A Timeless Romance Anthology: Old West Collection

by Carla Kelly

  Chapter Two

  Della hurried through the rest of her chores so she could spend extra time getting ready for the dance. She ironed her dress within an inch of its life, determined to eradicate every wrinkle. She used the curling wand on her hair and reheated it on the stove every time it cooled off, which was several. Every hair needed to be just so.

  As she gathered her gloves and hat, her mother met her at the door and handed her a sprig of tiny white flowers. “For your hair, if you’d like, now that spring is here.”

  Della smiled and nodded, tilting her head so her mother could tuck the sprig behind her ear and secure it with a pin. Her mother pulled back and looked her over, holding her by the arms.

  “You’ll be the most beautiful girl at the dance.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Della said, giving her mother a hug. “No doubt if I were in New York City or Seattle, no one would so much as notice me.”

  Considering how small the dance would be, she didn’t have much competition, but Della appreciated the thought. It wasn’t that she was so vain to believe she’d been born with some great innate beauty; she simply worked harder at her appearance than most young women in the tiny town of Shelley. She wore brighter colors, arranged her hair more elaborately. In short, she worked at looking like the beautiful, stylish women in the newspapers and catalogs.

  Her mother sighed. “Oh, sweetheart. I hope you can find a way to be happy where the good Lord planted you.”

  They’d had this discussion many times, yet Della felt compelled to try to explain again. She needed someone to understand. “I want to choose my path,” she said. “Shelley is just too small for me. It didn’t have a name until just last year.”

  “I suppose it is small,” her mother began. “But—”

  “I feel cramped, like I have wings that have been clipped, so I’m stuck here in the wilderness when I was meant to fly into bigger places and do great things.”

  As if on cue, a group of black birds took flight from the family’s cherry tree. Both women watched them squawk and chirp as they flew en masse to another tree farther away and settled on its branches.

  Her mother kept her eyes on the birds as she spoke next in a quiet voice. “Birds usually return home after flying away.”

  “Yes,” Della said carefully. “Some do.”

  She left the idea hanging in the air, allowing her mother believe that perhaps, after visiting a big city for a season, that Della would be content to return home.

  And voluntarily clip my wings for the rest of my life? What kind of existence would that be?

  Voices carried on the wind through the door, which was open a crack. Della pushed it all the way open and looked out. Estelle and Betty were coming up the lane from the road, on their way to pick her up for the dance.

  “I’d— I’d better go,” Della said quietly. “Thank you for the flowers, Mama.” She leaned in for a quick peck on her mother’s cheek and a final hug before heading down the lane toward her friends.

  Tonight’s dance would be held at the Parker home, a good half mile away. With any luck, the young women would arrive without kicking up much dust to soil their dresses.

  When Della reached her friends, Betty held up a basket of fresh peas. “First pea harvest of the year was this morning. I convinced Mama to let me take some, in case we can convince Old Sam to play a slow waltz.” She grinned mischievously.

  They laughed. Rumors had it that when their own mothers were young, the waltz had been a bit on the edge of propriety, what with how partners danced in a closed position, looking at each other the whole time, their bodies often touching. Estelle’s grandparents still considered it vulgar. Fortunately for Della’s generation, it was only the slow waltzes some people raised an eyebrow at, believing it to be too conducive to youth losing their heads and falling for each other.

  Perhaps they had a point, Della thought. The thrill of dancing that close to a handsome young man was part of the reason they liked it so much. Fortunately, Old Sam, the leader of the band who played at virtually every dance and was the best fiddler around, found nothing shocking about the waltz at any speed. Better yet, he was easily persuaded to play extra slow waltzes if given the right incentive.

  Estelle nodded excitedly. “You know how much he loves fresh peas.”

  Della’s eyes lit up. “Wait one moment. I’ll be right back.” She picked up her skirts and hurried back to the house, where her mother still waited on the stoop.

  “Everything all right?” she asked when Della came close.

  “May I bring a jar of your raspberry jam as a gift to the band?” Bribe, more like. But she wasn’t about so say so.

  Her mother smiled as if she knew what Della was really up to. “There’s an unopened jar in the pantry.”

  “Thank you, Mama!” She hurried inside and found the jar then gave her mother a quick wave before heading back out to join her friends.

  Her mother had talked about waltzing in her own youth, so while she might not have strictly approved of bribing Old Sam, she wouldn’t mind Della waltzing. However, Della most certainly didn’t want her family watching her waltz; that would be a mite embarrassing. Good thing she was the only one from the household going tonight.

  As Dell reached her friends, she raised one hand to block the sun, which was about to set, sending its rays right into her eyes. In her other hand, she held up her spoils. “Raspberry jam,” she declared triumphantly.

  “Your mother’s jam is famous,” Estelle said.

  Betty’s eyes went wide and dreamy. “Oh, I’d love to waltz twice with Arnold Francom.”

  They walked along quickly, eager to arrive. Estelle and Betty did most of the talking, however, as Della’s mind was more preoccupied than usual with thoughts of life in a big city, especially as they crossed State Street near the spot where, a few years ago, a fire had destroyed seven buildings— largely what had amounted to their downtown area, such as it had been.

  The buildings destroyed by the fire had been razed, and several new buildings stood in their stead. But a few scars from the fire remained, and even from a hundred yards away, they practically yelled at Della to leave, and soon.

  She tossed her head, not wanting to look at the burned area, and focused squarely on the evening ahead of her. She held the jar of jam close so it wouldn’t fall and so the young women at the dance would get their second slow waltz.

  Surely that dance didn’t raise any eyebrows in San Francisco or Chicago. And big-city dances were surely in large halls, not in someone’s home, where the furniture had been taken out or pushed to the edges to make room.

  Betty and Estelle’s chattering floated about Della’s head as she walked, scarcely aware of their words as she imagined wearing a satin gown as she entered an elegant ballroom with electric chandeliers.

  Della’s attention returned with a start when she heard Betty say, “Los Angeles.”

  “Wait, what did you say about Los Angeles?”

  Her friend smiled curiously. “Just that my aunt Eleanor is visiting. She hasn’t been back to Idaho since she moved out there to marry her husband fifteen years ago.” Betty shrugged. “Apparently she left when I was two years old; I don’t remember her from then at all. She’ll be at the dance. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

  Los Angeles. After a couple of fast thuds of Della’s heart, she asked, “You think she’d talk to me about what it’s like in a big city? I’d hate for her to think I’m some backward farm girl.” In spite of the fact that that was exactly what Della was, if one ignored how many books and magazines she’d read.

  “Of course,” Betty said, tossing her hand dismissively. “She’s here to talk with as many local girls as she can. She’s looking for a new housekeeper. Or was it a cook? Or laundress? I forget.”

  Della had to force herself to not squeal. “Has she— has she found anyone yet?”

  “No, more’s the rub. I said I’d go, but of course, neither of my parents will allow it. They insist I’l
l be exposed to devilish things in the city.” She said it with a grin and sparkling eyes, as if she would be perfectly happy to discover and experience a few “devilish” things.

  Della’s fingers gripped the jar of raspberry jam so tightly it could have slipped out of her hands entirely, but she couldn’t help it. Her insides were going all twisty in a delightful and nerve-racking way.

  Betty went on, clearly not noticing Della’s reaction. “That’s why she’s coming to the dance— to see if there’s anyone she missed talking to who would make a good worker and be able to go with her. They leave tomorrow after the train comes for a supply delivery along the Shelley spur line.”

  This was Della’s chance, dropped right into her lap. She would go to California with Betty’s aunt, work for her in whatever capacity was needed, and at last experience time away from the doldrums of a tiny farm community. She’d finally experience life.

  Chapter Three

  Joseph arrived at the dance five minutes early, but he was one of only four guests. If it hadn’t been for the large parlor being emptied of furniture, he would have thought he’d come at the wrong time. He greeted Mr. Parker and his wife then tried to find something to say to the others standing in one corner in an effort to pass the time.

  To his relief, Ruby Schofield chattered on about something to do with a near-tragedy regarding her dress and hair, freeing Joseph from feeling any obligation to invent a topic of conversation.

  Good thing, too, as he couldn’t have managed more than one coherent sentence, and he’d already spent that in his greeting to the Parkers.

  Silly to be so nervous, he thought. It’s not as if I’m proposing marriage.

  Yet in a sense, what he would be doing tonight wasn’t far off from asking for her hand, and the results of tonight’s actions could well lead to Della one day becoming his wife. God willing.

  Joseph’s hand patted his vest pocket to check for the necklace he’d bought at the general store. It wasn’t fancy or expensive— neither of which he could afford even if the local store had stocked such things. The pale-blue stone— a piece of glass cut to look like aquamarine— reminded him of Della’s eyes, which looked even bluer when she wore her blue dress. He hoped she’d wear it tonight. He’d slip the pendant and chain around her neck, and it would be a symbol of the official beginning to their courtship.

  He could hardly stand the wait. The necklace seemed to burn a hole in his vest, and his palms were growing sweaty. She’s not even here yet.

  At long last, more and more guests arrived, including Della, with Betty and Estelle in tow. He caught Della’s eye, and she smiled significantly, lifting a canning jar as she headed toward the four-piece band setting up in the corner. A bribe. A bribe for a waltz.

  He smiled with satisfaction, picturing the two of them waltzing. This evening would turn out perfectly. He’d pictured it all a thousand times if once.

  As the band got ready, Della chatted in a circle of other young women. The fiddler finally got his instrument tuned then nodded to Old Sam. The dance was about to start. The upright piano at the back held a pile of booty stacked on one side. Judging by the size of the stack, tonight might well promise three or four waltzes, provided the older folk didn’t protest.

  Old Sam clapped three times to get everyone’s attention, and the conversation in the parlor and the adjoining room quieted, with people poking their head in through the door. Enough guests had come that the dance had spilled into the other room and, by the looks of it, had filled it as well.

  “Welcome to tonight’s dance,” Old Sam said. “We’ll begin with a cakewalk. Gentlemen, find your partners.”

  He turned his back to the guests and spoke to his players. Joseph hurried to secure Della as his partner, but by the time he navigated around and through everyone, she was gone. He whirled about, only to see her already standing in the circle with Willy Millward. Not a problem. The dance had hours to go, and surely he’d be able to dance with Della several times. He asked Margaret Bell to join him, and she readily agreed.

  After the cakewalk came a galop, a faster dance, and one in closed dance position, which he, of course, preferred to the hand-holding quadrilles. Margaret seemed to assume he’d dance with her a second time, and as Willy seemed to be doing the same with Della, Joseph complied.

  Dance after dance, he lost the opportunity to dance with Della, until two hours had passed, and the moon was already rising. Another dance ended— the first waltz of the night— and yet again someone else reached Della before he did. Joseph opted not to dance this number, in favor of watching and admiring Della— and being able to reach her quickly after the song ended.

  When it finally did, Della thanked her partner and walked off the floor, breathing quickly from the exertion of the dance. She headed straight for Joseph, as if she’d known he was waiting for her. She wore the smile that always made his knees weak. His fingers instinctively moved toward his vest pocket and felt for the shape of the necklace inside.

  Della reached him and took his hands in hers. “Isn’t it delightful?” she said. “And see the gifts Old Sam was given.”

  Joseph’s smile broadened. “I’d say we’re in for many slow dances tonight.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” she said, then fanned her hand before her face. “But first, I need a break. I’m out of breath, and it’s so hot in here.”

  He’d been about to ask for her hand in the next dance, but a rest would be fine; they could talk, just the two of them, before dancing. And he’d make sure the topic was not chicken droppings.

  They threaded their way through the crowded room until they reached a table set up outside the kitchen, with apple juice and cookies.

  “That looks divine,” Della said, eyeing the table.

  “I’ll get you a drink,” Joseph told her. He filled a cup with apple juice and selected two cookies— one for her, one for himself. Mr. Parker came out of the kitchen, lugging a barrel apparently full of apple juice.

  Joseph set the cup and cookies onto the table. “Would you like some help?” he asked, moving over to steady the barrel.

  “Yes, please,” Mr. Parker grunted. “Either apple juice is getting heavier, or I’m getting older.”

  Together, they got the barrel arranged, after which Joseph helped carry some chairs back into the room for two elderly ladies to sit on in the corner. “Anything else I can help you with?” Joseph asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Mr. Parker said. “Thank you for stepping in. Now go enjoy the dance.” He patted Joseph on the side of the arm and nodded toward Della as if he knew Joseph had eyes for her. Perhaps he did.

  Is it so obvious?

  By the time he returned to Della, she was occupied in conversation with a woman he didn’t recognize. Della’s face was flushed with excitement over whatever it was they were discussing. Curious, Joseph walked up to them and offered the cup and cookie, hoping for an introduction.

  “Oh, thank you, Joseph,” Della said, reaching for them. She took a sip of the juice and nodded. “Mmm. Tasty and cold, too. Just what I needed.” She gestured toward the woman she’d been speaking to. “I should introduce you.”

  “This is Joseph Cartwright,” Della said, gesturing to him.

  He turned to the woman. Now that he was closer, she looked to be in her forties or perhaps her early fifties. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bent slightly at the waist and nodded.

  “And this” —Della gestured to the woman— “is Betty’s aunt, Mrs. Eleanor Baker.”

  Mrs. Baker nodded slightly. “A pleasure.”

  “She’s from Los Angeles,” Della said in a tone clearly meant to awe Joseph. Instead, his stomach felt a little sour. No wonder she seemed so excited to meet this woman. Surely Della would stay close to Eleanor for the remainder of the evening, like a puppy trailing its master, as she tried to learn all she could about the city.

  “How long are you visiting?” Joseph asked, speaking above the music playing in the other room— a fast w
altz. At least he hadn’t missed a slow one.

  “I leave tomorrow, actually,” Mrs. Baker said. “I’m still hoping I’ll find a suitable girl to come with me. I’m in need of more help at home— just a maid to help with the cleaning and cooking and odds and ends. My last girl didn’t know how to work hard, so I came back home to look for someone new. After all, Idaho farm girls tend to be wiry and tough— hard workers.”

  Della’s smile dulled a bit at the half compliment, half insult.

  Mrs. Baker went on. “But I may have found my maid, right, Della?” The two smiled at each other knowingly.

  “Wait, what?” Joseph’s mind tried to catch up. Did Mrs. Baker mean… Surely not. He turned to Della. “You aren’t going—”

  “Old Sam just announced a lancier. Come, Joseph. Do be my partner.” Della took his hand and pulled him gently in the direction of the parlor.

  He looked from Della to Mrs. Baker and back. He’d wanted to dance with Della from the moment he’d walked in. Of course he should go. Yet the simple pronouncement that Della would be leaving in the morning for California left him reeling, as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a horse.

  He nodded toward Mrs. Baker and followed Della. They took their positions across from each other, and when the dance began and they took hands, he tried to find out what was really happening.

  “Della, do you mean—”

  But a turn separated them. He tried again as they sashayed, hand in hand, down the lane of dancers. “You aren’t leaving tomorrow, are you?”

  Before she could answer, they’d reached the moment of briefly changing partners. He tried once or twice more, but Della either didn’t hear or didn’t want to discuss her plans in front of everyone. So they danced in silence, Della still grinning ear to ear, while a sickening feeling of dread overtook Joseph. When Old Sam finally cut the music, Joseph wiped his brow, relieved. He’d never endured a more miserable time on the dance floor.