At the sound of the dinner bell, four girls came trouping downstairs. Mitch watched as Grace’s smile disappeared. Her face went blank, any emotion and feeling faded, her eyes dropped to the floor, and when they rose, there was an innocent half worried look.
The girls entered. Mitch’s eyes went wide with surprise; they looked ready for a dance, not dinner. They had taken the pain to dry their wet hair and put in the latest style. The dresses were gaudy compared to their worn and dusty travel clothes. He heard several of the men around hold in a gasp. They looked fine all right. At least on the outside.
“You have fantastic timing,” greeted their host. “Dinner is just ready.”
Mitch glanced at Grace, he had missed what she was wearing. Her dress was simple but elegant, her damp hair loosely braided down the back and tied with a matching ribbon that was steadily growing into a darker shade as it absorbed the dampness of her hair. As they filed out of the room some men taking the girls arms under theirs, Mitch was glad to find his free. He went and glanced through the drawings. They were elegant and spoke of exquisite taste and attention to detail, not at all the shallow ditz with wide eyes he had seen on the prairie. Why is she hiding? What is she hiding? And he walked into the dining room.
Chapter 5
Dinner was a fine affair, where the girls made a show of their best manners and their coyest etiquette with smiles and bashful eyes. Grace’s manners were refined and naturally shy. Mitch was glad she had been seated beside him; it gave him the opportunity to observe her out of the corner of his eye.
During the meal it was as if she was mute; even the silverware on her plate made no sound. When the girls were retelling the story of their capture, they constantly consulted Grace only to go rambling on without an answer.
“We were all terrified of the men; all except Grace that is. Isn’t that right, Grace? Well, they pulled us out and demanded our most precious possessions, and after they had them they took us for ransom…”
Mitch listened in silence, enjoying Grace’s silent commentary of the story. Raised eyebrows, a shake of the head, a pursed mouth, a near silent huff of disgust, narrowed eyes, a slight shrug of a shoulder, wide eyes, a swallowed lump in her throat then a stoic contemplation as her friends stabbed her with backhanded compliments.
Yes, he knew. He had seen it from the beginning that she wasn’t one of them. The “ugly duckling” of the extravagant belles, but was she a swan at heart?
He had understood their French discussions. His French was very rusty; it has been ages since his mother, a former school teacher had taught him, but he knew. Everything. Watching Grace’s face he was pretty sure that she knew French, and hearing dabbles of her conversation with Betsey only confirmed it but why did she not speak it to them? Why did they throw it in her face like she didn’t know? Why did she hide her knowledge?
When dinner was finished at last, they once again retired to the sitting room.
~~~~~
“Oh,” said Francine snatching up a drawing from the table where Betsey and Grace had been sitting. “These are lovely designs. You are a marvelous artist, Betsey.”
Grace found her face turning pale. I should have hidden them! I am going to get it now. Why do I have to be with them?
“I didn’t. Grace drew them for me.”
“Grace?” the girls asked in mystified unison.
Aren’t you all amazed that I can draw! Maybe you should have bothered to look at them while we were at school.
“Yes, Grace.” said Betsey with a smile looking at the drawings.
“They are exceptional for you aren’t they Grace?” asked Crystal with a smile.
Exceptional? Sure, why not. It’s not like you actually care anyway. Grace nodded.
“Grace, you know what I think of your drawings?” asked Francine, taking Grace’s hands in her own.
“What?”
Francine poured out a babble of French insults.
I can’t let them know I know what insults they are stabbing me with. Be strong. “You really think so?” asked Grace with eyes that tried to look happy.
“We most certainly do,” answered Crystal.
“Works of art they are, surely!” exclaimed Harriet impishly, her cheeks dimpling in her smile.
“You girls only flatter me,” Grace said with a crooning smile.
“Oh, no, we mean it!”
Oh, don’t I know it every cruel horrid and bitter word of it. You hate me. Why do you hate me!
“Come, Betsey, I must show you the latest hats. They are so cunning!” said Crystal with a swish of her skirts.
The five girls sat down leaving Grace entirely out of their circle. After several minutes Betsey looked up and said, “Won’t you sit down and join us, Grace?”
“I am afraid I am too tired to tonight. If you would be so kind as to excuse me, I think I will retire.”
“Of course, I should have thought of that. Sweet dreams!”
“Same to you, Betsey. Good night, friends,” Grace said with a slight bow.
They didn’t answer, and Grace crept silently out of the room and up the stairs. Slipping into bed, she kept at bay the silent tears of vexation. She dared not cry lest her feelings run and she didn’t recover them before the girls joined her. Within the half hour, the girls were in the room babbling away.
“Is she sleeping?” asked one girl.
Grace shut her eyes gently, her breathing deepening as if she was soundly asleep. Fake sleeping was an art she had perfected at boarding school. They weren’t that hard to fool either, she had done it many times.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Weren’t her airs just awful this evening? I couldn’t believe her arrogance. I mean. What does she know about fashion?”
“That dress was hideous as a rag bag on her.”
“I know, no ornamentation at all, and her manners at dinner?”
“Awful, I know!”
“She is so silent it is a disgrace.”
“A real shame. I mean, how in the world is she ever going to win a man’s heart with silence? Unless she marries a deaf man.” They all laughed “Honestly, though, where is that girl's head?”
“I don’t think she has one.” The girls laughed again.
Grace pretended to stir.
“Shh!” Crystal warned.
For a long minute, they were silent.
“Isn’t the sheriff just dashing?” said Francine changing the subject, a swoon in the sound in her voice.
“I know! He is so strong and utterly handsome. I wish he would choose someone else besides Grace to sit behind him. I mean…”
“Don’t you think it is almost?” She let her words hang with the sound of reproach in them.
“Do you think he likes her?”
“Oh, I don’t think anyone could like her. Besides, with that ugly bruise on her cheek, she looks like a wild thing. I believe he is just shy around us.”
“He must be. We should think of a plan, one of us should ride behind him eventually.”
“I wish there was some way we could get him to dance with us.”
“That would be so much fun, we should have thought of that tonight. Betsey has a piano I am sure she could have played something for us.”
“Too bad we didn’t think about it. Now it’s too late.”
“Well, maybe some other time.”
“I don’t think there will be another occasion,” sighed Harriet.
Grace listened to their conversation with a knot growing in her stomach. Can’t they see beyond the features and fortunes? Can’t they see the man? I almost hate him, but I know there is something in him. Depth, a genuine and reliable nature, one that is dangerously trustworthy; not that I could ever trust someone with a badge again.
Chapter 6
Mitch stood at the table examining a map their host had left out for him of the immediate area. He was the only one awake. There had to be a better and faster way to get to Esperanza Springs. There were at least four days
more of travel, and with the way, the girls took to the road it would be five, maybe six. They had enough supplies, but the sooner the girls were brought into a civilized town, the better. For all of them. No more arched glances cast in any direction, no more fashion talk, and the horror at living conditions of the western working man. But, then there was Grace; what if all he had left, was four days with her?
His throat tightened. There was something in her eyes that caught at his heart. A haunted look; she hid it well, but he had seen it in that one vulnerable moment when they had surrounded her. Something was stirring below the surface, something dangerous. A deep wound. But, how deep and what was it? Grace had his admiration since he found her unconscious; it was the evidence she left behind that had made them so easy to track. There was so much more than met the eye. The girl that showed up after she regained consciousness was completely different than the girl that fought outlaws and left a trail. Different than he thought she could be.
The screen door spring creaked open. It was shut in near silence. Mitch looked out the window, the moon shone brightly on the outline of a girlish figure stepping into the yard. It was Grace, slipping into the shadow of a tall elm.
God grant me wisdom. Mitch followed her and stepped out onto the porch.
The moon created a perfect silhouette, her blue dress, the white shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her downcast face. Wrapping the shawl tightly around her, she clung to herself trying to find comfort. Mitch knew he had never seen someone trying so hard to look strong. Grace stood beneath the shelter of the elm tree but would not lean against it for support, though he saw by the way her shoulders shook that she was in distress and she was burying it deep in silence.
“Are you all right?” he asked, stepping off the porch.
She gave a gasping start at the sound of his voice, then nodded.
Tears ran off her cheeks catching the moonlight as they fell.
“Are you sure?” he asked lowering his voice. Please, Grace, let me help. I can see you, there is something more.
Again the silent nod. She would not turn around and face him. Oh, God, make him go away!
He took several steps closer.
“Grace, are you positive you are all right?” How many times can I ask the same question but not repeat myself? Will she let me help her?
This time there was no response.
“Grace?”
She turned her profile towards him. He could see the emotions that tore at her even in the soft moonlight. “You know I am lying. So stop asking,” her voice struggled to be steady, but she willed the words.
“So you aren't fine?”
“Stop asking.” The words were vehement now. She was going to fight him if it took everything she had.
“Things won’t be fine until you admit that they aren’t. Only then can you solve your problem.”
~~~~~
Grace shook her head and turned to face the moon. How desperately her heart ached to tell someone. Mitch was a person she felt could be trustworthy. Her heart was tearing apart, she wanted to hide her face against someone stronger than herself, to tell someone who might understand why her heart was breaking into a million little pieces. Why each little word that these girls said to her cut her into ribbons, why that badge he wore brought up so many bitter memories, why some days she could barely breathe. I can't. I can't tell him.
Grace took a step away from him. He followed.
“I know this to be true, Grace.”
“You know nothing!” She shoved her words at him like a knife.
“I know that you are in pain. I know that you cannot stop the pain until you admit what is wrong. It will only continue to rip you up on the inside.”
She turned on him “I know! But if I tell someone my world will fall apart, and there will be no putting it back together. My life isn’t a puzzle where you can put one piece in and it makes sense. It is a crumbling cliff and if I remove or add one more stone it will cave into dust. How exactly do you suggest I put that back together?” she snapped unwillingly. He must leave me alone. HE MUST! Or my life will tumble about me like the walls of Jericho. I can’t let them. I can’t!
“Parlez-vous Français?” he asked in low tones taking a few steps closer.
“Bien sûr, je ne!” For a moment Grace stood there then she turned, her face becoming stark white. She had answered him without thinking. His voice had sounded so much like her French tutor, the one person she had trusted at boarding school. The one who understood her in the midst of the hate and disdain. Her one refuge. It had been the way he had started every lesson. It was such a natural response, an instinct, she hadn’t thought twice.
“So you do understand and speak French. Fairly well from the sound of it.”
“That’s only a greeting. Anyone can do that. What kind of joke are you trying to play on me? Did Crystal put you up to this? Francine? Where are they?” She looked at the porch waiting for their ridicule and hatred to sneer down upon her.
“Do you really think I would do something like that?” asked Mitch his brown eyes meeting hers with a penetrating gaze.
Grace looked straight back at him pools of water still gathered in her eyes. “I barely know you. All I have seen of you for two days is your back.”
“Well, now we are face to face, and I am telling you. I would never do such a thing.”
“I don’t want to ever speak to you again.” Grace lowered her head and charged past him, her eyes on the ground, tears spilling down her cheeks. His arm caught about her waist.
Grace pushed against his arm, but he remained firm. Turning towards her with caution he closed his other arm around her.
“Grace.”
“Don’t don’t speak to me,” her voice caught with emotion, but she did not fight him.
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
A sob heaved from the depths of her heart, catching Mitch by surprise. Grace’s legs buckled slightly, and her head came to rest on his shoulder. The pain in her heart wrenched it apart. Oh, God, help me!
“What is it, Grace?”
She pulled away from him; he caught her hand and held it with a gentle firmness that was willing to release her.
“Grace, let me help you.”
She shook her head and stepping away pulled her hand away from his. In a moment she had bolted up the porch stairs and through the front door.
Mitch followed, but he was too late. Grace was up the stairs and down the hallway entering the girls’ room. He stood at the base of the stairs and wondered. Those schoolmates are just a tiny piece of her problem. What could compel her to pretend she doesn’t know French? What makes her hide who she really is? He glanced down at his shirt. His shoulder was damp with her tears. Mitch walked over to the maps. There wouldn’t be enough time to gain her trust back if they took a month on the trail. She had betrayed her feelings to him and the likelihood she would open up again was slim to none. There has to be a way to get to Esperanza Springs in three days.
Chapter 7
Grace was glad she had gone to sleep under the bedclothes as she buried her head further beneath the pillow. The girls were babbling again. Can’t they ever be quiet? One would think they lived in a barnyard with all the squawking they make. “Look at my dress squawk!” “No see mine squawk!” “Look at my lace. Squawk, squawk! Isn’t it beautiful?” They are just biddies in a barnyard. An unconscious smile passed over her lips.
Memories from last night tugged at her brain. Why on earth did I go downstairs? How could I have let him see me? I can’t believe I let myself cry on his shoulder! A red flush washed over her face, and she writhed once more still hidden under the bedclothes, her stomach twining into knots. How in the world does he know French? If he knows French, why hasn’t he said something before this? Grace’s mind floated past the insults that had been laid at her feet the last few days. You filthy little western pig! You think you are better than us because you can eat out of plates washed in the dirt. You are dirt!
Francine must have been really mad. Last night she called my art more hideous than gargoyles, and that my fashions couldn’t be worn by people living in the gutter they were so wretched. They are just jealous. I can beat them at any subject that they lay their mind to and they will never know it. Being an honor student must have stunned them all, those little teacher’s pets! I had to hide at school, no one could know who I am or what I was going to be...I mean, try explaining why you have twelve different last names in four years. What is it now anyway? Keats? Grace shivered. No Coates. That is right I am Grace Coates. Will I ever get to be Grace Elroy again? Not until I am dead most likely, even then it’s doubtful. Grace shivered at the thought and emerged from her covers. People, even if she didn’t like them, were better than that thought.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty! Were you waiting for prince charming to come wake you up with a kiss?”
Grace’s thoughts gagged as she blushed, her eyes seeking the floor. The girls laughed. “I just didn’t sleep well, I guess,” she muttered.
“You always guess at things, you never know anything,” said Crystal, rolling her eyes.
Only because I have to. I know them solid but if you thought I was competition; I would be more miserable than I am now. “Sorry,” she muttered and pretended to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Though in truth, she had been awake before they had thought of stirring; just staring at the white sheets, trying, to escape her thoughts.
“Betsey brought up all of our dresses except yours. Yours is still being mended. Though, I can’t imagine why?”
“It got pretty torn up remember,” said Harriet.
“Oh, that is right,” said Crystal. “I am so glad you reminded me. Can’t act like a lady no matter where she is…but come on girls, Betsey promised we could pick some flowers for our hair if we liked.”
I hope Betsey doesn’t mind green stalks, thought Grace. ‘Cause that is all she is going to have left when they are through.
Sufficient Grace Page 3