by Merry Farmer
Dean nodded reluctantly. It was fair enough. But what could Emma possibly have to be vulnerable about when he had shared so much with her?
He glanced around at the wagon train and the landscape. They were on the approach to Ft. Caspar. It was only a tiny fort deep in the heart of Wyoming, but it would be a welcome spot of rest. The grasslands of the prairie were far behind them now, and mountains rose up on every side. He had noticed a change in the air, a coolness that could either signal late summer or the altitude. Everything felt different, almost strange.
“Don’t fret.” Aiden shook him out of his thoughts. “Few things ever happen all at once, and love is something that you can wait your sweet time for.”
Dean huffed a laugh, sending Aiden a smirk. “You would know?”
“I would.” Aiden nodded with mock seriousness. “I’ve been pursuing my love since we were knee high and catching frogs in the marshes together. That’s more than twenty years. She’s a slippery one. She keeps convincing herself that her heart doesn’t know what it’s talking about, but I’ll wear her down in the end.”
“Katie?” Dean smiled.
“Aye.” Aiden returned that smile as though twenty years of rejection from the woman he loved was nothing. “I’ve waited for her to see reason, I learned half a dozen instruments to play and woo her, I studied histories and sciences and books so I could speak prettily to her. One of these days something is bound to work.”
Dean shook his head—in disbelief for his friend and in scolding for himself. Here he was, upset that Emma’s affections had seemed to turn in the course of a week. Aiden was a better man than him.
“You’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t expect so much so soon. Although I doubt Katie has had the same set of influences over her that Emma has to contend with.”
He turned to look down the line of wagons to where Emma walked with her mother, several yards back. Her mother was lecturing her on something, using sharp hand gestures to prove her point. Emma kept her head lowered and her hands folded in front of her. She nodded every now and then, but not once did he see her lips move.
Aiden turned to see what he was looking at. “Ah. That one,” he said.
Dean grunted. “I would feel a lot better about Emma’s chances of coming around and warming up again if I thought she had it in her to stand up for herself against her mother.”
“Surely she does.” Aiden shrugged as if his worry were no worry at all.
“I thought she did, but now?”
Aiden chuckled. “Every woman stands up to her mother at one point or another. Half the time it’s because of a man. I’ve seen it happen over and over.”
Still, Dean wasn’t convinced. The wagons rattled up to Ft. Caspar, parking in a cluster to the east side. The fort wasn’t large enough to accommodate them all, in spite of the fact that the garrison stationed there was only a handful of men. Like every other fort they had passed on the trail, almost all of the soldiers had returned East to fight the war, leaving the outposts stationed by volunteer militia with little training and questionable discipline. Ft. Caspar did have supplies, though. It was a refreshing change to have fresh vegetables again.
A celebration was planned for that night. The Irish were fond of their music and dancing, so naturally a formal dance was planned, both so the travelers could unwind and enjoy each other’s company and to thank the people at the fort for their hospitality. Dean looked forward to it from the moment he heard what was in store. A dance was the perfect setting to hold Emma in his arms again—even if it was in the steps of a reel or a waltz—and to try to figure out what had gone wrong. He would take the bull by the horns and get to the bottom of things, starting with escorting her to the event.
In his best suit, his hair washed and combed, and freshly shaven, he started out from the Murphys’ wagon to the Boyles’. More than a few sets of eyes watched him as he marched on. He could only hope that the majority of them were smiling in approval of his looks and his confidence and not whispering about all the rumors Russ had spread. By the time he reached the Boyles’ wagon as darkness was falling, he had thought of at least half a dozen excuses and defenses for whatever Mrs. Sutton would throw at him.
At the edge of the Boyles’ camp, he stopped dead.
“No, Mother, no,” Emma was already insisting.
Dean’s confidence grew. Emma was radiant, dressed in one of the fine gowns her mother kept making her wear to impress him or Russ. Her golden hair had been done up in the latest fashion and adorned with a jeweled decoration that caught the light of the fire, making it seem like she was wearing stars in her hair. The only thing that marred the beautiful image was the unhappy expression on her face.
“I am not attending this dance with Dr. Sandifer,” Emma went on.
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. It’s just a dance. It’s meant to be amusing, a light entertainment.” Her mother waved her off without looking at her. She was busy fixing her own hair, dressed in her own splendid ball gown. Both women were dressed too formally for a wilderness dance full of Irish jigs. “Think of it as a chance to get to know Russ in an entertaining setting,” she went on. “There may be soldiers at the fort who you can dance with too.”
Dean opened his mouth to say something and to step out into the open, when Emma said, “I don’t want to attend this dance with Dr. Sandifer or soldiers or anyone. I don’t want to go at all.”
He closed his mouth and stayed where he was, frowning.
“It’s a dance, Emma,” her mother told her as if everyone everywhere wanted to go to a dance. “Your friend Aiden is one of the finest musicians I’ve ever heard, even if he does play mostly colloquial music. I’m sure this band of his will be splendid tonight. I may even recommend them to play for balls and social events in Portland. That is, if they even have balls in Portland.”
“You’re missing the point, Mother. I know what your scheme is. I know that I promised to give Russ consideration. I know I promised to keep my distance from Dean for now.”
Dean’s heart froze and his frown deepened. He nearly didn’t hear Emma go on.
“You don’t know what torture it is for me to be paraded in public, living out this farce,” she finished in a quiet, desperate voice.
Her words didn’t add up in Dean’s mind. What promises had she made to her mother? He could think of at least half a dozen, some that would work in his favor and could prove that she loved him after all, but just as many that suggested she had been false with him.
No, he rejected the idea that she had been false, but it didn’t change one important thing. She was keeping away from him on purpose.
“Emma, I am your mother and you will listen to me. This will be fun,” Mrs. Sutton said as she finished fixing her hair and stood. “You agreed that I know what is best for you—”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Emma muttered.
“—and—”
Mrs. Sutton stopped cold. Her glance cut through the falling darkness and landed square on Dean. Her mouth hung open in surprise. He’d been caught spying.
“Dean,” Emma gasped, twisting to see him now as well. Her expression flashed from affectionate delight to misery in a heartbeat.
“Dr. Meyers,” Mrs. Sutton greeted him. “It is impolite to stand in the shadows eavesdropping.”
He couldn’t argue with her. All he could do was step out of the shadows, feeling heartsick and defeated before he’d even started. He could love Emma all he wanted, but as long as her mother was there, he couldn’t win her, much though he longed to.
“I came by to ask if Emma would like to go to the dance with me,” he said, back stiff, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “But I see now that you would never approve, ma’am, and your daughter would never cross you.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He bowed sharply. “Good evening.” He turned to leave.
“Dean,” Emma called, starting after him. She tripped over her long skirt. Without hoops, it was much too long, but she had refused to co
nsider the extravagance for a simple dance. “Dean, wait.”
“Emma, come back here,” her mother ordered her.
She wasn’t about to listen, not with Dean walking away from her, not after he’d heard what she suspected he’d heard. She gathered her cumbersome skirts in her arms and chased after him. It seemed her entire life these days was spent chasing what she couldn’t grasp.
“Dean, please.”
She caught him several wagons ahead, near the clearing that separated the camps of the travelers from the fort itself. The dance was being held on the north side of the fort’s palisade. She could hear the band playing already, and see the lights of dozens of fires and torches burning nearly as bright as day.
Dean stopped and turned to her, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “It’s all right, Emma, I understand,” he said, his tone bitter. “You love me, but you will never go against your mother’s wishes.”
“That’s not….” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She couldn’t lie to him, as much as she wanted to. “It’s not as simple as that,” was all she could say.
“No?” he strode toward her, closing the distance between them. He smelled of shaving soap and fresh air. Even angry, there was a kindness in his eyes. She could still trust him. “I’m at my wit’s end, Emma,” he told her. “One moment I was a worthy suitor in your mother’s eyes and the next I was no better than one of those miners we traveled with. I haven’t changed at all. Rumors and lies don’t change a person.”
“I know that,” Emma said, breathless, her heart pounding so hard it made her dizzy. “The rumors are just that. I don’t believe any of them.”
“Then tell that to your mother.”
“I have,” she stumbled on, wringing her hands in front of her. “I don’t think she truly believes them either. It’s just that….” She pressed her lips closed and breathed out through her nose.
Dean’s brow rose. “If this isn’t about the rumors, then what is it?”
How could she possibly explain everything her mother had been through? How could she make him understand? She wished to heaven that she was far, far better with words than she was. All she could say was, “She wants me to be happy.”
“I would make you happy,” he said, taking another step that brought him so close he could have swept her into his arms. “I love you.”
Tears choked her. “I know.” She lowered her eyes. “That’s what worries her.”
He was silent for so long that she forced herself to look up. Dean stared at her, mouth half open, baffled. “Doesn’t your mother want you to be loved?”
“She does, but she also doesn’t want me to be hurt.”
Dean shook his head. He raised a hand to his forehead and opened his mouth. Whatever reply he had planned died on his lips. Instead, he let out a breath and lowered his hand.
“You know what?” he said. “This is something you need to come to terms with on your own. I love you, Emma, but I can’t spend my entire life waiting for your mother to dictate how you should feel and what you should do.”
“She doesn’t,” Emma protested. “I swear, she doesn’t.”
Dean met her eyes with a look filled with such pity it brought Emma’s tears to the point of flowing. “You need to make a decision. You need to be the one to decide what you want. If you can’t follow your own heart, then you will be following your mother’s word for the rest of your life. I can’t believe that you would ever be happy living like that, Emma. I can’t. But you have to be the one to stand up for yourself.”
“I know, it’s just—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Think about it. Think about it, and when you’re ready, let me know what you decide.”
Before she could say any more, he rested his hands on the sides of her face and leaned in for a kiss. His mouth pressed against hers, his tongue teasing the line of her lips, ignited Emma’s heart. She leaned into him, wanting nothing more than to give everything to him. His kiss was deep enough to fill every hollow inside of her, strong enough to show her what she wanted.
When at last he broke away, he said nothing. He gave her one final, longing look, then turned and marched off into the freshly fallen darkness of night. Emma was left alone, her lips kiss-swollen, words escaping her. The cheerful sound of Irish music around the corner was a sharp contrast to the grief that trickled through her. She had to do something. She couldn’t let it end like this.
“Dean,” she said, barely more than a whisper, then louder. “Dean.”
She pushed herself to action, gathering her skirts, ready to run after him.
“Ah. Emma, my dear. There you are.” Her mother rounded the corner of the fort, catching her before she could chase after Dean. “Look who I’ve brought to escort you to the dance.”
Russ beamed like a self-satisfied cat, dressed in a fine suit with a gold watch-fob that caught the light of the torches leading the way to the dance. He held her mother’s arm as if he was escorting the queen… or perhaps as if the queen was escorting him.
“My, don’t you look beautiful tonight,” he said, too many teeth showing in his smile.
“I… I can’t.” Emma continued gathering her skirts, looking around for the best direction to escape. Dean was gone, but whether he’d returned to the Murphys’ wagon or gone on to the dance, she wasn’t sure. She started off toward the wagons.
“Where do you think you’re going?” her mother scolded her. “I said Russ is here to escort you to the dance.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t want to go to the dance. I want—”
“Nonsense,” Russ barked. “Of course you want to go to the dance. All beautiful ladies belong at dances.” He let go of her mother’s arm and sidestepped to catch her. “I would be honored to arrive in the thick of things with you on my arm.”
“No, really.” She tried to tug away from his grasp, but it was uncomfortably insistent. Even when she tried to jerk back, politeness gone, he held her firmly. Her mother must have seen the force he was using, but then again, in the dark it could have seemed like she had tripped over the hem of her skirt. “I want to go back to the wagon and lie down,” she tried one last protest.
“There will be plenty of time for lying down later,” her mother waved her off, more uncertainty in her voice than usual. Perhaps she had seen the way Russ tugged her. “Now, you will accompany Russ to the dance and you will dance with him and enjoy yourself. We all will.”
“What a delightful prospect.” Russ puffed his chest.
There was no way she was going to get out of things. The best Emma could hope for was to pay her dues, give Russ his dance, and escape later. She gave up her struggle with a sigh and let herself be pulled along around the corner to the north side of the fort.
The scene that opened before her as they rounded the corner of the palisade would have been cheerful to anyone else. A clearing had been ringed with lanterns suspended from a line in a square to mark off a dance floor. Aiden and his band stood on a long dais, playing a spritely tune that had the men, women, and children on the dance floor leaping and laughing and twirling around in each other’s arms. Men from the militia manning the fort either danced or watched from the side with smiles so wide Emma thought they must not have heard music or enjoyed themselves in ages. One of them was dancing wildly with Katie in the thick of the revelers.
None of it could penetrate Emma’s gloom.
“This looks a lively scene,” Russ commented, shifting Emma’s arm in his so that he could lead her into the dance. “I think we can do just as well as any of these wetbacks.”
His slur only made her cringe a little. Gloom pressed down on her far too hard for any other emotion. She was helpless to resist as Russ dragged her onto the dance floor and spun her into his arms.
She was in no mood for dancing, particularly not at the pace that the musicians set. As Russ flung her this way and that, it was all Emma could do to keep up. She tripped over her skirt half a dozen times, even hearing a rip at one p
oint. Please, please let it be over soon, she prayed. All the while, her eyes scanned the crowd watching the dancers, looking for Dean.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have to look for long. Dean stood at the edge of the dais where the musicians played. His arms were tightly crossed. In the flickering light of the lanterns, his face was bathed in miserable shadows. Even in the dark, across the distance, Emma could see the pain in his eyes. Every step of her dance with Russ was as if she was treading on his feet. She had to do something to stop.
“We will have the finest wedding dance this pitiful West has ever seen,” Russ boomed, loud enough for everyone around to hear and take note. “The finest citizens of this new land will all be invited, and they’ll all come to sing your praises.”
“But I don’t want to marry you,” Emma said. Her voice was scarcely loud enough to be heard in her own ears, let alone Russ’s. “I don’t even like you.”
“What a grand time we’ll have,” Russ went on regardless. “Your mother assures me this will be the perfect match for everyone concerned.”
“No,” Emma said. She took advantage of Russ turning in the dance to yank away from him. “No, no, no!” She stamped her foot with each new refusal.
A pair of children near her caught the gesture and stomped their own feet in time to the music. A handful of seconds later, and everyone on the dance floor was stomping their feet and laughing.
Emma was in no mood to laugh. “I want nothing to do with you, now or ever,” she shouted at Russ, finally loud enough to be heard.
Russ blinked at her, losing all energy to dance and just standing there. He looked large and clumsy in the midst of all of the dancers. The sight of him only frustrated Emma more. She glanced to the corner of the dais, hoping that Dean had seen her show of defiance. He wasn’t there. He was out on the dance floor with one of the Irishwomen, smiling at her as she showed him the steps of the dance.
It was too much. Swallowing a sob, Emma gathered her skirts and darted off the dance floor. She ran without watching where she was going, bumping into several people as she fought to get away.