All or Nothing

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  Less than an hour later, RuthAnne and Dolly entered the dance arm in arm. One dressed in white, the other in black. RuthAnne’s satin dress was a modern columnar style, accenting her height and slender figure; the square décolletage enhanced her swanlike neck and was a bit low for her taste, but there was nothing to be done for that now. Fine black lace looped the dress, her hips rounded with a satin and lace pannier rather than a bustle attached at the bodice line.

  Bowen stepped forward, hands floating to the tiny hints of satin ribbon and lace at her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her hand, a glimmer of good humor and approval in his eye.

  Dolly had secured RuthAnne’s blonde hair with black ivory combs; it draped elegantly over one shoulder in a cascade of blonde curls. He placed another tender kiss at her exposed neck, no longer hiding his affection, and making her gasp and giggle all at once.

  “Bowen Shepherd! There are other people about.”

  “I only see you, my dear.” He took the dance card she was affixing to her wrist and eyed it warily. “You can’t expect me to write my name for every time I want to dance with my girl.”

  “You’d better start writing.” A smile touched her lips as she offered him a pencil. He sniffed and possessively placed a hand at her waist.

  Young soldiers mobbed Dolly. She ordered them back, inspecting their hands for cleanliness before she allowed them to sign her card. Whit stood behind her, looking amused. The soldiers took one look at RuthAnne standing next to their captain and backed away.

  “Bowen! You tell those boys they can have a dance. Men outnumber women five to one at this fort.”

  “Well, let them dance around with each other, then.” He stifled a laugh and grabbed the nearest soldier by the arm. “Private Jonah Thomas, have you had the privilege of meeting Miss RuthAnne Newcomb?”

  “Uh, no, sir. I’ve heard of her though.” Private Thomas swallowed hard, tugging at his collar as he gave a slight bow. “Ma’am.”

  “Glad to meet you, Private Thomas.” She shook her head at Bowen with a slight grin as she proffered her card. Before long, it filled up with scrawled names and marks of soldiers of all ranks and reputations, though Bowen still refused to sign his own name.

  Ross and Josie swept through the milling crowd as heads turned and whispers followed in a wave of sound. His head was re-bandaged, as was the plan, and he was in full dress uniform. He moved slowly, theatrically, to the rows of chairs brought in for the weary. Josie, dressed in a light pink frock that accented her olive skin and growing belly, settled him down with a slight smirk. Her thick, black hair was held back with abalone combs, sparkling a rainbow of blues and greens in the lantern light.

  Reggie followed them at a fair distance, adjusting his jacket and medals and ribbons aplenty for a man of his lowered rank, as if their presence embarrassed him. His gaze searched the crowd, lighting up at the sight of Bowen and RuthAnne. He stepped quickly to her, unhanding her dance card from a much younger soldier and staring down his complaint with an intense glare. Reggie quickly scrawled his name several times and gave her a peck on the cheek. Shrugging at Bowen’s disapproval, he affixed a smile to his face and moved to write his name on the card of every woman present.

  The ladies of the fort glittered like an array of gems in their dresses of gold, platinum, emerald, sapphire, ruby, and every hue in between. It was the best-dressed crowd the fort had ever seen, and faces were lit with excitement.

  A banner declaring the First Annual Ross MacEvoy Dance was displayed behind the bandbox in a spatter of red and blue paint on white canvas, prepared by the fort’s army of schoolchildren. Josie pointed and clapped, beaming. Men lined up to shake her husband’s hand, and she glowed with pride.

  The band tuned up, sending off notes soaring across the dance floor. Trumpets, horns, and trombones played different melodies in a cacophony of sound before the bandleader stepped up and called his boys to attention.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, in honor of our guest, and this fine nation’s Centennial Anniversary, I give you a national treasure.” He nodded and instruments were brought to the ready.

  Suddenly, the band burst forth with the patriotic “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” and everyone laughed and applauded before singing along. The flags of their fathers whipped in the growing breeze, a flutter of red, white, and blue, as kerosene lantern flames dipped and bobbed, holding back the growing twilight.

  ****

  Amanda pinned back her hair for a third time, adjusting a curl that insisted on freeing itself from the pile on her head. She watched as Megan alternately held dresses up to her reflection and tossed them aside with increasingly frustrated sighs. Their room looked as if it had been robbed. Dresses of every color and fabric lay discarded on the bed, the trunk, the chair, and the floor.

  Megan cocked her head to the silver-framed mirror, eyeing her latest victim, before casting it aside like yesterday’s news. “So they weren’t in the latest styles. Any one of my old cotillion gowns would have been fine, Mandy! Honestly, why I listen to you sometimes is beyond me.” Megan unearthed a final garment from the back of the wardrobe, raising an eyebrow. “What about this one?” She narrowed her attention on the green dress with dark green-jeweled collar and sleeves, holding it to her creamy skin.

  “I like it.” Amanda tapped her foot impatiently, already dressed in her empire-waisted gown of azure blue. She adjusted the lace pannier around her midsection, once again uncomfortable without the added weight of a bustle. “You look fine, Megan. Truly. Can we go now? I hear the music starting!”

  “Don’t worry, Amanda. You’ll find someone to dance with you. Or is that what’s bothering you?” Megan eyed the dress that RuthAnne had redesigned for Amanda with a carefully arched eyebrow. “That’s the same color as Mother’s old dress. The one she was wearing when she met father?”

  “That’s right. She gave it to me. I had it...updated.”

  “Updated?” Megan spouted a tittering, unkind laugh. “You look a fool with no bustle. Really, Mandy. Don’t you follow fashion? Someone’s been filling your head with air.”

  Marcus stepped into their room, interrupting their fussing.

  Megan busily applied more powder and paint to her face. Amanda’s lip trembled, near tears. Thank heavens Marcus intervened.

  “You both look fine. Can we go now? I swear, I’ve been waiting on you two since I was twelve.”

  “Marcus Carington, you’d better be more patient. If it wasn’t for your sisters, you’d still be doing the box step,” Megan said as she continued to primp and preen in front of the mirror.

  “And if it wasn’t for me, the two of you would be staying home tonight rather than going to the dance. Father won’t have his daughters running anywhere unescorted, you know that.”

  Megan squeaked as he grabbed her by the forearm and hauled her to the door.

  “Just a second, children. I’m coming with you.” Their mother’s voice came from the back room, a tad slurred. The three held each others’ gazes and their collective breaths as Clara joined them.

  Chapter 36

  “These contemptuous shoes. Megan, you’ve buttoned them wrong again,” Clara barked as she stumbled. She clutched Marcus’ arm, her hook-like hand digging in.

  He simply smiled, pulling his mother to stand. “Megan might not be the best at button-holing, Mother, but I think you stepped on another rock.”

  “Rocks! That’s all this infernal place has. Rocks. Cactus. Sun. Heat. Marcus, darling. We need to get ourselves back to civilization! California! Promise me, as soon as you’re able you’ll take me back.”

  Amanda watched them walk in front, saddened at what her once beautiful mother had become. Her voice was filled with desperation. Her face was puffy from sleeping and her deepening dependence on the drug. Still, she had pulled her wits about her enough to dress for the party.

  “Megan, let’s spruce Mother up, shall we?” Amanda suggested, and the two girls slipped their mother back into her wrap that was dragging on the
ground. Amanda swiped at the dust streak on the taffeta drape. Megan affixed it around her shoulders, pushing a few stray pins back into their mother’s hair.

  “Mama. You’re too thin. Once we get inside, I’m bringing you a whole tray of cakes.” Megan kissed her mother’s cheek, their eyes meeting.

  “Bosh! Thin. You do have a wild imagination, child. Come now, let’s try and avoid any more missteps, shall we?” She trounced on ahead, reaching for Megan and dragging her along.

  “This whole night is a misstep if you ask me,” Marcus whispered, and Amanda giggled, walking arm in arm with her handsome brother. He’d trimmed his beard and wayward hair to look like an all out gentleman. His dark eyes were full of humor, but as they neared the dance, they clouded with something else.

  “Why, Marcus, whatever’s the matter?” Amanda said, poking her brother in the side.

  The band played a rendition of a waltz. On the floor, ladies in the dresses she had acquired for this purpose twirled like a beautiful bouquet. The brilliant hues, bright expressions, laughter, and joy that filled the dance were infectious. Amanda’s chest filled with pride. Their project had worked, under the skillful hands of RuthAnne with Dolly’s help and Amanda’s imagination. She wanted to clap and cheer. Instead, she held lightly to her brother’s arm and smiled with apparent idle interest.

  Megan whipped to her sister’s side. “Amanda! What’s going on?”

  “It’s a party, Megan. Get your dance card filled, why don’t you. Thank you, Private.” Amanda smiled at the young man who handed her the loop of cord and card to wrap around her wrist. She couldn’t help but laugh when she saw he had already jotted his name down. She gave the tall, lanky soldier a slight wave as Megan pulled her aside.

  “That isn’t what I mean! Those dresses look startlingly familiar.” Megan’s eyes were cold as a snake, and she was just as ready to strike. For once, Amanda stood her ground and met her twin straight on.

  “They should. You tossed them out months ago. Too old-fashioned. Too tight. Too boring. Something like that. I simply...repurposed them.” Amanda gulped. Had she made the wrong decision? She had known Megan would be less than enthusiastic about seeing her tossed-out garments redesigned and dancing on women from around the fort. She hadn’t expected her to be quite this furious.

  “Those are my cotillion gowns!”

  “That you said you wanted burned, I believe.” Tears pricked Amanda’s eyes. She swallowed around the large lump in her throat. And then she understood what made her sister so upset. It wasn’t the dresses. It was not being included in the decision. Amanda had never done anything without her sister’s approval.

  “I did it for you, Meg. As a surprise. Remember how you said we should brighten this place up a bit? What’s bright and fun about being the only belles at a dance? Now we can wear our finery and not feel so hopelessly out of place.”

  Megan’s eyes were damp with angry, hurt tears.

  “Does that pink one look familiar?” Amanda said.

  “It looks like the one I wore to Marissa Harper’s party...but that dress was white. Now it’s pink?”

  “It had a strawberry punch stain down the front. Remember? You threw it out. It also had a ruined hemline and torn netting...”

  Megan snorted. “Thanks to that rascal, Tom Salinger. He threw a drink on me when I refused him in the rose garden. He thought he could put his hands where they weren’t wanted.”

  “He was wrong...you showed him. And you told me that you’d rather die than wear it again! Didn’t you? It isn’t the same dress anymore. RuthAnne dyed it a shade darker than the stain, and of course, had to let out quite a bit, as you see. You were much more slender when you wore that one. I don’t know how RuthAnne found the extra fabric to fit Mrs. Kimball. Look at her!”

  Megan laughed in disbelief as Mrs. Kimball glided across the floor, her husband’s hands on her thick waist. “Well, I’ll be.” She turned to her sister. “Amanda, please tell me you weren’t foolish enough to just give them all away. Those were worth a small fortune!”

  Amanda blushed a bit. “I might have made a slight profit. Which I’m splitting with you, of course.”

  “Well, aren’t you the budding entrepreneur.” Megan hugged her sister. “Exactly how much will we be sharing?”

  “Enough for you to buy some new clothes and make your own decisions about your future.”

  “What about you? I know you weren’t completely on a mercy mission with all of this...” Megan waved her hand at the jeweled dancers.

  Amanda cleared her throat. “I’m going to return to San Francisco. For Roger. He wants to marry me...”

  “The librarian? Oh, sister. You have gone off the deep end. Come, let’s discuss your foolish plan before Mother hears...”

  “Before your mother hears what?” Clara stepped between her daughters, eyes narrowed. “Just what the devil is going on here? Megan?”

  Clara fanned herself, looking about but her question was obvious. They no longer stood out against the ladies of the fort. Her gaze swept the dance floor, mouth curling in bitterness. She watched the dancers, brows raised. “Do either one of you wish to tell me why your hand-me-down gowns are in higher fashion than anything we are wearing?” Disapproval dripped from her words.

  Amanda smoothed her skirts and cleared her throat. The music picked up again, a cheery waltz. A soldier stepped up. “Uh, pardon me, Miss Carington. My name’s on your card...”

  “Well, let’s dance, shall we?” With a shrug and a wary glance back to her mother and sister, Amanda escaped to the dance floor.

  ****

  Clara grabbed her remaining daughter’s arm tight as she dared. “Someone better explain things to me and fast.”

  “Mother, please.” Megan turned sharply.

  Clara wrenched her away from the music. Away from the lights and the laughter. “RuthAnne put you and Amanda up to this, didn’t she?”

  Tears dripped from Megan’s eyes, but a mother knew how to force the truth from her daughter. “I didn’t even know until this evening. Mandy’s in love, mama. She just wants to go back to San Francisco. She sold the dresses to RuthAnne.”

  “Why would she want to go back...not for that librarian? This story gets better all of the time. My own daughters are abandoning me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mama.” Megan swallowed.

  “No, of course you’re not. And neither is your sister.” Clara searched for her husband among the throng of partygoers. Of course, the one time she needed him, neither he nor his lackey Kendrick were in sight.

  She spotted RuthAnne dancing with a short, stocky soldier. From the crease in RuthAnne’s forehead, the boy was obviously treading heavy upon her slippers. With a glower of disapproval, Captain Shepherd stomped over and separated the soldier from his dance partner. Barking an order Clara could not hear, Shepherd sent the poor boy scrambling off into the crowd. She watched as RuthAnne bid her apologies to the departing barrel of a soldier. Clara noticed RuthAnne’s face light up with gratitude as the two began to waltz.

  They were a lovely couple to be sure. She, in black satin, draped with lace. Her tumble of blonde hair fixed in a cascade over one shoulder, the other bare. The captain was a full head taller than she, muscular and lean. He filled out his blues in a way both forbidding and appealing. He held RuthAnne as if he intended never to let go. They danced in perfect step, as if they were two sides of a coin.

  Clara was pleased to see her well-ensconced in the brash soldier’s embrace rather than Edgar’s. But a flick of her calculating gaze saw someone who wasn’t pleased. In fact, he was seething. Clara watched Marcus observing the same scene. His jovial face darkened. His eyes were locked on the pair. In heartbreak? Disgust? She couldn’t read his expression, but she knew the cause. The same cause of all of her troubles since she arrived at this godforsaken place—RuthAnne.

  The sound of brass instruments, laughter, and chatter filled her ears, threatening to split her head in a cacophony of sound. Clara
only had eyes for RuthAnne, pale skin glowing under the lights, her long blonde hair lit up like a halo. Her joyous smile pierced Clara’s icy heart, filling her mouth with a bitter taste until she could take no more. Clara stepped into her path, forcing them to stop mid-step.

  RuthAnne saw Clara Carington from the corner of her eye.

  “You.” Clara’s eyes brimmed with loathing.

  “Mrs. Carington?” RuthAnne was confused. Bowen guided them out of the way of the onslaught of dancers until they stood in the center of the floor, though Clara followed them like a stalking wildcat.

  “I know all about you. What you and my daughter did. So you think that you can just appear out of nowhere and ransack my house for your own profit?”

  “Mrs. Carington, we didn’t...” RuthAnne looked to Bowen for help.

  Just beyond the murmuring crowd, Dolly muscled her way in between RuthAnne and the coiled snake that was Clara Carington, Whit closing in behind.

  “Mrs. Carington, it wasn’t RuthAnne’s idea. It was mine,” Dolly said.

  “And mine, Mother.” Amanda stood beside Dolly, visibly shaking but standing her ground. The band ground to a halt in a disharmony of brass and drums.

  “Is that right?” Clara turned her fury on her own child. “So, it’s finally happened. By hiring a whore into army service, your father has finally corrupted his own daughter.”

  Dolly blanched, her mouth open. Before she could speak, RuthAnne stepped in. “Are you sure you’re one to cast stones, Clara? What do you know about Dolly Jewel? Have you ever spoken with her? Met her, even?”

  “I don’t have to meet her to know that she came to Fort Lowell unmarried and pregnant. Shamed. Cast out from The Wedge.” Clara’s smile was evil, full of hurtful intentions. “And what about you, RuthAnne? Ever since you came here you’ve been flaunting yourself around the fort, tempting my son to fall in love with you. Riding off to meet heaven knows whom in the desert for days at a time. These aren’t activities for a woman with no means and no family in this godforsaken place. I’ve seen you. Don’t deny it.” Venom spilled from every word. The guests were silent, watching the heated exchange.