Gathering on Dance Hall Road

by Dorothy A. Bell

  “I don’t remember what I did? What did we do? Maji? She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  He stopped to look at her lying there in her white leather sheath dress, one bare leg showing up past her knees, her cheeks bright with color, her lips drawn up in a perfect pucker begging for a kiss. He ached to hold her, but he couldn’t. She would reject him. He couldn’t take the risk. “You, Kit, you were beautiful. You are beautiful. You were magic. You, Kit, Rain, whatever you want to call yourself, you cast a spell on everyone—on me. You did that, not Maji.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Melody rose unsteadily to her feet and removed her costume and slipped into her robe. Weak in the knees and a little dizzy, she sat down on her cot and felt under her pillow for her diary. Van said I was beautiful. I performed magic. You take my breath away, he said. She added the date and hid her little book under her pillow. Usually, she considered very carefully what she put down in her diary. She agonized over details. Having a tendency to embellish, she always reread what she wrote. There were a lot of scratch-outs in her diary. But this last entry she refused to reread or remove. He’d said it, she’d heard him, and her written words would stand. Some long, lonely day she would reread and savor the memory.

  The wagon tipped slightly, and she knew Van had returned with her food. “Folks are starting to leave,” he said. “Everyone’s talking about the spirit dancer. Rain, the spirit dancer,” he said, handing her a basket with one each of a game pie and an apple pie and a jar of water.

  Speechless, Melody reached for the basket and placed it on her lap. Gazing up at him, meeting his sweet smile with her heart in her throat, his words registered. “Me? That’s me. Rain, the spirit dancer. I like it. I was going home, but I think I’ll keep going now. This darn shoulder didn’t slow me down. This is wonderful,” she said and took a healthy bite out of a game pie.

  ∙•∙

  Pacing along the crest of the hill in the dark, muttering to himself, Van didn’t completely understand his anger. It had to do with Melody McAdam, he did understand that much, but the why, he didn’t care to examine but examine he did.

  Well, hell. She’s happy now. Going to keep going. New name. No time for fishing. And I’m miserable. Why?

  He stopped in his tracks to look up to the night sky, the twinkling stars. “No time for me,” he said aloud, hearing the pain in his voice. “No time, no place for…what? Infatuation? More, a hell of a lot more, I want more.

  “So, it’s like that? Thought you had her? You got her to go fishing with you, and you figured one kiss, and she’d tumble for you just like that. But she hasn’t; she didn’t. She’s in love with applause and the show.

  “I should go home. I’ll see her again in the New Year, try again. Or maybe, better yet, I will have forgotten all about her in a month or two.” He picked up his pace, taking long strides. “I like the sound of that.” He groaned and stopped to kick a clump of grass, knowing he wouldn’t.

  “Oh, hell, I’m a glutton for punishment, and I’ll stay with her all the way to La Grande like a dumb, moon sick clod, but when we reach La Grande…she’ll do one of two things: she’ll go home to Laura Creek, or she’ll head south with the Millers and Boise and the winter arena. She sure as hell won’t be going anywhere with me. But…she might…she might…I could…we could, with time…a few more kisses.

  “Answer this then, what do I do when we reach La Grande? I better tell her who I am. Can’t go home without saying a word. What about the New Year? No matter how I play this it’s sure to piss her off for lying to her like this.”

  ∙•∙

  “I need more bells,” Melody said to herself. “And feathers, not a lot of feathers, but at least three. I’ll do some trading when we get to the reservation. But what to trade?” She found a box full of buttons and a bag of yarn she’d collected while at school in Cherry Grove in the bottom of the chest where she stored her clothes. She also found a black riding cap she’d forgotten about, and three pairs of men’s gloves she’d never worn. Resting back on her heels, she decided it might be enough. And the herbs, she mustn’t forget the herbs.

  She sat sewing the bells she’d worn on her wrist to the fringe at the bottom of her mother’s costume. She couldn’t remember much about her mother, what she looked like, but she did have a memory of being held. She’d never even tried on the dress before this evening. She took it out rarely to feel the soft kid, bury her face and smell the faint scent of roses. Funny the dress had fit her perfectly tonight; before, when she’d held it up to her, she knew it would be too big.

  “Beads,” she said to herself. “Need beads on the fringe. I’ll weave the bells into Maji’s mane. ‘Magic,’ Van said. He said I was beautiful.”

  She stopped and held her bracelets of bells to her chest.

  He’ll go now. Leave. He should go. He kissed me. Said I wouldn’t want any other to touch my lips.

  Her fingers went to her lips.

  What does Mr. Beautiful know? I’ll be famous. I’ll choose whose lips touch mine and whose lips are not allowed.

  »»•««

  Melody woke to the smell of Ollie’s coffee and something fried—the trout? A half-eaten apple pie sat abandoned on the plate beside her bed. She almost put her foot in it when she started to stand. It didn’t look very appetizing, but she was hungry. She rolled her shoulder, a little stiff but not like it had been, and managed a deep breath without wincing. She combed her hair and drew it back in a long queue and tied it with black leather lace. What to wear today gave her moment of pause. They’d be traveling today. She decided on a split leather riding skirt, lace up to mid-calf moccasins, a red and white checkered gingham shirt and her tan weskit with the silver Conchos on the lapels. She set her black Gaucho hat on her head and left her wagon, looking forward to the day—she had a new act, she’d modified her costume.

  The absence of Van’s horse standing next to Maji dimmed her cheery mood. His bedroll was gone too. A hard lump expanded in her throat, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She swallowed and squared her shoulders.

  So, he’d left without saying goodbye. Well, good. No reason for him to stay around and hold my hand. I don’t need him.

  She swiped the tear from her cheek and put a smile on her lips. It wouldn’t do to let Ollie think she cared one way or the other, or that she’d even noticed.

  “Well, good mornin’,” Ollie said as she approached the cooking fire and handed her a cup of coffee.

  “It is a very good morning,” Melody said as an affirmation to herself. She drank her coffee, dying to ask Ollie if she’d said goodbye to Van but didn’t want to appear at all affected.

  “The boys and Jerry are gettin’ the teams harnessed up. They’ve eaten. I saved you a portion of the lovely trout you caught,” Ollie said and handed her a tin plate. “I held back a couple of slices of apple pie too if you want. I’m getting ready to take down the cooking fire and pack up.”

  “Thank you. Sorry I slept late. I stayed up sewing bells on the fringe. I couldn’t sleep. I think Maji should have some bells too. I’m not sure she’ll agree.”

  Ollie shook her head. “I had no idea what you were going to do. What with them sore ribs and your shoulder. I’m glad you didn’t try to ride and do tricks. You stunned folks, you surely did.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about going home. If it’s all right with you I’d like to stick for a while, try out this new routine.”

  “Of course you can come along,” Ollie said. “We’ll be in River Glenn day after tomorrow. O’course we have to make a stopover tonight to do some tradin’ on the reservation. We’ve got good weather. Let’s hope it holds long enough to get us over Mt. Emily. Don’t want to get caught in an early blizzard like we done the year Mick was born.” Ollie shivered and emptied the coffee pot over the fire.

  Melody moved aside to avoid the gush of steam and smoke. She couldn’t stand it for another minute and blurted out the question. “So, Mr. Beautiful left, did he?”

 
Ollie looked down into the hissing coals in the fire pit and said, “He did.”

  Holding her breath to keep from cursing, Melody closed her eyes and told herself she didn’t care.

  She didn’t care. I do not care. Good.

  “You thanked him, I suppose,” she said looking down into the dark liquid in her cup. “He is a hero. We were lucky he was here.”

  Ollie shrugged her shoulders but didn’t respond.

  Unable to stop herself, Melody had to ask,” Did he say anything? Did he tell you to say anything, say goodbye to me?”

  Ollie set the coffee pot down with a smack on the back of her wagon, rattling the dishes in her basin of wash water. “You know,” she said and turned to her, “you’re gonna have to make up your mind. Either you’re glad he’s gone, or you’re devastated he left without sayin’ goodbye or givin’ you time to sort out your feelin’s. Sometimes it happens right off, and sometimes it takes us awhile, but there’s nothin’ wrong with givin’ your heart to another body. It’s the way of things. Humans, the ones with a soul, mate, and love.”

  Melody sniffed and downed her coffee. “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I didn’t show my feelings ’cause he’s gone. And he left without a word. So much for Mr. Beautiful. A lovely fantasy, like a wisp of smoke, he’s gone.”

  Ollie cleared her throat. “He left early for town with our list of supplies and trade goods we’ll need. He’ll be waitin’ for us at the mercantile. And that reminds me,” she said and flipped open a hidden compartment in the floorboards of the wagon to retrieve the money jar. She removed a pouch and handed it to her. “This is last night’s take. Now, eat your breakfast and stop actin’ like a damn fool. That young man is a goodin’ I tell you. Did he stay up drinkin’ with the boys and dancin’ with all the girls? He did not. He saw you safe and tucked away and went right to his bed, he did. You got a good man willin’ to hang around despite you givin’ him very little encouragement.”

  The pouch didn’t feel right. It jangled with coins as was usual, but it was suspiciously fat. Melody removed a hefty wad of bills. “Where did all of this come from? Not from last night, surely.”

  Ollie removed her wet dishes and tossed the dishwater onto her smoldering fire. “Oh, that’s reward money. Your fella split it between us.”

  “Reward? What reward? My fella?”

  “Yeah, your fella, remember, the one who caught the horse thief and saved your sorry butt twice. The thievin’ dirty bastly had a reward on his head,” Ollie said and packed the empty dishpan with her coffee pot and plates and silverware. “Now don’t be thinkin’ of tryin’ to get that wonderful man to take it back, ’cause Jerry and me, we already tried. And nothing short of tying him down and stuffing the money… Well…he won’t hear of it. He wanted to pay for the supplies and trade goods too, but Jerry and me drew the line there. I gave him enough cash to cover that.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sheriff Rutland spotted him, waved and crossed the alley between the mercantile and the emporium. “You lighting out?”

  Van nodded and grinned. “Yeah. The Millers are hitching up. I offered to come down for supplies and trade goods. I guess I’ll travel with them for a while. Once they head over the pass, we’ll go south and right past Baker City.”

  The sheriff looked off to the east, his opaque gray eyes squinting against the coming sunrise. “Back a few years…I…ah…lost my head over a woman,” he said and crossed his arms without looking Van in the eye. “Pretty as a picture, she was. Sweet as clover. A good girl even though she sang in the saloon. I supported her ambition. I was proud of her. Lots a men admired her, but she was faithful to me. I stuck by her side for three years before I laid my heart out on the table. It was then she told me she’d got an offer to sing in an opera house in San Francisco. She begged me to let her go, try her wings for a year.”

  He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and adjusted the hat on his head. “I saw her off on the stage. She wrote me three letters and that was that. Never heard from her again.”

  He looked at Van and spoke, his eyes narrowed and focused. “I left my heart there on that battered old card table. When I sobered up, I swore I’d never do it again. Can’t say it was the right thing to do, plenty of good women around. Some would’ve been proud to be my wife, but I never asked.

  “What I’m sayin’ is, I seen the same look in your little Indian girl’s eyes as I saw in my Caroline’s. She’s got dreams and ambitions. Don’t you be a fool and follow her around and waste your life thinkin’ she’ll change ’cause you fancy her. As soon as you can, you lay it out, tell her who you are and what you are. You get her to do the same.”

  Van stood silent and stock still for a good half a minute. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m not sayin’ a body can’t change their thinkin’, they can, and they do. It’s not so much as changin’ as it is adjustin,’ and acceptin’ the idea it’s no good being alone. We need companionship. A body needs someone who cares, and someone to care for. I never learned. It’s too late for me.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. “Enough of my preachin’. You have a safe journey. Give my Regards to Rafe Bollo.”

  “I’ll do that, Sir,” Van said.

  The sheriff stopped and turned to say, “I did tell you, didn’t I, a couple of Wasco County deputies are takin’ charge of Kramer today? He don’t have a very good opinion of you, your horse or my jail. I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when he’s out of my care.”

  Van grinned and nodded. Behind him, the grocery clerk stood in the doorway ordering his helper, a scrawny kid with a flour sack over one shoulder and a barrel of salt tucked under the other arm, to stack the supplies on the edge of the sidewalk. “What do we owe you?” Van asked the clerk. Staying clear of the kid, he followed the clerk inside, the sheriff’s advice repeating in his head.

  He’s right, the voice of reason told him. I’d be a sucker for hanging around a woman who doesn’t give a button if I stay or go. I’ll take the cut-off to Immigrant Springs. Go visit Jo and forget about silly, mule-headed Melody McAdam. She’s not going to change. She’ll never settle down. Not with a dullard like me, that’s for sure. She’d hate being confined to one place. She’ll get a wild hair in her cute little butt someday, go chasin’ after a career as a tight-rope walker or something, and run off the first chance she gets and take my heart with her.

  I’ll see her again in a few months, and I bet I’ll wonder what the hell I was thinkin’? She’s not that pretty. She’s too small, nothing to her. And she’s reckless and fearless as a coyote pup.

  He paid for the supplies, stuffed the receipt in his coat pocket, returned to the porch and glanced up the street. His heart clutched up, skipped several beats, taking off into a full gallop. Melody McAdam astride her beautiful Maji, a winning smile on her lovely lips, black eyes sparkling with life, urged her mount to the hitching rail in front of him. She dipped her dainty little chin and patted Maji’s neck.

  What was it he’d thought, not that pretty. Too small. Nothing to her. Wrong, all wrong. No, not pretty, unnaturally perfect, her complexion, her lips, her hair, her eyes, her face—delicate, and perfect. And her lithe little body, ethereal and perfect. The glimpse of her stocking-encased knees right there where her moccasin boots ended and her skirt began, legs parted, hugging Maji, did funny things to his innards. He wanted to put his hand there and slide his fingers all the way up to her hips. He shook his head and ran his tongue over his dry lips.

  Her voice, like a bubbling cool stream, filtered through the fog of his lust. “Thought I’d keep you company,” she said. “Lovely day for a ride, not too hot, nice and cool. We’ll be laying over tonight on the reservation,” she said, urging Maji to stand sideways before him.

  ∙•∙

  Nervous, Melody stopped her chatter. Van looked funny, kind of in a trance. She waved her hand in front of his face. “What’s the matter?” He blinked and came out of his trance, shaking his head. “You have
n’t changed your mind about coming with us?” she asked.

  He stepped off the walk and took up Ranger’s reins and settled in the saddle without looking at her. “Well, yeah. I think I’ll take the cut-off to Immigrant Springs. Maybe do some fishing when I get to the Grande Ronde.”

  He might as well have kicked her in the gut. Her chest hurt, and tears came to her eyes. Lower lip quivering, she turned her head away to hide her weakness. “Oh, I see. Yes, of course. No need for you to follow us around now.” Unblinking, eyes forward, she said, “I guess you’ve put up with us long enough. And we thank you. We are grateful to you.” She brushed a tear from her cheek and pasted a smile on her lips. “But we can ride together as far as the cut-off. And you really should lay over with us at the reservation. It’s fun to see what all they pull out to trade. Usually turns into a celebration.”

  He didn’t say a word. The supplies were loaded. Melody wheeled Maji around. Van came alongside, and the wagons fell in behind them. They made a parade through town. Folks cheered and wished them well, pointing and waving, taking Melody by surprise. She smiled and waved back. “It’s not usually like this,” she said. Van didn’t respond, and she wasn’t certain he’d heard what she’d said.

  ∙•∙

  A cold, hard lump settled in Van’s chest. He pulled his hat down low over his eyes. He would never forget this moment, riding alongside her, seeing the wonder and delight in her eyes. No, Melody McAdam had no need of home and hearth. She’d soon be miserable if she tried. She thrived on adoration of strangers. She’d never settle for the love of just one man. Never.

  They rode in silence for a while, and finally, she asked, “What’s your home like?”

  The question threw him completely off balance. He cleared his throat, intending to tell her everything. Tell her he knew who she was, tell her who he was, but he lost his nerve. “I live with my father and his new wife. My mother passed away a few years ago. My father recently remarried. I take care of the stock, and my father takes care of the business end of things.”