But my heart says, “She’s the one.”
Blue eyes under blue skies,
There’s no place I’d rather be
Than there when the wind slips the pins from your hair
The way I wish you’d let me.
Blue eyes under blue skies
If I could only hold your heart
So close you’d never want to leave,
So close we’d never part.
Blue eyes under blue skies,
How can you walk away?
Knowing I’m nothing without you,
Knowing I want you to stay.
Blue eyes under blue skies
Even though I love you so,
Past promises will make me stay,
Past promises will make you go.
When she read the final line of the last stanza, there was no doubt in her mind; he was writing about her, about his feelings for her—expressing them so sincerely that her heart ached. Never in her life had she dreamed she might be regarded so tenderly by anyone—but the words on the page were proof enough that this man had carved a place in his heart for her, even though she had brought him nothing but problems.
His marriage proposal had held no such words of love, but here, hidden between the covers of a very ordinary composition book, were all the love words a woman would ever long to hear. Words that moved her beyond belief.
Jess sat for a time, staring down at the last entry, and then slowly closed the notebook.
JUST BEFORE DUSK, Myra limped in without her crutches, holding a plate of cold food, a knife, fork, and napkin, and found Jessica sitting in the parlor, an open book in her hands.
“What are you reading?” Myra asked. She set the food and utensils down on a round table beside Jessica’s chair.
The supper smelled delicious. “King Solomon’s Mines.” Jess handed the book to Myra as she picked up the plate and proceeded to eat. “It’s quite an adventure,” Jessica told her between bites. The story was intriguing, but she couldn’t keep her mind off of the haunting love poem Rory had written.
“So I’ve heard. May I read it after you?”
“Of course.” Jessica picked up a piece of corn bread so rich it crumbled almost instantly. “Thanks for bringing me some food.”
Myra sat down on a wide ottoman near Jessica’s chair. “I won’t beg you to join us outside, Jessica, but I think you should know that you are the one missing out.”
Jessica set her fork down, her appetite suddenly gone. “I have reason enough for avoiding Rory without you badgering me.”
Myra looked crushed. “I’m sorry, Jessica, I just hate to see you so miserable. More than that, I hate to see you go through life without really living it.”
Jessica set the plate on the table beside her. Lamplight illuminated the tabletop and the arm of the chair. She leaned away from the halo of light, then fingered the beaded necklace as she glanced toward the open door and lowered her voice. “Remember when you said Rory Burnett and I were destined to be together?”
“Yes, why?”
“What if all that is true—”
“I truly believe such things are possible,” Myra assured her.
“I’m not convinced, but if it’s so, then I suppose it wouldn’t do any good for me to fight any feelings I might have toward him, would it?”
Confident in her answer, Myra smiled. “Of course not. But what is it you want, Jessica?”
“I always thought I knew exactly what I wanted, but right now I’m so confused.”
Myra rose carefully to her feet and tested her weight on her bad ankle. “I think my mental healing is working. You know, Emerson claims that a failure to give the mind control over the body promotes sickness.” She pressed down hard once, then once more, but opted to stand on her good leg.
“Myra, what do you think I should do?”
“You’ll never figure anything out hiding here in the shadows. I’m going back outside. The barn dance will begin in a few minutes and I think you should be there, that’s what I think you should do.”
Jess rested her chin in her hand. “I’ll think about it.”
“Well, think fast, because if you don’t, you’ll miss all the fun.”
JESSICA WAS STILL alone when the music drifted in on the cool night air. Strains of fiddles and a guitar produced music so merry that it was hard to resist tapping her toes. She wondered if turning Rory down would send him into another woman’s arms. She tried to put aside the vision of him dancing with someone else, laughing into someone else’s eyes, whispering in another woman’s ear. The very notion had her on her feet in an instant.
She’d heard him come in earlier, recognized his footsteps. She had blown out the lamp, listened half in fear that he’d find her in the dark parlor, waited to move until she heard him go back outside again. He hadn’t called her name or looked for her. Now, as she entered her own room and lit the lamp, the first thing she saw was the yellow dress still spread across the bed as if he’d left her a silent invitation to join him.
Jessica walked to the side of the bed, reached down and touched the rich India silk, admired its buttery color, and imagined what the fabric would feel like when she slipped it on.
Rory’s words echoed in her mind.
I give up. I won’t touch you again. If you’re so all-fired determined to turn your back on any chance we have together, then so be it. I’m tired of making a fool of myself.
The strains of a waltz surrounded her, tempted her, brought back rich memories of the feel of Rory’s strong embrace. What would it be like to dance with him? Could he teach her the steps?
I give up.
What was it he’d said about books and boxes of bones not keeping her warm at night?
I won’t touch you again.
What else could he teach her about a man and a woman? With all her education and knowledge she was ignorant of so much. There were still so many things she wanted to know, things she didn’t want to live a lifetime without experiencing. Live life, Myra had said. She thought of Whitey, of how his young life was snuffed out. Couldn’t she give Rory a chance, give herself a chance at love without giving up her dream? Shouldn’t she at least try?
Jessica reached up and began to pull the pins out of her hair.
RORY LEANED BACK against the wall and watched the dancers whirl by. Tad Pickering, a farmer near his own age, waltzed his wife past. They only had eyes for each other. Across the room he caught a glimpse of Fred Hench. All decked out in his fanciest boots, tooled-leather cuffs, and a silver bolo tie, the cowboy was fast-talking a farmer’s daughter into stepping outside with him. Rory could tell by the couple’s worried glance around the room before they slipped away that both of them were afraid of the girl’s daddy. The man was known to have a terrible temper.
Woody Barrows sat as close to Myra Thornton as possible on a low bench near the refreshment table. Scratchy was nowhere to be seen. Wheelbarrow may have lost the battle of the umbrella, but he obviously hadn’t given up the war.
It seemed like everyone had paired up with someone else. Common sense told him that wasn’t true, but it sure seemed that way as he stood alone and watched the others. Some of the wallflowers standing along the back wall had given him the eye. Any other time he would have felt it his duty as host to give them all a turn on the dance floor. But this year his heart simply wasn’t in it.
The Utes, who never stayed for the dance, had departed when supper ended. He felt relieved not to have seen Piah face-to-face again that afternoon, but he had caught the man watching him closely and wondered why. He had kept his word and protected the secret of the cave, not only for the Utes, but for his own selfish reasons. There was no way he wanted the disturbance that such a discovery would cause, not on his land, anyway. Not if he could help it. But his conscience still bo
thered him. What about Jess?
Still leaning against the wall, he shifted his weight, crossed his arms over his chest, then crossed his ankles, hoping a lazy attitude would put off anyone who wanted to plague him with idle chitchat. He just wasn’t in the mood.
The musicians—two fiddlers, a guitar-playing cowhand, a squeezebox player, and a man with a mouth organ—struck up a lively rendition of “Turkey in the Straw” and a cheer went up from the crowd. Couples who hadn’t been dancing took to the floor and the foot stomping commenced again. Dust rose from the straw-littered ground. If anyone noticed the pungent smell of animal dung that lingered on the air, they didn’t let it hamper their fun.
It wasn’t until the third verse that Rory glanced toward the open doorway, curious to see if Fred Hench and the farmer’s daughter had reappeared. His heart stopped when he caught a glimpse of Jess framed in the doorway, wearing the fancy gown he’d given her.
He pushed away from the wall. The revelers went right on stomping and shouting as if the world hadn’t just righted itself. When the dancers blocked his view of the door, he nearly panicked, afraid that when they parted again, Jess would have disappeared. He started shoving his way through the crowd.
“Hey, watch it!” someone shouted.
“Want to dance?” One of the wallflowers had decided to go it alone.
He nearly tripped over a child playing hide-and-seek between the dancers—and then he had Jess in sight again.
She hadn’t moved, in fact, she looked bewildered by the chaotic scene before her and obviously hadn’t seen him yet. He forced himself to slow down as he stood on the edge of the crowd and simply stared at her.
The music ended and the dancers began to break up and move back to the edges of the floor. One of the fiddlers called out that he had to have a drink or he’d die of thirst. Everyone laughed.
Everyone but Rory. He was too intent on reaching Jess before anyone else saw her. She was a vision, a perfect vision with her sun-kissed blond hair twisted atop her head in a loose bun, pert satin bows at her elbows, the wide sash teasing her waist. More beautiful than any other woman in the room, she stood on the threshold, hesitation in her eyes as she searched the crowd.
He stepped forward.
She saw him at last, but didn’t smile.
He closed the distance between them.
Jess straightened her shoulders and primly folded her hands at her waist.
He wanted to laugh, he wanted to shout hallelujah to the rafters, grab her up in his arms, and twirl her around the room. Instead he merely stepped up to her and spoke just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
Chapter Fourteen
SHE WAS MOVED by the relief in his eyes. “I didn’t think I would either,” she said.
“What changed your mind?”
How could she tell him that she had decided life was too brief to waste sitting alone in the dark? How could she confess that his poetry had given her a glimpse into his heart? That it had melted hers?
“I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for the way I acted after—well, after the other day. I realize I’m just as much to blame as you are.”
He shook his head. “Blame? Why should anyone be blamed for something that was bound to happen?”
“Was it?”
“I’m sure it was.”
“I wish I could be as sure.”
He took her hand in his. “May I?”
Her silence was her only consent. She looked down at her fingers enfolded in his.
He bent down and whispered, “You look beautiful.”
Embarrassed, she looked away. No one had ever told her she was beautiful. She’d spent far too many years trying to prove otherwise.
The music began again, and as if fate stepped in, the selection was a waltz. “May I have this dance?” he asked.
Jessica felt a slight sense of panic. “I don’t know how,” she reminded him.
“I can teach you in a minute.” His fingers pressed hers warmly, encouraging her to say yes.
“I’m afraid I’d be too embarrassed.” She looked down and noticed he was wearing new boots. They were so shiny that the leather still shone through the dust from the dirt floor and the straw scattered over it. When she looked up at him again, she realized he was wearing a black, bib-front shirt with two rows of pearl buttons she had never seen before.
“Then let’s step outside and practice until we have it right.” When she balked, he added, “That’s all we’ll do. Dance.”
Jessica let her lead him out into the sultry night. There were other couples in the darkness, some walking together hand in hand, others whispering softly. She felt brazen, excited and scared all at once. When they were out of the shaft of light that poured through the open barn door, Rory slipped one arm around her waist and held her hand with the other.
“Don’t look down,” he instructed, “just listen to the music and glide with me. One.” He stepped forward, but she didn’t budge. “You have to move if you intend to dance.”
Jessica licked her lips. “I’ll try,” she promised.
“Again. One.” This time when he stepped out, she followed. “Two.” They moved forward again, Rory confident, Jessica awkward as a newborn colt. “Now a step back,” he said. “Three.”
It was slow going at first. Jessica moved without listening to the music, but to the instructions he whispered softly in her ear. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” They struggled through the motions until Rory stopped and sighed. “Don’t concentrate so hard, Jess. Just let yourself go and listen to the music. I’ll do the counting in my head.”
“Let myself go?”
“I know that’s not something you’re in the habit of practicing but trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m sure you do,” she assured him.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound deep in his throat. “Let’s try again.”
They did, and this time instead of aiming for perfection, Jessica let herself rely on Rory’s skill and gave in to the pulse of the music. After a few missed steps she began to float with him until she was suddenly moving as free and unfettered as a baby bird taking wing for the first time. They danced in the darkness, enfolded by the fertile barnyard scents and clear night air. Countless stars smiled down upon them. When the music ended, neither of them moved to let go of the other, but instead they waited, breathless, until another waltz began. This time Rory moved with her, danced her out of the darkness into the well-lit barn, where they joined the others who were gliding and dipping to the beat of the waltz.
She thought it was wicked for him to hold her so close in front of so many people, but a quick look around told her no one was paying them any mind. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. She savored the feel of his shirt and the warmth beneath it by moving her fingertips ever so slightly across it. He noticed immediately, for he tightened his grip on her waist, and when she looked up, Jessica found him staring down into her eyes. She faltered and trod on his toes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but he quickly recovered the steps and they moved on.
“You’re bound to make a few mistakes in the beginning.” His slight smile told her he didn’t care if she did. “Myra’s had quite a day,” he added.
Jess looked over her shoulder in the direction he indicated and saw her friend sitting beside Woody Barrows. Although she never took her eyes off the dancers, Myra smiled and nodded as Woody spoke into her ear. When she spied Jessica, her face lit up immediately and she waved. Jess wriggled the fingertips of the hand Rory held in his before they moved on.
When the dance ended, one of the fiddlers called out, “We’re gonna wet our whistles, folks. I suggest y’all do the same.”
Jessica tried to hide her disappointment w
hen Rory let her go. She looked around at the boisterous crowd. It seemed everyone knew each other. “Do you know all of these people?” she wanted to know.
“Most of them. Not many people move in or out of the valley. Most of the people my age were born here.”
She realized she knew none of her neighbors back home. Except for Myra, there hadn’t been time to make friends outside of the museum. “You’re quite lucky, you know.” She met his curious look. “You have so many friends.”
Rory looked around the crowded barn. “I never really thought about it before. My ma and pa were good at making and keeping friends.” He rested his hand at the small of her back again. When she didn’t protest, he added, “I’d like for us to at least be friends, Jess, if I can’t have more.”
Knowing how much more he really wanted, she said, “This is hard for me, Rory.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never let myself get close to anyone, except my father, and Myra, of course.”
“Don’t you think it’s about time you did?”
She glanced around to be certain no one was listening before admitting quietly, “I wanted to wear this dress for you, and dance my first dance with you.”
“And now that you have?”
“I’m glad I did.”
He was watching her talk, concentrating on her lips. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lowered his head, but as his lips drew near hers he suddenly stopped, remembering where they were. “I’d like to show you something,” he whispered.
She nodded and let him lead her out of the barn. For the second time that night they drifted out into the darkness. The sound of talk and laughter filled the air. Others followed them out. Rory led her to the corral. He leaned back against the fence and was quiet for so long that she began to grow uncomfortable.
“What was it you wanted to show me?” she asked him.
“Look up, Jess.”
She did as he asked and saw the intense blanket of stars in the heavens above them. There were so many that it was hard to see a patch of sky. The constellations stood out among the unnamed, uncharted billions.
Past Promises Page 21