Authors: Jae
Augustus Snyder snorted. "Hey, boys," he called
over the swinging doors. "Anyone interested in riding for a woman?"
Only the tinny plunking of the saloon's piano answered him.
"That's what I thought." Mr. Snyder tipped his
hat. "Good day, Miss Hamilton."
Gritting her teeth, Amy watched him walk away. She stepped
toward the swinging doors.
The barkeeper, who had walked over at Snyder's shouting,
blocked her way. "That's not a good idea, Miss Hamilton," he said,
not unfriendly. "People are already talking about the Hamilton women,
without you coming into the saloon."
Amy bit her tongue. "I'm not here to drink," she
said. "I only want to ask around and see if there's a wrangler willing to
work for us."
"Yes, I heard. I'll pass the word," the barkeeper
said.
Amy pressed her lips together.
I better not hold my
breath.
Trying to get into the saloon was a waste of time. A lot of work
waited at home. She whirled around and strode down the boardwalk as fast as her
split riding skirt allowed.
Ruby stood waiting where she had left her. Amy unbuckled the
saddlebags to shove the rest of the posters into them.
"Want me to go in there and hang them up for you?"
Amy turned.
A wiry man leaned against the saddle maker's shop. His
wide-brimmed hat couldn't hide Indian features.
"You wouldn't have any more luck getting in there than
I did." While he was wearing a cotton shirt and a pair of mud-spattered
chaps over denim pants, his parents clearly hadn't been white settlers, and
only that counted for the men in the saloon. Amy gave him a polite nod, trying
not to take her anger out on him. "But thanks anyway."
"You're searching for a horse wrangler?" His dark
eyes studied her impassively.
Amy met his gaze and nodded. "Know someone who might be
interested?"
The man tapped his own chest.
This is crazy
. If she hired him, it would start the
townspeople's tongues wagging. Papa didn't like that kind of attention. He
preferred to lead a quiet life. "Do you have any experience with
horses?" she found herself asking nonetheless.
"Enough to know that this is the best mare I've ever
seen." He pointed at Ruby.
A pleased grin settled onto Amy's lips, but then she folded
her arms over her chest. "Are you trying to flatter me into hiring you?"
"It's not working, is it?" He sighed.
"Thought I'd try. There aren't many men around here who'd hire me."
"So you thought you'd try it with a woman?" Amy
wasn't sure whether she should be annoyed or impressed by his logic.
He shrugged. "Thought it couldn't hurt." With a
nod and a tip of his hat, he turned and walked away.
Amy watched him, studied the lithe steps and the soft touch
with which he untied his buckskin gelding from the hitching rail. "What's
your name?" Amy called after him.
What are you doing?
Was this one
of the impulsive decisions for which Mama had scolded her?
No,
she decided. They needed a new ranch hand,
especially now during foaling season, and Augustus Snyder would make sure none
of the local men thought about signing up with the Hamilton Ranch.
And
besides, Papa has a soft spot for outcasts.
Years ago, an old, one-armed
man had lived in the bunkhouse and taken care of their tack. And Papa had taken
in Phin when he was too young to qualify as a useful ranch hand.
The man turned around. "John Lefevre." At Amy's
questioning gaze, he added, "My father was a French merchant with the
Hudson Bay Company, and my mother was from the Sandwich Islands. Not that most
people care about that."
Amy understood. Just as most people never looked beyond her
gender, they took one look at him and decided that they didn't want to hire an
"Injun." Since the Snake Wars had started, everyone who looked even
halfway Indian had become the enemy.
"One month," she said. "On a trial
basis."
His dark features lit up. "You won't regret it."
Oh, let's hope not.
She prayed none of her ranch
hands would quit rather than work with an Indian. She couldn't afford to make
any more mistakes.
* * *
"Mama, please."
Nora looked up from her bread dough. She smiled inwardly when
Nattie put her grayish eyes, so much like Luke's, to good use and gave her a
pleading look.
"Everyone is going," Nattie said.
"Not everyone." Nora pressed her fingers into the
dough. "I'm staying home. Hendrika said she's not going either." She
pointed at the silent woman peeling potatoes at the other end of the kitchen
table.
Nattie ignored her comment. "Even the Tolridge twins
are going, and they're only fourteen."
Nora pounded the dough while she thought about it. "I
don't know, Nattie. With Amy not going either and Phin not there to keep an eye
on you..."
"I don't need Phin to keep an eye on me! I'm not a
child, Mama." Nattie's pouting lower lip didn't make her appear very
mature, and Nora suppressed a smile. "I'm about as old as you were when
you met Papa and had Amy."
It hadn't happened in that order, of course, but Nora had
become pregnant when she had been Nattie's age. One more reason not to let
Nattie go unchaperoned. But she had to admit that Nattie was much more mature
than she had been at almost seventeen.
While Nora had gone to bed with the first man who told her
he loved her, Nattie had learned early on to interact with men without fawning
over them. Growing up around Luke ensured that she never thought women should
submit to whatever men wanted.
"All right," Nora said. "You can go to the
dance — if Hendrika is going too."
Two birds with one stone.
Nora grinned. Hendrika had
been on the ranch for almost a week now, but she hadn't met any of the
neighbors yet. She kept to herself, and Nora had a feeling that it was some
unknown fear, not a lack of interest, that made her stay away from people.
Maybe she was shy with strangers and needed a little encouragement.
A potato slipped from Hendrika's grasp and skidded across
the floor. She shook her head in protest.
"Oh, thank you, Mama." Nattie danced around the
kitchen table and hugged her. "Thank you, Hendrika." She hugged the
startled Hendrika too and then rushed up the stairs, no doubt looking for her
best dress.
Nora chuckled at the pole-axed expression on Hendrika's
face. "She can be a force of nature, can't she? I hope you don't mind
going to the dance with her. If you really don't want to go, I can probably
talk Amy into going with Nattie." In fact, she should talk Amy into going,
no matter what. Amy needed to be around people who didn't think hoof thrush was
a perfectly fine topic of conversation over supper.
"It's all right," Hendrika said while she
scrambled to pick up the escaped potato. "I'll go with her. If we don't
like it, we can come back early."
Oh, that's what you think.
Now that Nattie was going
to the dance, she wouldn't be home before it was time to milk the cows. Nora
smiled warmly. "Of course, dear."
* * *
Amy flicked the reins without any enthusiasm, urging Old
Jack toward the schoolhouse. Next to her, Nattie bounced on the wagon seat.
"Sit still, or I'll make you walk through the mud in your good
dress," Amy said. She peeked around Nattie at Hendrika, who rode along in
silence.
She was wearing one of Amy's dresses — one that Amy had
never liked anyway.
Not that she liked any of them. At least not when she had to
wear them. On Hendrika, she loved the dress. The dark blue fabric contrasted
nicely with the soft, pale skin and made her eyes look even darker. When
Hendrika lifted her head and looked over, Amy snatched her gaze away.
She tugged on her bonnet, aware of the paler patch of skin
above the line where her hat's sweatband normally rested. Her hands curled to
hide the scars on her palms and the black rims that remained under her fingernails,
even after careful scrubbing.
The sounds of an accordion and at least one fiddle drifted
down the hill.
"They've already started." Nattie clapped her
hands. "Oh, and look! There are Hannah and Josh." She waved wildly
and the small button at the cuff of her dress got tangled in Amy's bonnet.
Nattie struggled to break free.
"Hey!" When the ribbon beneath Amy's chin
tightened, she grunted.
Hendrika reached over and freed Amy.
Her gaze met Hendrika's, and she didn't hear the music
anymore. "Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome," Hendrika answered.
Old Jack slowed when he reached the other horses tied in
front of the schoolhouse, jerking Amy out of her daydreams and her gaze away
from Hendrika.
She tightened the reins and wrapped them around the brake.
Then she jumped down and rounded the buckboard. When she saw a young man help
his female companion down from the wagon next to theirs, Amy stopped.
What are you thinking?
Women didn't help other women
down from the wagon.
You are not her beau. Let her climb down on her own
before people start wagging their tongues about your unnatural behavior.
Nattie hooked her arm through Hendrika's with a familiarity
that Amy didn't dare. "Come on. Let's go in." She looked over her
shoulder. "You coming, Amy?"
"Go on. I'll take care of the horse and be right
in." She took her time making sure Old Jack was comfortable and could
reach the tufts of grass next to the school, then greeted the little mare she
had trained for Bernice Garfield, whose husband owned the only store in town.
"Hey there, Rhubarb. How are you doing?"
"Except for that name you gave her, she's just
fine," Bernice said from behind her. "I remember you came up with the
funniest names for the horses when you were a child. What was the name of that
mare of Luke's? Smallpox?"
"Measles."
Bernice chuckled and looked around. "Your mother isn't
with you?"
"No. She says that dancing with other men is just not
the same as dancing with Papa."
Bernice's brows twitched. "I can imagine," she
mumbled. Then the smile returned to her lips. "What about you? Are you up
for a night of dancing?" She pointed at the schoolhouse. "Alex
Tolridge has been on the lookout for you. I think that young man is a bit
enamored with you."
Alex Tolridge?
The son of the local doctor couldn't
even stay on a horse.
Gosh, he's nothing but a big baby.
Once, when they
had gone to school together, she had shown him a snake she had caught and he
had run away screaming. But instead of voicing her dislike, Amy nodded
politely. "I might not stay long enough to dance with him," she said.
"It's still foaling season and Mama is alone on the ranch, so I might
leave early."
An affectionate half smile darted across Bernice's face, and
she shook her head. "Sometimes I think you're too much like Luke."
Luke
. Bernice never said "your father," as
everyone else did. Amy wondered about it since she had first noticed it.
"Too much like Papa?" Amy repeated. "That's not possible."
Being like Papa was the biggest compliment in her book.
Sometimes she envied the tall, dark-haired Nattie for looking so much more like
Papa than she did.
"So Luke's a good father, then?" Bernice asked.
Amy furrowed her brow at Bernice. "Why do you keep
asking me that? You're almost like family. You know Papa. He's the best father
and a wonderful man."
A strange expression darted across Bernice's face. She
coughed, then patted Amy's arm. "Yeah. I didn't want to imply otherwise.
It's just that... sometimes, I worry about you. You're not like all the other
girls."
Heat flashed through Amy, followed by an icy ripple of fear.
She clenched her fingers around a fold of her skirt. "W-what do you
mean?"
"Everyone else has been looking forward to the dance
for weeks. Some of them have come from thirty miles away — and you would rather
go home and check on your mares."
Her tense fingers let go of the skirt. Bernice didn't
suspect how different Amy really was. "Why is that bad?" Amy asked.
"It's not. It's just that —" Bernice trailed off.
"Forget what I said. Go on. Don't let an old woman's strange worries keep
you from dancing. And come by later for a piece of my apple pie." She
shooed Amy into the schoolhouse.
"You might want to loosen Rhubarb's cinch," Amy
said over her shoulder.
When the door closed behind Amy, music engulfed her. A
fiddler drew the bow across the strings, keeping time with an accordion and a
mouth harp. Booted feet pounded the polished wood floor in rhythm to the music,
and the first couples danced to the catchy tune of 'Turkey in the Straw.'
Laughter and loud conversations drifted between little
groups. Amy hadn't seen so many people in one place for many months. She didn't
understand it, but she often heard the women complain about the loneliness out
on the ranches and farms. The Hamiltons' nearest neighbors lived miles away,
and sometimes they didn't see them for weeks. That was just fine with Amy; she
felt much more isolated standing in the schoolhouse.
The school's benches and desks had been removed except for a
few seats along the walls. Young mothers sat, bouncing toddlers on their knees
in time to the music and handing out pieces of pie. Laughing children weaved
between the dancers.
Amy wanted to cover her ears and walk out into the silent
night, but she'd promised Mama she would keep an eye on Nattie and Hendrika.
When she craned her neck, she found Nattie talking to the pastor's son, her
cheeks flushed with either excitement or embarrassment.
Amy's gaze skipped over the dancers and the women admiring
the pies. Hendrika was nowhere to be seen.
Then she discovered her in a quieter corner, talking to...
Oh, no. Hannah.
Amy couldn't say why, but a feeling of
uneasiness settled into the pit of her stomach.