“Yes, I am.”
Mott led her outside toward his new vehicle and said, “How do you like it?”
Leah eyed the contraption skeptically. “To tell the truth, I’ve never ridden in an auto.”
“You haven’t? Well, you’ll like this one. A fella named Henry Ford built it. Here, let me help you in.”
Leah mounted the single seat and sat down and then watched as Mott cranked the engine. As soon as it was running, he leaped into the seat beside her. “Sure would be nice,” he said, panting, “if we could start these things from the inside instead of cranking them. That’ll come someday.”
Moving the levers on the gearshift, the small automobile jerked and then moved out noisily. The armory was only ten blocks away, but they managed to scare several horses along the way. One of them pulling a buggy reared up and ran away, careening madly down the street.
“That’s too bad,” Leah remarked.
“Yes, it is, but horses will get used to them in time. As a matter of fact, horses are on their way out.”
Leah preferred horses herself. She had always loved the animals and had a horse of her own back in Fort Smith, but she was realistic enough to know that Mott was probably right.
“You look very nice,” Mott said, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. He was wearing a pair of goggles and nodded firmly. “I like that dress.”
“Thank you, Mott. I’m looking forward to the dance.”
“Me too. There’ll be a lot of drinking and carousing going on. There always is at these things.”
“Well, we don’t have to join in.”
“No, we don’t. Can’t think of anything more foolish than drinking your health away.”
****
The armory was an old red brick building three stories high. It had seen plenty of use over the years, for it had been an armory during the Civil War. It was the largest building in Lewisville, and the second floor had been converted into a meeting hall. When the chairs were removed, it served as a ballroom for those rather rare occasions when Lewisville citizens came together for such an event as the Fourth of July dance.
As Leah crested the stairs and looked around, she was surprised at the size of the crowd. The place was packed, and she murmured, “I don’t think there’s going to be room to dance, Mott.”
“Sure there will. Here, let’s move around for a bit.”
Mott was, Leah knew, a politician at heart, and she followed him as he greeted people, whispering to her from time to time the pertinent facts about each one. “He’s the judge. A good man to know. I’m going to ask him to support me when I run for office.”
High above them, red, white, and blue festoons were strung across the ceiling. The late afternoon sun, along with the large crystal chandeliers, threw a blazing light over the dancers. The bright colors of the women’s dresses caught the rays from the chandeliers—green, red, blue, purple—and the sound of many people talking and laughing made a pleasant, though rather loud, noise throughout the decorated armory.
Leah danced with Mott, and then he surrendered her to a friend of his, Luke Garrison. Mott had laughed and said, “Luke is the sheriff, Leah. I’ll trust him to take care of you.”
Garrison, a short man built like a wrestler, had cool gray eyes and was soft-spoken. He danced well enough but shrugged, saying, “I’m no dancer, Miss Freeman.”
“Why, you do very well, Sheriff.”
“I understand your fella’s going to be running for office soon.”
“Well, he’s not really my fella, Sheriff. I think you’re right about his running, though. He’s very interested in politics.”
A gloomy light touched the sheriff’s eyes. “I’d just as soon be out of it,” he said. “I should have been a farmer like my dad. Less trouble.”
“I thought law-enforcement officers led exciting lives.”
The two were doing a two-step, and Garrison concentrated on the intricacies of the dance for a moment. “Well, you’re mistaken about that. I spend most of my time locking up pitiful drunks and trying to get votes for the next election.”
“You make it sound terrible. I’ve read about Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson and all the famous lawmen of the Old West.”
“I don’t think they were quite what the books make them out to be. Earp was all right, but Masterson was nothing but a cheap crook. Some of those fellows just happened to be on the right side of the law. They could have been outlaws and desperadoes just as easy.”
Leah found the sheriff interesting, but then he surrendered her to Ace Devainy, who had come looking for her deliberately.
“Where’s Ellie?”
“She’s dancing with the mayor.” Ace was a homely and gangly man with yellow hair and light blue eyes. For all his homeliness, the mothers of the town feared him, for young women had a failing for him that was hard to understand.
Leah found Devainy an entertaining man. He enjoyed his dance with her, paying her close attention. When the band started to play a cakewalk tune, Leah protested. “I can’t do that dance!”
“Sure you can, honey. Nothin’ to it.” Ace grinned. The cakewalk dance, originally done by southern blacks, featured prancing struts, shuffling feet, and exaggerated sways. The white version was somewhat different. The couples formed a square with the men on the inside, high strutting to a sprightly tune as they paraded imaginatively around the figure. It had a rather frenetic rhythm and a rollicking melody that was becoming known as ragtime.
Leah was a good dancer and quickly caught on, and by the time the cakewalk was over, her eyes were sparkling, and she said to Ace, “It’s fun, but I don’t think it’s very respectable.”
“Oh, I think it is. All my friends do it, and my friends are all respectable.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard, Mr. Devainy.”
“You’ve been listenin’ to the wrong people.” Ace then said, “Whoops, I’ve got to get back to the bandstand. Come along. I’ll take you over to the refreshment table.”
Leah allowed herself to be guided to the refreshment table and watched as Ace made his way back to the bandstand. She was soon joined by Ellie, who was laughing.
“I saw you carryin’ on with my fella. You tryin’ to steal him?”
“No. I don’t think so. He’s a lot of fun, though.”
Mott came over to join them, and the three stood there as the master of ceremonies called for quiet. As soon as everyone settled down, he said, “We have a real treat now. Stuart Winslow’s going to play and sing a brand-new song. You all know Stuart. His song is ‘Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey?’ ”
Leah’s eyes were on the bandstand when a strongly built man stepped forward with a violin in his hand. He had the blackest hair she had ever seen, with brows to match, and his dark blue eyes looked almost black. Tucking the instrument loosely under his chin, he began to play and tap his foot and sing. He was handsomely dressed in a pair of fawn-colored trousers, a snow-white shirt with a string tie, and a pair of shiny leather half boots.
Leah listened as Winslow sang the racy song, accompanying his own singing with impressive fiddling skills. When he had finished, she said, “What a wonderful voice!”
Ellie nudged her with an elbow. “Better stay away from him. He’s worse of a woman chaser than Ace. They’re best friends, you know.”
The crowd applauded, and then Stuart held the violin in one hand and nodded to the band. They began a slow melody, and the piano player picked out the notes in a very slow fashion. Lifting his voice, Stuart Winslow began to sing, “Because you come to me, I’ll cherish thee. . . .”
The song was one of Leah’s favorites. She had heard it sung at many weddings, and it never ceased to touch her emotions. As the singer’s smooth voice filled the hall easily, Leah could sense the pathos in it, and suddenly she discovered that his eyes were fixed on her. She knew that oftentimes some entertainers had the ability to make everyone in the hall think they were singing or speaking directly to them—but this was no illusio
n. Their eyes locked, and as Stuart Winslow sang the words, Leah found herself unable to turn away.
As soon as the last note of the song ended, she saw Winslow put his violin down and come straight across the room. Walking right up to her, he smiled and said, “Our dance, isn’t it?”
“Why don’t you keep on playing, Stuart,” Mott said.
“Why, Mott, I don’t mind,” Leah said. It was the first time she had seen Mott angry, but it would be rude to refuse the man’s invitation. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked gently.
“I suppose not.”
“Thanks, Mott.”
Turning to Leah, Stuart said, “Come along. This is one of my favorites.”
It was a waltz, and Leah found herself moving easily across the floor. As she had suspected, Stuart Winslow was a marvelous dancer. She followed his lead effortlessly.
“I’m Stuart Winslow.”
“Yes, I know. My name is Leah Freeman.”
“I hate to begin a relationship like this, but I must tell you, Miss Freeman, that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Leah laughed. “That sounds like something your friend Ace might say.”
“Ace has no taste in women, but I do. Do you live here? What about your family?”
As they danced Leah spoke of herself and what she did. “I’m a typewriter,” she said.
“Oh, you’re a smart young lady to learn that.” They spun around the room, and he asked abruptly, “Do you have a regular beau?”
Leah hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really.”
And then Stuart Winslow smiled. He had an olive complexion, and his teeth were very white against his skin. She saw a small cleft in his chin, and he wore a small neat mustache.
“Well, I’m available,” he said and laughed softly, “and this is your lucky day, Miss Freeman.”
“Well, there’s no modesty about you.”
“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of modesty. But I’ve got a feeling about the two of us, Miss Leah, if I may call you that.”
Leah listened as he spoke and enjoyed the dance tremendously. Stuart Winslow had a way with women, she knew, but somehow she felt he was half serious beneath his light bantering.
Mott came up immediately after the dance and nodded curtly. “Our dance, I think, Leah.”
“I’ve got to play awhile, Miss Leah,” Stuart grinned, “but save another dance for me.”
“Of course.”
Leah turned to Mott and they began a two-step. Mott did not speak, but he was obviously not pleased. “What’s the matter, Mott? Have you had trouble with him before? Don’t you like him?” Leah asked as they moved across the ballroom.
“Nothing to like about him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked curiously.
“He’s a wastrel. Comes from a fine family. His father is one of the leading citizens here in Lewisville, and his mother’s a fine woman. Richard Winslow and his wife, Diane. I think a great deal of them.”
“What does he do?”
“He owns two stores—one here and one in Fort Smith—and is thinking about opening a third, I understand. He’s a good businessman.”
“I thought Stuart was very attractive.”
“All women think that. I hate to talk about a man behind his back, but young women aren’t safe with him, Leah.”
Leah did not answer. Somehow she knew there was truth in Mott’s words, and yet as she continued to dance, she kept thinking of the words Stuart had said: “This is your lucky day. . . .”
“Hey, Ace, we’ve got a little job to do.”
Ace Devainy looked over at Stuart and grinned. “You’ve got trouble in your eyes, boy. I know it. What are you up to now?”
“Have you met Leah Freeman?”
“That young woman with Mott? Sure. She deserves better than him.”
“Well, she’s going to get better.” A light of deviltry flashed in Stuart Winslow’s eyes, and then his lips curved upward in a smile. “You want to do me a favor?”
“Why not. Anything for a friend.”
“Go out there to that automobile he’s so proud of and drain the gasoline out of it. I don’t want it to start when it’s time for them to leave.”
Ace laughed. “I can take care of that. You got your eye on Leah Freeman?”
“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You got that right. I’ll take care of the gasoline.”
****
“What’s wrong with it, Mott?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it just won’t start. They haven’t got these things perfected yet.” Mott had cranked until he was sweaty. The dance had ended and it was after midnight. Now Mott came around from the front of the auto and shook his head. “You wait here, Leah. I’m going to go get Fred Jefferson. He can always get these things started.”
“All right.”
Leah sat there as Mott disappeared. The stars overhead were brilliant dots against a sable sky, and she sat quietly thinking of the dance. It had been an exciting time for her. She had danced twice more with Stuart Winslow, knowing that it displeased Mott but not caring a great deal. As she sat there waiting, she remembered Ellie’s words. “Don’t be a fool!” she had hissed. “Hang on to Mott!”
Not long after Mott had left, she heard the sound of a buggy approaching, and she was suddenly aware that it had drawn up beside her.
“Well, you’d better come with me, Miss Leah.”
Leah blinked and saw by the full moon overhead that Stuart Winslow had pulled up beside her.
“I’m waiting for Mott. He’s gone to get a repairman.”
“I know, but he’ll not find Fred. That’s who he always goes for when this contraption breaks down. I think you’d better let me take you on home.”
“No. That wouldn’t be right. I’ll wait for Mott.”
Leah watched as Winslow jumped out of the buggy and came over to stand beside her. “It’s not really safe for a young woman to be out alone this late. Look, you just leave a note for Mott. Tell him I’m driving you home, and he won’t worry about you.”
The argument went on only for a few moments, and then Leah surrendered. “All right, but I’ll have to leave him a note.”
She looked in her purse, pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, wrote a note, and pinned it to the steering wheel with a hairpin. “He can’t miss that,” she said.
“Right. Now you come on. It’s getting late.”
As Leah got in Stuart’s buggy, she smiled. “Do you often worry about keeping young women up too late?”
“Always.” Stuart grinned. “Come along.”
Leah was amused. She suddenly had a thought and said, “Did you have anything to do with that car not starting, Stuart?”
“Me? Not a thing,” he said innocently. “I don’t know a thing about cars. How could I do that?”
Leah laughed. “I don’t believe a word you say.” A few moments later she looked around suddenly and said, “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Well, you didn’t tell me where you lived.”
“I’m staying at Mrs. Gates’s boardinghouse.”
“Oh . . . well, you’ll have to direct me.”
Leah tried to tell him where to go, but he persisted in making wrong turns. Finally she found herself out beside the small river that circled Lewisville. The moonlight turned it into a silver track, and as she protested, he suddenly handed her the reins. “Here. You drive yourself.”
Leah was a good driver, and she laughed, saying, “Why should I drive you?”
“I’ve got other things to do.” He reached behind the seat and pulled out his violin. Tucking it under his chin, he began to play, and Leah was entranced.
“You play beautifully,” she said.
He did not answer but continued to play. Finally he played and sang “After the Ball Is Over.” It had been a hit for about ten years, but somehow he did something different with it. As she silently sang the words in her mind, they evoked a
pathos in her. She had always felt it was a sad song, but now Stuart’s clear, tender voice brought out some things in it she had never heard:
After the ball is over
After the break of morn
After the dancers leaving,
After the stars are gone.
Many a heart is aching,
If you could read them all;
Many the hopes that have vanished,
After the ball.
“That’s a beautiful song,” she whispered, touched by it.
“It was written by a fellow named Charles Harris back in 1892. He spotted a young couple quarreling after a dance and wrote it. It got to be real popular,” Stuart said.
The only sound was the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the chirping of crickets as they moved along the road beside the river.
He turned to her suddenly, put the violin back, then took the reins. “I’ve always thought the moon was the most beautiful thing,” he said and put his arm around her, “but now I don’t think that anymore.”
Leah was amused, and the pressure of his arm around her shoulders was pleasant enough. “How many times have you said that to young women?”
“Oh, I’ve taken a few girls out for a buggy ride.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“But you’re different.”
“How original!” she laughed.
He did not speak for a moment but turned the horse back toward town. She was surprised, for she had expected him to try to kiss her. He did not speak again until they drew up in front of the boardinghouse. The lights were all dark except for the one in the foyer, and she said, “I’ve got to go in.”
“Wait a minute,” he said and turned to her. “I know I’ve got a bad reputation, but a man’s got to change sometime. He’s got to settle down.”
Leah felt he was trying to be sincere, although she had no justification for believing it. “I think it might be good for you to do that.”
When she started to move, he turned and put his arm around her and drew her to him. Her face was a mirror that reflected her feelings as they changed, and as he pulled her forward, he noticed the delicate curve of her mouth.
The Glorious Prodigal Page 2