Romance Rides the River

by Reece, Colleen L.

  That evening sixteen floats and a thousand torchbearers paraded, illuminating the streets of the city. Dori fell asleep with a happy heart for the first time since she had arrived in Boston. The next day she wrote to Matt and Solita:

  I saw Mayor Frederick O. Prince. He had requested citizens to close their stores and places of business in honor of the anniversary. At a gathering at the Old South Meeting House, he stated, “The sea has been converted into land; the hills have been leveled—the valleys filled up, the sites of the Indian wigwams are now those of the palaces of our merchant princes.” I suppose the van Dykes occupy one of those palaces. It made me sad for the Indians who once lived here. . . .

  By the grace of God and sheer willpower, Dori stayed in school. As time passed, she noticed that her independent attitude was winning grudging respect. Her teachers seldom challenged her. Some of her more daring classmates showed signs of having backbone and standing up to queen bee Gretchen van Dyke. A few tentatively offered friendship. Dori suspected this enraged Miss Brookings, but she also knew Matt continued to send generous contributions to offset his sister’s shenanigans. Why worry? Nothing she did hurt anyone or anything—except her deportment mark.

  Dori got a great deal of secret amusement from observing how Gretchen ignored her. Gretchen and her hangers-on swept by the “Spanish señorita” as if Dori didn’t exist. But after she bested Gretchen for still another marking period, Gretchen accosted her in the upper hall, backed up by Harriet and a few other girls.

  “I’ve had as much as I am going to take from you, Dolores Sterling,” she spat out. Her pale eyebrows arched over her washed-out blue eyes until she resembled an angry cat with its back up. “You think you’re so smart. Well, you aren’t. The only way you could ever get better marks than I is by cheating.”

  The unfair accusation left Dori speechless, but only for a moment. Rage started at her toes and engulfed her body. She clenched her fists and took a menacing step closer to her accuser. “I have never cheated in my whole life, Miss van Dyke. I don’t have to cheat to be first in my studies with you as competition.” She stopped for breath then added, “Stop your whining.”

  Gretchen fell back, face paper-white. “Miss Brookings will hear about your impertinence.”

  “I’m sure she will.” Dori spun on one heel, pushed open the door to her room, and whirled back toward the group of cowering young ladies. “Just be sure when you run bleating to Miss Brookings that you tell her who started this. If you don’t, I will.” She shriveled the other girls with a lightning glance. “There must be a least one person here who won’t lie for you.” She entered her room and slammed the door behind her.

  To Dori’s amazement, Miss Brookings said nothing about the confrontation. Had Gretchen’s followers convinced her it wouldn’t be wise to report it? Perhaps. But the ill-concealed enmity in Gretchen’s face showed she was lying in wait like a cougar stalking a fawn, ready to strike when the opportunity arose.

  In late November, Dori made the hardest decision of her life, so startling she felt it necessary to justify it to Matt, to herself, and to God.

  “If I go home for the holidays or for summer vacations, I will never come back. I won’t be able to tear myself away from home,” she told the Lord. “The only way to finish what I started is to stay put.”

  She agonized over what to say in her letter, but finally settled on writing:

  Once I return home, I won’t be back, so I should see everything I can while I’m here. There will be other girls staying as well. Scraggs says it isn’t so bad. The teachers who remain during school breaks get up excursions for those of us who don’t go home. Not just in Boston, but to other cities, as well—perhaps Philadelphia or New York. Maybe even to Washington. I know you will be disappointed. So am I, but the best thing is for me to stay.

  Love to everyone,

  Dori

  Dori was forced to copy her letter three times. If Matt saw a tear-splotched edition, he would order her home posthaste.

  ❧

  Dori remained adamant in her decision, in spite of Matt’s continued protests. She dug in her heels and made it through two seemingly endless years, hating the freezing winters and longing for Madera’s mild climate.

  Propped up in bed one late fall day in 1882, she mused, “I can last one more school year. After spring term, I’ll leave Boston to Miss Brookings and the van Dykes and their ilk.” A familiar feeling of jealousy that had been nagging her for months dimmed her expectations for going home. Dori sighed. “I don’t feel I’ve changed, but things won’t be the same on the Diamond S.”

  She punched her pillows into a more comfortable position. “It’s bad enough that for the past two years Matt’s letters have been filled with praise for that. . .that Seth Anderson. Matt acts like the dumb cowhand is a long-lost brother and not simply hired help.” She blew out a breath. “I suppose it’s because Matt saved his life.” Dori slid out of bed and crossed to the window. “Worse, now Matt’s crazy about Seth’s sister. According to his letters, Sarah is one in a million and ‘a paragon of virtue.’ ”

  Dori viciously dug the toe of her slipper into the carpet. “I want Matt to myself when I get home, not dancing attendance on some girl who sounds too good to be true.” She raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Of course I’m sorry for what Sarah’s stepfather put her through, God, but what if she’s after Matt because he owns the largest spread in the valley? What if she breaks his heart the way Lydia Hensley did?”

  Dori chilled. Had she made a terrible mistake by staying in Boston so long? Had Matt turned to the Andersons for the companionship he and Dori used to share?

  She knelt beside the window and bowed her head. “I need to know what to do, God. Should I chuck school and go home?” The idea caught fire until she was ready to pack her clothes and take the first train west. “Lord, if I were home, I could halt any schemes Seth and Sarah Anderson may have to worm themselves into Matt’s life and the Diamond S.”

  Six

  Late fall, 1882

  San Joaquin Valley

  Seth Anderson stamped into the living room of the Diamond S ranch house. “Here’s the mail, Boss. Curly just got back from Madera.” He tossed the bundle to Matt, who was sprawled in a comfortable chair, staring at Seth’s sister, Sarah. Light from the blazing logs in the fireplace turned her hair to glistening gold and brought the colors of the gorgeous Mexican wall tapestries alive.

  Seth hunkered down in front of the huge rock fireplace and grinned. Looks like one of these days I’m gonna have me a brother-in-law. He glanced at their beloved housekeeper, who gave him a knowing smile. I bet Solita thinks the same thing.

  “Thanks, Seth.” Matt riffled through the mail and looked disappointed. “Nothing from Dori.” He frowned. “Another letter from the Brookside headmistress, though. Wonder what my dear sister has been up to this time? And how much it’s going to cost me to keep her in school.”

  Seth set his lips in a straight line and fought the irritation any mention of Dolores Sterling always generated. The girl had left for some high-falutin’ school back east two years earlier—shortly before Matt saved Seth’s life and brought him to the ranch. In Seth’s opinion, Matt’s sister was a spoiled brat and one of the few things that kept life on the Diamond S from being near perfect.

  He sent a fleeting look at the large picture that adorned the mantel of the hacienda-style ranch house. How could such an innocent-looking girl be so devilish and cause a grand fellow like Matt endless trouble?

  Seth’s heart swelled with indignation. Dori seldom wrote and refused to come home from her precious school for vacations and holidays. Yet the picture of the feminine replica of dark-haired Matt held a certain fascination. “Sure not like what happened with Matt and Sarah,” Seth muttered under cover of poking the fireplace logs until they crackled and blazed.

  His annoyance vanished. He had “innocently” supplied Matt and Sarah photographs of each other in a clumsy attempt at matchmaking. The photographs
had done their work well. Attraction sprang up between his sister and his boss before they ever met. Seth grinned. The chance of him doing likewise and falling in love with Dori’s picture was the most ridiculous thing he could imagine.

  Matt slapped his leg and howled with mirth.

  It stopped Seth’s woolgathering. “What’s so funny?”

  “Dori.” Matt whooped again. “She’s done it this time. I know I should be furious, but it’s just too—” He broke into gales of laughter. “Listen to this.” He wiped away tears and began to read. “ ‘Dear Mr. Sterling, it gives me no pleasure to be the bearer of bad news yet again, but something must be done about your sister. I realize how important it is to you for Dolores to remain at Brookside, and I have bent over backward to accommodate you.’ ” Matt stopped reading and snorted. “Hogwash. Any bending over backward is because of my money.”

  ❧

  Seth silently agreed but kept his own counsel. He didn’t dare look at Sarah for fear she’d discern what he was thinking. She’d warned Seth never to let Matt know how he felt about Dolores. “In many ways,” she reminded him on many occasions, “Matt looks at you as a replacement for his dead brother, Robbie. He would be heartbroken to know your feelings about his sister are less than charitable.”

  Seth ducked his head and stared at the floor, torn between loyalty to his boss and the unholy desire to give Dori Sterling the tongue-lashing he felt she richly deserved.

  “Go on, Señor Mateo,” Solita urged, hands clasped tightly.

  ❧

  “ ‘Mr. Sterling, I regret to inform you that Dolores’s recent behavior is unacceptable and brings dishonor to the name of my fine establishment. It pains me to relate such an unseemly matter, but I feel I must. One of my young ladies, Gretchen van Dyke, has shown true Christian charity regarding the change of rooms. Your sister, however, continues to spitefully plague and belittle dear Gretchen and undermine her leadership among the other girls.’ ”

  Seth chuckled. The headmistress sounded like someone out of a dime novel, with her fine airs and pompous “regrets” about criticizing Dori. It looked to Seth like Dori and Gretchen were cut from the same cloth and deserved each other. But he kept his opinion to himself.

  Matt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’ll eat my Stetson if Gretchen van Dyke ever showed Christian charity, especially to Dori.” He continued reading. “ ‘I have been patient, but your sister’s latest indignity toward Gretchen cannot be brushed aside. Dear Gretchen found a little black cat mewing outside in the rain. Too kind to leave it there, she begged to be allowed to keep it, even though pets are normally forbidden. I didn’t have the heart to say no, so I reluctantly agreed. I also explained to the other girls that kindness to animals is akin to biblical teachings about treating with compassion those less fortunate.

  “ ‘Dolores had the audacity to remind me of my reprimand when she fed a stray dog, which, of course, is not the same thing at all.’ ”

  ❧

  Seth felt an unexpected twinge of pity for Dori. It didn’t lessen his annoyance with her for treating Matt shabbily, but anyone who fed a stray dog couldn’t be all bad. “What a hypocrite Miss Brookings is,” he burst out. “No wonder Dori plays tricks.”

  “She certainly did this time. It looks like Dori sneaked into ‘dear Gretchen’s’ room, swiped the cat, and”—Matt chortled— “wait till you hear what happened next: ‘Several of the girls and teachers were gathered in the drawing room for a musicale. Gretchen was at the piano. The door opened. A ghastly-looking beast darted in, closely followed by Dolores.

  “ ‘Some of the girls screamed. Then your sister said, “What is that?” She pointed to the creature, and a look of horror crossed her face. She frightened everyone with her next words. “Oh, Miss Brookings, I do hope it isn’t a hydrophobic skunk. We have them out west. Sometimes skunks go mad. If they bite people, the people also go mad. . .and die.” ’ ”

  ❧

  This was too much for Seth. He rolled on the floor and cackled. Blessed with a vivid imagination, he could picture the scene: Miss Brookings, an assembly of people, and an unrepentant Dori. The others joined in, but at last Matt controlled himself and went on. “ ‘Dear Gretchen swooned, striking her head on the piano. The other girls leaped onto the furniture.

  “ ‘Fortunately, Scraggs heard the commotion and came to the rescue. He bravely picked up the beast and discovered it was dear Gretchen’s cat. Someone had painted a white stripe down its back. All evidence pointed to Dolores as the instigator of this cruel deception.

  “ ‘She confessed immediately and showed not the slightest remorse for her actions. Needless to say, Dolores is confined to her room except for meals and classes.” ’ ”

  ❧

  Matt tossed the letter into the fire. “What does Miss Brookings expect me to do about this?” He sighed. “I suppose another bank draft will help the woman simmer down. It always does.” He looked shamefaced. “I can’t wait to tell the hands—and Brett, too. My foreman is as guilty of spoiling Dori as I am, and this is too good to keep to ourselves. They’ll all get a chuckle over it.”

  Solita leaned forward, face earnest. “It is like Señorita Dolores to play tricks, especially on those who are unkind to her.”

  “If you remember, she wanted to go,” Matt said. “Nothing is keeping her there.”

  Solita shook her head. “Her pride, Señor Mateo.”

  “Maybe I should relieve Miss Brookings of her burden and bring Dori home.”

  “No!”

  Seth couldn’t believe he’d blurted it out. What business was it of his what the boss did with his rebellious sister?

  Before he could answer, Sarah spoke for the first time. “I agree with Seth. Evidently Dori has determined to finish her course. She must be allowed to do so.”

  Solita nodded. “Sí. This year will pass, and Dolores will come home to our casa.” Her deep brown eyes glistened. “We shall laugh and sing and give thanks to Dios.”

  The depths of love reflected in Solita’s face stirred Seth. Why couldn’t Dori see what she was doing to those who loved her? She was eighteen now, the same age Sarah had been when she fled St. Louis to avoid being sold in marriage to a riverboat gambler. Far too old to be playing childish tricks.

  The girls were so different. Both had spunk, but Sarah’s faith in God kept her in check. Everything Seth knew about Dori indicated she was a raging, out-of-control river. According to the hands, she ruled the ranch with a rod of charm.

  She won’t rule me. I’ll keep as far away from her as possible, Seth decided. He sobered. Once the bothersome girl came home, nothing on the Diamond S would ever be the same.

  Seven

  Three thousand miles from Madera, trouble blew in from across the Atlantic. It started when the Babbling Brook, more atwitter than usual, announced, “I have the most wonderful news.” For once color tinted her pale face, and a sparkle glimmered in her eyes. “Stancel Worthington III is coming to Brookside from London. Dear Stancel is my very own nephew, but he has always been more like my son. He will teach dancing.”

  A pleased smile crept over her face at the murmur of interest among the girls. It broadened when Gretchen van Dyke trilled, “Oh, Miss Brookings, how exciting!”

  Dori’s lip curled. How could anyone get excited over one of the Babbling Brook’s relatives, especially one named Stancel Worthington III? Wonder if anyone ever calls him Mr. Third, she thought. He is probably as stuffy as his name.

  Stuffy didn’t begin to describe the new dancing master. The day he arrived, Dori had just checked the upper hall to make sure she was alone, then taken a glorious slide down the banister rail. She crashed into Stancel at full speed. If the huge front doors had been open, she would have knocked him out of them.

  He lurched back, yet all he said when she landed in a heap on the marble floor was, “Upon my word, what have we here?”

  Dori gawked at the man struggling to regain his footing. For once, she didn’t speak. She dared not. On
e hand flew to her open mouth to keep from laughing. She knew she looked ridiculous sprawled on the floor, but not nearly as absurd as Miss Brookings’s newly arrived nephew.

  Tall and meticulously dressed in the latest men’s fashion, “dear Stancel” could have hung a lantern on his aristocratic, hooked nose. Neatly combed black hair—each strand in place—peeked out from beneath a bowler hat. He seemed at a loss but quickly regained his composure and offered Dori a flabby, pasty hand. “I say, miss, that was quite a—”

  “Sorry,” Dori interrupted, scrambling to her feet. She ignored his outstretched hand and fled back up the stairs two at a time. Once in her room, she threw herself on the bed and released her bottled-up laughter. “Judged against the men and boys back home, he makes a mighty poor showing.” She wiped away tears of amusement. Then a new thought suffocated her laughter. “This. . .this. . .insipid Englishman is my dancing teacher?” Dori groaned. The thought of Mr. Worthington’s pale hand taking hers in a dance was repugnant.

  Dori had dreaded the class, but Stancel’s presence made it pure torment. Give her a good, old-fashioned barn dance any day, not the mincing steps and low curtseys Mr. Worthington insisted the girls learn. She avoided him as much as possible and secretly rejoiced when he paid Gretchen marked attentions, to the obvious delight of Miss Brookings.

  Alas for Dori! Her indifference evidently pricked Stancel’s pride. He began ignoring Gretchen and choosing Dori for a partner. Stumbling and stepping on his feet did no good. The more she attempted to escape the dancing master’s unwelcome attentions, the more persistent he grew. In addition, what little civility existed between Dori and “dear Gretchen” suffered a total collapse.

  Things came to a head in early December, a few days after Matt summoned his sister home for his and Sarah’s wedding. He wrote: