Several men hailed Michael, and he drifted off to greet them.
Dorrie walked close and noticed smudges under the woman’s eyes. The poor woman already looked tired and the event hadn’t even started. Why hadn’t she thought to bring along a chair from Cinnia’s place? “Prudence, thank you for coming. Be sure to find a seat on a bench before they’re all taken.” She forced a laugh. “Although most would give up a place for someone in your condition.”
“I’m not ill, Dorrie. I just need to move at a slower pace.” Her lips pressed tight. “Which, actually, is quite frustrating. I’ve always done things in a certain way and on my own timetable.” She placed a hand on her stomach and patted. “But, as Doc Rawlins says, this little one is now in charge. And I need to act accordingly.”
Michael rejoined them and nodded. “The doctor’s right, Pru. Let me get you situated.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and steered her to the bench at the middle of the wall.
Everything was coming together. Dorrie clapped her hands to catch everyone’s attention. “Listen please, folks. Our mayor has a few words for the occasion of the first community dance held in Morgan’s Crossing.” I need to think of a better name. Maybe incorporate the month. She shook away that thought and extended her hand toward Michael. “Our town mayor, Mr. Michael Morgan.”
Light applause pitter-patted from several spots in the room.
Grinning, he stepped forward and held up a hand. “Good evening folks. Did everyone enjoy the great spring day we had?”
Noises of agreement sounded.
“Many more are on the way. I’m sure everyone’s already working the soil in their yards and thinking about what to plant in their gardens. Prudence informed me on the walk here this evening that the mercantile is stocked with plenty of seeds.” He glanced around the circle.
Several heads nodded.
“First of all, let’s give Dorrie a round of applause for all her efforts to put together tonight’s dance.”
Several moments passed as attendees clapped.
The sound sifted into her ears and filled her soul. Pride built in her chest as she looked around at the smiling townspeople who were all focused on her. This feeling was what she’d been missing all these months since the vaudeville troupe broke apart. As was her habit, she gave a curtsey, this time making it deep and slow. She straightened, and a grin stretched her cheeks wide.
“Now, I turn over the floor to Dorrie.” Michael nodded in her direction. “Enjoy yourselves, folks.”
Everyone shifted their gazes, making her the focus of their attention again.
She ran a hand down the front of her brown twill skirt, wishing the fabric was of a fancier type. Her mouth dried. Oh dear, perhaps she should have written out a speech. Performing acrobatic moves and dog tricks didn’t involve public speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve aimed for a mix of music and dance steps. So as soon as you hear one you like, grab a partner and join in.” She forced herself to walk slowly to the end of the bench she’d chosen to hold the phonograph. By having the music broadcast from the middle of a long wall, she hoped the sound could be heard in the far corners. As she wound the crank to set the drum spinning, she noticed the cylinders were stacked two high when she’d left them in two single rows. Flustered that her careful plan was unraveling, she set the needle to the outside edge of her chosen tune and flipped the switch.
With a smile, she turned toward the group. “Here’s a song that’s perfect for this month.” Scratchy sounds emitted for a second or two before the first musical notes of “The Fountain In The Park” played. Because she’d heard the number performed in musical theater, she sang along under her breath. “While strolling through the park one day.” She accepted Hugh’s extended hand and let herself be swung into his clumsy-footed version of a fox-trot.
Halfway through the number, a bearded miner tapped Hugh’s shoulder to claim a dance.
Dorrie swung off with a new dancer who moved with less skill but a lot of enthusiasm. That was the way the rest of the night went. Moving around the floor with a changing succession of partners, she had only glimpses of how crowded the area was. With a sinking in her stomach, she realized she and the widow Tisdale were the only women who danced with men other than the ones they’d arrived with. Somehow, she’d envisioned a different scenario.
Her experience with dancing had been from gatherings after vaudeville performances where everyone just wanted to have fun. In those circumstances, no one felt tied to any one partner, and all involved had a rollicking good time.
By the end of the evening, she could barely feel her cheeks from maintaining an upbeat smile as she waved to the last miners who exited. Cleanup could wait until tomorrow. What had she really achieved? Her feet ached so much she could barely trudge the few rods to the dressmaker’s shop. Unable to stop comparing the night’s event to what she’d expected, she barely responded to Sacha’s exuberant welcome. Moving through her mind as she readied for bed were thoughts of her inadequacy. How had she thought she possessed the variety of skills needed to put on a dance?
Then a chill ran over her body. If she couldn’t do this, what future did she have here in Morgan’s Crossing?
Chapter Six
One morning, Valerik walked outside headed for the stable with Maks bounding at his heels. Overhead, only a few fluffy clouds hung in the wide blue sky. Today, he intended to ride east and visit the Harper Ranch to see how that family handled their operations. From what he’d observed so far, ranchers had sectioned off part of their acreage and were sowing fields and planting grain. A move that made sense after the disastrous loss of cattle from last winter’s Great Blizzard.
Too bad seeing their actions made him uneasy. If he knew only a little about ranching, he knew nothing about being a farmer. When he envisioned raising cattle, he figured the feed would be purchased from somewhere—although he hadn’t reached that point in his planning. The sound of a hammer on wood drew his attention.
On the open area between the shops and Rigsby’s Saloon stood a tall, lean man with a long-handled wooden box filled with carpentry tools.
Valerik leaned against the shop’s back wall and watched, curiosity keeping him in place.
The man tapped a stubby stick into the ground then stood and walked heel-to-toe in a perpendicular straight line to a point. Crouching, he hammered another stick several inches into the grass.
Another building being constructed? In Kamloops, between trapping seasons, he’d worked carpentry jobs throughout the ever-growing city. Any type, from individual cabins to two-story shops to icehouses to fortifications inside the fort. His favorite part was finish carpentry—building cabinets, setting in doors and windows, adding moldings. No one noticed the perfect angle on a pitched roof, but he’d received compliments on his cabinetry.
When the three-week period marking Nicolai’s return passed with no sight of his brother, Valerik used the telegraph at the mine office to contact his family. After promising his parents to make a visit home in the fall, he learned Nicolai had left only a day prior to his telegram. Might as well be productive while he waited.
Seeing the man had finished setting the corners on a long rectangle, he snapped his fingers to keep Maks at a heel and sauntered across the grassy ground. A few clover blossoms had sprouted, mixing white among the green. “Morning.”
The dark-haired man looked up from his notepad and stuck a pencil behind his ear. “Morning. Nice day, eh?”
“Sure enough.” Nodding, Valerik extended his hand. “Valerik Andrusha, Nicolai’s oldest brother.”
“Howie Brungar, Morgan’s man-of-all-work.”
The man had a strong grip for being lean of build. “What’s going up here?”
“A boarding house that will also have rooms to let.”
“Another boarding house?” Valerik crossed his arms and glanced at the corner markers. “Looks to be a good-sized building.”
“Morgan’s two mine managers will live in the downstairs area t
hat also includes a sitting room, kitchen, and a special room for the bathtub, if you’ve ever heard of such a thing. The six rooms on the second floor will rent daily or weekly.” As he spoke, Howie gestured toward sections of the marked space. “The plans also call for a first-floor suite for whoever becomes the hotel manager.”
The building described would involved lots of manpower. “Has Mr. Morgan already hired a crew?”
“You’re looking at him.” He turned and narrowed his gaze. “You interested? Got any experience?”
His hopes rose. “Yes to both questions. Spent three summers as a carpenter up north in the Canadian Provinces. I’ve set foundations, done framing, hammered shingles, and built cabinets.”
Howie grinned and pushed a hank of shoulder-length hair behind an ear. “Mind you, I don’t have the final say, but I’ll mention your skills to the boss. I’m sure he’s interested in having the building done as quickly as possible.” He glanced around and leaned close. “For a fact, I know his wife does. Boss doesn’t see the problem, but I heard her complain about housing his business associates when they come to town for meetings.”
“If you want, I can talk to Michael. I’ve used the telegraph a time or two and have made the man’s acquaintance.”
“Nah, I’ll be checking in with him later today. The first shipment of supplies is due to arrive by the end of the week. Do you have your own tools?”
Valerik shook his head. “Like I said, I worked did construction during summers. My main job was as a fur trapper.”
“Ah, so you’re the one who sent Nic those big bundles.”
“Me and our other brother, Petya. Don’t worry about the tools. We’ll make do with sharing until we can place an order.”
Howie extended his hand. “Glad to meet you, and I know I’ll be glad for the extra muscle.”
Smiling, Valerik shook the man’s rough hand. He supposed his own hand would soon be just as calloused. The idea of being involved with development in this frontier town felt good. “Find me at the saddlery shop when you get Morgan’s approval.”
“Will do.”
True to Howie’s word, lumber, beams, and cement arrived on the next freighter’s delivery. Luckily, the first stages of construction involved intense work balanced by days of waiting for the mortar to dry. After three straight days of hauling river rocks to build the foundation, he needed to rest his foot. Once the actual carpentry started, Valerik enjoyed the repetitive manual tasks and working as a team with Howie. The labor came easy now he’d almost regained his full muscle strength. Being outdoors meant he always noticed Dorrie whenever she left the shop and buzzed around town doing her errands. Her quick movements and the memory of her excited speech made him think of a little bee. His pchelka.
They’d only had one conversation when the subject of the May dance arose. Happenstance had them doing laundry on the same Saturday, and they were forced to share the clothesline. He’d been on the far end of the rope in the shade, hanging his shirts, when she rounded the stables.
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Morning, Dorrie.” He paused his movements, looking his fill at her flushed face and the wisps of blonde hair that escaped her bun to cling to her cheeks.
“I can come back later.” She glanced at the full basket in her arms.
“Why?” He shrugged. “If we run out of space, I’ll string another rope.”
“All right.” The basket clumped on the ground, and she lifted out a yellow blouse.
He dawdled over wringing out extra water from his socks, sneaking peeks at her pert nose and sparkling eyes.
“So, you’re doing construction these days?” She stretched a blue flowered blouse over the rope.
She noticed? That thought gave him almost as much pleasure as when he’d sat for his haircut. “Da. I have the skills, and Howie seems happy with my work so far. The building will serve as a hotel, as well as provide living space for the mine managers.”
“I heard. Sounds nice. Just think if the hotel was built when you came to town, you might not have broken into Nicolai’s shop.” Her eyes shot wide, and she jerked around her head to stare. “Oh, that didn’t come out like I intended. I meant you would have had the choice to sleep in a real bed instead of on the floor.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened—probably because she realized she’d spoken on an inappropriate topic. Valerik bit back a chuckle. Listening to her talk—blunders and all—always brightened his day. At least, until a subject arose where they held opposite opinions. “How have you been?”
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, busy-busy with giving lessons. And planning the next dance, of course.”
Knowing he wouldn’t like the answer, he forced himself to ask the polite question. “How did the first dance go?”
“All right.”
Two words? That was all she had to say? He turned his head to look closer, but she had ducked below the clothesline. “Did lots of the town’s residents turn out?”
“They did.”
“And everyone danced and had a good time like you hoped?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her tone didn’t sound right. Plus, him being the more vocal one in a conversation meant something was definitely odd. “Why aren’t you chattering about the event and sharing all the details?” Why don’t you seem happy? He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.
Silence reigned for a minute or two, followed by a deep sigh. “Because regular people must think they can’t dance with just anyone.”
“Regular people?”
“People who haven’t worked in the theater or on stage.”
Dance with just anyone. He rumbled those words around in his mind but came up with no real explanation. In order to keep the conversation going, he proposed his best interpretation. “Stage people have a different way of dancing?”
“Not in so many words.” She stomped to his end of the rope, clutching a damp garment in her hands. “What I mean is that couples didn’t intermix with the single men. They only danced together. So the miners had to compete for time with Mrs. Tisdale and me.”
He frowned, not liking the sound of that situation. “Weren’t you the one who pointed out the imbalance between the genders?”
Snapping the piece of clothing to its full length, she shook her head. “I know that, but I didn’t expect them to be so insular.” Again, she jerked the garment, and a breeze caught the frilly petticoat.
The hem landed on the line and draped over a pair of his denims. The image of feminine and masculine seared into his brain followed by a wave of loneliness. He blinked hard. “Have you thought of a solution?”
“Of course, I have. One option is to let in only a certain number of miners at a time. But I’d have to cut the fee and keep track of who was supposed to be inside or out.” She moved down the line to toss over the petticoat. “Option two is to get more women to attend. I’m thinking of inviting the two barmaids from Rigsby’s. They were real helpful when I needed the ads for my lessons distributed.”
Before she was half done with her statement, Valerik started shaking his head. “You can’t do that.” I hate being the one to squelch her idea.
“Really? I can’t?” Frowning, she jammed her hands on her hips.
He held up a placating hand. “What I mean is if you invite them, you will probably endanger the attendance of the upstanding women of the town.”
“Why?”
Could she be that innocent of the ways of the world? “Because of their jobs?”
“You think the fact they serve drinks and dance with a few miners would be a problem for these ladies?” She tilted her head to the side and chewed her lower lip. “I’d be sure to ask them to wear a dress that covered their shoulders and their…um, covered more skin.”
“That would help some.” Where was his brother’s new wife when she was needed? “The barmaids wouldn’t be welcome because of other parts of their jobs.” Please understand what I’m saying.
Her lips p
ursed. “What other parts?”
“Walk with me.” He moved behind her, cupped his hands on her shoulders, and steered her to the front wall of the shop. Then he extended an arm and pointed toward Rigsby’s. “What do you see on the upper floor of the saloon?”
“Windows and a balcony.”
Leaning close, he caught a whiff of honeysuckle. “A second story has windows that normally lead into what?”
“Bedrooms?”
“Exactly.” He dropped his hold but flexed his fingers at the warmth that remained.
“Bedrooms in a saloon are the reason why—” She gasped and whirled, eyes wide. “No. Is that really true?”
Remembering the knowing look in the redhead’s eyes that first night when he’d gotten so drunk, he shrugged. “Almost always.”
She squared her shoulders. “I can’t believe you spoke of such things in my presence.” With jerky strides, she stomped around to the steps, and then walked to the dressmaker’s shop door and rattled the knob. But the door was locked, so she hopped off the far side of the porch and stalked out of sight.
That was his thanks for saving her from a social mistake?
*
The next morning, Dorrie found a scrap of paper on the kitchen floor. When she unfolded it, she read two words—folk dances. The printing was neat and even, leading to her guess that Valerik had slid it under her door. Of course, he’d done it. She hadn’t revealed her anxieties over the outcome of the dance to anyone else.
She leaned a hip on the counter and stared at the words. Folk dances. Maybe that was the name in his culture, but at least it sent her thoughts toward square dances. With that type of dancing, no one was partnered with anyone for long and the clinches weren’t as personal. A Virginia reel could involve lots of couples. She’d even seen men tie on a bandanna to an arm and dance the female part in a reel. Buoyed by the new solution, she set about making a list for the sequence of dance steps. None of her cylinders contained the right kind of music. But she’d heard of a miner named Obadiah who played the fiddle. Didn’t all fiddlers know tunes for jigs and reels? With him as the musician, the dance was sure to be a success. Even better would be if she could convince Valerik to play, too.
Montana Sky: Dance Toward The Light (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 3) Page 7