by Bella Bowen
If someone tried to push her into a corner, she could grab his chest and twist that too. A blow to his nose would stop most men. A knee to his nether regions could leave him wreathing on the ground.
Molly Brumley was not powerless.
And Molly Brumley wanted to dance. She had planned on waiting until Thursday to see if Ellis Beauregard found someone else to his liking, but as she'd tossed out the wilted cucumber slices, she decided she'd be a fool not to fight for the man. She had no idea what the other bridegrooms would be like in the weeks to come, but there was a good chance she'd never see the likes that tall drink of water again. No matter what Naomi, the Crawler, had said. Just because a man was good, didn't mean he was as good a man as that Wyoming rancher. And she was going to give him the first dance if he wanted it. She wouldn't have to worry whether or not she was safe with him.
Maybe the first dance would be a waltz. It couldn't be the devil's dance because her pa, the liar, claimed it was. So there was nothing un-Christian about her dancing around the room on the arms of a gentleman.
She wore the blue dress again, determined to replace last week's memories with new ones. She tucked a handkerchief in the little pocket and her hand found the little doll's arm. She deliberated whether or not to leave it behind. She certainly wouldn't need it.
Meg knocked on the door and bustled inside. “You're first, Miss Molly.”
In less than thirty minutes, Molly's hair was done. The woman looking back at her from the mirror was lovely—not just good enough not to embarrass Mrs. Carnegie, but truly lovely. Her pa said she wasn’t pretty enough, but John Brumley was a liar.
Molly picked up the oval likeness of her grandmother and looked for anything recognizable. Even if she were fanciful, she could see nothing of herself in the woman's face. Did her mother truly look like that?
She took a deep breath and told herself it didn’t matter what her mother looked like, Meg had made her look glorious. And the little white collar finished it all off nicely.
~ ~ ~
The parade downtown was a little sparse compared to the week before, but Molly would have felt bad for the children to be out in the cold. She was grateful Mr. Forrester had come through with her cloak in such a short amount of time. The thick fur lining helped keep herself and two other women warm on the way to the dance when they laid it across their laps.
The men had arrived early and filed out of the hall to help everyone out of the wagons and such. Molly's chest tightened strangely when Ellis Beauregard stepped up and offered his hand.
“Didn't expect to see you here tonight, Miss Molly, but I'm awful glad you came.” He helped her down and tucked her cloak tighter around her. “But I won't be glad at all if you plan to sit outside all evening.”
She laughed and her breath poured out in a cloud. “No, sir. I'm going inside to do some dancing.”
If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He just smiled and put a hand on her back while they walked into the hall. She told herself it was just a sign of affection, not a sign he was trying lead her where she didn’t want to go.
The inside of the hall looked smaller, but only because everyone wore bulky coats and cloaks and the men were already inside, unlike the week before. Mr. Beauregard took her cloak from her and as soon as everyone’s warm attire was hung on the pegs along the wall, Molly could breathe a little easier.
“Here you are. I believe this dropped out of the pocket of your cloak.” The tall man dropped the oval into her open hand. Then he smiled when she held it up for him to see the image clearly. “Do you have family in England?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I just wondered why you keep a picture of Queen Victoria. It's lovely though. Of course she can’t look much like that now.”
Queen Victoria?
Molly was stunned for a good while, like an animal hit up side the head with a shovel.
Of course it wasn't a picture of her grandmother. And of course her mother hadn't looked anything like the woman...
Because John Brumley was a liar.
For a moment, she leaned on Beauregard’s forearm, reeling from the shock of having her mother's image stolen from her. She'd never remembered the woman, but she'd lost her all over again.
Beauregard asked her what was wrong. She told him as simply as possible about the little oval, and about the lie her father had told her long ago. While the musicians tuned their instruments, she explained how cheated she felt.
“Silly, I know,” she said.
The man grinned. “Yes. Terribly silly. Because you've still got her image, Molly. All you have to do is look in the mirror and I'm sure most of what you see is her.”
Molly laughed and cried at the same time, still clutching his arm. It had never occurred to her that her mother might be found in the mirror because she'd been too busy trying to find herself in the oval.
“Thank you, Ellis. You don't know how happy you just made me.”
A punch cup shattered on the floor just behind her. Molly turned and found Samuel Craighton squatting behind her, cleaning up little pieces of glass.
The woman serving refreshments hurried to his side with a cloth in her hand.
“It was only water,” he said, “but I am sorry about the cup.”
The woman shooed him away and he stood.
“Sam.” Beauregard held out his hand.
“Ellis.” Craighton shook hands, then nodded to Molly.
Ellis smiled stiffly. “You remember Molly, don't you? From last week?”
Craighton nodded.
“I thought you'd left town.” She could think of nothing new or more interesting to say to him. Nothing more memorable.
“No. I decided to stay on and see... See what turned up.”
Beauregard's head turned sharply. He gave Craighton a strange look as if seeing him for the first time. Then his eyes narrowed slowly.
Molly looked back and forth between the men and suddenly, the taller man was all smiles again.
“Well, now, don't let us keep you from it, old boy,” he told Craighton. “Looks like eight new fillies turned up just for you.” He slapped the other man on the back and helped him head in the direction of the new brides who were shivering together in the corner. The three women who hadn't been chosen the previous week were already chatting with a few of the new bridegrooms. Experience looked to be on their side.
Mrs. Carnegie clapped her hands together to get attention, then rubbed them for a minute more to get them warm. There was a fire already burning in the pot-bellied stove, but the cool air had come in the door with them all and the fire had yet to chase the chill from the room.
The temperature hardly mattered. With Craighton’s surprise appearance, Molly felt nothing at all.
She was almost angry. Given his obvious interest in the new girls, he wasn’t there because of her. But what upset her most was how hard she’d worked to weed the man from her mind, only to be staring at his still-handsome face. But if she was honest, he wasn’t wounding her all over again—he was proving the first wound had never started healing in the first place.
Damnation!
“I think dancing is the fastest way to get us warm, don't you think?” Mrs. Carnegie smiled around the room, then she grinned when she noticed Mr. Craighton surrounded by the flock of new brides. “You all know the rules, ladies and gentlemen. Please, take your time. Try to speak with as many others as possible. Don't single anyone out too quickly.”
An older woman stepped up on a box. “Find your partners for the square dance!”
Beauregard sucked air into his lungs and huffed it out quickly. “Well, are you ready to have your toes stepped on?”
Molly smiled through her nerves and forced her broken heart into a little box to deal with later. Tonight was for Ellis Beauregard.
“I wore my sturdiest boots.” She pointed her toe out from under her hem and revealed the little blue boots with black buttons. They didn't look like
they'd hold up under more than a stomp or two.
Beauregard rolled his eyes. “You'll be limping back to the buggy, I'm afraid.”
“That's all right. I know how to limp.”
He laughed and took her hand. They walked into the center of the room and with three other couples, made a square. Craighton stood in the square closest to the door. Their groups would remain separate, so they wouldn’t be dancing together for even a step or two.
Molly pretended it was a relief and thought about the steps to come. She’d learned the dance at the ranch. Dancing with women apparently posed no threat.
The music started.
She stepped forward and back. Forward and back. She linked elbows with the woman across from her, then took her spot again and tapped her toe, waiting for her turn. The men changed positions and changed back again. Thunder struck in her chest as she stepped forward and locked elbows with her tall partner. But before her heart could burst, she was standing alone again. No one touching her.
She had survived.
There was no time to celebrate. The routine started again.
I'm all right. I'm all right, she chanted along with the song. Not yet. Not yet.
Here it comes.
Thunder struck again. She swung around faster than she'd planned. But she was back in her spot. Shaking, but whole. She could hear her father laughing. “Don't be a spoilt sport, Molly. He’s got to touch ya. It's part of the dance. Everything will be all right. Just keep dancing.”
Beauregard gave her a worried frown.
She smiled and shook her head. Keep smiling. Keep smiling.
She joined hands with him and went under the bridge made by the hands of the other couple. She let go and turned to her left. But that was wrong. She was supposed to go right.
Beauregard's hands were suddenly on her shoulders, turning her back the way she was supposed to go. He was laughing. They all were laughing. She tried to laugh too.
He let go, turned away from her and went left himself. With the circle complete, they joined hands and made the bridge. Another other couple danced beneath their arms. The man bumped into Molly's middle and she squeezed her partner's fingers, trying to maintain the bridge. Even with his height, he had to stretch.
“Hold on,” he yelled.
Their fingers slid apart. The other man's hip caught her, spun her. To keep from knocking her to the ground, he grabbed her around the middle, the only place he could reach her, bent as he was.
Molly's vision blurred. Beauregard's face blurred, so far beyond her reach. And she was spinning. The man was spinning her, laughing, holding her where he had no right to hold her.
She pushed at him. Screaming, screaming. “No!” Spinning. “No!” Pushing.
But there was nothing she could do. Nothing she could ever do. Nothing would be all right...
Because John Brumley was a liar.
The spinning stopped. She was standing alone. No hands upon her.
Beauregard hurried forward and put his arm around her. “You all right, Molly?”
That long arm settled on her shoulder. That long body sidled up close, pinning her to the spot. She couldn't slow her breath. She was getting dizzy. The arm tightened and the screaming started again.
“Mooove!” A deep voice thundered nearby. “Let her go, Ellis. She can't breathe.”
“I've got her, Sam. Don't you worry.”
“You going to let her go or not?” Samuel had to yell to be heard above the screaming. Why didn't someone stop the screaming?
“I'll handle this.” Beauregard's voice was harsh.
“Sorry, old man.”
Molly felt the blow that hit Ellis Beauregard’s jaw. The long arm lifted, the long body fell away from her. She could breathe again.
The screaming stopped.
Samuel leaned down into her face. “Follow me, Molly. Can you follow me? I'll get you outside, all right?”
She nodded and he turned his back to her. “Follow me, Molly. That's all you have to do.” Then he yelled, “Make way!”
She teetered for a step or two, paused and took a deep breath, then started again.
“Follow me, Molly. We're going outside, now. Almost there.”
She felt like a skittish horse that needed soothing, but she did need soothing. Her very skin shuddered. Her heart was thumping like a war drum. But she'd be all right...
“Because Samuel Craighton doesn't lie.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The air was cold. She was outside. But still he walked, so still she followed.
Finally, he turned and pointed to the bench beside him. “It'll be cold, but I think you should sit down.”
Someone handed him his jacket and Molly’s thick black cloak. He handed it to her. “Wrap this around you first.”
Her hands were shaking, but she managed. “Pull your hood up. That's it. I promise not to touch you.”
Mrs. Carnegie came into view and look closely at Molly, then she pulled her glove off and pressed her graceful hand to Molly’s forehead.
“Will she be all right?” she asked Craighton.
“She will be fine,” Molly said.
The woman smiled and winked, then hurried back inside. Through the wall, Molly could hear her giving orders. A few seconds later, the musicians took up the square dancing tune again.
“You'll be fine, huh?”
Molly looked up at Craighton's face. He was smiling, which surprised her. She thought he'd be shocked and backing away from her, washing his hands of her.
“Yes. I'll be fine. As long as no strange men wrap their arms around me, obviously.”
He laughed. “I'm happy to hear it wasn't Ellis who upset you.”
“No, it was that other one. He bumped into me, then tried to keep me from falling. That's all I remember until you appeared.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you, by the way. Back home, I had some...unpleasant dancing experiences.”
“It doesn't surprise me at all, after hearing your father speak to you last week.”
She shrugged. It was hard to remember an hour ago, let alone the week before.
One of the big doors opened and the tall man stepped out. Samuel waved him over.
“She won't hurt you, Ellis.”
The big man grinned. “Never thought she would.” He put a hand to his jaw. “You, on the other hand...”
“She thought you were holding her down,” Samuel said. Then he explained that her previous dancing experiences made her a bit skittish. She was grateful she didn't have to explain anything.
Ellis sat down. She no longer had to look up so high to see his face.
“It was pretty brave of you to try, tonight,” he said.
She shrugged, still embarrassed.
“But if you don't like to be touched, I can be patient.”
Samuel gave him a nudge and a hard frown.
“Touch doesn't bother me. But I can't stand to be held down I guess.”
The men exchanged a look she didn't understand, but she suspected it had something to do with the marriage bed. She’d have to remember to ask Mrs. Carnegie about it.
Samuel nodded toward the door. “Can you give us a minute, Ellis? I'd like to say my goodbyes.”
The tall man looked a little surprised, but he nodded and went back inside.
“Goodbye?” She felt the tears building behind her eyes, but she wasn't going to pretend they were from anything other than disappointment.
He swallowed hard and nodded. “Ellis is a good man. You’ll be happy with him.”
She couldn’t deny it, but she knew her heart would be happier with Samuel. Only Samuel wasn’t asking.
Behind her, the music stopped. When it started again, it was a waltz. Too bad they hadn’t played it first. Maybe that man wouldn’t have grabbed her and frightened her. Maybe she’d have gotten along well enough to have one dance with Samuel.
“How do you feel, Molly?” His voice was a deep whisper.
She forced a smile she didn’t
feel. “I’m fine. Really. This cloak is very warm.”
“How about your legs?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your legs. Can you stand? Can you walk? Or do you need to sit?”
She hurried to her feet. “Where are we going?”
He grinned. “We are going to dance. Now, don’t be afraid. I’m not going to touch you.”
She was oddly disappointed by that, but she understood why he’d shy away from laying a hand on her. After all, she might start screaming again. But if it meant she could have a dance with Samuel Craighton before he left her life forever, again, she was willing to do whatever he suggested.
“You can touch me, can’t you?”
She suppressed a real smile that time. “Yes.”
“All right, then. Put your hands on my shoulders.” He stepped close so she didn’t have to reach far.
Her heart started beating faster, but it wasn’t because she was afraid. She rather liked standing this close to him. She didn’t feel threatened. And his body kept the cold away. She could have stood like that until the entire event was over.
He put his hands behind him. “Do you know the steps?”
“We’ve practiced at the ranch.”
“All right, then. Watch my feet until you get used to it. Keep your arms taut. I’ll guide you with my shoulders. Back and forward, forward and back. Shall we try it?” His face was lit with excitement.
“Yes. I’m ready.” She looked down at his toes, ready to mirror their movements.
His shoulders moved beneath her touch and swayed to and fro with the music. She held tight to the fabric and the sinews beneath her hands.
What would he do if she refused to let him go?
After only a few bars of music, there was no need to watch his feet. Her body followed his as if they’d been dancing together for ages. She didn’t care if their positioning seemed odd to passersby. It felt perfect to her.
Their strides grew bolder and the circles widened. The music hummed back and forth through her arms and into his body, from him back through her arms again.