A Windswept Promise

by Brandi Boddie

  Sophie swallowed a cookie. “Thank you, but I’ve already started my course of action. I’ll speak to the mayor shortly after Chad helps me get a meeting with him.”

  Mrs. Walsh made a face while she drank her tea, giving the impression that it was her drink that was offensive. “Forgive me, but I find the whole thing distasteful. What is there on the election ballot that concerns ladies, anyway?”

  “I agree,” said Mrs. Rheins. “I’d much rather my husband trouble himself with political matters. I have other things to concern myself with.”

  “I know Dorothea would enjoy being able to vote.” Mrs. Gillings referenced her daughter.

  A small silence fell. The women were uneasy with Dorothea too, a rather independent woman who had become a doctor like her father, but they daren’t say so in front of Mrs. Gillings.

  Mrs. Charlton finally said tactfully, “Not every lady feels as Dorothea does.”

  Sophie ate another cookie in silence.

  “Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Rheins noticed when she didn’t speak. “We don’t mean to be wet blankets. We’ll stand by you if you want to get school elections on the ballot. We just won’t picket or protest, but you have our support in every other way.”

  “Thank you.” Sophie was uncertain as to what extent they would actually be involved, but she remained polite. She added another sugar cube to her tea before drinking. The awkwardness of the subject was still in the room.

  Her mother switched the topic. “Sophie is expecting Chad to call upon her again this week.”

  “How wonderful.” Mrs. Walsh’s tone made it sound truly monumental. “Has he asked for permission to court your daughter, Lucretia?”

  “Not yet, but it has only been a month since the Founders Day Festival.”

  “Not yet. I adore your optimism. Cheers.” Mrs. Rheins lifted her teacup.

  “Cheers.” The women imitated her.

  Sophie stole glances at the clock on the mantel in hopes that the awkward tea social would soon come to an end. At least talk of Chad brightened the mood of the occasion where politics made it uncomfortable. The ladies approved of her association with the mayor’s son. That was something she could be happy about. She chose to focus on that victory and worry about the voting campaign later.

  CHAPTER 7

  N O SOONER HAD the ladies left than Sophie escaped through the kitchen door and crossed the yard to the wheat field to find Dusty. She took a big breath of fresh air to steady her nerves. It unsettled her that she was going out of her way to make amends with him. She’d never done so before, but after the dinner incident she felt compelled. What would Dusty make of her?

  Her father and brother were preparing to store the plows in the shed. “You finished early,” she observed.

  Her father wiped his sweaty brow on his shirt sleeve. “We still have to finish planting the remaining wheat tomorrow. Is supper ready?”

  “Almost. Do you want me to bring it out here?”

  “No. David and I will clean up and eat inside.”

  “And Dusty?” She searched for him across the field but found only newly plowed rows for the wheat.

  “Putting the mules in the barn. I told him to come in once he’s finished.”

  “The sun burned him on the back of his neck,” said David.

  “I’ll get some salve from the kitchen.” Sophie went back inside and retrieved the jar and a cotton dish cloth. Her mother and Rosemarie were at the copper basin, washing the teacups and saucers. She slipped into the dining room and out the front door to head to the barn, pausing to wet the cloth at the water pump.

  The mules rested in their stalls, eating from recently filled troughs. She heard Dusty moving around in the back. She passed the stalls and found him putting the mule harnesses and collars on the wall hooks.

  He heard her approach and turned. “Sophie?”

  She held up the jar of salve. “David said you got sunburned. I’ll leave it with you.”

  She heard the amusement in his voice. “The burn’s on the back of my neck. I can’t see it. You mind telling me how bad it is?”

  Sophie bit back a soft gasp. He had to be teasing her. But no—he met her appraisal with a patient, inconspicuous air. She feigned indifference and shrugged. “I suppose not.”

  His hazel eyes reminded her of a tabby cat’s as they turned from brown to golden in the soft light. “Need me to sit down?”

  He produced an empty bucket from one of the stalls and turned it on its head then plopped down in the middle of the barn, back facing the wall. Sophie skirted around him, a flicker of apprehension making her steps slow and stiff.

  She studied the angry red skin that flamed the nape of his neck. She peeled back the collar of his shirt to see that the sunburn had spread across his shoulders. The action felt scandalous. She prayed her father wouldn’t come charging through the barn door and hoped that her mother couldn’t see them from the house. “It’s blistered. How does it feel?”

  He pulled away from her to remove his shirt. “It stings a little.”

  Sophie figured that was an understatement. She pressed the tip of her index finger against his skin, trying to ignore every other detail of his shirtless torso save for the sunburn. “What about that?”

  “Yep.”

  She dabbed at his neck with the wet cloth, recalling why she ran out of the house to find him in the first place. “I’m sorry for what I said to you when Chad came over for supper.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have gotten mad and let the door slam behind me.”

  She fanned his skin dry. “I suppose I could have told you in advance.”

  “I’m just the hired hand. You don’t have to tell all your business to me.”

  Sophie paused. The admission was uncharacteristic of Dusty. “You sound pitiful. Are you sure the sun didn’t give you a fever too?”

  He twisted around and gave her a wink. “Would you nurse me back to health if it did?”

  “Turn your head back to that barn door before I pinch the sunburn off of you.” She threw the washcloth, splashing water droplets, while he chuckled. “You can’t even accept an apology with dignity.”

  He rested his hands on his knees. “What do you want me to say? I was vexed when it happened days ago.”

  Was that his way of saying that she should have apologized sooner? An awkward embarrassment crept up in Sophie, almost as strong as her reaction toward seeing Dusty shirtless. Even now she couldn’t help noticing how the subject of their conversation made him tense the muscles in his back. Very distracting. Was that how he was able to sit so tall in the saddle and walk so confidently?

  Sophie shook her head, wishing the action really could force her thoughts to fall appropriately into place. She attempted to inject some humor into the situation to take her focus off both her clumsy apology and her admiration of his physique. “I hope I didn’t offend you worse than Old Ned. You held a grudge against him for over a month when he crushed your hat.”

  Dusty groaned. “That dumb mule should’ve been put out to pasture. You know how much I paid for that hat? It was my first Stetson, a Boss of the Plains the make was
called.”

  Sophie held in her laughter and opened the jar of salve. It smelled of comfrey and a pungent ingredient that made up the base. She applied it to his sunburn, feeling the muscles along his back move beneath her fingers. Dusty wasn’t a thick, brawny man, but he was lean and strong. “Am I hurting you?”

  “A touch from you, and the pain goes away.” He moved his head to give her a sly, sideways glance. Something in his eye hinted at more than teasing, as if he meant it. His gaze slid to her mouth. Her lips began to tremble under his scrutiny.

  The barn grew very warm and stifling all of a sudden. Not quite as warm as his skin beneath her fingertips.

  Sophie drew her hand away from him. “I see why you took to cattle and not Shakespeare.” She hastened to screw the lid back on the jar. “I’ll see you in the house for supper.”

  “When do you expect your gentleman caller to return?”

  “I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours.”

  “Is he courting you?”

  “He hasn’t officially asked my father for permission, but he will.” Sophie could look at Chad and tell there was interest. Her mother taught her that kindness or cunning could always be found in the glimmer of a man’s eyes. She didn’t know what to make of the look in Dusty’s eyes at that moment. It wasn’t cunning, but it certainly wasn’t all sweet kindness, either. If she stood close enough, he’d probably try and kiss her again. She retreated several paces.

  Dusty stood. “Supposin’ I present a challenge to him.”

  She hid her smile. Dusty never was good at being subtle. “How? I’ve told you for years that I don’t want you courting me. You don’t listen.”

  “You’ve been saying it, but that kiss told me a different story.”

  He had to bring it up again. Sophie folded her arms across her chest in a show of nonchalance. “You merely surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you to seize upon me like a swamp alligator.”

  He formed a lazy smile at her comparison. “You didn’t put up much of a fight.”

  She commanded her face to remain placid but it was difficult. “Nonsense. You imagine things if you think I enjoyed being hauled up like a sack of flour and slobbered upon.”

  “It was nothing like that and you know it.”

  She stiffened. “Put any notion of courting me out of your head, Dusty. Don’t challenge Chad.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Afraid he’ll lose?”

  “I don’t want to see you humiliated.” She walked out of the barn and left it at that before he could goad her further.

  A week went by with no word or visit from Chad. Sophie put together reasons for what kept him away. She knew the bank drew in more customers since the town expanded, but it still closed its doors at five o’clock each weekday. Nothing stopped him from inquiring about her in the evening.

  “It’s a game he’s playing.” Linda offered her opinion as the two of them attended Sophie’s trousseau one afternoon after Linda finished work at the seamstress shop. She folded an embroidered tablecloth and tucked it into the light oak hope chest. “He doesn’t want to seem too eager.”

  “But he bid on my basket at the festival, and he promised to speak to his father for me concerning the women’s voting cause.” Sophie put in the matching linen napkins. “I already know he intends to call upon me again.”

  “Then why are you so worried?”

  “I’m not worried. Just curious.”

  Linda held up a sheer, flowing white garment. “Oh, I adore this peignoir. Did my mother sew it for you?”

  “No. My mother did.” Sophie touched the beaded sleeve of the nightgown, intended for after her wedding. “It took her weeks to get the draping right.”

  “Silk is difficult to arrange. Have you ever wondered about what it would be like to live with your husband, Sophie? After the wedding?”

  Sophie let the silk glide off her fingers. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

  “But you have thought about it some.”

  “A little. Even though Mother says ladies aren’t supposed to ponder such things until after they’re married.”

  Linda appeared chagrined. “I guess so, but how can you not wonder?”

  Sophie agreed. The peignoir was more ornate and delicate than any nightgown she had at her current disposal. It was meant to drape artfully over her form, to be looked at and admired. “I do wonder who I’ll wear this for.”

  “Maybe you’ll marry Chad.”

  “Linda!” She took the garment from her friend and set it atop the other items in the hope chest. “That’s putting the cart well before the horse, wouldn’t you say?”

  Her friend shrugged. “Well, whomever you marry, you’re still preparing for a life with him. Have you started thinking about your wedding dress?”

  “No, but I found some glorious designs in Godey’s Lady’s Book. The magazines are downstairs in the sitting room. We can look at them while I brew us some tea.”

  They finished organizing the trousseau and filed down the steps. A pleasant breeze came in through the open windows of the sitting room. The lace curtains swayed in a languorous dance. Sophie took a tea set from the glass cabinet and carried it into the kitchen to arrange. She put on the boil a pot of the new bergamot tea her mother had purchased. Soon the house smelled of bright citrus. Once the tea was steeped, she loaded it onto the tray along with slices of cinnamon bread left over from breakfast that morning.

  Linda had half of a Godey’s Lady’s Book read by the time she carried the tray into the sitting room. “You should have a look at this wedding dress. I think it suits you.”

  She set the tray down on the side table next to the armchair and peered over Linda’s shoulder at the page in the magazine. A drawing of a young woman stood out. The figure was adorned in a white wedding gown with a floral beaded bodice and ruffles along the neck and sleeves. The skirt had extra flounce, with the bustle padded in multiple layers of ruffles and tulle before graduating into a train that trailed several yards behind. “It’s marvelous, but do you think I can wear so many layers of ruffles? I’m small.”

  “You can remove one layer at the hem and bustle. Maybe shorten the sleeves.”

  “Short sleeves on a wedding gown? I’d be a laughingstock.”

  “Not if they’re three-quarters length. Wear lace gloves. I think it would look beautiful.”

  “You’re the seamstress. I’ll ask Mother if we can start fashioning a pattern. My own wedding dress. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.” She clasped her hands in glee.

  Linda’s eyes sparkled at that. “How exciting.”

  “What are you two ladies carrying on about?” Dusty stopped in the doorway. Sophie unfurled her hands and sobered. Linda closed the magazine and drank her tea. Why was Dusty always so nosy?

  She hoped that by giving a little information to him, he would be satisfied enough to leave. “Nothing you’d be interested in. Linda is helping me arrange my trousseau.”

  “Your what?” He frowned and entered the room.

  “My trousseau. It’s what a lady prepares in expectation of her wedding.”


  “Every well-brought-up lady,” Linda supplied.

  Dusty raked a hand through his sand-colored hair. Sophie never could tell whether it was dark blond or light brown. She started calling him Dusty after first seeing it. “I don’t recall my sister ever putting together something like that. What goes in a too-so?”

  “Trousseau,” Sophie corrected. “All sorts of things to make a home. Linens, tablecloths, cooking utensils. Items for the bride as well, such as her dress and shoes.” She intentionally left out a description of the peignoir. The thought of it made her bashful.

  “You have your wedding dress already made?”

  “Not yet, but it soon will be. Linda and I have thought of a pattern.”

  He made that low, slow whistle of disdain she had come to dislike. “I always thought women had to get proposed to before they went ahead and made wedding dresses. That’s like putting the cookpot on the fire before you’ve caught the rabbit.”

  Sophie bristled at the condescending remark. “Some of us ladies choose to be diligent in our preparations.”

  “Dusty, why didn’t your sister prepare a trousseau?” Linda asked.

  He shrugged. “She was too busy helping run the ranch and break in horses. Besides, that sounds like it may have been too rich for our family’s blood.”

  “Your sister worked on the ranch?” It was Sophie’s turn to ask the questions. The thought of women running ranches and breaking in horses intrigued her. Although she liked tending to her horse Bess and had expressed interest in training others, her mother insisted she leave the task to the men.

  Dusty nodded in answer to her question. “My whole family did. You seen Mr. Charlton about? I need him to inspect the new door I put on the chicken coop.”