitually late, and there is nothing that grates more upon my nerves than perpetual tardiness.”

  Cora nodded. “Most assuredly.”

  “Now, tell me about your reading. Have you picked up any new novels?” Mrs. Davis asked. She scowled, speaking before Cora had a chance to answer. “My eyes prohibit me from the pastime. I miss it dreadfully. You’ll have to become my eyes—perhaps a reading each morning?”

  Cora smiled, grateful she’d avoided answering the first question. She hadn’t read since school, over seven years ago. “A morning read is just what I desire. Is there a particular book you’d prefer to start with?”

  Mrs. Davis lifted her chin and raised a brow. “Anything would do. I’ve been deprived of culture. Wasn’t Shakespeare your favorite?”

  “Yes,” Cora said much too quickly. Shakespeare? It sounded vaguely familiar, but she wasn’t certain. However, Mrs. Davis’s attentions continued to bear down on her, so Cora shook her head, pressing a finger to her lips. “Never has a man better captured the human experience. I think I would like his books to be buried beside me when I die.” The words slipped out; she sounded ridiculous! Cora’s cheeks burned. Her acting needed improvement—and soon.

  Mrs. Davis’s eyes narrowed. “You think? I hadn’t thought you so dramatic. In any case, you’ll find his plays in the library—just off the dining room. It’s a small room, I admit, but I pride myself in keeping the best books the mercantile has to offer. Pick whichever of his plays you wish to start with.”

  Cora clenched her jaw. She’d have to claim an early evening if she was to perform such a task with even remote satisfaction.

  Chapter 6

  “What d’ya think of Grams’s new companion?” Jesse asked his older brother.

  Eric shifted his weight in the saddle and shrugged. His blue eyes squinted against the morning sun. “Miss Williams is pretty enough—I’ll give her that.”

  “She spoke hardly two words. Don’t you find that odd?”

  “Not particularly,” Eric said, patting his horse. They’d started the morning early, moving the calves to a new pasture. “Seems she was only nervous. My Christine thought her sweet enough.”

  Christine thought everyone sweet. It was more a reflection of Christine than Miss Williams. “That, or Miss Williams is hiding something,” Jesse said. He’d wondered as much after the boot incident. Miss Williams had gone from familiar to distant, genuine to a high-and-mighty lady. Even her voice had changed from loud to soft.

  Eric shook his head. “Ain’t likely. Grams invited her, and goodness sake, Jesse—it’s Eleanor’s niece. Miss Williams don’t have a reason to be here except for Grams. Besides, everyone has their secrets.”

  Jesse took a slow breath. His brother was a good judge of character, and his words made sense. There was no reason for Miss Williams to be anything other than what she claimed.

  “You think you’re in danger of growing sweet on her?” Eric asked.

  Jesse’s head shot up. “Sweet on Miss Williams?” He sniggered. “Hardly. She ain’t no different than Miss Clemens.”

  Anabelle Clemens had been chasing after Jesse since last fall when she moved here. But like Miss Williams, Anabelle was more concerned about dresses and books than anything of consequence.

  Eric chewed on a piece of grass, surveying his younger brother. “Maybe. But maybe not. Miss Clemens wants a piece of Northwind Range, or at least her daddy does.”

  Jesse watched the last of the herd scramble to the pasture, his younger brother Jude at the tail. “I reckon I better look for the strays,” Jesse said, not wanting to discuss Miss Williams any longer. He kicked his heels, sending his horse into a gallop.

  Jesse retraced his path from the overgrown pasture to the barren one, looking for any sign of strays. Sometimes the cows would get their head stuck in a split tree, other times in a dip along the ground. Once in a while, Jesse would find a cow on the other side of the mountain. How the animal traversed the mountainside was a mystery—they were fearful, timid creatures, always looking for direction and someone to lead them. Similar to the ‘fragile’ and ‘mannerly’ ladies Jesse had met, and the type of woman Grams had declared Miss Williams to be.

  Boko, the ever-faithful sheepdog, barked at Jesse’s feet, then spun in a circle.

  “You find one?” Jesse asked, pulling the reins to the left. “Show me the way.”

  The dog led him through the pasture and down by the creek brush, switching back and forth to make sure Jesse followed. When Jesse had stopped at the edge of the water, he spied the stray, though it was no cow. Miss Williams stood twenty feet from the creek, leaning over a twisted tree branch, reciting the words of the book in front of her.

  What in tarnation was she doing out here—this early and miles from the house? He took the horse across the water, splashing as he went, and consequently catching Miss Williams’s attention.

  She startled and turned. She planted her feet and raised her arms in defense. Her expression was anything but that of a scared woman. Her lips curled in anticipation, and her eyes narrowed in focus. When her gaze met Jesse’s, she sighed, and her arms fell to her sides. She stepped closer.

  “Morning,” Jesse said, tipping his hat. “Just me, no cow rustler out to ‘nap’ you.”

  Miss Williams’s chest rose and fell, her cheeks turning red. “Mr. Davis,” she said, clutching the book to her chest. “Good morning.”

  He gestured to Boko. “The dog warned me of a stray, so I came to see what all his fuss was about. Now, I see it’s you. What are you doing, Miss Williams, so far from the house? You must be three miles from home. And so early? I was under the impression you were a lady,” he said, smirking.

  Her lips twitched, but she gave a curt nod and strange smile. “I take morning walks. My doctor assures me the fresh air is beneficial to my health. And as you have so much land to explore, I thought I might practice my recitation here, before I meet with your dear grandmother.”

  Jesse laughed and shook his head. “There you go again calling Grams dear. What are you about, Miss Williams?”

  Her smile fell flat, and she placed a hand on her hips. “Pardon me, Mr. Davis?”

  Challenge shot from her gaze, as quick as a bullet, and Jesse’s interest in this strange woman grew. She was as pretty as his brother Eric declared, but there was something else behind those light eyes. Mystery? Amusement? Anger?

  “I take my readings very seriously,” she said, lifting her chin. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have two more pages of practice, and your grandmother will be expecting me soon. Please allow me a moment of privacy, Mr. Davis.” She turned from him and opened her book once more.

  Jesse’s jaw dropped. She’d sent him away? Surely she was teasing. No woman had rejected him so openly. “I can escort you back to Grams, if you wish,” he said, patting the horse’s mane. “You could sit atop old Ginger, and I can lead you back to the house. Three miles is quite far for a lady in such monstrous, tortuous inventions.” He grinned. If she didn’t laugh at that, she had no humor in the slightest.

  She held up her hand without so much as turning to face him. “Privacy, Mr. Davis.”

  The nerve. He kicked his horse with more gusto than usual, and water splashed behind him.

  A lone scream halted his efforts.

  Jesse turned back and witnessed the devil’s fury. Her hair dripped with water, and a large portion of her skirt was soaked wet. She gasped, frantically wiping at the pages of her book.

  “Ruined!” she shouted. “What shall I take to read to your grandmother now?”

  He hadn’t meant to get her wet, and her anger was to be expected, but Miss Williams was upset about the book and not her dress or hair? Jesse bit back a smile. He’d cracked her rigid exterior. He reckoned the woman beneath
was much more palatable. “You’ll find a replacement in that library of hers. There’s shelves full of the blasted things. Perhaps you’d like that ride back to the house now?”

  Her gaze shot to his. Miss Williams’s eyes were hard as flint, though light as the morning sun. There was challenge and anger gleaming back at him, and…was that fear? Jesse’s smile fell. What did she have to be afraid of?

  “No thank you,” she said before pressing her lips into a hard line. “I shall return directly, without any more of your help.” She lifted her skirt and crossed the creek one stepping stone at a time, navigating with surprising ease.

  Jesse turned his horse and called after her. “My apologies.”

  She didn’t turn around again.

  Chapter 7

  Jesse Davis. Of their two interactions, he’d either caught her in a mishap or caused one. Water squished between her toes with each step she took, but she refused to allow that man to help her to the house.

  Not after how hard he’d made her day. She’d spent two hours the previous night, and two this morning, rehearsing the Shakespeare reading until it sounded convincing. But now—water had transformed a good chunk of the pages to a soggy mess. At least the first three scenes were still dry. Twelfth Night would have to settle for one day, until the rest could be dried and repaired.

  Cora made it to the house in just under an hour. Judging by the sun alone, she had to hurry. It’d take every moment she had left to fix her hair and dress before going down for breakfast. “There is nothing that grates more upon my nerves than perpetual tardiness,” Mrs. Davis had said. Blast that Jesse Davis!

  Cora quickened to her room and changed, making it to the breakfast table only moments before Mrs. Davis.

  “My, good to see one of my household is on time for breakfast. I tell you, the men won’t be here for another twenty minutes, if we’re lucky.”

  Cora hoped to be spared another sight of Jesse, especially in her disheveled spirits.

  The old woman dropped to her seat, with the help of Cook, and pressed her palms together in silent prayer. It was as good of greeting as Cora expected from her new employer.

  Cora followed suit, pressing her hands together and moving her lips in a similar, silent pursuit. Maggie had always told Cora she needed to pray more. Cora smiled. Maggie would be proud.

  “Now, how was your rest?” Mrs. Davis asked, cracking her egg against the edge of her plate. “Don’t tell me you heard me snoring. Miss Luellan is quite adamant that I do, but it’s not true. I’ve never snored a day in my life.”

  “Certainly not,” Cora lied. “Not a peep from your room.”

  Mrs. Davis dipped her chin in acknowledgment. “Just as I suspected. Miss Luellan’s hearing is failing. I’ll have to ring the bell twice, for good measure, each time I need her.”

  Cora wiped her napkin along her lips, swallowing her bit of biscuit and gravy. “Yes, I think that would be wise.”

  Minutes of silence came and went, each interruption a strange question or comment on Mrs. Davis’s part. Cora reveled in the silent moments, grateful for a chance to steady her shaking hands or wipe her face. Breakfast hash at the boarding house was a far less formal occasion.

  “Now,” Mrs. Davis said between mouthfuls, “my friend Mabel and her husband come each Friday afternoon to take me to town for cards.”

  “Would you like me to accompany you?” Cora asked.

  “Not particularly,” Mrs. Davis said, snickering and shaking her head. “Your companionship is just what I need, Miss Williams, but I won’t be bothering you ‘round the clock. Friday afternoon’ll be at your leisure. You’ll have the house to yourself. Cook and Miss Luellan take to the bunk house, and the men, of course, are at work. The library, piano—I leave permission for all.” She paused, glancing up at the men taking their seats at the table.

  Cora’s pulse jumped when Jesse sat beside her.

  His eyes scanned her dress and newly-fashioned hair. “Howdy, Miss Williams. I trust you slept well?”

  She swallowed. A funny man. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Davis.”

  “Jesse,” Mrs. Davis corrected her. “My Horace was Mr. Davis, and these rascals have no business being addressed as such as of yet. Besides, there’s too many—my son Frank, Eric, Jesse, Jude.”

  “Then will we be calling Miss Williams by her first name?” Jesse asked, lifting a brow. “Seems only fair.”

  Mrs. Davis shrugged her curled shoulders. “Miss Williams, what do you say to that?”

  Cora bit her lip. Lettie wouldn’t have stood for such familiarity on short notice. “I prefer Miss Williams.”

  Jesse grinned. If it weren’t for the others at the table, she might scowl at him. He pushed too hard, and she worried he’d discover the truth about her—who she really was.

  The men busied themselves with the plates in front of them, eating more and faster than Cora expected. Jesse’s father Frank ate three eggs in two bites each, then nearly swallowed the biscuits whole. Cora consciously kept herself from staring.

  “I seem to recall you played the piano quite nicely,” Mrs. Davis said above the men’s mouthfuls. She lifted a crooked finger in the air. “Am I mistaken?”

  “No,” Cora said, clasping her hands beneath the table. She’d already decided music was out of the question. There was no separating herself from it and performing anything would break her character. “You are correct, ma’am, but I fear I’ve lost the touch.”

  Mrs. Davis tapped her fingers against the table, and Cook came to assist her from the chair. “Awful shame,” she said in response. “Music does a soul some good. Now, shall we take the reading in the parlor?”

  Cora set her fork beside her half-eaten plate and stood, flashing the partially-soaked book at Jesse.

  His lips curled.

  A surprising wave of humor washed over Cora once more, and she struggled to keep from laughing. Jesse Davis was a prying pest—but an amusing one at that. And a handsome one.

  Mrs. Williams sat in the parlor, spreading an afghan across her lap. “Shall we begin?”

  Cora slid a finger across the piano keys. She preferred the instrument to the book at her side. “Certainly,” she said, opening to the first page. “If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more.”

  Cora gasped for breath, flickering her gaze toward Mrs. Davis, hoping the woman was convinced of the performance.

  A lone snort broke out, followed by an obstructed puff of air.

  Glory be! Mrs. Davis was already fast asleep. Cora closed the book and sighed. Now to study Lettie’s notes once more. Cora couldn’t afford another misstep.

  Chapter 8

  The first-calf heifer wouldn’t move. She’d stuck to the edge of the corral all week, hardly touching the feed, and worse—she refused to get about and move. If she was in labor, nothing would be out of the ordinary, but this cow wasn’t.

  “You figure she’s alright?” Jude asked, jerking his head in the direction of the animal.

  Jesse chewed the edge of his bottom lip and dumped the bucket of oats into the stall. “She’s out of sorts—another mama we might lose.” They’d already lost more than normal this year.

  Jude dismounted his horse. He took off the saddle and set it in the tack room. “I’ll take a look at the cow while you feed the horses.”

  Jesse grinned. Always an excuse for Jude not having to climb the ladder. “Sure,” he said, taking to the first rung. He climbed to the upper portion of the barn, where they stored the hay, and pitched a pile in the hole for each stall.

  Jude had fallen down a hole as a kid, nearly breaking his leg. Ever since, he’d found any excuse to not climb up to the loft. Jesse humored him. Heights didn’t bother him.

  “Need a hand?” Claire asked, peeking her head from the top of the ladder. He
r blonde hair was braided, reaching down the back of her waist. “I see Jude got out of feeding the horses once again.”

  “He went to check on that first-calf heifer by the coral. She won’t move.” Jesse finished the last of the stalls and met Claire in the middle of the barn.

  Claire Rogers was the eldest daughter of Slim, the best Northwind hired-hand in twenty years. Claire had come to work with her daddy ever since she was a little girl, blending in with the men and boys and the work at the ranch.

  Until last year.

  She’d grown in more ways than one, and Jesse felt like smacking his younger brother for not recognizing how beautiful Claire had become. She was hardworking and determined, kind and gentle, yet brave and bold. Jesse wasn’t particularly smitten with her. She was more of a sister, but Claire Rogers was just the type of woman Jesse hoped to find one day—far from the pretty and mannerly type Grams hoped for him. Jesse wanted a wife that wasn’t afraid to help out on the ranch.

  “You figure she’s sick?” Claire asked, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I’ve checked the pasture four times for larkspur. I haven’t found any.”

  “Nah,” Jesse said, wiping his brow. “None of the other mamas seem affected.”

  Claire nodded. “Right.” She turned back to the ladder, lifting the edge of her skirt. “You should see the calf I’ve just nursed back to health. She was nearly dead, and now she’s walking around in the triage.”

  Jesse followed her down the ladder. “Sounds as if you worked another miracle.”

  Claire’s feet hit the barn floor, and she dusted off her hands. “Daddy won’t believe I did it without him. He’s funny that way.”

  “Slim’s the best. He ain’t used to being shown up by his daughter.” Jesse followed her to the back of the barn, where a nest of hay cradled the mama. The calf took shaky steps around the stall, hinging at the knees and falling to the padded ground.