The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches
Page 27
Millie recalled the introduction. “Well done, Mr. Martin. Mr. Logan, your turn next.”
As Mr. Logan, followed by Mr. Johnson and others, took their turns, Millie wondered why given names weren’t included in proper introductions. She had their names on the applications, of course—except for Mr. Wesley. What did H. J. stand for? Henry James? Homer Jeffrey? Hamilton John? Was there any chance he was related to Charles and John Wesley? Doubtful. If she was assigned to make small talk, she could think of a dozen questions to ask.
Mr. Brown came eighth in line, and Mr. Wesley joined him with Gracie Louise Yost. Gracie had a quiet spirit that many men found attractive, but she might find it difficult to initiate a conversation. Millie listened with curiosity.
“Miss Yost.”
Millie quelled the shudder at the mispronounced name. It should be y-OH-st, not y—short o—st. Gracie’s smile didn’t falter. Well done. Mr. Brown hadn’t bothered to learn the correct pronunciation like Mr. Wesley had.
“Miss Yost, let me introduce you to Wes—Mr. Wesley,” Mr. Brown said.
His stumble made Millie wonder if Wes was Mr. Wesley’s nickname. He tipped his head to Gracie. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Yost.” He managed to get the name right.
Mr. Brown had done poorly. Millie pointed out the importance of mastering the correct names before introductions and offered Mr. Brown a second opportunity. The second time, he improved greatly.
Next up, she motioned for Mr. Wesley, Ruthie, and Mr. Robinson to come forward. Mr. Wesley did a good job, and Ruthie was a natural. In the past, Ruthie’s plain exterior had discouraged a potential suitor or two. In this class, she shone like the star pupil.
“T-Bone—Mr. Robinson, I mean, and Miss Hasselblad. Perhaps we should return to our seats?” As they walked away, Mr. Wesley thanked them for helping him make the introductions. He was kindhearted, even if he should have called his friend Mr. Robinson.
When the final introductions were made, Millie encouraged the men and women to converse and walked among them to identify what lessons were most needed. Would the room feel more or less comfortable after their lesson on proper conversation?
At one point, Mr. Wesley headed in Millie’s direction. Her heart beat more quickly, although she didn’t know why. His looks were average, his beard not quite right, except for those eyes that reminded her of Boston Harbor. They hadn’t exchanged more than a half a dozen sentences, but the way he asked her to sing made her feel like he saw into her soul.
“I learned a lot from today’s lessons.” From the way his eyes crinkled in humor, she doubted he would introduce one of his trail mates using the formula. Maybe if they asked him to, of course.
“I can tell you have questions you want to ask me.” Mr. Wesley’s face gave way to the grin. “Go ahead and ask.”
Her conversation skills fled, and she blurted out the first question that came to mind. “Why does Mr. Brown call you Wes?”
She knows. Wes almost regretted the ruse. “It’s short for Wesley,” he said and waited for her reaction.
“I see. Wes makes me think of someone’s given name.”
Worry flew through his mind, but Millie didn’t seem to have anything more on her mind than conversation. If anything, she seemed a bit nervous. “Does my nickname make a difference in etiquette between friends?” Turn the question back on her.
“No, although in public gatherings such as this, ‘Mr. Robinson’ is preferred.” She answered with more confidence. “I heard you call Mr. Brown ‘Tex.’ Is that where you met?”
“Not all Texans have met. It takes weeks to ride across the state.” Not like those tiny states in New England that would fit in a corner of the Lone Star state. “Tex and I ran into each other five years ago, when we started work at the Bar B Ranch. We may not have made each other into gentlemen, but he’s a good friend and Christian.”
Millie’s eyes narrowed.
Don’t ruin it.
She relaxed her face before she answered. “Before they came to know Christ, Paul was a scholar and a gentleman. Peter fished for a living. A man’s past or occupation doesn’t matter to God.”
“Amen.” Wes grinned.
Millie opened her mouth to continue. “However, as Paul mentions in First Corinthians, being a slave was no shame, but if a slave had a chance to gain his freedom, he should do so. Improving your situation in life honors God.”
“I would hardly compare working as a cowboy with being a slave. I’ve worked with men who used to be slaves. They’re mighty proud of getting paid for their work around the ranch.” Millie sounded like a Yankee who had never met a Negro in her life but thought she knew everything about slavery. Even though Wes was only a child when the War Between the States ended, the scars ran deep. God had taught him a thing or two about slavery through his first foreman, Hank White.
She looked suitably chastened. “My remark was thoughtless. Will you forgive me?”
Their conversation had strayed past formal etiquette into the kind of dialogue he had enjoyed with Millie in their letters. For the first time since he signed up for the class, he hoped they could find a way past her strict Eastern upbringing.
When Wes bid Millie good-bye and left for the day, he mused about the day. East and west, north and south. God must have laughed when He brought Millie and Wes together. Or maybe the joke’s on me, if I think I have any chance with a woman like her.
“Wes, wait up.” Tex ran after him. “How did things go with Miss Millie the Magnificent?”
Wes raised his eyebrows.
“Ruthie let the nickname slip.” He grinned. “Ruthie’s one sweet lady. None of the starch Miss Cain appears to have instead of an ordinary backbone.” He got serious. “How did you guess about her voice? Ruthie says she sings all these special songs in church.” He slapped his Stetson on his head with a thump. “Of course. She must have told you in one of those letters you sent that kept the post office so busy.”
“No.” Wes drew the word out. Their letters were full of many things. Poetry, and yes, songs, songs as poetry. He spoke of the plains, starlit nights, horses running across open plains. His Millie wrote beautifully of the rhythm of the waves on the rocks, of lighthouse beams, of the patriotic history that echoed on the streets of Boston, and how she missed her home. She never mentioned her musical talents.
Tex wanted another day with Ruthie; and Wes wanted to talk with Millie some more. Perhaps today’s topic would open the doors to learning more about Millie: the art of conversation.
Would she want to learn more about him? Ordinary cowboy H. J. Wesley Jr. from Wichita Falls, Texas?
“Say, is something wrong with you, Wes? You look rattlesnake bit.” Hank ordered a sarsaparilla, something Wes was glad to see. When they first met, the man he loved and admired had one major fault. He drank way too much, and it affected his work. “A girl, I bet.”
“His Millie,” Tex said.
Hank let loose a belly laugh. “I was right.”
Tex snickered. “She’s not the Millie he thought she was. She’s teaching this class to make cowboys into gentlemen. If we’re good enough, we get to escort one of their young ladies to a dance. I sure hope everybody gets a free pass.”
“Is it too late for me to sign up? I want to see this Millie for myself.”
Wes and Tex looked at each other and shook heads. “There were no ladies of color there yesterday. I’m not sure…”
“All the more reason why I should come. I’d like to see if the fine Christian women of Wichita believe a Negro can be a gentleman.” Hank’s eyes twinkled, but Wes knew the stories behind his demeanor. Among them, he spoke of his first employer, an English gentleman, and how he mimicked his speech.
“It might depend on the first test.” Tex waved a stack of plain stock cards. “Some of the students will have trouble with this assignment. They may stay away to avoid embarrassment.”
Hank raised his eyebrows.
“We’re supposed to write calling ca
rds in our best penmanship. We are going to exchange cards and carry on polite conversations with the ladies,” Tex said.
Wes nodded at Hank. “Hank knows how to write, but Tex is right. A lot of the cowboys can barely scrawl their names. If you are interested and brave enough, I’d love to have you come with me. A real lady will treat you as the man you are.”
“And you want to know if your Millie is that lady.” Hank nodded. “I will come with you for that reason. And maybe to learn a thing or two.”
Suddenly Tuesday’s class held a lot more interest. How would Millie respond to Hank’s presence?
Chapter 4
Come Tuesday morning, Millie couldn’t decide if she was more nervous than she was on the first day of class, or less.
“How can you be worried? Look at everything you accomplished yesterday.” Ellen raised one hand in the air and folded down her thumb. “You wondered if the chaperones would remain uninvolved or take over the class. They didn’t say a peep.”
That brought a smile to Millie’s mouth. Not even Mother. She nodded in agreement.
“Number two.” Ellen folded her pointer finger. “You worried that our young ladies couldn’t play their roles in class. Perhaps they might look awkward at a Boston soiree, but I thought they did well.”
“They did indeed.” Millie nodded thoughtfully. Everyone had done well. Men swarmed about plain Ruthie, attracted to her warmth and sweet manner. Poor Sheila Snowden, the prettiest of them all, hadn’t received nearly as much attention. “If only Sheila would learn how to laugh more quietly.”
Ellen giggled before she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shame on both of us. She can’t help how she laughs any more than I can make my brown eyes blue like yours.” Ellen often complained about her brown hair and eyes.
Millie felt heat in her cheeks. “I can’t believe I said an unkind, unchristian thing. In any case, this class is not meant as a matchmaking event. I wonder how the men are doing with their homework. No one asked for help in making their cards, although we offered.”
“Oh, Millie. They wouldn’t ask you for help even if they mark an X for their name. That would shame a man.” Ellen shook her head at her friend’s lack of insight.
“The shame isn’t theirs. I blame a situation that didn’t permit them to learn how to read and write.” Millie walked around the table to the calendar hanging on the wall. Classes were listed every day, Monday through Friday, with a dance on the final day.
“You’re thinking about Wes.” Ellen joined her in front of the calendar. “What does a proper young lady do if a caller arrives unexpectedly?”
“She would tell him she had a previous engagement,” Millie answered without hesitation. What if Wes did show up before Friday’s final dance? That would be a problem.
“I know he’s my cousin. But until he gets here, take a look at the men God has placed in your path. How about that nice Mr. Wesley, the other ‘Wes’?” Ellen’s eyes twinkled when she asked about him.
“I try not to think about him at all.”
“You do like him. I knew it. If only H. J. Wesley Jr. and Wes Harper could stand side by side for comparison.”
If Millie met someone with Mr. Wesley’s handsome appearance and Wes’s heart and mind, he would be perfect—as long as he wasn’t a cowboy. Adjusting to life in Wichita after growing up in Boston had been hard enough. She couldn’t imagine living on a ranch, surrounded by cattle and dirt. With Wes, she hoped for a quiet life in a small town.
“I am not in any way committed to your cousin, beyond meeting him in person. I confess I may expect too much from that meeting.” What if he asks Father for permission to court me?
“Millie?” Mother called from the drawing room, as if she had heard Millie’s unspoken question.
Millie took a couple of deep breaths before heading to the drawing room. Mother sat in her favorite chair, decorated with antimacassars she had made for her hope chest as a child. Millie smiled at the story, another time and place.
Mother reviewed the upcoming lessons, with remarks on yesterdays’ successes and failures. “If only the girls were more acquainted with proper etiquette themselves.”
Ellen tensed, and Millie hastened to interrupt. “We prayed that God would bring the right men and women to our classes. I believe the ladies did a wonderful job yesterday.”
“When you put it that way.” Mother calmed down.
The time had come to leave. Millie slipped her favorite songs, as well as a hymnal, into her bag, in case she did decide to sing.
Upon their arrival, instead of a few quiet minutes to practice with Ruthie, students milled around the welcoming table half an hour before the class was scheduled to begin. All rules regarding punctuality fled from her mind. Although their early arrival was an inconvenience, the men’s enthusiasm played to her pride.
The men turned as one when the women entered. One new man had joined the group, a tall, black man with short-cropped hair. Millie’s breath caught in her throat.
Wes—Mr. Wesley, Millie reminded herself—stepped forward. “Miss Cain, Miss Harper, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Mr. White, formerly of the Wisteria Plantation and retired sergeant in the US Cavalry.”
Mr. White—what irony given his deep skin color. The thought crossed Millie’s mind as she cataloged Wes’s correct introduction. She found her hand caught in Mr. White’s strong fist, while Wes looked at her, gauging her reaction to this unexpected twist he had thrown her way.
Mr. White was a former slave and soldier. This man deserved whatever her class could offer. She nodded her head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. White.”
Not bad, Wes decided, when Millie accepted Hank’s handshake with only a slight tremble of her hand. Her smile as she welcomed him made up for the slight wobble in her voice. “Has Mr. Wesley shared our lessons from yesterday?”
“Yes, Miss Cain.”
Wes held back a chuckle as Millie reacted to Hank’s British-accented English.
Hank turned to Ellen. “Miss Harper, may I have the pleasure of introducing Mr. Wesley, formerly of Houston?” Millie smiled at the proper introduction.
Wes gulped. Before now, Millie had no reason to connect Mr. Wesley to Wes Harper. Houston made a connection. His sister had forwarded his letters from his old home in Houston, instead of from the ranch where he worked. Although he had warned Hank against revealing his identity, such small things could unravel Wes’s plans.
Wes took Ellen’s hand, which was trembling with her suppressed laughter. “Miss Harper, how pleasant to see you again today.”
When another cowboy captured Millie’s attention, Wes took Ellen aside. “Where can we meet? Without your friend?”
Ellen’s lips parted, ready to laugh. She shook her head to settle her throat. “Not here. Not at my house. Not at the boardinghouse?”
Wes shook his head.
“I know what we’ll do. Hand me one of your cards.”
Wes did, confused.
“Promenade with me down the main street this afternoon. It might make Millie jealous.” She slipped one of her cards into his hand. “That makes it official.”
Once again the group was assigned seating, although Millie assured them that at the next class seating would be unassigned. “Today we will discuss a few rules regarding conversation. Gentlemen, you may be pleased to know ladies have many more rules to follow than you do. Much of what I have to say is no more than common sense. For instance, don’t interrupt another person’s conversation.”
That made sense, although it was difficult to follow within a large group.
“Don’t laugh at your own stories. If you are describing a person at a distance, you may give his particulars, but don’t point to him.”
Wes took notes as Millie droned on. Don’t forget someone’s name. What should he do if he did forget a name? Look at a person in the face while carrying on a conversation. He agreed with that one.
Millie spoke well, often illustrating possibl
e mistakes with humorous anecdotes. When laughter rippled across the group, she held her speech until it subsided.
As a final step, she explained the process of exchanging cards, which seemed simple enough. Leave a card for every person you wished to see again. With a sly smile, she said she hoped the gentlemen had completed their homework. They could speak with as many ladies as they had cards to present.
Wes jostled the cards in his pocket. Since he and Tex had shared their cards with Hank, he didn’t have a full complement. That was okay. Aside from practice and politeness, he only wanted to speak with one lady present.
Ellen mingled among the crowd, breaking them into groups of four apiece, making introductions if needed. Millie called out a potential topic for discussion, such as books, music, family. She walked among the groups, listening without speaking.
When they finished three short conversations, Millie called them together again, made a few comments on the conversations she had overheard. At that point, the men were allowed to approach the ladies of their choice.
Wes fought the urge to rush to Millie’s side. The smart thing to do was to wait and see if any of the others were interested in her—or she in them. Her response would say a great deal about her feelings for Wes Harper.
Instead, she withdrew to a corner, surrounded by the chaperones. Any man who dared to face that crew needed courage. “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” “Thanks for the reminder,” he whispered, suspecting that talking to oneself broke one of the rules of etiquette.
To make his interest less obvious, he spoke briefly with a couple of ladies as he made his way to the matrons’ corner. The woman who must be Millie’s mother couldn’t be any more like her, nor any different. Their physical similarity was striking, but their resemblance ended there. He didn’t need his correspondence with Millie to tell him how much their personalities differed. Millie brimmed with life and joy, whereas Mrs. Cain reminded him of the schoolteacher who had tried to drum Latin into him. He never did learn much, not with a teacher who made him hate the subject.