“Well, my offer stands, but if you have things here under control...”
Dolly just laughed, sinking to the floor in a pile of pale green gingham, tendrils of tousled hair falling into her defeated eyes. “Oh, Ruthie, I don’t. Gracious, I don’t know what’s gotten into me today. Would you mind helping me out?”
The two fell into an easy rhythm, getting the dried jackets, pants, and shirts flat-ironed, folded, stacked, and packed.
Once she saw her friend had things under control, RuthAnne took a deep breath. “Well, let’s see. This is the most work I’ve seen you leave to the last minute all week. Something must have kept you busy today.”
Dolly shot back a look full of hurt, her face instantly blushing scarlet. RuthAnne’s eyebrows rose, as this wasn’t the reaction she expected from her good-natured friend. Then again, they had only met a few days before. There was much about this woman that she didn’t know.
“I only meant that I could tell something’s got you all aflutter. Care to tell me what it is? One friend to another?”
“I don’t have many friends, Ruthie. I’m not the sort an ordinary good woman like you usually spends company with.”
The other laundresses were busy hurrying the soldiers out the door so that they themselves could get ready for the party.
“Well, who said I was ordinary?” RuthAnne took Dolly’s chapped hand and looked her straight in the eye.
Dolly pulled a trailing hair out of her eyes and smiled. “I haven’t had much call for praying, neither. Not in many a year...Oh, I help Katie say her prayers every night, it’s just...God don’t have much use for a woman who’s done what I’ve done.”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. Ever heard of a woman named Rahab? Or Mary Magdalene?”
“I’ve read the Bible a time or two...”
“Yes, time and situation brought them to some low places. But they both were strong and important women. We all have our yesterdays, Dolly.”
They walked together into their quarters, and with a heavy sigh, Dolly clasped the cross at her neck as she pulled back the flap that led to her room.
“Oh, Ruthie. The way you talk I almost believe you. All right, I’ll spill it. I have a bit of a schoolgirl crush on a fellow, but he’s too good for me. Now, before you say anything, I know it to be true. Once he finds out who I am and what I’ve done, all the sweetness he saves for me when I step in his doors, well, that will be long gone.”
“Ah-ha. Our dear friend Mr. Baker. Let me guess. He asked you to the dance?” Dolly nodded glumly as she ducked into her chaotic room. RuthAnne followed, prodding further. “And you said yes?”
Her friend rolled her eyes and sank back into her cot, covered with dresses, tumbled quilts, and petticoats.
“How could I say no? And now, tonight, someone’s sure to tell him the truth, and it will all be over. They’d think twice if Bowen was around. He has a way of curtailing that sort of talk just by his very presence.”
RuthAnne fingered the eyelet ruffle woven through with blue satin ribbon on the edge of one of Dolly’s fine dresses and said nothing.
Dolly crossed her arms and grinned a mile wide. “Well, I’ll be. RuthAnne and Bowen. There’s an unlikely couple.”
This made RuthAnne sit up to attention. “Unlikely?”
“Well, you’re a widow; he’s a self-proclaimed bachelor for life. You’ve loved and lost. He’s just chosen to lose. It’s a match made in heaven.”
“I have bigger things on my mind than falling for a soldier.”
“But why else would you be so bound and determined not to go to the dance tonight? The man you’re pining for is out on patrol.”
“I’m not pining for anyone!” RuthAnne stormed out and into her own room.
Dolly followed her into her meager quarters, like a dog on a bone. “Then come to the dance.”
RuthAnne found it difficult to maintain her composure now that the tables were so readily turned. She threw open her borrowed trunk and flung the contents out onto the bed. Frock after skirt, they tumbled in a heap of ill-fitting, faded, stained, and thinned fabric.
“Use your eyes, Dolly Jewel. I don’t have anything to wear. You of all people should know that.”
“Excuse me, RuthAnne?” A voice from the doorway spoke hesitantly. It was Amanda Carington, looking a bit uncomfortable and out of her element. RuthAnne noticed she wore a painstakingly ironed frock and had already soiled the hemline on the way over. Her hair was windblown, but her face was flushed with heat and excitement.
“Amanda! Does your mother know you’re here?”
“She’s sleeping. I drew Megan a bath and slipped away. RuthAnne, I did some thinking after you left. We have so much and you—well, here.”
She shoved a hastily-wrapped brown paper package at RuthAnne. Inside, a wealth of pale blue taffeta and lace met her eager fingers. RuthAnne couldn’t stop the ooh of excitement that flew to her lips as she hungrily shook out the dress. The style was older, maybe a few seasons, but the lines were neat and it was obviously well-made.
“It was Megan’s, then mine when Megan outgrew it. She says she hates it now, and heaven knows it’ll never fit her again. She hasn’t the fortitude to stay away from food!” Amanda chuckled. “It should come close to fitting you. Please, I want you to have it. Come to the dance tonight. I’ll just die if I have to be a wallflower all by myself. Think about it.” And with a wave, she was gone.
Dolly smirked. “Well, don’t that beat all?”
“It’s a very kind gesture, but I can’t.”
“You have to come now. You simply have to! Do you think you can do something with it?”
RuthAnne continued to investigate the garment, bedecked with lace from every seam, and then she set her eye to the wall clock. “You know, I just might...”
Chapter 19
Music streamed across the parade ground. “Taps” mournfully played out on the bugle as the Stars and Stripes were lowered in the fading daylight. It blended with the strains of “Camptown Races” as the Fort Lowell Dance began in earnest.
Soldiers were dressed in their finery, and ladies showed up in all manner of dress, from simple to elegant. Chinese paper lanterns hung merrily in the cottonwood trees and from the corner of every ramada. They danced like sprites in the breeze, the air moist and cool from the afternoon storm. Flags and colors flapped and waved brightly in decoration, adorning the doorway and the edge of the stage.
At the post store, Whit Baker shined up his boots for the last time and flipped his cloth onto his footlocker. He couldn’t believe his luck. Dolly Jewel had agreed to go with him to the dance, which he knew meant escorting her there and back, with hopefully at least one dance in between. She was a pistol, with her wealth of strawberry blonde hair and lovely smile. She’d make someone a wonderful wife someday, and he wouldn’t mind overmuch if he were the lucky man who won her favor.
Whit sighed and inspected the time on his gold watch then closed the cover with a snap. Absently, he slipped it back into his vest pocket and gave a hard look to his face in the mirror. His chances with Dolly weren’t great. He wasn’t a tremendously handsome fellow, short of stature, graying at the temples and mustache. He didn’t have the glamour of a military uniform to hide behind. What he lacked in looks he made up for with his sense of humor and willingness to take a chance. Lord knew Dolly Jewel was worth that.
Five minutes later, he stood outside the laundresses’ quarters, working up the courage to enter and rustle up his date. She beat him to it and almost knocked him over with her beauty. Tendrils of reddish-blonde hair artfully curled around her heart-shaped face. She wore a full-skirted dress of deep emerald green that matched her eyes, and the barest hint of rouge colored her cheeks. Or was that blush for him? His face heated up in her presence as he cleared his throat.
“Miss Jewel...you’re breathtaking.”
She giggled girlishly. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest! Whit, I hope you don’t mind escorting two ladies. I manage
d to twist RuthAnne’s arm at the last minute. She’s coming out directly.”
Before he could utter a response, Dolly had his arm wrapped in her own and was walking him into the sitting area. “You’d never believe what that girl can do with a needle and thread. I had a feeling her dress had promise, but I had no idea she could fit and remake it in but a few hours! Ruthie! He’s here!”
“Coming, Dolly.” RuthAnne’s voice preceded her into the room. She stood before them a moment shaking out the full skirts, a picture in pale blue taffeta. “Do you like it?” She spun, looking over her shoulder at the loose bustle and kick train. Her waist looked tiny, and the bare skin of her neck was pink from a touch of sun. Tiny cap sleeves touched her shoulders in a lace caress.
“Stunning! Well done, Ruthie.” Dolly stepped forward, giving her a friendly hug.
“Well, this couldn’t possibly be the same RuthAnne Newcomb who comes to my store. Not that you aren’t always lovely.” Whit cleared his throat again, though the ladies just laughed.
“Oh, Whit! That’ll do.” Dolly’s lips found his cheek. The room seemed to raise a degree or two as they linked arms. The ladies picked up the hems of their skirts for the trek, setting on their way along with the rest of Fort Lowell.
****
Though ladies from Tucson arrived on wagons and in buggies, the number of men still outnumbered them three to one. The afternoon storm had beaten down the dust but left lakes of potholes and ridges in the road for travelers to navigate with care. The number of people coming to the event amazed RuthAnne as they streamed into the fort in waves. The military band had traded marches for more modern strains of “Crimson Roses in the Heather.” Each woman received a dance card, which waiting soldiers rapidly filled.
RuthAnne walked under the banner and into another world. Candlelight twinkled; the aromas of barbecued beef, sweet corn, and freshly baked biscuits wafted in the air. Camp stewards were busy serving onto tin plates as soldiers ate up the special meal with as much abandon as they were saving for the dance floor. RuthAnne’s stomach rumbled, but she wouldn’t be eating much with the corset squeezing her this way and pushing her out that.
Whit paused mid-step. RuthAnne glanced to see what had captured the stout man’s attention.
“Isn’t it lovely? The KP crew’s been setting it up all afternoon. Had to battle a rainstorm and gale winds, but they managed to pull it off! Emptied out most of my storeroom, in the process. I still don’t know how he does it.” Whit shook his head.
“He who?” she asked, but then she saw him. He stood at the entrance, a basket of folded blue papers and pencils beside him, taking his task with the utmost seriousness. He looked taller in his polished boots, his large blue hat with gold cord gleaming. His goatee was well-trimmed, and his well-fitting uniform was neat and new-looking; though it was a fort event, RuthAnne could swear Private First Class Reginald Thompson was hosting this party in his own home.
“Reggie!” she gushed with delight and clapped her hands, so glad to see a familiar face in the crowd of strangers.
He tipped his hat and handed her a dance card and short pencil. She slipped the cord around her wrist.
“May I?” He wrote his name once on the front and once on the back, giving her a wink. “You look a fair share better than the first time I saw you.”
She gave him the warmest smile she could and squeezed his hand. He turned his charm to the next folks wandering in.
Within minutes, she was surrounded by the soldiers she had helped dress for the event.
“You look lovely this evening, Miss Newcomb.” Alex McDole was a smooth dancer, his manner weightless. She glided in the capable hands of the lanky stable master as he guided her through the traffic of the dance floor with ease.
“Mr. McDole, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Who exercises the horses when the soldiers are off duty?”
“Mostly they rest up and get lazy. Don’t get much call for help out at the stable, ma’am. Not unless someone wants to hunt up eggs from my chicken coop or have a carriage hitched to take them to Tucson.”
“I grew up riding bareback on my daddy’s farm in Alabama. There’s someplace I’d like to ride to, someplace I stopped by on my way out here...”
“Would that place have anything to do with a certain young lady recovering at the chapel?” He clucked his tongue, a grin pursing his thin lips.
“But, how...?”
“It’s hard to hide much when I’m the one who keeps track of all our comings and goings round here. Come by in the morning. I’ll have a nice gentle Appaloosa waiting for you, saddled and ready.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his arm as the band finished the strains of “Silver Threads Among the Gold.” He clicked his heels as the next soldier waiting for a turn eagerly stepped forward.
Private Donnelly, dressed and pressed, had his shock of red hair tamed for the occasion. His dark eyes were pained as he took her for a spin around the floor. RuthAnne’s stomach rumbled uncomfortably as she went from merely hungry to ravenous. How long had it been since she’d eaten? She knew she should have nibbled one of those plump apples earlier.
“Oh, Miss Newcomb...You said she’d be here, but I haven’t been able to get ten feet from Moira all night. She looks so beautiful...” He went on about his personal plight, while RuthAnne did her best not to faint with hunger.
“I’ve seen her dance card. It’s so full, and I’m not that handy with a pencil.” He suddenly stopped them from waltzing and looked at her, truly concerned. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Just a full day’s work on a sausage biscuit. I’m famished.”
He glared at an approaching soldier who meant to cut in on their dance. RuthAnne clutched Private Donnelly’s arm.
“I tell you what, Private. You go and find me a plate of food, and I’ll guarantee you’ll have that dance with Moira.”
Through the dust and halos of lantern light, RuthAnne headed toward the lovely Moira Stevens. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. Her smile was impish, coy, and slightly distracted as she attempted to re-button her boot with her fingers. Her dance card dragged the floor, and the men seemed to be standing in line, waiting for a turn.
“Really, Tom. Let me get my shoe back on before you tear the other one off!” She chastised the boy who had stepped on her toes too many times.
RuthAnne saw a look of relief wash over Moira’s face at her arrival. She touched one boy’s arm and gave a genteel smile. “Gentlemen, I’m sure Miss Stevens could use refreshment. It’s painful hot still this evening.”
They left in a stampede to fetch sustenance. Moira smiled at RuthAnne and leaned back on a stool. “Thanks for that! Don’t these dances just make you feel like a cow at auction?”
RuthAnne couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the girl’s candor. “Well, some of them might. You’ll know when it’s the right buyer, believe me.” She bent down and negotiated Moira’s button with nimble fingers, managing to snag her dance card in the process. “Oops. Here. Let’s get this back on you, shall we?” She slipped the cord back around Moira’s narrow wrist. “I didn’t know it was possible to write your name quite that small! You can barely make out the words!”
“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“I don’t mean to pry, but you and I both know there aren’t enough dances in the world to accommodate all of those young men. Don’t forget this one.”
Moira leaned forward, narrowing her gaze. “That’s not a name. That’s a smudge!”
RuthAnne leaned forward, carefully studying the card. “Well, it could almost say Sean Donnelly? If you wanted it to...”
“You mean Private Sean Donnelly?” Moira scanned the room for the red-headed soldier, chewing on her lip. “The one who’s never had a mind to say how do you do to me? Much less ask me for a dance...”
“I’ve heard him asking after you.”
“Is that so?” Moira glanced around again. “He put you up to this, didn’t he? I ought to give him a pie
ce of my mind, if my toes weren’t in such a state!”
“Go easy on him. It’s a hard thing for a boy to try and win a girl’s heart.”
“I wish they cared more about my feet!” They laughed as the young man in question made his way over to them. His eyes widened at Moira’s presence.
“Thank you, Private Donnelly.” RuthAnne relieved him of the plate of cornbread biscuits and pulled beef, which she began sampling at once. “You remember Moira, I’m sure...”
The young soldier flushed to the roots of his hair. “G-good evening, Miss St-Stevens.”
“Well, good evening to you, Private Donnelly.” Moira’s jade green eyes sparkled.
“I’d ask you to dance, but...” He caught RuthAnne’s eye.
“Don’t mind me. You two go on.” RuthAnne said and daintily nibbled the delicious cornbread.
“I’ll save you that dance, Private, if you can take me for a walk first. I think the moon is starting to rise...” Moira stood and hooked her hand neatly on his arm. As they escaped the push of grumbling soldiers, Private Donnelly shot RuthAnne the largest grin she had ever seen.
“That was quite a trick.” A richly-toned voice spoke over her shoulder. She lifted her gaze to see an officer so emblazoned with ribbons and medals that he could only be Post Commander Carington.
He was tall in stature, towering over where she sat. RuthAnne swallowed, sizing up the man whom so many feared. He waited patiently, a smile touching his full lips. The commander’s white hair curled at his neck, swept back from his high forehead, not a strand out of place, a stark contrast to his sun-darkened face. His neatly trimmed white beard accented a strong chin, and his blue eyes were startlingly clear. He offered a handkerchief from his pocket, which she gratefully accepted, though his hand lingered over hers in a much too familiar way. In that moment, she caught a glimpse of what Edgar Carington must have looked like as a younger man, and a shiver went up her spine. Quickly, she drew her hand back and dabbed her lips to remove any traces of her meal.
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