Gathering on Dance Hall Road

by Dorothy A. Bell

  Van pressed his lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. The Sheriff coughed and tried to maintain a sober façade but couldn’t hold the pose. Lips twitching, he hid his snicker behind his gloved hand.

  The prisoner grumbled and cursed, complained about excessive abuse, and the ground being hard, and his hands going to sleep, but the sheriff remained impervious. “You look fine right where you are, Mr. Kramer. Horse thievin’ is a hangin’ offense. Add to that two assault charges, attempted kidnapping, attempted murder, and we’ll have to hang you maybe three, four times over.”

  Sheriff Rutland turned to Ollie. “Show me the girl, need to talk to her.”

  There wasn’t room for all of them in Kit’s wagon. Ollie excused herself to make more coffee. Van, butt resting on the edge of the tailgate, legs stretched out before him, folded his arms across his chest. He should probably head for home, at least head for the mountains, and do that fishin’ and huntin’. He’d found excitement, not the good kind, but he wasn’t sorry. As a matter of fact, he felt pretty damn noble. Van could hear Rutland’s voice, but he wasn’t paying much attention to the sheriff’s questions until he heard the name McAdam.

  “Melody McAdam,” the sheriff repeated. “Any relation to the Pinkerton Indian Ryder McAdam, the one who took down the Payasos gang?”

  Silence. Van could feel the air crackle with unspoken tension even out here. He remained very still, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

  The Kit sighed. “He’s my brother.”

  “Do the Millers know?” the sheriff asked.

  “I suppose. They were in Cherry Grove when it happened. We, my brother and I, we performed for the first time in the Circus International in Cherry Grove. I doubt the Millers think much about my last name, my family.”

  Van heard the sheriff growl. “Well, it matters to me, young lady. How old are you? Thirteen, fourteen?”

  Van heard her raspberry and tucked his lips between his teeth to keep from snickering. The girl had spunk, way too much spunk.

  “I am twenty,” she said all saucy like. “If you’re wondering about my folks, they’re dead. They died when I was three. Royce and Cleantha O’Bannon adopted me and my brothers. I grew up in Laura Creek. I’m done with the show now, thanks to the…the bastard out there, and I’m going home after I heal up a little.”

  “I know Royce,” the sheriff said. “Longtree is the sheriff in Laura Creek. I’ll send him a wire.”

  “Why? No, there’s no need for that.”

  “Young woman, you were attacked. You could’ve been killed. Your folks need to know. And they need to be here to take care of you.”

  “The Millers will take care of me,” Kit said, her tone full of defiance. Van listened, hearing more than words, hearing wounded pride, desperation, loneliness, and disappointment.

  “Well, I s’pose they will,” said the sheriff. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Miller about this. But I don’t like keeping information from family, especially families I know.”

  Van walked over to his horse and removed Ranger’s saddle. He stroked the gelding’s nose and ran his hand down the gelding’s sore leg. He’d put his weight on it this morning. The tonic had worked, and the wrap, which he’d left on, had reduced any swelling.

  Stroking the horse, Van pondered current events. Ryder’s little sister? Well, hell, I have to stay with her now, see to it she gets home safe. The Millers, Ollie said they were headed southeast to Boise, but putting on shows along the way. Wonder which way Miss McAdam will take? I’ll stick with her, make up some excuse.

  His brother-in-law’s little sister, Melody McAdam. What kind of game had she been playing, traveling and performing? Jo mentioned her. She didn’t say what the girl was doing, but she said they missed her. Not a big letter writer? Van huffed at the notion of the little hellcat writing a sweet and informative letter home. And Longtree, he had a daughter at the school. I wonder if I can get Melody, alias Kit, to talk about the school and Jo. It sure would be fun to try.

  ∙•∙

  “Thank you, Mr. Van DeVeer,” Kit said, a simpering, insincere smile on her lips. “You’ll be on your way now the sheriff has relieved us of thieving Mr. Kramer.”

  Van grinned in the face of her dismissal. She’d changed her hair, pulled it away from her impish, pixy face, and looked twelve years old. With her hair in a braid, coiled around her head like a crown, she truly did give the impression of a royal princess imperially waving away a no longer needed champion. She even sounded royal.

  The Miller boys had helped her out of her wagon, creating a cradle with their hands, and made a comfortable place for her to sit in the shade of her wagon. She had the boys and Ollie waiting on her, bringing her cool water, a fan to cool her cheeks, one of Ollie’s cinnamon buns, an apple and a pear, a knife and plate, her favorite slippers, and of course a penny dreadful to read.

  He removed his hat and sat down on the tailgate of her wagon and looked to the sky, contemplating how to begin.

  “You can feel fall in the air today,” he said, choosing the mundane. “August, but last night we had our first frost.”

  Lips puckered, her elegantly slanted brows furrowed over her dark, cunning-as-a-fox black eyes. She drummed her fingers on her closed booklet and gave him the stink-eye.

  “Nice weather for a trip into the mountains,” he said smiling, despite her glare. “I think I’ll wait a day or two right here. Jerry says they’ll pull out as soon as you’ve had a bit of rest. Besides, Ranger needs to recoup too. He started out pretty good this morning, but I noticed when we came back up the hill he’d started to favor his left front leg a little. Don’t want to take the chance of him going lame on me.”

  ∙•∙

  Damn him, using his horse as an excuse to hang around. He’d found her weakness. Shoot, where are Mick and Jimmy? They can’t leave me alone with this man. Ollie, I bet Ollie is behind this. She thinks I should use my feminine wiles and capture this fool’s heart.

  Phtttt. Fat chance of that. He’s sitting there looking at me like I’m a little kid he has to mollify, babysit. No sir, I’m not a fool. And a fool I would be to throw myself at Mr. Beautiful. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. A good way to get my heart stomped on good and proper.

  Chapter Seven

  Melody would’ve liked to get up and walk away. Instead, she gritted her teeth and smiled. “Were you on your way somewhere, Mr. Van DeVeer?” He shook his head and smirked. Not only did she want to walk away, but she also wanted to slap him, then walk away.

  ∙•∙

  “Call me Van, please.” The way she said his name, all proper and prudish, a sneer on her pretty lips, snagged his thoughts like a hangnail. “To answer your question, no, I’m, I’m roving. I’m free to go where the wind takes me. Be nice to head into the mountains though. Any places to fish in the Blues?”

  She opened her mouth, pressed her lips together, lowered her head and examined the fingernails on her right hand. She had long fingers for a little woman, carefully trimmed nails. He would guess she had callouses on her palms. She turned her hand over and tipped her head to the side, avoiding looking into his eyes. “The Grand Ronde. You might try the Grande Ronde River.”

  Leaning toward her, he asked, “Do you fish?”

  She jerked back and winced and hissed. “I…I think I’d like to lie down for a while,” she said, holding her side.

  What the hell? He’d asked if she fished, what had she found insulting about that? He didn’t know much about conversing with women, but he’d never thought talk of fishing an insulting topic. He rose to his feet to assist her from her makeshift chair. “I’ll help you.”

  “No,” she said, pulling her arm to her side. “I’m not a cripple. I can get in my wagon on my own steam. I don’t need you, or anyone, to help me.”

  Teeth grinding, he put his hands down to his sides. “Would you like me to give Maji some oats and walk her a bit?”

  Her lips pulled into a tight line, and her black eyes shot sparks of defiance. �
��Leave my horse alone. I can take care of her too.” She wobbled, her right hand going to the bench beneath her. “I…I’ll rest first.” She started to wave him off but had to catch herself on the wagon frame, using it to lean on getting to her feet. Closing her eyes, she managed a deep breath and held it for a few seconds.

  Van stood close by, prepared to catch her. She tipped forward, and he put his arm around her waist and held her to his chest. “If you don’t want a cracked head, you will accept help.”

  Panting, leaning in on him, she clutched the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll accept help…but, not from you. I wish you would go on your way.”

  Her churlish rejection struck him funny. His sister Jo sprained her ankle once. He’d made her a cane. For no apparent reason he could fathom, she refused it, using nearly the same words, go away, the gist. When he’d caught her using his cane that very same day, she ignored him, wouldn’t look at him or talk to him. Later he found out she’d fallen and bruised her knees, and his father had handed her the cane without saying a word. Wisely, Van had kept his mouth shut then. But today, he tossed wisdom aside, opting instead to meddle and irritate.

  “You don’t really want me to go away,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “You’re hurt, and you’re tired. You need a hand up. I’m here.” He put his finger under her stubborn chin and raised her face to gaze into her dark eyes. “I’m here, and I’m not going away.”

  She clamped her lips shut. Trembling, eyes flooded with tears, she nodded. With his help, she made it onto the tailgate and stopped to look down at him.

  ∙•∙

  He’d laughed at her. If she weren’t in so much pain, Melody might’ve enjoyed his help, but damn, her ribs hurt, her head hurt. And her shoulder, she wanted to scream. No one could help her. She didn’t want to be touched, pitied. Strong and in health, she could protect herself from his good looks, his charm, his kindness, but this way, it wasn’t fair, she was vulnerable, and he knew it.

  His breath, warm, brushed her cheek. His words, softly spoken, his eyes stole her breath, her heart. With one warm hand on her waist and the other beneath her right elbow, she made it to the tailgate without passing out. She wanted to thank him, but the devil in her warned her to guard her heart. She nodded and left him grinning up at her, triumph shining in his wonderful, lake blue eyes.

  “I’ll tell Ollie you’re resting,” he said to her back, and she lowered the canvas flap on him.

  ∙•∙

  Well, that went well. I think I got to her. Not in a good way, but I definitely impressed her.

  Laughing at himself and muttering to himself, he walked away to seek Ranger’s sympathetic ear. Rubbing Ranger’s nose, he said, “Oh, yeah, she loves me. Can’t get enough of me.” Phfft! “She wishes me to perdition, is what she wishes. But why? What did I do to warrant that kind of hostility?” He shook his head. “This is the reason I’ve never tried to court a woman. I don’t understand them. I’m good with cows and horses and dogs, even chickens, but women, nope, I do not understand them at all. She thinks I stink.” He withdrew his pocketknife from his trouser pocket and cut the pear he’d stolen off of her plate in half, feeding half to Ranger and half to Maji. He took the apple, also taken from Kit’s plate, and cut it into thirds and offered each horse a third and took a bite out of his third.

  ∙•∙

  “Fishing? He wants to go fishing. Hell. I love fishing,” Melody said sniveling, whining, talking to herself. Ryder, Jewel and me fishing, camping, I miss them. I miss fishing with them. I’d forgotten how much I miss them. Ryder’s married. Married to Jo. I miss Jo. My sister, Ryder’s Jo. I could stay with her. She’d take me in. If I asked her, she wouldn’t tell Ryder how I got hurt. I could tell her about Mr. Blue Eyes… No. I can’t tell anyone about Mr. Blue Eyes.

  It’s been a long time since I went fishing. Years. I want to go fishing. I want to walk in the woods. I want to go home, but no one is there. Everyone is gone. Ryder’s gone, Twyla-Rose is gone, and Grace is gone. Papa Royce and Mother Cleantha, they’re home.

  I should’ve written them more often.

  Damn, he’s right, I’m tired, and I hurt, and I’m feeling sorry for myself. I never feel sorry for myself. I hate feeling sorry for myself. It’s stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Shoot,” she said to herself, easing down on her cot and closing her eyes. “Maji, I need to see to Maji, brush her, make sure she has water, I need to do that.”

  Chapter Eight

  “So, has Mr. Van De Veer left us yet?” Melody asked.

  “Nope, he says he’ll travel with us for a spell.” Ollie shook her head and finished buttoning Kit’s blouse for her and helped her get her sweater on. The air held a chill this morning, a bit overcast and breezy. Ollie huffed and squatted down to retrieve Melody’s boots from under the cot.

  “Is he out there?” Melody asked, nervous, reluctant to leave her wagon.

  Ollie removed the leather thong from her braids, picked up the hairbrush, and ran it through her hair. “He’s gone to town. He curried Maji and his horse, seen to their feed and water, had a cup of coffee and off he went into town. You do know you slept all afternoon yesterday and all night?” she asked, drawing up Melody’s hair into a coil on top of her head.

  Jealous he’d fed and cared for her horse, disappointed he wasn’t in camp, angry he’d gone into town without telling her why, and impatient with all of it, all of the stupid things he’d done for her without her asking, had Melody feeling ashamed of herself. Why should she care if he’d gone into town? It was none of her business. She should be glad he was gone. She should be grateful to him for seeing to Maji. Instead, she hated him for it. She thought it presumptuous and encroaching.

  “I feel better this morning,” she said. “Sore, but better. I can take care of Maji. Maybe he’ll keep going,” she said to herself aloud.

  “He’ll be back,” said Ollie with an all-knowing gleam in her brown eyes. “He left his bedroll,” she said in response to Melody’s arched brows of doubt. “I’ll lace your shoes. Do you feel like getting out of here?” she asked.

  “Why?” Melody asked.

  “Why what?” Ollie asked, her hand on her lower back and rising to stand straight.

  “Why is he coming back?” Melody asked. “I know, I know, to get his bedroll. But why doesn’t he just go? He doesn’t know us.”

  Ollie set the hairbrush on her shelf. “Well,” she said, “I could speculate, but I won’t ’cause you’d not believe me. So, I’ll say he likes our company and let it go at that.”

  “You think he’s staying because of me?”

  Ollie huffed and sputtered. “Well, he ain’t stickin’ around ’cause he likes my cookin’. I’ll admit I’m a damn fine cook but a man like Van, he’s gonna want a woman who can give him more than a hearty meal if you get my meaning.”

  “Well, then, he’s got another think coming,” Melody said, her nose going up. “I can cook, but I’m not cooking for any man, never. I’ve got nothing a man would want except my horse. You are dead wrong about Mr. Pretty Face. If he is interested in me, it’s not for my mind or my body, which leaves me thinking it’s my horse. It sure as hell isn’t for the reasons your thinking. He’s after something. I don’t trust him. He’s too…too…”

  Ollie put her hands on her hips and looked down her nose at her. “What? Too pretty? Too perfect? Too sweet? Too kind? And brave and decent? Auck! You sicken me. After your horse—what a crock of nonsense,” she said and waved her hands over her head. “Now, can you manage your ablutions on your own, or do you need help?”

  Indignant, Melody sniffed and looked away. “Already taken care of, thank you.”

  Getting on the wrong side of Ollie wouldn’t help matters. Relenting, Melody asked, “I’d like to wash my hair when you have time.”

  “Now you’re talkin’. Good, that’s good. I’ll heat some water. There’s a nip in the air, can’t have you catchin’ your death while you’re down.”

  “I am not down,�
�� Melody, said, snapping at her.

  Ollie laughed at her and made her exit.

  ∙•∙

  The uncertainty of what and why he’d set out to purchase two fishing poles nagged Van. He had no way to justify his actions other than he wanted to go fishing with Melody. He had, up to this point in time, paid very little attention to the process of courting and mating. He liked girls; he knew that. He liked to look at them, and feel and smell them, but he’d never gone out of his way to spend an extended period of time with any particular girl.

  At the age of twelve, he’d fallen madly in lust with Ginger Carmoody. She let him kiss her on the mouth and slip his hand under her blouse to feel the bud of her nipple. Then he found out all the boys had kissed her on the mouth and all of them had been given permission to feel her nipple, and the spell was broken.

  Ginger, bless her, matured and married at fifteen. She had five children now, and from what he’d heard, she was happily settled with just one man.

  Van’s brother Gabe and his bride, Birdie-Alice, welcomed their first child in May. Van suspected they wanted a big family. His father Buck couldn’t get enough of little Joy Buxton. Cute and cuddly, Joy didn’t fool her Uncle Van. He could see problems ahead. Little Joy insisted on having her way. She had a stubborn streak in her that her doting parents and grandparents currently excused as the colic.

  Children, babies, didn’t fit the picture Van had of himself. He thought of himself as the bachelor uncle who ran the ranch side of Hoyt’s Hot Spring, not the patriarchal heir.

  He’d leave it to Gabe to sire the next generation. Van would rather stay on the sidelines as an observer. He saw himself as the sage the family consulted when faced with a drought. Or when the wolves preyed on the livestock. He’d be the man, the bachelor uncle they turned to when they needed to find the best person to repair the roof or the barn.

  Still, the question of why he wanted to take Melody McAdam fishing remained unanswered, unexplored, and continued to tease his brain.

  He recognized her resistance presented a challenge. A challenge he could not ignore or dismiss. Women liked him. They liked him a bit too much. Consequently, he didn’t care for socials. He didn’t care to flirt or play games. And the stupid gossip left him disgusted. He wasn’t a clever conversationalist or funny like his brother Gabe. The dances were fun for about the first hour, then the music got too loud and the dance floor too crowded. He usually ended up outside under a tree somewhere looking at the stars.