The River Girl's Song: Texas Women of Spirit, Book 1

by Angela Castillo

  After arranging the packages under the Christmas tree, Zillia went out into the garden.

  Orrie held up a roly poly bug when she approached. “Look, Zilly!” He poked at the pill-shaped, grey bug and it rolled up into a little ball. Orrie giggled.

  Pastor Fowler flipped a large rock over and peered under it. “I see some fine specimens over here, Orion.” He stood and brushed dirt from the knees of his trousers.

  “Thank you for spending so much time with Orrie. He loves bugs and animals so much,” Zillia said.

  “I’ve always had an interest in God’s creatures, and Orrie and I have pleasant times.” Pastor Fowler held out a small wooden box. “See what we found today?”

  Two beetles and a sleepy-looking worm snake occupied the box. Zillia stepped back. “Um-- Very nice. Pastor, I had something I wanted to discuss with you. About dancing.”

  “Hmmm.” Pastor Fowler frowned. “Though some churches have spoken about the evils of dancing, I have no objection to it. King Solomon himself said, ‘There is a time to mourn, and a time to dance.’ And it’s good exercise.”

  “What if people danced for God?”

  Pastor Fowler rubbed his beard and stared into the treetops. “Well, the Bible talks about dancing in the Old and New Testament. All throughout Psalms we are instructed to dance before the Lord and sing praises to him. The prophetess Miriam danced with a tambourine in Exodus. And David danced before the Lord, although I don’t think we should adopt his exact method.” Pastor Fowler grinned sheepishly.

  “So you think God wants us to dance for Him now?”

  Pastor Fowler tapped his chin. “Most girls think of nothing but fashion and husbands. I’ve never had a conversation like this with a young person, but I’m glad you asked. I will have to put thought and prayer into the subject, but my quick reply would be, yes, if God still wishes for songs of praise and thanksgiving, He most likely wants us to dance in the present day as well.”

  Would I have the courage to dance? Certainly not in front of everyone. But maybe when it’s just me and God. And Orrie. He would probably dance with me.

  When Zillia came back into the parlor, Mrs. Fowler was lighting a row of candles on the mantelpiece.

  “One can never have too much light.” The older woman’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “So, who’s taking you to the holiday dance? Or have you decided yet? I’m sure such a pretty girl would have many suitors to choose from.” Her forehead wrinkled. “What about that handsome young man you’re always talking to after church? Soonie’s brother.”

  “Mrs. Fowler!” Zillia gasped. “Wylder is like family. Besides, I’m not going to the dance, I have to stay home and care for Orrie.”

  “Oh, that’s already been arranged.” Mrs. Fowler waved her hand, as if to dismiss the problem. “Mrs. Betty’s arthritis has been acting up and she doesn’t want to go. She’d be happy to take care of him for the evening. So you can come assist me. Of course,” she grinned slyly, “I will only need your help for oh, maybe five or ten minutes? That should give you plenty of time to dance. You do know how?”

  “Of course... Mama taught me. But what would I do with myself? No one’s asked me, and I have nothing to wear.”

  “Mrs. Plummer and I were just discussing the shameful number of unmarried young men who live in this town. I’m sure you will have a line of gentlemen waiting out the door to waltz with you. I have a lovely lavender silk dress you can borrow. The color never suited me with my pale skin and red hair, but I think it will bring out your eyes just beautifully.”

  “I... it sounds wonderful.” In the few short weeks she had lived in the Fowler’s home, she had learned not to argue with her employer when she had her mind set. The thought of an evening where she could simply feel beautiful and enjoy herself seemed as impossible as a trip to the moon.

  10 The Dance

  Lavender silk spilled out in graceful waves over the steps of the bank building. Zillia giggled as the enormous bustle followed behind her. Though bustles were the height of fashion, she never understood the notion to appear like a small child was hiding beneath her skirts. “I might as well have brought Orrie along,” she whispered to Soonie.

  Soonie’s gown, though simpler than Zillia’s borrowed finery, was splendid. The crushed green velvet had taken her and Grandma Louise weeks to sew. A collar of antique Swedish lace lay around her neck, and a choker of pearls shone on her tan throat. Coils of hair crowned her head, far different than the two braids she normally wore.

  “Soonie, you look beautiful.”

  Soonie’s cheeks brightened. “We both do.” They swept through the door.

  The hall served for town meetings, auctions and election headquarters. This evening, most of the chairs were lined up against the walls. Lanterns winked from every table and hung from hooks attached to the ceiling. Chains of colored paper and tin stars dripped from the railings, and wreaths of evergreen filled the air with a sharp, wild essence. Zillia felt as though she had stepped into a fairy ring, like Mama used to tell her about.

  Cakes, cookies and sweetmeats of all kinds were piled on tables lining the walls. Crowds of men and women clustered together and sipped punch from fragile china cups, lent for the occasion by the members of the Improvement Society.

  And not a Trent in sight. Jemima was out of town visiting friends for the holidays.

  Several of the men fixed their eyes on Soonie, but many, Zillia realized with a start, also stared at her.

  She bit her lip. Should I have come without a partner? Mama used to talk about balls and parties back home in Virginia, but manners and traditions were so different here.

  Soonie had said Wylder would be there later in the evening. At least she’d have one dance partner. He wouldn’t leave her to stand by the wall all night. Would he?

  Mrs. Fowler sailed over to the two girls in a dazzling white lace dress. “Zillia, you look stunning! Let me see your hair.”

  Zillia turned her neck obediently. Her carefully arranged curls, so often tangled beyond fixing, were draped in an artful chignon.

  “Soonie, you did a beautiful job,” said Mrs. Fowler. “And you look very pretty as well.”

  Soonie’s face lit up. “Thank you. The room looks lovely.” She gestured around her. “I can see everyone worked very hard.”

  “I think it’s quite nice for a little ol’ river town.” Mrs. Fowler straightened an evergreen wreath. She took Zillia’s arm. “Would you come with me? I did have one little task, before you join in the festivities.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Zillia followed the bustling figure into a side room, where the air was thick with cigar smoke and male voices. She looked around for more paper chains to hang or a pile of centerpieces to arrange, but instead found herself being led to a gentleman’s side.

  The man, a head taller than anyone else in the room, stooped down to greet them. His starched shirt crackled under his coat. “Mrs. Fowler, so nice to see you. Who is this fetching creature?”

  “Mr. Ulysses Alder, I present Zillia Bright. She’s the young lady I mentioned who is staying with me for the winter. I wanted to introduce the two of you, since you are new in town.” She turned to Zillia. “Mr. Alder is from North Carolina.”

  Mr. Alder dipped his head further, but he kept his eyes turned up so they never left Zillia’s face. His thin blond moustache curved with his smile.

  Almost too late, she held out a gloved hand.

  He brushed it with a kiss. “A pleasure, Miss Bright.”

  Zillia turned to Mrs. Fowler for help, but she only caught the last hint of white lace disappearing through the side door. Flustered, she turned back to Mr. Alder.

  “Cider?” Mr. Alder picked up a cup from a nearby table.

  Her hands shook when she took it from him. Was she holding her cup right? She closed her eyes and tried to remember Mama’s instructions. Everyone here is so refined and genteel. She felt like a dress from the bottom of the rag barrel.

  “My time in River County has been
most pleasant. Have you lived in the area for long?” Mr. Alder shortened his ‘A’s much like her parents had done.

  “I live outside of town, normally.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hear a word coming out of your pretty little mouth. Let’s try over here.” Mr. Alder led her to a less crowded corner of the room. He turned and nodded for her to go on.

  “I have a farm. I’ve been here twelve years,” Zillia added hastily, realizing she hadn’t answered his original question. “My parents moved down from Virginia.”

  He put a finger up and shook his head. “It’s still too loud.” He held open a door for her and she went through it. They stepped out into the crisp evening air.

  “Thank you for humoring me, Miss Bright. I couldn’t hear myself think in there. And the heat.” Mr. Alder fanned himself with his hat. “Northern winters are much colder and I’m afraid I came dressed for a blizzard.”

  “It’s been awhile, but I do remember those days,’ Zillia replied. “We’d have had a foot of snow in Virginia by now. In Texas, we might get a dusting. I’m sure many people here can’t abide harsh winters.” She stared out at the pools of light spilling out into the street from windows. “But I do miss snow, sometimes.”

  Mr. Alder’s eyes didn’t leave her face, but he said nothing.

  She fumbled for something to say. “What brings you to this strange and warm land?”

  He leaned back on the porch rail. “My father’s friend invited me to join his law firm. I passed the bar last spring. The town has grown so much, he hasn’t been able to keep up with business.”

  “The bar exam? What a challenge that must have been.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, it certainly was. But I pulled through, and here I am.”

  The unseasonably warm air caused her hands to sweat, so without thinking she pulled off her gloves and waved her fingers in the air to dry.

  Mr. Alder stared at her hands. “Your skin is so rough. What on earth did you do--”

  “I told you I lived on a farm,” Zillia jammed her fingers back into her glove. She lifted her chin and moved towards the door.

  “Of course, of course,” Mr. Alder stammered. “That was terribly rude of me.” He touched her elbow. “Please accept my apology. I just-- have so much to learn about Texas ladies.”

  Zillia lowered her eyes.

  “Miss Bright, could you possibly forgive me enough to allow me a dance?”

  Flashes of color passed by the window and strains of music floated through the double doors. Now Zillia understood the patient hours her mother had spent teaching her to dance in their country kitchen. She’d felt quite silly at the time, surrounded by dirty dishes and chopped vegetables. Now here she was, Zillia Bright, asked to dance by a true gentleman.

  “Of course I will.” Zillia offered her hand, and Mr. Alder pulled her into the flurry of laughter and warmth.

  Zillia tried to hold her hand steady while he took it into his own. She kept a bit of distance while they turned and swayed, praying he couldn’t feel her trembling. She’d never danced with a man before, except for Papa.

  Mr. Alder proved to be a fine dancer, and either didn’t notice or ignored her nervousness. “I think I’ll stay in Texas for awhile,” he said, as they spun beneath the room’s one chandelier.

  Zillia relaxed, and a wave of joy warmed her soul. How wonderful to have no responsibility or duties, just for a short time.

  After two dances they were both too warm to continue. They sank against a wall, laughing.

  “You dance very well,” Mr. Alder said.

  Paper fans lay on the tables for general use, and Zillia picked one up and fluttered it before her face. “For a farm girl, you mean?”

  “Of course not.” Mr. Alder’s light brows drew together. “I mean, you’re a wonderful dancer. I quite enjoyed myself.”

  “Well, thank you.” Zillia’s cheeks were warm, and not because of the room. Why do I always say the wrong thing? He could have spent the evening with any woman at the party, he certainly had his choice. This man was obviously trying to be kind and not patronizing. I have no business being in this place where only proper ladies belong. Her fancy gown suddenly felt like peacock’s plumage. She longed for her broad-brimmed hat and papa’s old coat.

  “Are you all right?” He searched her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, though really, she wasn’t.

  The waltz ended. Zillia spotted Soonie across the room. Her friend’s cheeks were rosy as she swept her partner a graceful curtsy.

  Zillia was about to weave through the crowd to her friend when she heard boots thump, and a jingle of spurs. Only one man in town would wear spurs to a dance. Abel Trent swaggered through the door. He slammed it behind him, knocking over a row of men’s walking sticks that leaned against the wall. Wrinkles covered his suit and his tie hung askew. His eyes were fixed on Soonie.

  Zillia hastened to reach her friend first, to warn or shield her somehow, but the heavy skirts tripped her and she fell against a chair.

  Soonie’s bright, happy eyes filled with dismay when Abel’s meaty fingers sank into her velvet sleeve. “Can I help you, Mr. Trent?” She jerked away from his grasp.

  “Don’t need no help from a half-breed,” Abel Trent wheezed and grabbed for her arm again. “Just wanted a dance.” The giant man pulled Soonie out into the middle of the floor. “Come on, music makers,” he bellowed. “Let’s have another waltz!”

  Soonie stood stiffly, her eyes dark and dangerous now. “I do not wish to dance with you.”

  Zillia bit her lip until she tasted blood. Is anyone going to stop him?

  Her eyes lit on one of the walking sticks. Thick and twisted, with a round brass top. Her fingers closed around the cane and she drew it up so it was hidden in the folds of her skirt.

  She moved through the gaping onlookers and was only a few lengths away from Soonie’s side when a tall figure in a white shirt stepped in front of her.

  “I’ll deal with this, Zillia.” Wylder said.

  In one quick movement Soonie was whisked out of the way, and before Abel could react he found himself facing her older brother.

  “You heard my sister,” Wylder said. “She doesn’t want to dance with you.”

  The crowd pressed against the edges of the room and a few ladies began to thread out through the doors. Zillia couldn’t help but think of Mrs. Fowler and how sad she would be about her dance being spoiled. That Abel Trent! She clutched her cane and moved closer to hear what was being said by the two glaring young men.

  Abel Trent leaned into Wylder’s face. “I outta-- you know, I outta--.”

  “What, Abel?” came a voice from the door. Sheriff Williams strode over to the center of the room. “I recollect this young feller beatin’ you in a fair fight, more n’ once. Be a shame to bother the doctor for stitches this late at night.”

  By the look in Wylder’s eye Zillia was sure he’d be happy to give the doctor more business, but he moved out of the sheriff’s way and stood by Soonie.

  Abel relaxed and stepped backwards, raising his hands in front of him. “Never mind, never mind. Not like she’s worth nothin’ anyway.” He staggered towards the door.

  “No, you’re not going out to make anyone else miserable tonight, Abel Trent.” The sheriff grabbed his arm. “We’ll just allow you to visit your regular cell so you can sober up.” He pulled the swearing Abel outside and shut the door.

  A collective sigh ran through the building. Couples moved back out on the floor while the music started again.

  Zillia set the cane back against the wall and hurried to Soonie. “Are you all right?”

  Her friend pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed a few beads of sweat off her nose. “It’s a good thing Wylder arrived, I’m not sure if it would have been ladylike to murder, and anyway, it’s against the Ten Commandments.”

  Wylder came back with a glass of punch for his sister. “Glad I came in when I did. I can’t believe the whole town was going to stand the
re and let that man bully you.”

  “Don’t be too upset.” Soonie smoothed her collar. “They’d hardly had any time to react. And you know as well as I do some towns wouldn’t have even let us attend a public function.”

  Soonie’s used to this. She deals with rejection every day, if only from people’s eyes or gestures. A new respect flooded Zillia’s heart. Until Mama married Jeb, she had never experienced people thinking badly of her for reasons beyond her control.

  The music started up, and soon couples were spinning out on the floor. Wylder turned to Zillia, his eyes shining in the lantern light. “May I have this dance?”

  A mixture of emotions buzzed around Zillia’s stomach like a hive of bees. “Thank you for asking, but not presently. Mrs. Fowler is probably at her wit’s end, and I really should check on her.”

  Fingers rested on her elbow. She glanced up to see Mr. Alder. “If I may, Ma’am. Mrs. Fowler left a few moments ago.”

  “Oh dear! Yes, I’d better go home.” Zillia turned to Wylder, who was giving the young lawyer a quizzical look. “Wylder, this is Mr. Ulysses Alder. Mr. Alder, my friend, Mr. Wylder Eckhart.”

  The two men bowed awkwardly.

  “Wylder, please save my dance for another time.” Zillia smiled in apology.

  “May I walk you home?” both men asked at the same time.

  A situation Zillia had never dreamed she’d encounter. Her head spun. What should she do? Wylder is my friend, surely he would understand me not wanting to offend a newcomer. She reached for Mr. Alder’s hand. “Wylder, thank you for the offer.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at church,” she said to Soonie.

  While the young lawyer guided her to the door, Wylder’s eyes filled with hurt and confusion. Zillia stepped out into the night wondering if she had made a terrible mistake.

  April 1889

  11 River Elves

  “Elves! Elves at the river!”

  Zillia put down her milking pail and walked to the edge of the bluff.