A Hopeful Heart (11 page)

Tressa knew, despite Luella’s sneakiness, that Mrs. Wyatt suspected the other girl of being unkind. She had assigned Tressa to kitchen duty three weeks in a row and sent Luella to the fields to walk behind the plow and then plant the alfalfa that would help feed the animals during the winter. The girls’ pathways only crossed at mealtimes and bedtime, giving Luella few opportunities to deliver verbal attacks. But although the attacks were few, they left Tressa feeling as pecked and scarred as that poor little chicken in the coop. As soon as she had time, she intended to build a separate enclosure for the mistreated bird. If only she could separate herself from Luella’s tormenting. . . .

With a sigh, Tressa carried the cat to the pantry and set her inside. After giving Isabella one final stroke, she closed the pantry door. Her face against the crack between the door and the doorjamb, she whispered, “Good night, kitty. Sleep well.”

She trudged toward the stairs, tired and ready to bring the day to a close. Just as she placed her foot on the lowest stair riser, she sensed a movement. Had Isabella escaped the pantry? Tipping sideways, she glimpsed a full skirt slipping through the shadows and past the kitchen doorway. Moments later, the back door to the house squeaked open and clicked closed.

Tressa frowned. All of the bedrooms were upstairs, so someone had to have been hiding in the dining room, waiting for Tressa to leave the kitchen, or she would have met the person on the stairs. A chill went down her spine as she thought of someone standing around the corner, listening to her hum as she went about her work, watching her play with the cat. She hugged herself, contemplating whether or not to alert Mrs. Wyatt that one of the girls had sneaked outside. But then she shook her head. Perhaps one of the girls needed to use the outhouse. If so, she’d return shortly. Tressa sat on the lower step, chin in hand, to wait.

Minutes ticked by, measured by the pendulum clock that hung on the wall of the seldom-used parlor. Tressa yawned and leaned against the wall. Her eyelids grew heavy, and still she waited. Suddenly she jerked. Her head bounced against the wall, and she realized she’d fallen asleep. She staggered to her feet, her muscles stiff, and squinted at the pendulum clock. Eleven fifteen! She’d slept for over an hour! Why hadn’t she awakened when the wanderer returned to the house?

Holding to the handrail, she climbed the stairs and crept past her own room, where Sallie’s snore signaled deep sleep. No sound came from any of the other rooms. Feeling like a burglar, she turned the doorknob on Mabelle and Paralee’s room. Two lumps in the bed gave witness to their presence.

Tressa eased the door closed and tiptoed across the hall, her heart pounding. If Luella caught her peeking into her room, there would be no end to the screech of protest. Holding her breath, she opened the door a crack. Tressa sagged against the doorjamb. Moonlight streamed through the window and painted a path to the empty bed. Luella was gone.

11

Tressa placed a steaming pile of flapjacks in the center of the table and then sat in her chair next to Sallie. Mrs. Wyatt offered her customary blessing for the meal, and the girls passed around the platters of flapjacks, crispy bacon, and fried eggs. Covertly, Tressa watched Luella, noticing that the girl’s short night of sleep showed in the purple smudges beneath her eyes, but she held her head high and engaged in conversation as if it were a normal morning.

Questions crowded Tressa’s mind. Where had Luella gone last night? Had she met someone? Had she ever sneaked off before? And— most pressing of all—should Tressa tell Mrs. Wyatt about Luella’s nocturnal wandering? Tattling would certainly bring another tide of retaliation from the vindictive girl, yet it seemed dishonest and irresponsible to keep the information to herself. Mrs. Wyatt had lectured the girls on the perils of the open plains. She always had them work in pairs when she sent them away from the ranch house. Luella could stumble upon all kinds of dangers, wandering alone in the darkness.

“After church today,” Mrs. Wyatt announced, interrupting –Tressa’s thoughts, “we’ve all been invited to the Double H Ranch for lunch.”

“The Double H? The Hammond ranch?” Luella sent Mrs. Wyatt a wide-eyed look. Did a note of panic underscore Luella’s tone, or was it mere excitement?

“That’s right. Every summer, Brewster Hammond hosts a get-together and invites the whole church out for pit-roasted beef an’ all the fixings.”

“Ooooh!” Sallie clapped her hands, her eyes glittering. “What fun!”

“Yep, it’s always a treat to gather with friends an’ neighbors for a time of fellowship an’ good food.” Mrs. Wyatt rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Mr. Hammond’s planned his pit roast a mite early this year. I was hopin’ to put off fraternizin’ until closer to the end o’ the summer. By then, you’ll all be pret’ near ready to leave the school an’ be matched up with fellers in the community.”

Tressa’s heart began to pound. She put down her fork and clamped her hands together in her lap. Her aunt’s words haunted her memory:
“A second-best chance is better than no chance at all.”
Mrs. Wyatt had never indicated how the girls would be paired up with the men of the community. Might they be lined up and ogled like horses on an auction block, selected for one’s good teeth or muscular structure?

“But we’re not ready for the matchin’ yet, so I want you girls to mind your p’s an’ q’s at the get-together. I’m wantin’ you to get acquainted with the townsfolk—if you choose to stick around an’ be matched after your schoolin’ is done, these’ll be your friends an’ neighbors. But it’s not yet time for hobnobbin’ with single fellers.” Mrs. Wyatt fixed her gaze on Luella, who yawned and broke a piece of bacon into small pieces.

Paralee leaned forward. “When will we be matched, Aunt Hattie?” She and Mabelle exchanged quick, worried looks.

“At the end o’ the summer, we’ll have our own party here at the ranch. Whole town’ll come out, an’ interested men’ll have the chance to get to know each of you an’ start courtin’ under my supervision.”

Sallie blew out a little breath. “Then you’ll not be throwin’ us to the wolves? You’ll be keepin’ a watch?”

Mrs. Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “ ’Course I’ll be keepin’ a watch! Since you gals don’t have parents here to keep an eye over you, I promise I’ll oversee the courtin’.” She leaned forward, her expression fervent. “You pupils’re my responsibility, an’ I want only the best for you. I been prayin’ since before you came that each o’ you would find a godly mate. Don’t want any of you endin’ up in situations not of your choosin’.”

Luella giggled. “Rich and handsome, that’s all I need.”

Sallie sighed. “I’d like my man to be even-tempered an’ kind.”

Paralee and Mabelle each offered their opinion of the perfect husband, and then Sallie looked at Tressa. “An’ ye, Tressa? What kind of man would ye be wantin’?”

She wanted a man like her papa—strong but gentle, ambitious but honest, with a quick smile and a ready laugh. But she wouldn’t open herself to more ridicule by sharing her thoughts. She shook her head, and Luella snorted.

Mrs. Wyatt glanced around the table at each girl in turn, ending with Luella. Her expression turned wary. “If it wouldn’t be considered rude, I wouldn’t go to Brewster’s ranch today—not sure all of us are ready for socializin’. But folks’d think it odd if we didn’t come. So . . .” She pressed her palms to the table and rose. “You girls do as I said. Be friendly with the women—you’ll need to be formin’ relationships with them—but no time alone with any o’ the men.” Her gaze lit on Luella and lingered. “I’ll be watchin’. . . .”

“Why do I hafta stay behind?”

Cole sounded like a petulant child rather than a grown man. Abel couldn’t honestly say he faulted Cole for being disappointed—everyone in Barnett looked forward to the Hammonds’ yearly pit roast. But given the rash of thefts on his property, Abel wasn’t going to leave his land unattended even for a church service and party.

“Like it or not, Cole, you’re last hired, so that means fewer privileges.” Abel squinted against the midmorning sunlight, squelching the impatience that churned in his gut. For two bits he’d stay home himself instead of going to the Double H, but as the owner of the Lazy S, he’d be expected. Might damage his relations with his neighbors if he didn’t go. He glanced skyward, hoping a rain cloud might magically appear. It’d be a heap easier if the pit roast was canceled. But not so much as a white wisp decorated the robin’s-egg-blue sky.

Cole smacked his leg with his hat. “But I put on my new shirt an’ bay rum an’ everything.”

Abel didn’t need Cole’s words to confirm his use of bay rum. The man was stout enough to fend off a dust devil. “Look, I’m sorry, but—”

“I’ll stay.” Vince hopped down from the wagon seat and strode to Abel’s side. He tugged loose the black string tie from beneath his chin. “Been to many of the Hammonds’ pit roasts—won’t bother me none to miss one. ’Sides . . .” A grin twitched the cowboy’s weathered cheeks. “You young’uns will want to take a gander at the girls Hattie’ll be bringin’ with her. Ol’ coot like me ain’t got no need for a wife. So you go on ahead an’ I’ll keep a watch on things here.”

“Are you sure, Vince?” Abel didn’t think it fair to make Vince stay behind. The older man had served the Lazy S faithfully for nearly all of Abel’s twenty-seven years of life. He’d earned his time of relaxation.

“I’m sure. You go on in with Cole an’ Ethan.” Vince’s grin widened. “But save me a piece of Hattie’s apple pie. She’s sure to bring one to the party.”

“Will do.” Abel clapped Vince’s bony shoulder. “Thanks, Vince.”

He climbed into the wagon and slapped down the reins. As he passed the Flying W, Aunt Hattie’s wagon rolled from her gate and fell in behind his. She raised her hand in a cheery wave. “Mornin’, Abel . . . Cole . . . Ethan. You goin’ to the big doin’s at Brewster’s place after church?”

“Sure are, Aunt Hattie!” Cole turned in the seat to smile back at the wagonful of young ladies. “I’m hopin’ there’ll be music—maybe get to do a little dancin’, too.”

“Had dancin’ at the last ones,” Hattie replied, “but don’t be askin’ none o’ my girls to join you in a do-si-do. They haven’t learned the steps.”

Cole spun back around and shot a sour look at Ethan. Disappointment sagged both of the men’s faces. But Abel nearly heaved a sigh of relief. Every year Brewster Hammond’s cook broke out his fiddle and played tunes so the attendees could dance. Knowing Aunt Hattie’s girls wouldn’t be joining any of the circles meant he didn’t have to worry about encountering Miss Tressa. He needed to keep his distance. He wouldn’t give the town any fuel to stoke the flame of Miss Luella’s claims, assuming rumors had reached Barnett’s citizens.

Brother Connor cut the service short—probably because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold the attention of his congregants, who were all eager to get out to the Hammond place and fill their plates with succulent roasted beef, vegetables fresh from area gardens, and desserts carried in by the ladies of the community. People headed straight to their wagons instead of standing around to chat—they could visit at the Double H. The line of wagons stretched half a mile long as everyone fell in behind Brewster’s fancy rig.

Abel’s wagon ended up in front of Aunt Hattie’s. Cole and Ethan climbed into the back and hollered back and forth to Aunt Hattie while Abel drove. By the time he rolled onto Brewster’s yard, he was as tightly wound as a new watch. Courtesy dictated he help Hattie and her pupils from their wagon, so he hopped down and squared his shoulders. But before he could take two steps, Cole and Ethan beat a path to the back hatch of her wagon and assisted Aunt Hattie’s pupils to the ground.

Aunt Hattie clambered down without help and trotted to the rear of the wagon. “Thank you, gentlemen. But we’ll be fine now—you go on an’ get yourselves a plate.”

Cole stuck out his elbow in invitation. “You sure we can’t—”

“Go on,” Hattie said in a kind yet no-nonsense tone.

With slumped shoulders, the pair ambled toward the house, where townspeople were milling in noisy groups on the grassy yard. Abel fiddled with his horse’s rigging for a few minutes, giving Aunt Hattie and her pupils time to be absorbed by the gathered crowd before he joined the others.

The smell of roasting beef drifted on the breeze, and Abel’s stomach rolled over in anticipation. He and his men didn’t get a decent meal often, and as much as he might have preferred to avoid today’s festivities, he had to admit a plateful of beef sounded mighty good. He’d be sure and take back a good portion for Vince, too. Brewster wouldn’t mind—there was always plenty of food to go around.

While Abel mingled, plate and fork in hand, he couldn’t help but wonder if one of the people laughing and chatting under the noonday sun might be sneaking off with his cattle after dark. Guilt pricked as he considered the idea that a neighbor could be his thief, but reason dictated the rustling had to be done by someone living close by. A stranger might hit a ranch once and move on, but the repeated thefts indicated the perpetrator had regular access to his land and his cattle.

“All right, folks!” Brewster Hammond stood on the edge of the porch with his arms in the air. “Listen up!” His booming voice carried over the combined conversations, and folks fell silent. “Food’s still a-plenty, so feel free to keep fillin’ your plates as well as your bellies”— an appreciative laugh broke from the gathered guests—“but right now Cookie is tightenin’ his fiddle strings, an’ in a few minutes we’ll have a square or two goin’. So grab yourself a partner!”

A cheer rose. Wives immediately commandeered their husbands’ elbows, tugging them to the center of the yard. Abel backed out of the way of the eager throng. He inched toward the food tables, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted Cole and Ethan dashing toward Aunt Hattie.

The older woman had kept her pupils close to her side since they’d arrived, stepping into the pathway of any single man who tried to steal a few words with one of the girls. Cole and Ethan addressed Hattie, and even though the distance prevented Abel from hearing what they said, he suspected they were asking permission to dance with the pupils. Several other single men, including Gage Hammond, were angling in behind Cole and Ethan.

Abel chuckled when Aunt Hattie shook her head and waved the men away. Apparently when she’d said the girls didn’t know how to dance, she’d also meant she wouldn’t allow anyone else to teach them. Abel had to commend Aunt Hattie—she had starch, shooing the fellows off that way. But he wondered how long she’d be able to hold them at bay. A handful of pretty young girls created a mighty temptation to a passel of women-hungry men.

Picking up a clean tin plate, Abel made his way down the food table, choosing beef, pickled beets, and boiled butter beans to take back to Vince. The twang of the fiddle filled his ears and the ground reverberated with the pounding of feet as the dancing commenced. Single men partnered with one another in the absence of female companions, just as they’d done dozens of times before. When the first circle ended, the dancers applauded the fiddler. He gave a sprightly bow and raised the fiddle to begin a second set, but a voice intruded.