Forgetting Herself

by Yvonne Jocks

  Victoria must have read her concern, because she beckoned her sister closer again. "Mother says Evangeline is less likely to fol ow in her mother's footsteps if she sees another side of life, so she's our moral duty. Papa isn't saying anything."

  Mariah nodded, wondering where their mother had gotten these extraordinary ideas but glad she had them. Victoria leaned nearer the door again. Then, grinning, she scrambled away.

  “What?” demanded Mariah as her younger sister pulled her into the stairwell . She noticed, as they clutched close and something bumped her hip, that Victoria carried her shoes.

  It was almost frightening, how good Victoria was at this.

  “Papa said that he saw someone at the depot.”

  Normal y, Mariah would recognize that for the triumph Victoria did. Papa would not change the subject unless he considered further protest useless. But...

  Had he seen Stuart? “Who?” she asked, even more uneasy.

  Victoria said, “I don't know. It was none of my business.”

  But at least Mother had won. Papa had resigned himself to a less restrictive guest list. And that meant the MacCallums were included in “the whole town!”

  “Did he sound angry?” she asked her sister, just in case.

  "No. Just tired. Mama asked him if she was pretty— the person he saw at the depot—and then she made that 'Mmm' sound she does when she kisses him, so everything should be fine."

  Mariah tried not to blush, to think of her parents kissing—in the middle of the afternoon!

  Victoria certainly did know an awful lot, for fourteen.

  “Have you .. .”Mariah hesitated as they reached the empty kitchen. Then she thought of Stuart, and his kisses—and their secret engagement—and forged on. "Have you ever overheard Papa's views on the homesteaders? He's so careful not to talk business around us...."

  Victoria cocked her head, a little too observant. "Well , the depression has been very hard on beef.

  And Papa took President McKinley's election badly. He thinks that's why homesteaders have become so thick, thinking they can find a better life out West without working for it. He's losing more head than ever, some to rustlers, but a lot is probably the nesters, too...."

  It was a general policy among the big ranchers to look the other way when they found a hungry family had slaughtered one of their cows—“slow elk,” they cal ed it, to distinguish from animals rustled for monetary profit.

  “What about the homesteaders who've been here awhile, who've always worked hard?” prompted Mariah. “Like ... the sheep farmers?”

  Victoria rolled her eyes. “Sheep!”

  “Sheep farmers,” Mariah clarified, afraid she had given away too much. “Or any of the smaller ranchers who have moved in over the last, oh ... ten years?”

  “Well, they did wait until men like Papa and Uncle Benj did the hard part,” Victoria reminded her.

  "Facing down Indians, putting in towns. So it irks them when men move in now and overgraze the range. But at least the smaller ranchers are still raising cattle. Sheep..."

  She shuddered. They both knew how sheep ate all the grass in front of them and killed all the grass behind them. But as long as the sheep stayed away from the cattle ...

  Mariah wondered if, with the crowded range, ranchers might resent even the little bit that the sheep used. Surely Papa could see past that once he got to know Stuart. He had to.

  Victoria continued to watch her, speculative. Mariah's own failure as a responsible older sister came upon her belatedly. What Victoria—she and Victoria—had done was wrong.

  In retrospect, anyway.

  “You know, you ought not eavesdrop,” she pointed out now, low. “We ought not, I mean. Our parents deserve their privacy.”

  Especial y if they would be kissing each other. People should have privacy, for kisses. Especial y married couples.

  The very thought made her flush.

  “How else can I know what's going on?” challenged Victoria, and she snitched a cookie on her way into the dining room to do her schoolwork.

  Mariah stared after her for a moment.

  Then she firmly set aside her concerns for her sister's moral character, her fears that Papa had noted Stuart's presence at the depot, even her worries that Papa might prove even more stubborn about her beau—her betrothed—than she'd been willing to believe. Such fatalistic thinking would get her nowhere.

  Instead, she started planning what kind of an invitation she would write to Emily MacCallum and, through her, her older brother Stuart.

  Chapter Four

  Stuart thought the party a bad idea as soon as the two oldest of his sisters rode out to his claim, thrilled at their personal invitation. By Saturday night he had not changed his mind. Mariah did not want him approaching her father in private—so instead she invited them to the finest hotel between Chicago and San Francisco? It made no sense.

  But to judge from Emily and Bonny's excitement, girls valued sense less, and parties more, than did men. Saturday found Stuart driving them into town in Da's spring wagon, dressed in their Sunday clothes. Perhaps he could have disappointed his sisters—for their own good, of course. But he could not bear to disappoint Mariah. And who knew? A MacCallum had never been invited anywhere by a Garrison before—except maybe invited to leave the state. Perhaps Marian's optimism wasn't as desperately misplaced as he often feared.

  Besides, foolish or not, Stuart ached to see his intended again.

  And see her he did.

  When he escorted Emily and Bonny guardedly into the Inn's main dining hall , bright as daytime from their touted electric lights, the sight of Mariah stopped Stuart cold. For a moment he stood in the wide doorway, a sister on each arm, unable to breathe.

  What was she wearing?

  “Oh,” sighed Emily softly. “It's a ball gown!”

  And sixteen-year-old Bonny whispered, “Do you think it's from France?” That, thought Stuart numbly, would explain a great deal.

  The dress was made of some shiny blue fabric that oozed wealth. Nobody had scrimped in

  measuring out the puffy sleeves, nor the skirt that flared from Mariah's slim waist into a wide sweep at the floor. Only in the collar had the dressmaker apparently found material too dear.

  Mariah's hair, piled into a high, golden mass of curls, revealed a sinfully bare throat, much of her shoulders ... even a hint of her collarbone!

  “We're leaving,” declared Stuart, stopping his sisters. But Em turned willful on him.

  “We are not leaving,” the redhead hissed, pulling loose of him. “We only just arrived.”

  “Even if we are underdressed,” murmured Bonny, raising a tentative hand to her own neat, black braids. When Stuart fol owed her hungry gaze, he found himself trapped by the sight of Mariah—this shocking, home-from-Europe Mariah—yet again. Underdressed? His sisters' frocks buttoned sensibly up to their chins, but Mariah's....

  What kind of logic made a girl wear gloves up past her elbows, but not cover her shoulders?

  “Someday,” sighed Emily, “I want a gown like that.”

  “Ma would rather see you in your grave,” warned Stuart, torn. He disapproved, of course ... and yet, the elegant picture Mariah made, all bouncy hair and luminous skin and liquid gown, drew him in a way more powerful than his disapproval. If only she were not presenting the same picture to near about everyone in town.

  And why shouldn't Emily, the same age as Mariah, want similar things? “I could die happy,” she said.

  “It's indecent, Em!”

  Bonny said, “It's the fashion, Stuart. Look, Emily! Is that Lady Cooper?”

  Stu recognized the British “Lady” Cooper, an elegant woman whose ruby neckline plunged even lower than Mariah's. She, however, wore an intricate necklace that drew the eye up from her...

  From where no man should be looking, except perhaps her husband. And her husband, Stu remembered, was Jacob Garrison's partner in the Circle-T Ranch. Both cattlemen stood talking with Colonel Wri
ght of the Triple-Bar spread. In fact, this party crawled with cattlemen and cowboys both, like maggots on carrion. More than one cast distasteful looks in the MacCallums' direction.

  From a man as powerful as Garrison, even the briefest of distasteful looks carried threat.

  So much for optimism.

  “We ought not be here,” Stuart said again. On top of everything else, cowboys were eyeing his sisters. And everyone knew that cowboys were wild. They drank too much, used foul language, associated with bad women....

  “Hush, Stuart,” chided Bonny. “Here comes Mariah. Don't you dare be rude to her!”

  Emily smiled at that—Em, who'd helped disguise their correspondence over the last half-year, seemed to think Stuart's affection for Mariah forbade any rudeness on his part.

  But as he watched Mariah approach to welcome her guests, Stuart almost wanted to be rude to her—his intended. Her extravagant beauty hurt in his throat, because even in a year he'd not likely earn enough to buy her even one such dress. Not that he would.

  Much less let her wear it in public.

  “Emily!” greeted Mariah, extending a gloved hand to the one of Stuart's sisters, then the other.

  “Bonny! What a pleasure to see you again! And you brought your brother.”

  The secret gaze she slanted upward shared her pleasure at seeing him again, too—and in a public for once! Stuart could hardly breathe. Were things different, he would ask her to dance, al brightly lit skin and shiny hair, hope-filled eyes and silk.

  “Miss Garrison.” But he moved his gaze carefully past her too-nearly-bare shoulder—this time noting more than one pair of suspicious cowboy eyes. Men outnumbered women, out here on the frontier, as surely as the cattle interests outnumbered the homesteaders.

  “I... I hope the drive was not too strenuous.” Mariah's voice wavered with her attempt at chitchat.

  Wondering how many of these men were armed, overly conscious of his younger sisters beside him, Stuart wondered again how Mariah had imagined this to be a good idea.

  It was Emily who said, "Oh, no. It's a beautiful evening. And we've never seen the Inn at night, before! Thank you for inviting us."

  The violin music seemed particularly loud in the silence that fol owed. Even without looking at Mariah, Stuart could still smell her—soap and lilacs. He swallowed, hard.

  Bonny added, “Your dress is beautiful, Miss Garrison.”

  “Thank you,” said Mariah, her voice uneven now. “If I had hair as pretty as either of you, I would not need bother with such fancy clothing.”

  Stuart ached with the effort not to look at her, memorize her—give himself up to the richness of the moment. For both their sakes, Emily and Bonny's too, he must not dare. Whatever the girls said next, he barely heard over the need to publicly claim Mariah at last—and the even more desperate need not to. He had not gotten permission from her father to keep company with her, much less marry her. They were outnumbered here.

  And yet, when she finally left to greet another arrival, he missed her voice, her scent, like a hunger.

  Only then did Emily say, "How dare you, Stuart! She was nice enough to invite us, and you all but ignored her. And after you—"

  Stuart's scowl stopped her just in time. Nobody else in the family knew about his and Mariah's letters.

  It did nothing for his temper to notice that the pair Mariah now spoke with was the same that had accompanied her on the train. Alden and Alice Wright, heirs to the second-largest ranch in the area. No wonder he'd not recognized them, upon their arrival. The family spent more time in Cheyenne and Denver than in Sheridan.

  Alice Wright's gown bore a striking resemblance to Mariah's—and, to be fair, many other women's throughout the room—though Stuart suspected girls would notice a dozen differences. And Alden!

  His sleek frock coat showed rich facing at the lapels. His trousers bore a stripe down each side, and he even wore spats. Not boots, but shoes with spats!

  Some milksop wearing spats was leading Mariah toward the center of the room to dance, one hand on her elbow.

  She glanced once over her shoulder at Stuart, bewildered, and he made himself look away from how softly her springy curls bounced against the bare back of her neck.

  Emily thought his silence was rude? What would be rude would be Stuart's yanking off his own go-to-meeting coat, wrapping Mariah in it, and bundling her away from this ridiculous party, revealing his claim on her once and for all .

  What would be unforgivably rude would be his behavior once he got her alone... and looking like that. Engaged was not married. Secretly engaged began to feel no different from secretly in love.

  This, Stuart thought again, was a very bad idea.

  Mariah had hoped for so much more from this party.

  Oh, it had all the requirements for a storybook ball. The elegant, four-year-old Inn sparkled with light and music. The food tasted delicious. And everyone Mariah loved was here: her parents, her sisters, her older brother, and even “Uncle” Benj Cooper and his family.

  And Stuart, shoulders almost too broad for his good coat, hair slicked darkly back to hide its length, looked more handsome than possible. Stuart, the man she loved, was here.

  But Stuart seemed angry with her, and she did not know why.

  She'd thought that, if only their families got to know each other social y, it would smooth the way for then-plans. But his parents had not come, nor the younger MacCallums. Stuart himself hung back on the fringes of the party, guarding his sisters and not looking at Mariah.

  But sometimes she felt his eyes on her... and she felt everyone else's eyes on them.

  “Aren't those the sheep farmers?” asked Alden Wright, after roping her into a dance. “Who invited them?”

  Mariah said, “I did.”

  Alden lifted an eyebrow. “How very charitable of you.”

  Later, his sister Alice Wright giggled and said, "Look at those dresses. I believe they meant to attend Sunday school!"

  “I think they look fine,” said Mariah, all the more annoyed because they stood beside Alice's parents, whom Mother was welcoming back to Wyoming. “And their behavior is charming.” Unlike some other people's, she thought darkly.

  Alice sighed. “Oh Mariah, did Europe teach you nothing?”

  At least her father the Colonel tutted at her in genteel reprimand. “I, for one, admire Miss Mariah's sense of noblesse oblige. It was a singular experience, Mrs. Garrison, viewing the splendors of the Old World through your daughter's ... altruistic ... eyes.”

  As she had in Europe, more than once, Alice pulled a face at Mariah's “altruism.”

  Mariah wanted to believe the Wrights to be a snobbish exception, but nobody else approached the MacCallums, either. When she danced with Papa—and oh, Mariah usual y loved dancing safe in her proud father's arms—she said, "Thank you for the party, Papa. It's wonderful, to have the whole town here."

  But Papa only looked at her for a long minute, then toward the too-quiet corner where folks like the MacCallums and Evangeline Taylor stood, then slanted a glare toward his wife.

  “Welcome,” he drawled, without enthusiasm.

  Mariah checked back on her guests as often as seemed appropriate, insisting they taste the punch, trying to engage them in conversation, but felt increasingly helpless—especial y when Stuart continued to ignore her and to glare darkly at any men who might have approached his sisters. She recruited Victoria and Audra to help, when her own hostess duties drew her elsewhere, but they could only do so much.

  Then the second time Stuart led Emily onto the far corner of the floor himself, dancing with the requisite discomfort of a dutiful older brother, Mariah remembered her own brother.

  “I'm not surprised,” said Thaddeas when she reported the MacCallum girls' exclusion. “Folks do feel strongly about sheep.”

  “They don't have any sheep with them right now!” she insisted. It was not as if Thaddeas, a lawyer, was active in the cattle business himself.

  Her
upset amused Thad, that quirk of a smile setting him apart from their father as much as his brown eyes and absence of whiskers. “Wise decision, leaving them at home.”

  Mariah took a deep breath, unwilling to accept the ruin of all her lovely plans. "I invited the MacCallums personal y,“ she explained, desperate. ”And they are being al but shunned, at my own party. Please, Thad ..."

  When Thaddeas sighed—the long-suffering sigh of a too-indulgent big brother—she knew she'd won him over. “One dance,” he agreed, perhaps in part because his own girl was visiting in San Francisco. “For you.”

  “With Emily and Bonny both?”

  When he nodded, she hugged him, accepted his kiss on her hair. Yes! If she could win Thad over to the MacCallums' side, surely the rest of her family would eventual y fol ow.

  Even if Thad did have an especial y soft spot for her....

  She watched, hopeful, as he approached the trio and spoke to them. Emily brightened visibly as she accepted his gallantly offered hand.

  Stuart turned and widened his eyes at Mariah, less clearly pleased. She smiled. See, Stuart? Our families can mix!

  He opened his mouth, as if they stood close enough for him to make comment. Then he closed his mouth, shook his head, and glowered toward Thad and his sister.

  In the meantime, Emily and then Bonny seemed to enjoy their dances. Once Thad left the second MacCallum sister some cowboys, perhaps encouraged by the Garrison heir's example, approached them with their typical mix of abashment and feigned bravado. Mariah, feeling expansive, noted that Thaddeas even asked Evangeline Taylor to dance, after that. The skinny blonde, who seemed as out of place as the MacCallums despite wearing one of Victoria's nicer party dresses, glowed with shy pleasure.

  Perhaps now Stuart would put his concerns to rest. Perhaps now, finally, he would ask her to dance too. Mariah savored the thought of being in his protective arms, his big hand on her waist. She kindly declined one, then another, then a third invitation from other gentlemen so that she would be free for Stuart.