“Have you been crying, Grace?” asked Francine.
Instantly all eyes glanced up at her some curious, some concerned. Grace wanted to scream.
“Little I guess,” she admitted as she sat down wanting to become utterly invisible. A nothing, a mere grain of sand blown away in the wind.
“What is the matter?” Francine kept probing. Grace felt ready to die. The entire camp was silent there were too many eyes on her.
“Tired I guess,” she answered. Why did I say I guess two times in a row? I sound like an idiote! An idiote that just completed finishing school. It’s been an emotional day, why can’t they just leave me alone?
Unexpectedly, Mitch came to her rescue. “How about some music, Clancy?”
“Gladly,” and the man produced a harmonica from his pocket.
Mitch leaned towards her. “Can I take your plate?”
Grace had forgotten that she still had it in her hand. “I can do it, but where?”
Mitch looked at her, a question in his eyes. She probably didn’t want to know that they washed their dishes in the dirt a several yards from camp. “I better do it.” He said taking it from her hand.
Grace released it, her eyes dancing with merriment. What will the girls think in the morning? Maybe this detour isn’t so bad after all.
When Mitch returned, he and a few of the men began assembling rough tents over low tree limbs and laying blankets at the entrance for the girls to create makeshift beds as they wished.
A few more songs played before Mitch said it was time to call it a night.
“Where are we going to sleep?” asked Harriet in an innocent tone.
Mitch pointed towards the makeshift tents.
“Oh, my,” Crystal said in horror.
Grace piped up, “It is better than sleeping under the stars like we did earlier.”
The girls ignored her. “There isn’t a hotel nearby? I thought we were just stopping for something to eat.”
Grace refrained from rolling her eyes.
“We should arrive in Esperanza Springs in about four, five days, three if we are lucky. That is the nearest town.”
The girls looked at each other despairingly, there were two tents, one slightly bigger than the other.
“Who wants to share one with Grace?” asked Crystal in French. A chorus of French I don’ts arose softly from their lips. Grace listened to their petty bickering about who should do what, and who owed who more, with a blank face. At last, they decided to draw lots. Crystal drew the short stick.
That was the only fair thing to do the other girls agreed. Crystal turned to her with a smile and spoke in English.
“We have been trying to decide who you get to share a tent with; we finally had to draw lots over it, and I won! I hope you don’t mind if I get ready for bed first?” Crystal asked with a fake sweetness that made Grace feel sick.
Grace shook her head. Looking at the faces around the campfire she saw that none of them understood French. Not a word. In fact, they were looking at her with curiosity. The girls apparently were all eager to share a tent with her, and by her attitude, they could tell she could have cared less. She didn’t know what was worse, the false accusation in the men’s eyes or the fact that her schoolmates didn’t think she could speak French. All of her years at school she had been privately tutored in advanced French. However, the private tutoring had led to the rumor that Grace was a very backward country girl. She let them believe it. The wounds in her heart had been too fresh to refute them, much less to prove it. Not speaking French certainly made her sad existence more entertaining. To be insulted to your face in French, look at them innocently and say merci beaucoup, with wide pleased eyes and bad accent. Then have them say in English “You are so sweet, you know that?” To pretend to melt like butter at their compliment, with an adoring look and say, “Thank you, you are too kind.”
Sure they all thought she was a ditz, but in the end, she wasn’t she the one who had the last laugh?
Grace sat and watched as Crystal spread out her blankets, leaving only a tiny space for her, she glanced at the three squeezing into the larger tent, they were giggling and playfully fighting as they prepared for the night. Grace knew there would be secrets shared in that tent tonight. She waited for Crystal to settle herself comfortably before leaving the fire and slipping into the tent.
Lying down in the tent with the blanket wrapped around her Grace stared at the Indian blanket that was now her home and traced the pattern with her finger. A smile passed over her face as she thought of something and she turned suddenly to Crystal.
“I am so glad you wanted to share a tent with me,” she said with an innocent smile.
“You are so sweet, you know that Grace. I hope you don’t snore,” she laughed.
“I don’t think so,” Grace managed with a look of horror.
Crystal faked a smile at her and turned over.
“Goodnight, Crystal.”
“Night.” The answer was short and irritated.
Grace turned over tears welling up in her eyes. Why did she do that? She knew it would hurt but somehow she wanted to make it not matter at all. She wanted to prove to them that she was invincible, that nothing that they did hurt her. That nothing in the world could touch her. She wanted to believe, that she could never be hurt…again
.
Chapter 4
Grace woke to the sound the cooking pans being banged about. Carefully, she folded her blanket and slipped out of her tent. Some of the men were awake others were still sleeping. Grace felt awkward. She was the only girl awake. And she half wished she had stayed in her tent. What could she do that would seem reasonable for a girl? The paw of a hoof on the ground drew her attention. Grace found she was breathing easier. With a smile, she went and walked among the picketed horses that were cropping grass. One tossed up his head and sniffed in curious greeting then stepped towards her, ears forward and eyes inquisitive.
“Well, I am glad to see someone can stand the sight of me,” Grace said, slowly approaching. He stood patiently while she petted him. “I am sure your companions like you, don’t they? They never try to speak French over your head like you don’t know it. I suppose it would be like a horse speaking dog or cat or maybe cow?” Grace laughed at her own words. They weren’t witty, but it relieved her feelings. Just then she felt a warm puff of breath and a nudge in the small of her back.
“Hey, mind your manners with the lady, Danny,” called out a voice in the distance.
Grace turned around to see Mitch’s horse Danny impatiently standing at the very edge of his tether. It had been his warm breath on her back. Mitch was walking towards them; pursing his lips he gave a low whistle that reminded Grace of a hawk’s soft twittering call. Instantly the horse’s ear pivoted, and he turned away from Grace to walk to the end of his tether towards Mitch.
“I hope he didn’t bother you?” said Mitch as he came closer.
Grace shook her head, too shy to speak to him after what had happened the day before.
“Do you like horses?” he asked, taking something small from his pocket and offering it in the open palm of his hand to his horse.
This time she nodded.
Mitch looked at her and smiled. Then he gave his complete attention to his horse. Grace found herself rudely standing there and watching him, but she really didn’t know what else to do. She absent-mindedly patted the impatient roan behind her. Why does he insist on talking to me? No one else does. They all think I am some sort of rude ditz…who is just too strong. Why doesn’t he believe that too? Why is he kind? He has absolutely no reason to be. The embarrassing memory from yesterday unexpectedly wafted over her, and she winced as her chest tightened with the mental anguish. Why can’t I ever be a lady like all of the other girls? Why can’t I make myself fit in? Well, it doesn't matter if I fit in anywhere, we’ll be moving in a few months anyway. She dedicated herself to petting the roan.
“You are pretty quiet for a girl,” Mitch said, ste
pping towards the roan.
Grace allowed herself to answer that question with a shrug. She really didn’t feel like talking, especially with him. The horse turned pushing her towards Mitch. Grace managed to sidestep just in time. The horse nudged Mitch’s pocket.
“Hey, you need to watch your manners if you are going to get a treat.” He pushed the roan away from her then pulled some oats out of his pocket, offering them in his open hand.
Silently Grace stood, wondering what she should do. Being with him was aggravating but going back to the camp—wouldn’t that be just as annoying? Well, maybe the girls were up. Maybe she should wake them up? They wouldn’t like that. An unconscious smile spread across her face.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Mitch casually.
There he goes interrupting me! He is so aggravating. The smile died, and she whispered. “My thoughts aren’t worth a penny.”
“Who says?”
Grace looked at the ground as she replied. “I do, besides you wouldn’t enjoy them, please excuse me.” With her eyes still fixed on the ground, she walked back towards the camp. The girls were still sleeping, but she slid back into her tent and laid her head down on the folded blanket. Fighting the anguish building up in her heart, she fell back asleep.
Crystal woke her with a shake half an hour later.
“Come on you lazy head, it is time to get up. It is nearly time to eat. Of all people, I think you would be the first one up this morning.”
Grace didn’t reply.
“Do I look all right?” Crystal asked.
Grace wondered what that could mean. They had been on the trail with outlaws for three days and one day with the posse. What does she expect to look like? A fashion plate? Who is she going to impress out here anyway? The sheriff? Well, you can have him. Like your father is going to let you marry a man of his station. Honestly, can’t you think of anything else? Grace tucked away a stray hair from Crystal’s face. “I think that is as good as you are going to get it.”
Crystal didn’t bother with a thank you but bobbed out of the tent to see the other girls. Grace carefully unbraided her hair, combed through it with her fingers and then braided it again. I will be grateful when I have a looking glass again. I could walk around scalped, and the girls would tell me I look beautiful.
When Grace was done with her hair she touched her cheek; it was still tender to the touch, but it wasn’t hot or swollen. Hopefully, the bruise would improve in a day or two. She glanced up at the tent. With a tug, it could quickly come down. Laying her hand on the edge, she gave it a yank and the blankets came falling down around her. She smiled and grabbing one blanket, began to fold it. Who cared if everyone else thought she was queer, she might as well have fun and prove herself useful at something instead of letting all of the men do the work just because they were fresh from finishing school, and rescued from peril.
When Grace joined them at the campfire, the plates were being filled with food. The girls were anything but pleased with the fare and though they held their tongues, their faces spoke their opinion. The food was vapid.
Grace downed it without a second thought. She had been warned. When the men had finished, a few of them stuck their tin plates in the dirt and began rubbing the dry soil around their plate.
“What are you doing?” asked one of the girls.
“Washing my plate.”
“In the dirt!” her voice was filled with horror.
“Yes, ma’am best way to get them clean with water being so scarce.”
“We have been eating off of plates washed in the dirt!” Francine said dropping her still mostly full plate.
The men exchanged sheepish looks.
The girls dropped their plates and looked as if they were going to turn green. They glanced at Grace who contemplatively went on eating.
“Stop eating that!” screamed Francine tearing it from her hands and throwing the plate and its contents into the fire.
Grace looked up in alarm. “It is only the way of the west,” she murmured quietly.
Francine spoke to her harshly in French. Grace winced as the words stabbed her in the heart. She rose to her feet to face the girl. Grace opened and shut her mouth twice fighting a full French retort. Then serenity passed over her features. “Stop speaking French! Would ya’?” And Grace calmly turned away and sat down again. Francine burst into tears and turned away; Crystal wrapped her arms around Francine and comforted her.
“I want to go home!” Francine sobbed hysterically.
The men sat around startled and unsure what to say to this.
Mitch stood up. “Let’s get these ladies home, men.”
In a matter of minutes, camp disappeared into saddle bags and the men mounted taking girls up behind them. Mitch once again took Grace, and all of her bolted up anger behind him.
The ride was long and silent save for an occasional stifled sob from one or more of the girls, for Francine’s distress had caused the others to give way to their tears and trialed feelings.
During the lunch break, the girls refused to eat all except Grace, who took care not to flaunt it in their tear-stained faces. Towards evening they spotted a lone sprawling ranch house and rode up to it.
“Hello!” called out Mitch to the rancher who stood on the white washed porch.
“Howdy yourself! What’s your business there Sheriff?”
Grace winced, Even a stranger can see he was a Sheriff, but he didn't just wake up from being out cold. But the least I could have done was open my eyes to see that badge. That badge. She gritted her teeth together pushing away her feelings.
“Yesterday my deputies and I rescued these refined damsels from some nasty outlaws. I was wondering if we could beg some hospitality for the young ladies; they are fresh from finishing school and on their way back to their families. Any kindness you could show them would be appreciated.”
“Welcome, welcome, come on in, you must all be exhausted. I will tell our cook to whip up something fresh to tempt the young ladies appetites. Betsey! Betsey! Ah, there you are, child. Bring these young ladies inside and see what you can do to help them freshen up. Lend them some of your dresses so they can mend and wash the ones they have.”
The girl stared with wide eyes for several moments before answering “Yes Papa. Please follow me, and I will see what I can do.”
In a moment the girls had dismounted with some assistance and were staggering awkwardly inside, still not used to riding day in and day out, Grace brought up the rear.
Grace stood mute as the girls talked with Betsey, who arranged for baths and pulled dresses out of her precious closet. The girls oh’ed half with enthusiasm about a fresh dress and half with disgust at the barely out of fashion clothes.
“You really are secluded out in the west, aren’t you?” asked Francine with a smiling sneer.
“A little though my dresses are made out of the finest material my papa can afford, which is the finest there is.”
“Oh, indeed it is. I haven’t seen such fine fabric since we left Boston, but the style my girl…” she said casting her eyes to the ground. “Don’t you have any friends that can send you the latest?”
“Not really Papa tries to order the latest fashion but…” A blush covered her cheeks in a soft red. “I don’t think they always send us the latest that they can get their hands on.”
“How I wish I had my trunk; then I could show you all of the latest fashions. They are simply gorgeous. You really should go to Boston someday.”
“Or even better New York.”
“Oh, yes, New York!”
Just then there was a soft rap on the door and a maidservant popped her head in. “The baths are ready, misses.”
The four girls took the four most beautiful dresses there were to be had and walked away without the merest thank you.
The girl swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled at Grace. “What dress would you like to wear?”
“I don’t know. What would you like me to wea
r? Since you are the one lending out the dresses, I think you should have a say.”
Betsey’s eyes brightened. “You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Betsey leaned back in her closet and pulled forward a soft blue dress trimmed with thin white lace. “I think this one suits you,” she said, offering it at arm’s length.
“It’s beautiful! Are you sure?” said Grace surprised. “It’s a lovely dress.”
“I want you to wear it.”
Grace took it with grateful hands. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” the girl smiled.
Grace finished freshening up first and came down stairs ready to join in on whatever was going on. She found Betsey and the maid examining their dresses.
“They made a wreck out of this one,” said the maid with a shake of her head, submerging it into water.
Grace blushed. It was hers. The detour with the outlaws hadn’t been easy on either her or the dress.
“Are these of the latest styles?” asked Betsey glancing up at Grace with a question in her eyes.
“For traveling, yes. If you are looking for every day and dance dresses, I can draw you a few sketches of what they look like.”
“Really? I would love that. I can do so much with a drawing.”
For more than a half hour the two girls bent their heads over drawing pencils and paper while Grace sketched out the latest fashions that she had seen in Boston store windows that were fresh from Paris.
~~~~~
Mitch watched them from a distance as he sat around the fireplace with the other men talking. Her manners are changed with Betsey. She seems quiet and kind, her nature gentle and she smiles. They giggled softly as not to disturb the men in the same room, and she appeared to be naming off French words and designers without hesitation. How strange that here she seems intelligent and bright while with the other girls she is dull and dumb. What is she up to?
Sufficient Grace Page 2