Cloaked (Once Upon a Western Book 1)

by Rachel Kovaciny

  “I asked your grandmother that.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said it was for a surprise.”

  “A surprise for whom?”

  “That she hasn’t told me.” Hauer shrugged. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, Miss Mary Rose, but your grandmother keeps her own counsel much of the time.”

  “Couldn’t you guess?”

  “If I was to guess, I would say it’s for me. Part of keeping her promise to my pa, still. A place for me to come to when I need to stay put a spell, but where I won’t get to feeling crowded by all the folks down on the ranch. I know it’s empty and quiet now, but when those cowhands get back from roundup, you won’t hardly be able to hear yourself think from dawn ’til the moon comes up.”

  “Then why not tell you?”

  “Time isn’t right yet, I suppose.”

  Mary Rose decided to confess her troubles to Hauer. Unlike her grandmother, she craved another person’s counsel and advice. “Do you know why I’m here?” she blurted.

  “Because I asked you to help me tote my things?” Hauer pulled the latchstring on the cabin’s door and pushed it open.

  “Yes, but I mean here in Wyoming.”

  “Because your folks want you to make up for their shortcomings.”

  Mary Rose groaned. “How did you know?”

  “Why else would they suddenly send one of their children to visit?”

  “Does my grandmother think that too?”

  “Probably. Is that why you came?”

  “No! I came because… because I wanted to see someplace new. And I’m no use at home.” Mary Rose followed Hauer into the cabin. Inside, the air was dry and cool, scented companionably with wood smoke.

  He put his things down on a table and took the bundle from her. “You’re of use here,” he observed. “The trip was a good idea, don’t you think?”

  “Then you don’t think I’m an opportunist or a… a fortune hunter?”

  Hauer put his hands on her shoulders and made her face him. “I think your parents put you in a difficult position, but no, I don’t think you’re a fortune hunter.”

  “Does my grandmother?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I don’t know how to.”

  Hauer patted her shoulder. “You’ll find a way.”

  Mary Rose looked down, embarrassed by his obvious confidence in her. She stepped away and gazed around the room. It had a table and two chairs, a fireplace, one window in the same wall as the door and another in the opposite wall, and open doorways in each of the other walls leading to other rooms. On the table lay a pair of small leathery shoes. Mary Rose picked one up to change the subject. “Are these moccasins?”

  “They are.”

  “I’ve read about them. I’ve read a lot about the wilderness and Indians and cowboys and so on. It’s part of why I wanted to come out here, you see.” Mary Rose turned the soft shoe over and over. “Aren’t these too small for you?” The moccasin was made of deer hide, pale and fresh-looking, not aged a golden tan like Hauer’s fringed jacket. On the toe of each shoe was a beaded design in red and yellow meant to be either the sun or a flower, Mary Rose couldn’t decide which.

  “They’re yours. I asked a friend to make them. She must have brought them yesterday after I went back down for supper, or early this morning.”

  “Mine? Real Indian moccasins? How did she know what size to make them?”

  “I measured your footprint one day. Go ahead and try them on. I’ve got to put these things away, and then I’ll take you back down to the house.” Hauer picked up the brown paper package and took it to the room that opened off to their left.

  Mary Rose sat down and unlaced her boot. She slipped on the soft-soled moccasin. It fit nicely, the top rising above her ankle like a short boot. “They’re just right!” she called to him.

  “I’m so glad.” Hauer reappeared. “I’ll let my friend know you like them.”

  “Please do.” Mary Rose traded her other boot for the second moccasin and stood up. She twirled in a circle, enjoying the way her toes could move and stretch. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Hauer grinned almost mischievously. “I think you’ll find they’re much better for running than those stiff boots.” Before she could answer, he picked up his bedroll and the canvas bundle and headed for the other room.

  Mary Rose walked back and forth a few times. He was right, of course—running in these moccasins would feel almost as good as running barefoot the way she had when she was still considered a child. While she paced, she looked around at the simple furnishings, no pictures on the walls, unbleached curtains at the window. She saw some sort of small hatchet on the mantel over the fireplace and picked it up, wondering why it was there instead of outside with the axe she’d seen before.

  Hauer returned. When he saw what she held, he said, “Be careful with that—it’s sharp, and the head’s loose. I’ve been meaning to fix it, but I haven’t had time.”

  Mary Rose put the hatchet back. “It’s like the one you carry, isn’t it? I noticed it the first day, in the coach, and I’ve wondered what it was ever since.”

  “It’s a tomahawk. I carry it the way some men might carry a pocket knife, I suppose. Just a useful tool.”

  “Oh. I thought it was a… a weapon of some sort.”

  “You could use it as one. Would you like to see what it can do if you throw it right?”

  “Of course!”

  Hauer led her out of the cabin like an eager boy happy to show off a new trick. Once they were outside, he pulled his tomahawk from his belt and threw it in one swift, easy motion at a tree at the edge of the clearing. The blade buried itself in the trunk.

  Mary Rose clapped. “I have a cousin who thinks he’s something because he can throw a penknife at a post three or four feet away. How I’d love to show him what you can do.”

  “Knives are trickier,” Hauer told her. He reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. Mary Rose’s eyes widened. She had never suspected he had a knife hidden there. Hauer held it up, looked at the same tree, squinted, then threw. The knife flashed in the light while it flew end over end until it struck inches above the tomahawk.

  Mary Rose clapped again. “Well done!” she crowed.

  Hauer retrieved his weapons. He slid the knife back inside his boot before he returned the tomahawk to his belt. “We’d best head on down, or we’ll miss lunch,” was all he said. But Mary Rose could tell her praise had pleased him. “Don’t forget your boots,” he added.

  As they walked back down the forest track, Mary Rose discovered that confiding in Hauer had settled her nerves. She decided that if she could find a chance to speak to Jubilee alone, she would discuss this whole idea of inheritance with her and assure her grandmother that it was not the reason she had come for a visit. Not Mary Rose’s reason, at any rate. When they reached the pasture on the other side of the trees, Mary Rose again felt as bright and happy as the sunshine that greeted her.

  Chapter Ten

  The day of the dance dawned pink and cheerful, and Mary Rose matched it when she awoke not long after. She was determined not to let anyone or anything dull the pleasures of that day. Even the letter from her parents that arrived that morning could not dampen her spirits, though it hinted at their hopes regarding her efforts to mend family ties. Such matters were not to be thought of that day, especially not once the dressmaker arrived bearing not one, not two, but three bulky packages tied up in brown paper and twine.

  Jubilee, Mary Rose, and the dressmaker retired to Mary Rose’s room to unwrap them, crowding the small space with their swishing skirts. Mary Rose sat down on her bed to undo the first package handed to her. It was like an unexpected Christmas! Inside were two riding skirts, one each from the dark brown and dusky blue material she had chosen. The skirts had two sides so voluminous that Mary Rose knew when she wore them, nobody would notice it was not a regular skirt unless she was astride a horse. />
  The second package contained a split petticoat, and the dressmaker explained that she could wear it with either of the other skirts, or even under a regular skirt in a pinch. Mary Rose made various girlish noises of appreciation over all three new articles of clothing. But most of her thinking power was devoted to that third package. She had made several guesses over the past week about what her grandmother might have asked the dressmaker to make during that whispered consultation on Saturday. But she had come to no definite conclusions.

  Now Jubilee held out the final package to Mary Rose. “I hope you like this.” Her old hesitancy was back. “I... perhaps I should have asked first, but I do so enjoy giving people surprises, and it seemed to me you admired...” She paused, then said, “Take it, my dear.”

  Mary Rose did. She opened this one more slowly, wondering at the weight of it, for it was not nearly so bulky as the package that had contained two skirts, but much heavier than the petticoat. She glimpsed bold red fabric inside, the color of the ripest of strawberries. She ripped the last layer of paper off so she could shake out its contents. It was a hooded cloak exactly the same as Jubilee’s, down to the same filigreed metal clasp at the throat. “Oh, Grandmother!” Mary Rose’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. She undid the clasp, stood up, and twirled the cloak about her shoulders.

  “Then you like it?” Jubilee asked.

  “Like it? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned!” Mary Rose cried. “Thank you!”

  “Well, you’re quite welcome. It occurred to me that I have no notion of when your birthday is, so consider this your birthday gift, early or late, as it may be.”

  Mary Rose threw her arms around her grandmother and gave her a delighted hug. “It’s in February,” she said, meaning her birthday.

  “Then happy birthday.” Jubilee smiled, the hesitancy gone again, the warm affection back. “Now let’s not waste any more time—the guests will arrive in a few hours.”

  Impulsively, Mary Rose hugged the dressmaker as well. Then she left the skirts and petticoat on her bed, but wore the cloak outside, though the morning was already too warm to need it. She ran down to the stable to show off her cloak to Old Joe, who was readying the stable for the many horses the visitors would bring.

  Old Joe leaned on his pitchfork, grinning like a wrinkled, happy scarecrow. “Ain’t you a sight to behold? Your grandmother and you will make as fine a matched pair as any two horses I ever hitched up to her buggy.”

  Mary Rose knew he meant this to be a compliment, and she took it as one. She swirled around twice so he could see how nicely the cloak moved, thanked him for his appreciative words, then hurried back up to the house so her grandmother would not think she was dawdling.

  Inside the central entryway, Mary Rose hung her cloak beside her grandmother’s, admiring them together. Alas, her satisfaction was dampened by Mr. Linden, who chose that moment to come out of his room. He stopped in the entryway. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Mary Rose stamped her foot in vexation as he walked away. She would not allow that man to spoil her happy day. She would not! It was perfectly natural for a grandmother to give her granddaughter a birthday gift, even months after her birthday. Wasn’t it?

  Little time remained to dwell on Mr. Linden’s insinuations. The house hummed with last-minute preparations. Among other chores, it fell to Mary Rose to squeeze the lemons for the great punchbowls and pitchers of lemonade they would offer on the refreshment tables. She sliced and pressed so many lemons that she knew their scent would stay with her for the rest of the day.

  The hours passed so swiftly that Mary Rose was shocked when she saw it was time to rush to her room to dress. How glad she was that she had convinced her mother to let her bring one fashionable party frock along with the more sensible and serviceable clothing that had filled her trunk. The rich, deep pink sateen contrasted beautifully with her brown eyes and hair. Frothy lace accented the neckline and spilled on down her skirt, clear to the floor. One of the young neighbor girls helped do up all the tiny buttons on the back and made sure skirt and bodice were securely fastened together. She was absurdly proud of the modest bustle her mother had agreed to for the dress.

  Though Mary Rose had worn the dress to dances and parties earlier that spring, not one of those occasions had given her such a thrill of anticipation. She tried not to think too much about Deputy Small, but his bright smile kept intruding on her thoughts despite her best efforts to concentrate on twisting her hair into complicated patterns atop her head.

  Outside, she could hear wagons and buggies arriving, people calling greetings to each other, horses making all manner of noises. Mary Rose realized that, when she stepped out her bedroom door, she would enter a house filling with strangers who had all come there with the purpose of meeting her. Pure fright coursed cold through her, and she had closed her eyes to pray for courage when someone knocked on her door.

  “Yes?” She almost whispered the word, and had to repeat it louder.

  From out in the hall, Hauer said, “Your grandmother wanted me to see if you’re ready to receive guests with her.”

  Mary Rose asked the neighbor girl, “Do I look all right?”

  The girl nodded, her eyes and mouth wide. Mary Rose hoped the expression meant her stylish appearance had dazzled the girl and not that her hair or dress looked outlandish.

  “Thank you.” Mary Rose tugged up her elbow-length gloves that matched the lace accents on her dress. Then she lifted her head high, glad for the corset that would keep her upright whether or not she wanted to collapse in a frightened muddle.

  Hauer waited for her, clad in a surprisingly elegant suit. He bowed and offered her his arm. “Miss Mary Rose.”

  “Mr. Hauer.” She took his arm and tried to smile.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “No, but let’s go anyway.” Mary Rose laughed a little and allowed him to guide her down the hallway to her grandmother.

  Jubilee’s dress of dark cranberry accented with black lace was every bit as fashionable as anything Mary Rose had seen in Peoria. She wore a jet-black comb shaped like a crown on top of her head, though how on earth it managed to stay in her short locks was a mystery to Mary Rose. A surge of pride filled her, pride in this strong, splendid, unusual woman who was her very own grandmother. She hurried Hauer along until she could stand beside Jubilee where she belonged.

  Jubilee held out both hands to Mary Rose. “You look lovely, my dear.” She squeezed her granddaughter’s fingers. “Come and meet my friends.”

  The evening passed in a whirl, both figuratively and literally.

  Deputy Christopher Small was among the first guests to arrive. He wore a plain black suit, his hair slicked down and curling at the back of his neck. When he took Mary Rose’s hand, he bowed over it with the same formality he had displayed at their first meeting. “Miss O’Brien,” he said, his voice low and serious, “How are you this evening?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. And yourself?” Mary Rose wanted to tell the truth, that she felt both giddy and intimidated, but she wasn’t sure it would do to admit that.

  “I doubt I could be any happier if I tried.” He smiled, then frowned, his expression switching so fast it startled Mary Rose. “No, I lied. There is one thing that would make me even happier.”

  She had no choice but to ask, “And what is that?” It was all Mary Rose could do to keep from hopping up and down with impatience, for she had ideas about what he would say.

  “Would you do me the honor of reserving the first dance for me?”

  “Yes!” She knew she had responded much too quickly, but at least her voice hadn’t squeaked. “That is, I would be delighted,” she added more correctly.

  His smile shone again, so bright and cheerful she wanted to laugh with joy at the sight. “Thank you,” he said. “I’d best move along now, before your grandmother has to shoo me away, but I’ll come back to claim you when the music begins.”

  Mary Rose failed to retain the names of
the next five or six people Jubilee introduced her to. She smiled and said polite things, but all her thoughts followed Deputy Small wherever he had gone.

  Although the music started up shortly thereafter, it was not soon enough to suit Mary Rose. When the two fiddlers start tuning their instruments and a banjo joined in, she wanted to rush off to the dining room, but Jubilee was bent on hunting down everyone who had not yet met her granddaughter, and of course that was a pointless exercise without the granddaughter in tow.

  What could she do? She had promised to dance with Deputy Small, and yet here she was in a corner of the sitting room speaking meaningless niceties to a judge or lawyer or some other sort of respectable gentleman. The fiddlers sounded almost in tune now, and one had begun to play thrilling little snippets of music. She kept glancing over at the doorway, hoping either to see the deputy or to indicate to her grandmother that she needed to go join the dance. But Jubilee chatted blithely on.

  Then there he was, ducking a little beneath the lintel so he wouldn’t knock his head. “Jubilee,” he interrupted her, “I know it’s likely a disgrace to my badge, but I’m about to commit some thievery.”

  Jubilee raised her eyebrows. “I suppose you mean to steal away my granddaughter!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Deputy Small held out his arm for Mary Rose. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She took his arm and looked at her grandmother to make certain Jubilee had been teasing.

  Jubilee laughed. “Well, go on then. In fact, they’ll expect us both for the first dance.” She asked the gentleman beside her, “Judge Evans, would you do the honors?”

  “Gladly.” He offered her his arm, and together they led Mary Rose and the deputy to the dining room, where dozens of people crowded all along the four walls.

  Clapping and cheering erupted when they entered. Mary Rose blushed, but Jubilee smiled and raised both hands to signal for quiet. When they all hushed she announced, “I thank you one and all for coming tonight! It’s been my pleasure to introduce you to my granddaughter, Miss Mary Rose O’Brien, and I hope you all make her welcome this evening. Now, let’s begin, shall we?” She whispered to Mary Rose, “We generally start with an ordinary quadrille. Nothing fancy about our dances.”