Tennessee Waltz

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "Miss Sarah said I could come back and visit whenever Uncle Dan would let me, Pris," she said. "Maybe you could come with me. It's a real pretty room, but I still like livin' in the mountains lots better. That's where everybody who means somethin' to me lives — 'cept Miss Sarah, 'course."

  "Pris will be more than welcome, if it's all right with her father," Sarah agreed. Not for the first time since her arrival, a stab of reluctance to return to Channing Place went through her. But it would be hers and Stephen's home after they married, since she had no desire to live in the dreary VanderDyke mausoleum, which had grown even worse given Stephen's family's lack of fund for repairs.

  She supposed Stephen would correct that after their marriage, and since she did feel rather sorry for the widowed Mrs. VanderDyke, she had no problem with that.

  With the huge fortune Father left me in charge of, I could even do that for them if Stephen and I weren't married.

  Sarah stifled a gasp as that thought flew through her head. What on earth had brought something like that on? She'd thought out her plans ever so carefully over the last two years, and she had chosen Stephen after a prudent study of his faults and failings, as well as his few commendable attributes.

  She had also chosen him when her father had been in fairly good health, with no thought that she might soon find herself in an independent state, free from his control. With the matters of her father's estate to handle, as well as her desire to take Mairi to her family, she hadn't taken time to check with her attorney as to what sort of power Stephen would have over her financial state after their marriage. She assumed he would have quite a bit, given what she'd seen of her friends' marriages. Had she not wanted children of her own so desperately, she might think a lot harder about placing herself back under a man's dominion again.

  But even though they aren't my own, I've got lots of children right here, she thought.

  "I didn't never know how old you were, Miss Sarah," Mairi said, breaking into her thoughts. For some reason, her statement puzzled Sarah.

  "Like Kyle said, I'm twenty-five," Sarah said.

  "Cousin Wyn's only twenty-two," Mairi told her, an even more out-of-the-blue statement in Sarah's mind.

  "Ummmm," she responded.

  "Wonder if that matters?"

  "Matters for what?" Sarah asked.

  Mairi gave a start, then shook her head. "Oh, nothin' really. Wonder if we're 'bout ready to eat. My belly's a fixin' to rub my backbone."

  A dinner bell clamored through the pure air, and Sarah stood, reaching out a hand to each girl. "Guess that answers your question, huh? And I'll have to admit, my stomach — my belly — is wondering when I'm going to feed it again too."

  Kyle Jackson met her at the edge of the crowd, easily agreeing when Mairi and Pris asked if they could eat with them also. After joining the line at a series of long tables groaning with food and filling their plates, they went back over to the schoolhouse steps. Balancing laden plates on their laps, the two girls chattered while she and Kyle reminisced about mutual acquaintances in New York.

  A couple times Sarah felt that prickle on the back of her neck, but when she shifted to scan the crowd, she didn't notice anyone watching her. Each time she shrugged and went back to her conversation with Kyle.

  Soon a lively fiddle trill split the air, and Kyle surged to his feet. "Whoops," he said. "I need to say something here before Tater gets into his tunes. Shall I take your plate?"

  Instead, Sarah reached for his. "I'll take care of these. You go on."

  "Don't forget our dance."

  He left, and Sarah and the girls followed more slowly. She realized another reason for the placement of Granny's wagon when she spied Tater in the bed of it, with a couple other men joining him. Kyle leaped up with the players for his announcement.

  "Cal and Selene would have wanted us to remember them with joy," Kyle said. "And I haven't found anything more joyous in these mountains than Tater's fiddle, Casper's jute harp and Elias's banjo. So everybody grab a partner and dance."

  The next thing Sarah knew, someone reached around her and took the plates from her, handing them to Mairi. She was swept out into the forming circle of couples before she could even determine her partner's identity. Lonnie Fraiser's older brother, Jedediah, had a strong hold on her. He swung her around, skirts flying, as Tater's fiddle belted out a lively tune she recognized from hearing one of the children sing it — "Sourwood Mountain."

  She had no idea what type of dance steps fit "Sourwood Mountain," since her wallflower status hadn't given her that much experience dancing back in New York. But one of the band members called out some type of directions interspersed with the song's regular words, and the men evidently knew exactly what the caller meant for them to do. They passed her and the other three women in the square of four couples from one strong pair of arms to another, and before the song was even halfway through, Sarah was gasping for breath, her head whirling from dizziness.

  But she'd never had so much fun in her life!

  A couple hours later, her toes were sore from being stomped on by the clumsy boots worn by mountain men with more enthusiasm than dexterity, and her head still spun. But when she tried to slip off to rest for while, someone always caught her. The only respite she got was when the musicians would take pity on the dancers and play a slow ballad, which called for a waltz to which even Sarah knew the steps. Too bad some of the men had their own version of the waltz steps, however. She quickly learned not to anticipate the men's steps, since pinched and bruised toes again resulted from that mistake.

  Kyle caught up to her as one of the slow ballads began, barely managing to grab her one second ahead of another man heading for her with the clear intention of having this dance for himself on his face. As the beautiful strains of "Bonny Barbara Allen" floated from Tater's fiddle, Sarah relaxed in Kyle's arms. Surely a man from the social strata of New York would manage a dance similar to what she was used to.

  He did, and she relaxed even more with not having to endure the strain of trying to outguess the next move of his feet. He smoothly waltzed her to the edge of the crowd.

  Leaning close to her ear, he asked, "Do you need to sit down for a minute? You're as flushed as though you've been running."

  "I almost have been in trying to keep up with these lively men dancers," she said with a breathless laugh. "What on earth are the names of those dances?"

  "They're variations of different types of quadrilles and square dances," Kyle said. "You didn't get much of a chance to watch, but even the children were dancing in their own area. That's why all of them know the steps so well — they start out dancing as soon as they can walk."

  "Well, they're wonderful dances, but since I don't know the steps that well and haven't developed an ear for that patter the caller uses yet, my feet got in the way of more than one set of hobnail boots. So yes, I would like to sit down, if you can find somewhere I'll be hidden from the men who keep insisting their name is next on my nonexistent dance card!"

  With a naughty grin, Kyle took her hand and pulled her with him around the side of the store.

  Chapter 11

  "Thank you!" Sarah stopped at the edge of a circle of light beside the side of the store. Someone had hung lanterns around the porch, and the one on the side where they stood gave a welcome light in the evening shadows.

  She waved a hand in front of her face. "Whew! I didn't realize how warm I'd gotten or that night had fallen. I should be cooler, but I guess the exercise of dancing kept me from feeling the chill."

  "It'll get to you now that you've stopped moving so fast," Kyle assured her. "And you don't want to come down with something, so maybe we should fetch you a shawl. I heard yesterday that Doc MacKenzie left for Nashville to attend his yearly medical convention. He won't be back for a couple weeks, so it's just Leery to handle things while he's gone."

  "I probably should get a wrap," Sarah agreed. "I . . ."

  "Miss Channing," a voice called from around the edge of th
e store. "Where'd you get to, Teacher? I git the next dance!"

  "Oh, mercy," Sarah said in exasperation.

  Kyle grabbed her again and pulled her out of the light, deeper into the shadows. She held a hand over her mouth to still her giggles, and he didn't stop until they were at the back of the store. Shushing her, he pushed her around by the back porch, then stuck his head back around the corner. She could barely restrain the giddiness bubbling in her, making her feel as carefree as a child playing hide and seek.

  Kyle pulled his head back, and she managed to see him nod in the darkness.

  "Nobody followed us," he said in a low voice. "But they'll be looking all over for you. A pretty new woman on the mountain will have every unattached man within fifty miles beating a path to her door. But if we wait a minute, maybe we can sneak down to your cabin and get your wrap without anyone seeing us. The moon's not due up for another half hour, and it's getting darker by the minute."

  "Well, if it's a pretty woman these men want," Sarah said softly, "I don't understand why they're bothering with me."

  "You obviously haven't paid much attention to mirrors lately, have you, Sarah Channing?"

  When Sarah didn't answer, Kyle went on, "I'll admit, you were a skinny, gawky child your coming out season. But if I hadn't known your name, I wouldn't have recognized you today. You're one of those late bloomers, Sarah, and you'll carry your age well until the day you die. Lots of other women will lose their looks by the time they're thirty, but you'll put them to shame."

  "Pooh," was all Sarah could think of to say.

  Kyle chuckled, then took her arm and led her back to the edge of the building. After a quick check for any observers, he hurried down the path toward her cabin. She opened the door and both of them rushed inside.

  Sarah left the door ajar until she located the matches in a drawer in one of the end tables. Within a few seconds, she had the lantern on the table lit, and Kyle closed the door.

  "You needn't worry that I'll make improper advances to you, Sarah," he said as the light glowed bright. "As soon as Fairilee MacIver's mourning period is over next month, she and I will be married. There's even talk of having a permanent church over in Baker's Valley, although I'll still do some circuit riding to the areas that don't have a preacher of their own."

  "That's wonderful, Kyle. Congratulations on your upcoming marriage also. And no, I wasn't worried about you for some reason. Sometimes you meet a person and know right away that they are fine and upstanding. I felt that way when I met you today. And although I don't remember you, I do know your mother and sisters. You have a very nice family."

  "Well, I maybe shouldn't have mentioned how different you look now, but I have a confession to make, Sarah. I knew something of your situation back in New York City and that you were overshadowed by the other season's debutantes. When I saw you today, I realized how much you'd changed, but you still appear a little unsure of yourself. I just wanted you to know that you have proven the truth of that fairy tale about the ugly duckling turning into a swan."

  "Oh, I wouldn't go quite that far, Kyle," Sarah said with a tolerant laugh.

  Kyle cocked his head and studied her. "To the right man, it would be true. Don't sell yourself short, Sarah Channing."

  At that moment the lantern sputtered and died.

  "Oh, land sakes," Sarah muttered. "I meant to replenish that kerosene this morning, when I saw how low it had gotten. Let me try to remember where I stored the can of extra fuel."

  The moment the light went out in the Sarah's cabin, Wyn gritted his teeth and stepped over to the porch post. He'd been standing in the darkness on the rear porch for at least a half an hour, uninterested in rejoining the dancers out front. He'd watched fully half of the men present swing Sarah around until her petticoat showed during a square dance or hold her close when a soft ballad flowed from Tater's fiddle. Some of them had managed more than one dance, and he hadn't even got to her once. He'd tried distracting himself with a couple of different women, but all he could think of while he danced with them was how different they felt in his arms than Sarah did.

  He'd fought his attraction to her, feeling sure the love potion had something to do with it. Still he spent most of his time trying to anticipate where each of her partners would end up, so he could be there and claim the next dance. Each time, he miscalculated and someone else shouldered in front of him to collect her split seconds before him. Finally, he gave up and came to the back porch.

  He'd kept in the shadows, since his sisters would probably accuse him of moping if they found him here while the dancing was still going on. Then they'd dig at him until they thought they'd figured out what his problem was. There were few secrets in the MacIntyre family.

  But dash nab it, he wasn't moping.

  Drawing back his fist, he thudded it into a porch post. Pain streaked through his knuckles and up his arm, giving him a strange satisfaction, as though he'd landed the blow on Kyle Jackson's face.

  Damn! How could Sarah fall for that line Kyle fed her, yet turn a completely deaf — or at least disbelieving — ear to his compliments? Shaking his hand against the pain, he barely kept himself from cold-cocking the post again. It wouldn't bother the post none.

  Why should it be bothering him anyway? He'd felt like a cage was closing around him when he heard Mairi and Leery talking about that love potion. Even his mother had believed in a lot of the old superstitions handed down through the millennia. They had ridden with the families who settled the mountains — much like extra baggage on the ships carrying the displaced people from Scotland.

  Ma had planted her garden in accordance with each phase of the moon, as did every other family. Over each door in the store and their living quarters, Ma had hung breeches beans for good luck. She also believed that a bird flying into the house foretold of a death within a fortnight, and indeed she'd received word of her sister's death barely two weeks after the sparrow had flown in an open upstairs window.

  There were numerous beliefs regarding love and marriage in the mountains, which Ma had known and Leery preached as gospel truth to young and old alike. He'd recalled the one about violets only a little while ago, when Sarah handed him the purple violet. Leery would have told him to gather purple violet buds, as well as white one, and toss them haphazardly in the wind. If the purple buds fell into a clear pattern suggesting a name or initials, the marriage with that suggested person would be passionate. If the white buds fell clearer, the mate suggested for that marriage would always remain faithful. He couldn't believe how tempted he'd been to return to the patch of violets and try the divination, in hopes Sarah's name would show up.

  He didn't know for sure which herb Mairi had baked into the muffins, but he supposed she had used myrtle or rosemary. Either one was well known for use in love divinations.

  The pain in his hand intensified, and he ran a finger over his knuckles, feeling a sharp piece of wood snag his finger pad. Damn, he's gotten a splinter.

  Stomping across the porch, he entered the storeroom and headed for the stairs to the living quarters. He'd have to find Sissy's sewing basket, get a needle to pry the splinter free, and then put some salve on the wound. He'd learned long ago not to let a wound fester in the mountains, after watching them bury his friend, Husky Hamilton, when he was ten. All Husky had done was leave a fishhook wound unattended — a wound which he'd gotten a few days earlier when he and Wyn were fishing. The blood poisoning had been red streaks up Husky's arm the last time Wyn had gone to see him before he died.

  Finding Sissy finishing up nursing Baby Sarah, he waited until she put the babe in the cradle that had held dozens of MacIntyre children over the years. When he told Sissy about the splinter, she ordered him to sit at the table and brought her sewing basket. After holding the needle over a candle flame for a second, she took his hand.

  "Lordy, Wyn, how'd you do this?" she asked.

  "On the back porch post."

  "Looks like you deliberately punched it."

 
; Sissy lifted an eyebrow, but Wyn didn't answer, so she bent over his hand again. Maybe Sissy had too much on her own mind right now to dig into Wyn's business. After diligently removing the splinter, Sissy bathed his knuckles with some alcohol and rubbed some pungent smelling salve on them.

  "Dang, Sissy," Wyn grumbled. "I'll smell like a dead fish."

  "Better smelling dead than actually being dead."

  "Yeah, I was remembering Husky a few minutes ago. If he'd have told his mother about that fishhook wound, he might still be alive."

  "Maybe and maybe not, Wyn. If it was his time, he would have gone one way or another. Leastwise, that's what Ma always said."

  Wyn watched her gather the things up for her sewing box and medicine kit. As he had known she would, Sissy took the sewing box into her room and returned to place the medicine kit back on a kitchen shelf. With so many people living in the area over the store, their ma had drilled into them to never leave even one thing out of place. She believed in cleanliness and neatness, not messiness and chaos. Since her death, Sissy had managed fairly well to keep that rule in place.

  "Sissy," he said. "If Robert did get a job somewhere outside Sawback Mountain, I don't know what we'd do without you. I doubt very much Carrie will stay unwed too much longer, and I don't know much about raising girls. Pris and Mairi are getting into that part of their lives where they need a woman around even more than they have so far."

  Sissy shrugged. "You'd do what you had to do, Wyn." She sat back down at the table with him. "I suppose you heard some of what Robert and I were talkin' about earlier today, you being in the storage room."

  "I made myself known as soon as I found you two," Wyn denied. "But I figure you were talking about Robert's shine business. Sis, Robert makes the best shine this side of Lynchburg, where Jack Daniels has his distillery. Shoot, Robert doesn't even drink the stuff himself, but he makes it pure and no one's ever been poisoned by it. I've seen him even boil his Mason Jars, like Ma did when she canned garden stuff."