Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
Chapter 36
“These contemptuous shoes. Megan, you’ve buttoned them wrong again,” Clara barked as she stumbled. She clutched Marcus’ arm, her hook-like hand digging in.
He simply smiled, pulling his mother to stand. “Megan might not be the best at button-holing, Mother, but I think you stepped on another rock.”
“Rocks! That’s all this infernal place has. Rocks. Cactus. Sun. Heat. Marcus, darling. We need to get ourselves back to civilization! California! Promise me, as soon as you’re able you’ll take me back.”
Amanda watched them walk in front, saddened at what her once beautiful mother had become. Her voice was filled with desperation. Her face was puffy from sleeping and her deepening dependence on the drug. Still, she had pulled her wits about her enough to dress for the party.
“Megan, let’s spruce Mother up, shall we?” Amanda suggested, and the two girls slipped their mother back into her wrap that was dragging on the ground. Amanda swiped at the dust streak on the taffeta drape. Megan affixed it around her shoulders, pushing a few stray pins back into their mother’s hair.
“Mama. You’re too thin. Once we get inside, I’m bringing you a whole tray of cakes.” Megan kissed her mother’s cheek, their eyes meeting.
“Bosh! Thin. You do have a wild imagination, child. Come now, let’s try and avoid any more missteps, shall we?” She trounced on ahead, reaching for Megan and dragging her along.
“This whole night is a misstep if you ask me,” Marcus whispered, and Amanda giggled, walking arm in arm with her handsome brother. He’d trimmed his beard and wayward hair to look like an all out gentleman. His dark eyes were full of humor, but as they neared the dance, they clouded with something else.
“Why, Marcus, whatever’s the matter?” Amanda said, poking her brother in the side.
The band played a rendition of a waltz. On the floor, ladies in the dresses she had acquired for this purpose twirled like a beautiful bouquet. The brilliant hues, bright expressions, laughter, and joy that filled the dance were infectious. Amanda’s chest filled with pride. Their project had worked, under the skillful hands of RuthAnne with Dolly’s help and Amanda’s imagination. She wanted to clap and cheer. Instead, she held lightly to her brother’s arm and smiled with apparent idle interest.
Megan whipped to her sister’s side. “Amanda! What’s going on?”
“It’s a party, Megan. Get your dance card filled, why don’t you. Thank you, Private.” Amanda smiled at the young man who handed her the loop of cord and card to wrap around her wrist. She couldn’t help but laugh when she saw he had already jotted his name down. She gave the tall, lanky soldier a slight wave as Megan pulled her aside.
“That isn’t what I mean! Those dresses look startlingly familiar.” Megan’s eyes were cold as a snake, and she was just as ready to strike. For once, Amanda stood her ground and met her twin straight on.
“They should. You tossed them out months ago. Too old-fashioned. Too tight. Too boring. Something like that. I simply...repurposed them.” Amanda gulped. Had she made the wrong decision? She had known Megan would be less than enthusiastic about seeing her tossed-out garments redesigned and dancing on women from around the fort. She hadn’t expected her to be quite this furious.
“Those are my cotillion gowns!”
“That you said you wanted burned, I believe.” Tears pricked Amanda’s eyes. She swallowed around the large lump in her throat. And then she understood what made her sister so upset. It wasn’t the dresses. It was not being included in the decision. Amanda had never done anything without her sister’s approval.
“I did it for you, Meg. As a surprise. Remember how you said we should brighten this place up a bit? What’s bright and fun about being the only belles at a dance? Now we can wear our finery and not feel so hopelessly out of place.”
Megan’s eyes were damp with angry, hurt tears.
“Does that pink one look familiar?” Amanda said.
“It looks like the one I wore to Marissa Harper’s party...but that dress was white. Now it’s pink?”
“It had a strawberry punch stain down the front. Remember? You threw it out. It also had a ruined hemline and torn netting...”
Megan snorted. “Thanks to that rascal, Tom Salinger. He threw a drink on me when I refused him in the rose garden. He thought he could put his hands where they weren’t wanted.”
“He was wrong...you showed him. And you told me that you’d rather die than wear it again! Didn’t you? It isn’t the same dress anymore. RuthAnne dyed it a shade darker than the stain, and of course, had to let out quite a bit, as you see. You were much more slender when you wore that one. I don’t know how RuthAnne found the extra fabric to fit Mrs. Kimball. Look at her!”
Megan laughed in disbelief as Mrs. Kimball glided across the floor, her husband’s hands on her thick waist. “Well, I’ll be.” She turned to her sister. “Amanda, please tell me you weren’t foolish enough to just give them all away. Those were worth a small fortune!”
Amanda blushed a bit. “I might have made a slight profit. Which I’m splitting with you, of course.”
“Well, aren’t you the budding entrepreneur.” Megan hugged her sister. “Exactly how much will we be sharing?”
“Enough for you to buy some new clothes and make your own decisions about your future.”
“What about you? I know you weren’t completely on a mercy mission with all of this...” Megan waved her hand at the jeweled dancers.
Amanda cleared her throat. “I’m going to return to San Francisco. For Roger. He wants to marry me...”
“The librarian? Oh, sister. You have gone off the deep end. Come, let’s discuss your foolish plan before Mother hears...”
“Before your mother hears
what?
” Clara stepped between her daughters, eyes narrowed. “Just what the devil is going on here? Megan?”
Clara fanned herself, looking about but her question was obvious. They no longer stood out against the ladies of the fort. Her gaze swept the dance floor, mouth curling in bitterness. She watched the dancers, brows raised. “Do either one of you wish to tell me why your hand-me-down gowns are in higher fashion than anything we are wearing?” Disapproval dripped from her words.
Amanda smoothed her skirts and cleared her throat. The music picked up again, a cheery waltz. A soldier stepped up. “Uh, pardon me, Miss Carington. My name’s on your card...”
“Well, let’s dance, shall we?” With a shrug and a wary glance back to her mother and sister, Amanda escaped to the dance floor.
****
Clara grabbed her remaining daughter’s arm tight as she dared. “Someone better explain things to me and fast.”
“Mother, please.” Megan turned sharply.
Clara wrenched her away from the music. Away from the lights and the laughter. “RuthAnne put you and Amanda up to this, didn’t she?”
Tears dripped from Megan’s eyes, but a mother knew how to force the truth from her daughter. “I didn’t even know until this evening. Mandy’s in love, mama. She just wants to go back to San Francisco. She sold the dresses to RuthAnne.”
“Why would she want to go back...not for
that librarian?
This story gets better all of the time. My own daughters are abandoning me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Mama.” Megan swallowed.
“No, of course you’re not. And neither is your sister.” Clara searched for her husband among the throng of partygoers. Of course, the one time she needed him, neither he nor his lackey Kendrick were in sight.
She spotted RuthAnne dancing with a short, stocky soldier. From the crease in RuthAnne’s forehead, the boy was obviously treading heavy upon her slippers. With a glower of disapproval, Captain Shepherd stomped over and separated the soldier from his dance partner. Barking an order Clara could not hear, Shepherd sent the poor boy scrambling off into the crowd. She watched as RuthAnne bid her apologies to the departing barrel of a soldier. Clara noticed RuthAnne’s face light up with gratitude as the two began to waltz.
They were a lovely couple to be sure. She, in black satin, draped with lace. Her tumble of blonde hair fixed in a cascade over one shoulder, the other bare. The captain was a full head taller than she, muscular and lean. He filled out his blues in a way both forbidding and appealing. He held RuthAnne as if he intended never to let go. They danced in perfect step, as if they were two sides of a coin.
Clara was pleased to see her well-ensconced in the brash soldier’s embrace rather than Edgar’s. But a flick of her calculating gaze saw someone who wasn’t pleased. In fact, he was seething. Clara watched Marcus observing the same scene. His jovial face darkened. His eyes were locked on the pair. In heartbreak? Disgust? She couldn’t read his expression, but she knew the cause. The same cause of all of her troubles since she arrived at this godforsaken place—RuthAnne.
The sound of brass instruments, laughter, and chatter filled her ears, threatening to split her head in a cacophony of sound. Clara only had eyes for RuthAnne, pale skin glowing under the lights, her long blonde hair lit up like a halo. Her joyous smile pierced Clara’s icy heart, filling her mouth with a bitter taste until she could take no more. Clara stepped into her path, forcing them to stop mid-step.
RuthAnne saw Clara Carington from the corner of her eye.
“You.” Clara’s eyes brimmed with loathing.
“Mrs. Carington?” RuthAnne was confused. Bowen guided them out of the way of the onslaught of dancers until they stood in the center of the floor, though Clara followed them like a stalking wildcat.
“I know all about you. What you and my daughter did. So you think that you can just appear out of nowhere and ransack my house for your own profit?”
“Mrs. Carington, we didn’t...” RuthAnne looked to Bowen for help.
Just beyond the murmuring crowd, Dolly muscled her way in between RuthAnne and the coiled snake that was Clara Carington, Whit closing in behind.
“Mrs. Carington, it wasn’t RuthAnne’s idea. It was mine,” Dolly said.
“And mine, Mother.” Amanda stood beside Dolly, visibly shaking but standing her ground. The band ground to a halt in a disharmony of brass and drums.
“Is that right?” Clara turned her fury on her own child. “So, it’s finally happened. By hiring a whore into army service, your father has finally corrupted his own daughter.”
Dolly blanched, her mouth open. Before she could speak, RuthAnne stepped in. “Are you sure you’re one to cast stones, Clara? What do you know about Dolly Jewel? Have you ever spoken with her? Met her, even?”
“I don’t have to meet her to know that she came to Fort Lowell unmarried and pregnant. Shamed. Cast out from The Wedge.” Clara’s smile was evil, full of hurtful intentions. “And what about you, RuthAnne? Ever since you came here you’ve been flaunting yourself around the fort, tempting my son to fall in love with you. Riding off to meet heaven knows whom in the desert for days at a time. These aren’t activities for a woman with no means and no family in this godforsaken place. I’ve seen you. Don’t deny it.” Venom spilled from every word. The guests were silent, watching the heated exchange.
“You don’t know anything at all,” RuthAnne whispered.
Bowen stepped forward, arm protectively around RuthAnne’s shoulders. He nodded to Reggie. “Just like you, Mrs. Carington, to spoil a surprise. We have another special visitor this evening. Another life to celebrate.”
Reggie vanished and, moments later, reappeared with three people in tow. Father Acuña in his simple brown robes; Mariposa, his exact opposite in a brightly-colored Mexican dress, hair ornately arranged in traditional combs; Mara followed behind, adorned much the same.
Mara found her way into the mix, her dark eyes full of worry. She wore her hair pulled back from her face, spilling loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes searched until they settled on RuthAnne. She breathed a visible sigh of relief, face brightening into a wide smile. Her skin was full of color, her brown eyes dancing. RuthAnne met her in a deep embrace.
With a look of extreme satisfaction, Bowen guided RuthAnne and Mara out of the middle of the dance floor. Father Acuña stepped forward, hands outstretched to the murmuring crowd, which fell to a hush.
“These two sisters were brought to me with nothing. Robbed penniless by El Tejano. Mara was shot. Your own Captain Shepherd rescued them from certain death. RuthAnne was tending her sister back to health at the chapel; she was too proud to sit idle and came here to serve you.” Father Acuña told the story, his voice booming over the crowd. RuthAnne had to admit it was the perfect opportunity to lay all of their cards on the table.
“When she wasn’t with Mara, she was waiting on others here at Fort Lowell. She is a noble and honorable woman. Anyone who thinks different will have to speak to me.”
The crowd answered with hurrahs of agreement. RuthAnne blushed, and Mara all but glowed. Clara turned her attention back to Amanda and Dolly, pointing a rigid finger at them. “That doesn’t excuse my daughter consorting with a prostitute.”
Whit Baker stepped forward between Clara and his fiancée. “Ma’am, this woman has more class in her little finger than you will ever muster.”
“I don’t need you to defend me, Whit Baker,” Dolly protested.
“Get used to it, Dolly.” He kissed her firmly and then waved her off. With chest puffed out and eyes wide and full of indignation, he continued, speaking not just to Clara, but the entire room. “If I ever hear anyone refer to my future wife in that manner again, they’ll be answering to me!” His gaze scanned the crowd, reunited with Dolly’s, and softened along with his smile. “These women did a fine job dressing the ladies using their own ingenuity and the meager supplies I was able to find for them. There’s no reason to tear Miss Jewel or your own daughter down.”
Clara narrowed a venomous glare at her daughter. “You didn’t have my consent for any of this.”
“She had mine.” Megan spoke quickly, taking Marcus in hand and dragging him behind her. He said nothing, his expression a blank poker-face.
“You. You ungrateful children...” Clara gasped, speech slurred and hair falling from its pins.
“Mother, can’t you see—” Amanda said, but Clara held up a hand.
“The only thing I see is disrespect.”