Gathering on Dance Hall Road

by Dorothy A. Bell

  “Dear Van,

  “I let Maji out to pasture with Ryder’s stallion this morning.”

  Van stopped, blinked, suspicious of Melody’s benign opening salvo, but she’d captured his attention. Bravely he read on.

  “Maji wanted to go so badly, and of course Sarg couldn’t wait to get at her. I didn’t get a chance to tell you how nervous she was there at River Glenn with all those other horses around and the studs. I feared she wouldn’t be able to concentrate and follow me, but she did.

  “She did, that is, until she smelled trouble and broke the routine rearing up, screaming, ears back, at first I didn’t know what to think. I saw you reaching for the torch and that black-hearted piece of crud trying to slice you in two, and I charged without thinking.

  I know, I know, I did it again, didn’t I? I scared you by attacking without warning that way. I don’t know what else I could’ve done. I guess I could’ve screamed and fainted, that would’ve been the ladylike thing to do, but then you’d be dead maybe. I could’ve called for help I suppose. Instead, I killed a man. I’m a murderer, and I would do it again to save you. No one is talking about what happened. I need to talk about it.

  I came home with Daddy, of course. And as I feared I have regressed into a sulking moody brat. I’m going to change starting today. That is, as soon as I finish this letter to you. My mother Cleantha is crippled. She’s been infirm since she was a girl of seventeen. A carriage accident crushed her hips. She lost a baby. She can’t have children of her own. But she and Daddy Royce took my brothers and me in. We’re her children. It’s time I started doing more for her. I’m going to take over the laundry and the garden and the chickens. I haven’t shown my beautiful mother enough respect or let her know how much I love her. I’ve taken my good fortune for granted. You helped me realize how self-centered I had become.

  Will you write to me, Van? I miss talking to you. Tell me about your journey home and your ranch. Which is more than a ranch, I know that now. And I understand why you love it so and don’t ever want to leave. I read the brochure for Hoyt’s Hot Spring. It sounds wonderful. But I can’t swim. You’ll have to teach me.

  I’ll write to you again soon. I have a lot to say. I was mad at you for not saying goodbye. But I guess I can’t blame you for leaving. I let you think all I wanted was the approval and adoration of strangers. I was wrong about that. Very wrong. Write soon. Your Kit.”

  Van caught himself weeping. He swiped the tears from his jaw, closed his eyes and put his chin down to his chest.

  Your Kit, she’d said. She doesn’t want to kill me for running out on her, she wants me to write her letters. I’ll never understand this woman. Never. Apologizing for saving my life, my God. Apologizing for being the bravest, most courageous person I’ve ever had the privilege to know and hold and…and…love.

  Damn if she hadn’t hit it right on the head. The nightmare haunted him. Kramer, knife raised, the wild look in his eyes, snarling, bent over him and no avenue of escape. In his nightmare, he heard Melody’s blood-curdling battle cry. The memory of Melody’s black hair flying, her white dress and Kramer, the look of surprise and agony on his ugly face swirled in frightening frequency throughout the day and night. She’d saved him, saved his life without hesitation. He would never be worthy of a woman like that. He couldn’t match her valor, her honesty, her integrity. Cowardly and gutless, he couldn’t even face her, thank her.

  He should write her. They could write, be friends. He could do that. He felt stronger today. He should get up, stop lying around. Go home, settle back into his routine running the hot spring. He sat up and carefully folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and tucked it under his pillow.

  He moved his legs over the side of the bed, took a deep breath, and told himself the dizziness would go away in a minute. He just needed to move. He pushed himself to his feet and the floor tilted sideways, the ceiling spinning slowly, drunkenly, overhead. His stomach shoved his breakfast of oatmeal, tea, and toast back up and into his throat. He went down on his knees, taking the bedside table with him. He clawed at the floor to make it stop rocking.

  The bedroom door opened, and Jo’s slippered feet came into view. “Van, what in the world are you doing?” she asked, her hands going under his arms, tugging on him, attempting to lift him back into bed. “The bed is right behind you. You need to get back in bed, Van. It’s too soon for you to get up. You almost died.”

  “What the hell,” Ryder said, his boots right under Van’s nose. “Jo, stop. Stop right now. You shouldn’t be trying to lift this big lummox, not in your condition. Go sit down,” he said.

  Jo’s feet went out of Van’s line of sight.

  Ryder’s strong hands shoved his shoulders back and put him on his crumpled, folded legs. He then stuck his arms under Van’s armpits and hoisted his body onto the bed. Next, he flopped his legs up and pulled the blankets up to his chest.

  Huffing, Ryder said to his wife over his shoulder, “Bad enough you waiting on him night and day. Now you want to pick him up. Jo,” Ryder said, dismissing Van altogether, “this has to stop. I’m going to send a wire to Buck. Your father needs to know Van is here and he’s sick. You can’t continue nursing Van and teaching and doing all the office work too. You’re making yourself sick, and it’s bad for the baby.”

  “Baby? Jo? Baby? You? When?”

  Jo leaned over him and smoothed out the covers and positioned his pillow behind his head. “I’m due to deliver around the New Year.”

  “You didn’t tell me when I was here before, why?”

  “I couldn’t very well tell my brother the big news before telling my husband. I was nervous because I thought you might guess. The girls did. Should’ve known a man wouldn’t.”

  Van struggled to sit up. “New Years, Jo? What about the gather?”

  “She made me promise to get her there,” Ryder said, setting the bedside table up and picking up the broken teapot, cup, and saucer. “School breaks around the third week of December. We’ll leave right away. And that’s another reason to get Buck up here. He needs to know he’s gonna be a grandpa again and make some plans to accommodate an expectant mother.”

  “Ryder, you’re right,” Van said, eyes closed against the sloshing in his head. “Send the telegram. Get me out of here. I gotta go home. I’ll be well looked after at home.”

  Ryder nodded. “Jo’s going to go put her feet up, aren’t you, Jo?”

  “Yes, yes, all right. But lunch?”

  “Lunch is cold chicken and beans. I can do that. You’ve got thirty girls over there at that school. All of them are cooks, or at least learning how to cook and do housewife chores. Why the hell they aren’t over here getting some hands-on experience is beyond me. You just don’t know how to ask for help,” he said with his hand on his wife’s back, herding her toward the door.

  Jo turned to say, “Van, you stay in bed. If you want to get out of bed, let Ryder know. He’s home all day today.”

  “I’m home all day today to keep an eye on you,” Ryder said, moving her along.

  “Could you bring me paper and a pencil with my lunch? And where are my clothes?”

  Ryder answered, “Your boots were wet and sour. I tossed ’em. Same with your clothes. You had some new long johns and socks in your saddle bag; they’re over there on the dresser. I’ll loan you a shirt and trousers. We’ll see about the boots. I might have an old pair around that would fit your big feet. Or, we could get Mrs. Hobbs, and she could measure your feet.”

  “Mrs. Hobbs, Janet, is one of our teachers,” Jo said. “She married the owner of the mercantile. That’s a great idea, Ryder. I’ll talk to her this afternoon.”

  “After your nap,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the room.

  “Yes, after my nap. For heaven’s sake, you’ve turned into a horrible nag, Mr. McAdam, know that?”

  »»•««

  The door to his bedroom stood open. He’d managed, with Jo and Ryder’s help, to shave and
get into his long johns and socks. But the effort had cost him. God, he was weak as a newborn pup. The train going north was due to arrive in Cherry Grove at any moment. Ryder and Jo had left to meet his father and his step-mother Idella at the station.

  He had time to review the letter he’d written yesterday, the letter he’d written to Melody but was too chicken-hearted to send. There was a lot he hadn’t told her. But on the other hand, he feared he’d said more than he should’ve, which was why he was reading it over one more time.

  Dear Melody, the letter began. He’d scratched that out a dozen times, trying to decide if he should address her as Melody or Kit. He even tried Miss McAdam, which had him laughing at himself. He’d used up a dozen or more pieces of paper. The final result of his labors he’d stuffed under his pillow last night. Pulling himself up, sobering, determined to read the letter objectively, he began again.

  Dear Melody, I tried fishing the Grande Ronde, fell in and nearly drowned. Didn’t get a nibble. I could’ve used your expert opinion on what I did wrong. Fool that I am, I took sick after my dunking. I made it to Cherry Grove and Jo and Ryder’s. But I’ve been slow getting back on my feet.

  I owe you a debt of gratitude, a debt I will never be able to repay for saving my life. You came to my rescue. I will never forget. Your ability to set aside all fear and charge into the middle of certain danger doesn’t scare me so much as put me to shame. You humble me. You have a warrior in you I admire and respect. A warrior I will not attempt to domesticate or tame, although the thought holds a tantalizing challenge, I admit.

  I ran away. No, I didn’t run, I slipped away without giving you a farewell. I am ashamed of myself, it was ungentlemanly of me. I didn’t see the point of staying. I didn’t doubt your father would insist you go home. It’s what I would’ve done if I were your father. I can only imagine what he thinks of me. I’ll find out in a couple of months. Whether time will mellow or inflame his disapproval of me, is the question.

  I have Jo’s permission to impart the good news, she and Ryder are expecting their first child. You will never guess when this miracle is due to arrive? New Years! Give or take a week.

  Also, Twyla-Rose Longtree and Grace Buttrum paid me a visit, served me lunch the other day. They send you their love. The Longtrees will be at the gathering at the Hot Spring. Twyla-Rose is looking forward to seeing you.

  I’m expecting my father Buck and my step-mother Idella to arrive this afternoon. They’re here to visit with Jo. I’ll return to the Hot Spring with them by train. I’ve had enough adventure to last me a good long while.

  Meeting you, being with you, holding you, was a privilege I shall never forget and will treasure forever.

  Yes, let us write letters. My sister and my family will tell you I don’t write letters. They are right, I don’t, never have. But I will, to you, I will write. Yours, Van.

  P.S. Send your next letter to me at Hoyt’s Hot Spring, Baker, City, Oregon.

  “Jo said you were in here writing a letter,” Buck said, filling the doorway, looking serious, brows knit together and eyes narrowed. “I had to see for myself. And I’ll be damned. All this time I figured you’d forgotten how to write.”

  Van quickly hid paper and pencil beneath the covers. His father pulled a chair up to the bed and held up a pair of boots and a valise. “Brought your boots and some clothes. Ryder said the ones you were wearing were rotten with mildew and they stank. When I said go out and see a bit of country, I didn’t mean you should go out and see how close to death you could get and survive.”

  “Good to see you, Dad,” Van said, and meant it. God, it was good to see this big man and hear his voice. He’d missed home, missed his father.

  “I read Rutland’s report. And Van and Jo filled us in on the rest.” Buck placed the boots and valise on the floor next to the bed.

  “I’d like to see that report myself someday,” Van said, mumbling out of the corner of his mouth.

  His father sat back in the chair and crossed his long legs. “Rafe sent a wire to Rutland for me, must be over a week ago. Rutland said the last he’d seen of you, you were headed up into the mountains for some fishing. I was going to give you two more days then set out to search. It’s snowing up there now, Van. We were damn worried about you. You are a hard man to keep track of when you get off the home range.”

  “Sorry, Dad. I know.”

  “Well, I tore into Jo, too. She should’ve let us know you were here laid up. Can’t be too hard on her now she’s gonna give us another grandchild. But I’m not gonna let either of you forget I’m hurt. Parents worry about their children no matter how old they are.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry I ever left home.”

  Buck cleared his throat and scooted forward, leaning in a little. “So, you met up with Ryder’s little sister?”

  Van squirmed and ducked his head to avoid his father’s raised brows and barely suppressed smile. “Yeah. I met up with her by chance,” Van said directly, without flinching, which took a lot of effort on his part. “I had no idea who she was. I learned her name when Rutland talked to her after I showed him where I’d discovered the body of the horse thief Ranger took out.”

  “Ranger? He’s all right though?”

  “Oh, yeah. A sprain in his right shoulder but he mended quick. Both horses, Melody’s mare, and Ranger, didn’t suffer any lasting hurt. The horse thieves, we think, tried to hobble the mare, which threw Melody off. It was dark down in a ravine. Ranger came to the mare’s rescue and stomped one of the devil thieves to death. There were two of them. The other one snuck off and came back later. He’s the one I took out when he tried to kidnap Melody and steal the mare.”

  Buck nodded. “I understand you didn’t tell Melody who you were. Why?”

  Van shook his head. “I knew someone would ask me that. Sheriff Rutland asked, but I fobbed him off. I guess you aren’t gonna let me off so easy.”

  “You had a reason, son. I know you did. You’ve never been a good liar. I just wondered what made you lie to the McAdam girl?”

  Van took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest considering his reply. If he tried to lie his father would catch him—better to put it out there. “If she’d known I was Jo’s brother she would’ve said ‘howdy do, glad to meet you’ and that would’ve been that. She would’ve been polite and kept her distance, dismissed me as a distant family connection.”

  “But that’s not what you wanted?” Buck asked, bushy salt and pepper brows raised and lips pressed together to stifle a grin.

  “No, damn it, that is…was…not what I wanted.”

  Buck rose from his chair, patted him on the shoulder. “Right, then,” he said and cleared his throat again. “I understand you bought a little pony at the River Glenn fest. I’m goin’ over to the shed to take a look at her. What did you have in mind to do with her?”

  Van put his arms down to his side and gave his father a sideways glance. “I thought a Christmas gift for Joy. I know she’s a mite young, but the pony is green, and by the time Birdie-Alice gets through rounding off her edges Joy might be ready to ride her, under careful supervision, of course.”

  “Well, that’s a fine gift, Van. I’ll look in on Ranger too. We’ll get both of them, and you, on the train day after tomorrow and take you home.”

  “Idella and Jo are fixing a fine meal for us. Rest up. Ryder and I will get you out of this room and at the supper table.”

  “Thank you. I managed to stand up this morning and move around a bit without getting dizzy or going into a coughing fit.”

  “Jo’s probably had you on nothin’ but chicken broth, tea, and toast for two weeks. That’ll weaken any man. You need some meat and potatoes, somethin’ to stick to your bones.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “You’re writing a lot of letters lately,” said her mother, finding Melody at the kitchen table. The parlor clock struck the hour of two o’clock in the A.M. Cleantha looked out the kitchen window. “It’s sno
wing again. Would you like a cup of warm milk?”

  “I’ll get it,” Melody said, setting aside her paper and pencil. “Sit down. Are you having trouble sleeping? Maybe a little rum and honey?” she asked, unearthing the rum bottle from the lower shelf of the pantry.

  “Yes, thank you. That would be nice. Who are you writing to tonight?”

  Melody poured milk into a saucepan, set it on the cook stove, and began stirring very slowly. “I received another letter from Ollie Miller. She sent you her recipe for apple fritters. They’re in Boise for the winter. Jerry, I told you he and the boys are musicians and acrobats, anyway, they’ve found work playing for weddings and parties, keeping busy. Ollie’s rented a small store downtown. She’s opened a bakery. They’re living above the shop. She hopes to make it a permanent residence.”

  “Sounds like she’s done traveling,” Cleantha said.

  Melody poured the warm milk into two cups and brought the bottle of rum and pot of honey to the table. “Jerry’s the one who kept her traveling. I think if she can show him she can make more money staying in one place, he’ll settle down. I don’t know about the boys, Mick and Jim. But I want to keep in touch with her.”

  “Yes, of course, you do. I hope to meet her someday,” Cleantha said, doctoring her milk with rum and honey. “And your Van? Were you writing to him?”

  Melody sat down in her chair, unable to meet her mother’s all-seeing eyes. “I thought I’d tell him about Ollie and Jerry. They really took to him.”

  Her mother sipped her toddy and licked her lips. “And you? You really took to him too?”

  Squirming a little in her chair, Melody hesitated. “I…I did.” She looked up to meet her mother’s penetrating gaze and tipped her head, cheeks on fire. “You know I did. I want to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.”

  “Hmmm, I thought as much. I’m enjoying my newfound leisure, but I’m a little confused and a lot suspicious. I appreciate your taking over the laundry and so forth but…several times of late I’ve caught you staring off into space with a dreamy look on your face.”