by Bella Bowen
Having no idea if he was correct, she simply smiled. “I’m afraid I was kept close to home, sir.”
“You mean, until you came here.”
Carefully, she nodded.
“Your father must have a great deal of faith in Mrs. Carnegie, then, if he’d allow you to come to the Wyoming Territory and wed a stranger only because she approved of him.”
Mary thought it would be wisest to keep her story closer to Alexandra’s and further from her own history. “I fear my father would prefer I marry any honorable man over marrying a certain McDonald from Chester County.”
The musicians started again. Pretty-face bowed, let the subject drop, and opened his arms. He lightly put a hand to her back before taking her right hand in his left. After a measure, the music lifted him, and he, in turn, lifted her.
Finally! They were waltzing!
Her slippers barely touched the floor the steps were so quick. Nothing at all like dancing with other women, practicing in the classrooms with the tables and chairs pushed aside. His boots never came close to her toes, and after swirling in a complete circle around the room, she finally stopped worrying about being stepped on. Men, it seemed, were not nearly so clumsy as women.
Or so she thought until she saw poor Alice grimace and wince while James Jarvis stared in horror at the floor between them.
Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“I find myself doing it again,” John said, a slight smile on his lips and confusion marring his brow.
Mary looked at their hands, their feet, and back to his face. “Oh? What is it you’re doing?”
“I find myself wondering what you’re thinking. You have a most interesting face, Miss Campbell. It tells me your mind is churning, but won’t give me any clues. I knew a girl once, a long time ago… You just…remind me of her. But you’re from Pennsylvania, is that right?”
“Yes,” she said. Nothing about the pretense was as exciting as she thought it would be. And though she hoped to see a good many places in her lifetime, claiming to be from Pennsylvania gave her no satisfaction at all. “And you are from where, Mr. Hermann?”
“Please, call me John. First names for second dances, don’t you think? Especially when Mrs. Carnegie isn’t here to make formal introductions. I admit, however, every man here seems the honorable sort. I’m beginning to believe the woman knows what she’s doing.”
Mary couldn’t imagine what happened from one thought to another, but as her partner looked around the room, his demeanor changed dramatically, growing more and more serious until he suddenly looked every bit as unfathomable as his voice.
A shiver ran through her and left her unsettled. And in an attempt to put herself at ease, she sought to lift his mood with a smile and a change of subject. “All right. John it is. Where are you from, John?”
His sudden smile was unconvincing. “Boston. I leave in two days. I’ve done all I can here.” He brought her to an abrupt stop, timed perfectly with the music. His hands dropped away. “May I fetch you something to drink, Miss Campbell?”
She was tempted to tell him to call her Alexandra, but there was no use in it. If he couldn’t call her Mary…
“Yes. I’d like some punch, please.”
He nodded and walked away. She tried not to watch him and turned to observe the others instead. It seemed as though everyone else was parched as well, since all the men migrated to the back of the room and left the ladies standing alone. Eventually, they, too, moved to huddle together. A few of the women produced fans and started flapping them like the wings of nervous chickens.
Milly came to Mary’s side and linked elbows. “How are you getting on with Mr. Hermann?”
“Fine,” she said. “At least I’ve had my waltz.” She wondered how the other young woman’s toes fared, but she wouldn’t ask.
“At least? Oh, don’t be silly,” Milly said. “Your partner is not only the most handsome, but also the most interesting man in the room. Both the gentlemen I’ve danced with thus far have talked about him. They repeatedly glanced in your direction, but as it happens, they were interested in your partner more than either you or me.”
“Oh?” Mary looked around the room to find nearly every eye, men’s and women’s, darting in John’s direction. “And what do they say about him?”
“They hope to do business with him. He’s some sort of artist.” She waved a hand as if to say the subject didn’t interested her. “But I worried he might have recognized you.”
Her heart dropped and she glanced around, worried Fontaine might be lurking behind her. “What do you mean? He said he is from Boston.”
Milly sighed in relief. “Then you don’t know him?”
“No. Why?”
“Mr. Harris said John Hermann is from right here in Sage River, like you. Are you certain you’ve never seen him before?”
Mary laughed, somewhat relieved herself. “I’m not from Sage River. I came from Snowy Range, to the north.”
“Snowy Range, the mountain?”
“Yes. I’d only been to Sage River a few times as a child.”
Milly grinned. “I’m so happy to hear it, Alexandra. It could have caused trouble, you know.”
Mary nodded, but in her chest her emotions warred. On one hand, she wished she could beg off and hurry back to the ranch where she could give up the pretense. Though it was fanciful thinking, she truly feared something might happen to expose her, something to turn her carriage back into a pumpkin. And if that happened, the real Alexandra Campbell might be in serious trouble with Mrs. Carnegie.
But on the other hand, she still wished to make the most of the adventure and spend just a little while longer on the arm of Prince Charming. That defensive, cantankerous feeling was gone and there was every chance another waltz would be played before the evening came to an end. Why not make the most of the dancing time she had left?
“There you are, Mr. Harris.” Milly patted Mary’s arm and stepped away as a man headed toward her with a dripping cup in his hand. If there was a swallow left in the bottom, Milly would be lucky.
Mary studied John while he chatted with James Jarvis, the toe stomping school master, and looked for something familiar about the man from Sage River. He smiled and his now-familiar dimples appeared like before. But were they familiar because she’d simply stared at the man while they’d danced?
She felt no danger of falling in love with him in spite of his good looks and clever words. In fact, she doubted she would ever be able to fall in love with whichever man she eventually married. As it happened, she’d been very young when she’d given her heart away to a boy named Rebel. And since a body had only one heart, she wasn’t likely to find another one in her pocket, was she?
John Hermann couldn’t have been more accurate when he’d said he wouldn’t be breaking her heart. But another look at those dimples left something niggling at her just the same…
CHAPTER SIX
John was in a pickle.
All his life, he’d been a great believer in signs. But he couldn’t understand why God hadn’t given him some sign, some omen, to stay away from the assembly hall that night. Surely God knew how he would react to the sight of Alexandra Campbell. Except for the deep color of her hair, she looked exactly as he’d imagined Mary Radley might look when she was grown.
Why would God punish him so?
Was He telling John he shouldn’t have deprived his parents of his company when he had so little time left in town? Should he have stayed behind when his father seemed to be softening, if only enough to call him ‘son’ once again?
If so, the penance seemed harsh. Other than an actual blow to his gut from a ham-fisted giant, nothing could have sucked the breath out of him and left him clinging to the wall at his back like a glimpse of Mary, the first girl he’d ever kissed. The thrill had been stolen quickly, though, when the woman in blue had stepped forward to tell him the girl’s real name, and then doomed him to dance with the look-alike as much as possible.
Exquisite torture.
He took a cup of water and drained it, then found a cup of punch and turned back toward the dance floor. But before he could take a step he was waylaid by Jarvis.
“Mr. Hermann.” Jarvis nodded.
“Mr. Jarvis.”
“As soon as this dancing business is finished let’s say you and I go back over to the saloon and finish our conversation. What do you say?”
John would rather have walked barefoot in the snow than spend another hour with the school teacher rambling on. But he was very interested in finishing the discussion with the rest of the men in the room. While passing time in the saloon, he’d determined just how to destroy the wall between himself and his father, and those would-be bridegrooms would be able to start the ground shaking.
Surely such a plan would make up for abandoning his parents for the night.
He looked at the teacher again and wondered if the man might be part of his penance. He forced a smile. “That sounds fine, sir,” he said. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. These fine ladies have been promised a night of dancing, and we’d better do our part.”
Jarvis turned to look over the females who waited patiently for their promised punch, and he frowned slightly as if he’d forgotten they were even there. “You’re right of course.”
“You’ll excuse me.” John stepped around the shorter man and headed toward Miss Campbell. As he wove through the other dancers he was struck, once again, by how old the rest of the men seemed. Well, not old so much as…not young. During conversations over cards, and then again while waiting for the women to arrive, John had never once considered their ages. But business was business. Money was money. Age played no part.
However, after meeting Alexandra Campbell—knowing she’d been sent to Sage River as a potential bride for one of these men—every whisker, every gray hair and shining pate was an insult to her youth. How dare they suppose a pretty, intelligent young girl should be robbed of an equally young man at her side? The idea was akin to pouring new milk in with sour.
The girl deserved better. She deserved younger. She deserved to see the world a little—to have the chance to meet men with different-colored eyes, different shades of hair. How could a woman of her age and limited experience possibly have the sense to know which man in twelve would be the best husband for her? And what a horrible waste if her life’s experience was limited to little more than a dirt road between Sage River and a homestead where she would choke on dust until the day she was laid low beneath it.
Once again he thought of the mountain girl and that fateful kiss. And though that kiss had cost him a friend and ruined the remainder of a very fine summer, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. Mary would’ve been about 17 years old by now. But she was probably tucked safely under her father’s roof, far away from any man that wasn’t family.
Mary.
If he saddled a horse in the morning and headed up through the snow, would he find Fritz and his family again? He’d looked before. When he was sixteen, he’d gone back up the mountain, but the house had been empty. The horse was gone, the other animals too. There had been no word in town of what might have happened to the Radleys. For all he knew they could have caught a fever and died. She might be lying in a grave marked with nothing more than a pretty rock, or a clumsy cross.
Or maybe they had returned to that house…
Mary Radley was with him still. Everywhere he went he took her along. The symbol he used as his signature on all his work may as well have been a portrait of her face. And he thought of her each and every time he used it. In fact, if not for that mountain girl he might have never discovered his talent and his love for art.
A week after that fateful kiss, he’d been unable to sleep, restless with regrets. He’d wandered into the shop and found his father’s tools, and on a piece of scrap leather, he’d used those tools to give form to his memory of Mary. That was the beginning. And now, seven years later, that little emblem was as much a part of him as his own name. More, maybe.
John handed Alexandra her cup of punch and tried to ignore his imagination. The female fiddle player climbed back upon her box. The dances had gone in the same order as the week before, and his heart lurched when he realized what the woman was about to say.
He quickly turned to the girl. “You’ll have to dance with the others now. Everyone will be forced to dance with everyone else. If we try to stay together, someone will get their nose out of joint.”
The caller gave instructions for everyone to trade partners, and to keep doing so with every verse of the song.
“Miss Campbell, I think this would be a good time for you to decide if you’re ready to marry. Unless these men are blind, they’re gonna take a good long look at you. It wouldn’t be…fair to mislead them. Would it?”
She looked a little green, like the idea of being a married woman didn’t sit well with her either, and he was relieved. “What should I do?”
“Tell them the truth. Tell them you’re not ready. They’re honorable men, so they’ll understand.” He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, then together they turned and faced the rest of the dancers coming toward them.
A woman with a familiar, hungry look in her eye hurried to his side and slipped her hand around his elbow claiming him like a prize—a prize she might have won for having the widest smile. Two men stepped up to Alexandra and pretended not to notice each other. Both held out their elbows and left it to her to decide with whom she would dance first. She glanced John’s way and grimaced. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and laid her left hand on the nearest arm. The losing man smiled good-naturedly and went in search of another dance partner. But the look in his eye promised he’d be back for his turn with her.
John watched closely as Miss Campbell was led onto the dance floor. The music suddenly drowned out any conversation, and he was left wondering how the girl would tell the man she was no longer in the running.
“My name is Mary Lou,” said his partner. John’s attention caught on the young woman on his arm. Colorless hair, calculating eyes.
Not even close to Alexandra Campbell .
“I’m John.”
Luckily the dance steps required all their breath and most of their concentration. Ever so subtly, he was able to guide his partner closer to Miss Campbell, not that he wanted to be near her—he just didn’t want to miss the look on her partner’s face when he realized the pretty bird in his arms was not his to keep. But it seemed the other couple had little breath to waste on conversation either. And worse, they seem to be enjoying themselves. The man stumbled, trying desperately to keep from stepping on her toes, and she laughed.
She laughed like Mary.
Though he knew it was irrational to think of her that way, he couldn’t seem to separate Miss Campbell from his mountain girl. In his mind, she was no longer safely tucked beneath her father’s roof. If there was a row of simple wooden crosses on a hillside, with a small bush of pink roses growing at the base of one, he no longer wondered if Mary lay beneath it. In all the world, it didn’t matter where the real Mary Radley was; she was suddenly there, before him, dancing with a man who was far too old for her to marry.
Though the first verse had yet to end, John reached out and tapped the girl’s partner on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Charlie, is it? Since you may not know that Miss Campbell there is no longer interested in marrying yet…” He shrugged, suddenly unsure how to finish. “I wondered if you’ve met Mary Lou?” He gently turned his partner and urged her forward toward Charlie Sparks. Then he plucked Alexandra’s hand out of the air where it hovered, uncertain. He led her around Charlie, then pulled her into his arms and danced away.
Miss Campbell’s nimble feet scurried to keep up, but he was more than willing to carry her away from the half-bald Sparks if need be.
After there was a safe amount of distance between themselves and the other couple, he finally dared look her in the face. “Before you scold me, Alexandra, allow
me to explain.”
She raised one brow, strongly advising him to do so quickly.
He chuckled. “You’ll think I’m touched in the head, I’m sure.”
She smiled and bit her lip.
“Fine. I guess I asked for that.” He struggled to remember to keep moving his feet, though they were doing little more than swaying from side to side, going nowhere. The verse ended and Jarvis turned toward them, but John frowned and shook his head.
The man was only a foot away by the time he realized he would need to find his next partner elsewhere.
John sighed. “Where was I?”
“Touched in the head, I think.” Alexandra grinned.
“Right. I’m afraid my explanation is a long one.”
She looked at the dance floor. “I don’t think anyone will dare bother us now.”
She was right. Eleven couples gave them a wide berth, though it probably had more to do with the heat from the fireplace than the fact he’d denied Jarvis.
“I was raised here in Sage River,” he said.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Jack Hermann is my father. The tanner.”
She nodded.
“One summer, when I was just fifteen, I held my hand out to a girl at school and she recoiled. My hands were stained, you see, from dying leather. Naturally, I was embarrassed. And that night I told my father I didn’t want to be a tanner anymore. He didn’t take it well, as you can imagine. We fought for a few days, then I decided to leave home.”
John realized the woman in his arms had stopped moving. Her face blanched as white as a boiled bone. She slipped her hands from his and clutched them in front of her.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I was rambling on while you are clearly distressed. What is it?”
She swallowed with difficulty, then glanced around. “The fire,” she whispered. “Too hot.”