A Hopeful Heart (22 page)

The men muttered but then nodded in reluctant agreement.

Hattie shooed the girls to the porch, and then she addressed the crowd again. “Thanks for comin’ an’ spendin’ some time with us, everyone. I’m thinkin’ there might be a fella or two who’s set his sights on one o’ my pupils. If that’s the case, you look me up after church service tomorrow an’ we’ll see about grantin’ permission to court. Remember the courtin’s gotta be agreed on by the fella, the gal, an’ by me.” She plunked her fists on her hips and glared down the row of men. “An’ I’ll be the toughest to convince, so you best be mindin’ your manners, ya hear?”

A good-natured chorus of “yes, ma’am” rang, and Hattie laughed. She wiped the sweat from her brow, then waved the folks toward their wagons. “Have a good night’s rest. We’ll see you in service tomorrow.”

The townspeople headed across the yard, still laughing and talking. Hattie blew out a breath and started for the porch to give the girls directions for cleanup, but Brewster caught her by the elbow and pulled her aside.

“Harriet, I—” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing mightily. “I had a good time.”

She smiled, remembering the pleasure of dancing with him. “I did, too, Brewster. Thank you.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ . . .” He smoothed his mustache with his leathery finger, his eyes darting toward the girls and then back to Hattie. “I been without a woman at my place for a good many years. . . . Gage’d surely benefit from a female’s influence. So I was wonderin’ . . .”

Hattie narrowed her gaze. “Brewster, are you thinkin’ o’ courtin’ one o’ my girls?”

His wiry brows flew high.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Them girls’re young enough to be your daughters.”

“Harriet, I wasn’t thinkin’ of your girls. I was thinkin’ of . . . well . . . of you.”

Hattie’s mouth lost its ability to stay closed.

Brewster patted her shoulder. “Don’t answer me now. I know it’s come as a surprise.”

He was sure right about that. She clacked her jaw shut.

“We’ll talk tomorrow after service. Right now I gotta get home to Gage. Him an’ me’ve got some serious talkin’ to do.”

22

Tressa curled her fingers over the edge of the wagon bed and rested her chin on her knuckles. The other girls were also clinging to the wooden side as if they needed support as they peered across the sunny churchyard. Tressa imagined they must resemble crows perched on a fence rail, but no laughter accompanied the thought.

In the shade cast by the simple wood-sided chapel, Aunt Hattie was jotting notes on a pad of paper with the stub of a pencil as a man spoke and gestured flamboyantly. Behind that man, a line of ranchers waited for their chance to approach Aunt Hattie. The sight made Tressa’s mouth dry and her chest tight. She had danced at least once with each of those men yesterday. Would one of them ask permission to court her?

Her gaze traveled from man to man, and her heart skipped a beat when her eyes encountered Abel Samms at the end of the line. Ethan and Cole flanked him, and all three men held their hats in their hands. The picture of them holding their hats even though they stood in the sun rather than in the shade sent a quiver of pleasure down her spine. She’d learned that the cowboys removed their hats as a sign of respect. Apparently Abel, Cole, and Ethan viewed this courting business seriously.

Sallie tapped Tressa’s arm. “I danced twice with that man talkin’ to Aunt Hattie, an’ he asked me if I was good at cookin’ an’ cleanin’.”

Tressa examined the tall man. She couldn’t recall his name, but she remembered the suit. It had been dusty and sweat-splotched yesterday, and it was in no better condition today. Apparently he didn’t know how to give a suit a good brushing. Or he had simply chosen not to. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth. I
am
good at both cookin’ an’ cleanin’. Do ye suppose he’s askin’ Aunt Hattie permission to court me?” Sallie sounded worried.

Tressa gave her a bright smile. “Don’t fret, Sallie. Remember Aunt Hattie said the courting would have to be approved by her, the man, and the girl. You won’t be forced to court anyone against your will.”

Sallie sagged with relief. She tipped her head toward Cole and released a soft giggle. “See Cole in line there? He promised he would be. An’ he promised to ask Abel to speak up for ’im, to let Aunt Hattie know he’d be a responsible husband even though he has no ranch of his own . . . yet.”

“Yet?”

Sallie nodded eagerly. “He says he’s been puttin’ money aside an’ has a way of gettin’ more. He intends to buy his own place. He’s thinkin’ that with such fine plans, Aunt Hattie’ll surely tell him yes.”

“Oh, I hope so, Sallie.”

The tall man in the rumpled suit strode away, his shoulders stiff and his mouth set in an angry line. The next man—Glendon Shultz, Tressa recalled—stepped forward. He and Aunt Hattie put their heads close together, and Aunt Hattie scribbled furiously on her pad.

Tressa nibbled her lip. A tiny bubble of hope grew in her middle, seeing Abel in the line. Of all the men who had attended yesterday’s dance, Abel was the only one she’d wish to have court her. Remembering the way he’d defended her against Gage and then held her so tenderly in his arms on the dance floor told her he was strong yet gentle. Her heart quivered in her chest with desire to step into his arms again. Then uncertainty smote her. What if he were only in line to support Cole?

She closed her eyes briefly, offering a prayer for God to calm her fears. In her nightly reading, she’d found the words Aunt Hattie had once quoted in the Bible—God’s claim of offering His children peace and not evil, thoughts that would lead to an expected end. If God devised that expected end, then it would never be second best.

She sighed, remembering the secure feeling of Abel’s hand on her waist as he led her in a dance. Country dancing was much less dignified than the affairs she had attended in New York, but swinging in a circle with Abel Samms on a sawdusted dance floor had been much more fun than sweeping through a ballroom with Tremaine Woodward. How she hoped Abel cherished those shared moments as deeply as she did. If Aunt Hattie called her over when Abel stepped up to speak to her, then she would know. Her heart pattered with anticipation, and a prayer formed effortlessly:
Please let Aunt Hattie call my name!

Aunt Hattie suddenly cupped her hand beside her mouth and called, “Mabelle! Come on over here, please!”

Mabelle sent a frantic look down the row of girls before scurrying from behind the wagon and across the yard to Aunt Hattie’s side.

Sallie nudged Tressa. “Are ye thinkin’ she’ll say yes to bein’ courted by that man? He’s not so much to look at, is he?”

Tressa agreed that Glendon Shultz might be considered homely with his round, ruddy face, but he smiled often and seemed even-tempered. “Looks aren’t everything,” Tressa whispered in reply. “Looks fade, but character remains.”

“ ’Tis true.” Sallie flashed an impish grin. “But I’d still rather be courted by a handsome man . . . like Cole!”

Mabelle came running back to the wagon, her face flushed and eyes bright. “I’ve got a beau!” she gasped out, fanning herself with her hands.

The girls murmured their congratulations, and Mabelle received their hugs before climbing into the wagon and collapsing in a heap of skirts and petticoats. The interviews continued, and a subdued Luella accepted Fred Pennington’s request to court her. Paralee refused Bob Clemence but agreed to allow Jerome Garner’s visits. Luella and Paralee joined Mabelle in the wagon, and finally Abel, Ethan, and Cole stepped up to Aunt Hattie. Sallie grabbed Tressa’s hand.

After a few minutes of chatting, Aunt Hattie gestured to both Sallie and Tressa. “Come on over here, girls.”

Girls!
Then Cole wasn’t the only one who wished to come courting. Tressa’s legs trembled as she followed Sallie across the hard ground. Over the past half hour, while waiting to be called by Aunt Hattie, perspiration had dampened Tressa’s hair. Her dress—fresh and crisply pressed that morning—clung to her clammy skin, hindering her movement as she walked across the churchyard. Although earlier she had longed to be beckoned to Abel Samms’ side, now she wished to find a place to hide. How unappealing she must look in her sweat-stained dress, her hair clinging to her neck in moist tendrils.

Aunt Hattie folded her arms over her chest and tapped her elbow with the pencil. “Girls, I got a request here from Cole wantin’ to court Sallie an’ Ethan wantin’ to court Tressa.”

Tressa sent a startled look at Abel. He swished his hat against his pant leg and kept his head low.

“Thing is, neither o’ these fellas own a ranch. They don’t have a home, either, except a bunkhouse. I’d like nothin’ more than to give permission, but . . . I just can’t.” Sincere remorse colored Aunt Hattie’s tone.

Tressa experienced three strong emotions at once—relief that she needn’t be the one to turn down Ethan, deep sorrow for Sallie, and dismay that Abel Samms hadn’t requested permission to court her. She looked at Sallie, and the tears glittering in her friend’s eyes chased away any thoughts of herself. Slipping her arm around Sallie’s waist, she tipped her forehead against Sallie’s and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Aunt Hattie, we’re gonna head on home now.” Abel took two backward steps, slipping his hat into place as he moved. “Cole, Ethan, let’s go. Vince’s waitin’ in the wagon.” The three departed, Cole looking longingly over his shoulder at Sallie, and Ethan scuffing up dust with the toe of his boots. Abel marched on, his shoulders squared and arms swinging. Tressa swallowed the lump that filled her throat.
Lord, what do You have planned for Sallie and me?

Aunt Hattie slipped her pad and pencil into her skirt pocket. “Let’s head home, too.” She looped elbows with Tressa and Sallie and held their pace to a lazy saunter. “Sallie, you need to know that Orval Day—tall feller, soft-spoken—also asked to court you. I told him to rethink his reasons—got the feelin’ he’s more interested in a housekeeper than a wife—but if you’re of a mind to allow his visits, I won’t stand in the way, ’cause I know he’s got a thrivin’ ranch an’ would take good care o’ you.”

Her arm tightened, pressing Tressa’s elbow against her ribs. “An’, Tressa—”

“Harriet?”

A deep voice intruded. The women stopped and turned. Brewster and Gage Hammond stepped off the church porch and strode across the ground toward them. Tressa subconsciously slipped halfway behind Aunt Hattie.

“Could Gage an’ me have a word with you an’ Miss Tressa?”

Sallie skittered sideways, gesturing toward the wagon. “I’ll just be joinin’ the others. . . .” She scurried away.

Mr. Hammond nodded solemnly at Tressa. “Gage here has somethin’ he’d like to say to you, Miss Tressa.”

Gage held his hat two-handed against his stomach. For the first time, no smirk creased his face. He looked directly into her eyes. “Miss Tressa, I want to apologize for behavin’ like I did yesterday. I shouldn’t’ve been so forward, an’ that’s a fact. It won’t happen again.”

“It sure won’t,” Aunt Hattie muttered, her chin tucked low.

“Truth is,” Gage continued, shooting an apprehensive glance at Aunt Hattie, “I do like you. I meant it when I said you were purty, an’ . . . if you’d have a mind to let me . . . I’d like to court you.”

Tressa reeled. Courted by Gage Hammond? A flutter of whispers floated from the wagon, and Tressa knew the girls had overheard Gage’s request. Surely the others would think her foolish for refusing, yet how could she agree to be courted by a man for whom she held only revulsion?

Mr. Hammond cleared his throat. “Gage isn’t the only one who’d like to come courtin’, Harriet. As I mentioned yesterday, it’d be a pleasure for me to spend time with you.” He cupped his hand over Gage’s shoulder. “I reckon this isn’t a quick-made decision for either of you, so Gage an’ me’ll head on home now. Give you ladies a chance to think things over. Harriet, I’ll come by . . . Saturday evenin’? That gives you a full week to decide whether or not you’d agree to me courtin’.”

Aunt Hattie nodded slowly, her eyes wide. “S-Saturday evenin’ oughtta be fine, Brewster. I’ll be certain the coffeepot’s on.”

“An’ I’ll come, too, Miss Tressa.” Gage inched forward, and Tressa battled the urge to retreat the same distance. “We can talk more then.”

Aunt Hattie bid them farewell and bustled Tressa to the wagon. Tressa sat in the corner of the wagon bed, her face angled away from the others. She ignored the girls’ excited chatter and turned her thoughts inward. Could she possibly set aside her aversion for Gage and allow him to court her? Had his apology been sincere?

She stared at the passing landscape, the tall grasses and blue sky a blur as her mind continued to race. If she married Gage, and Aunt Hattie married Mr. Hammond, then she and Aunt Hattie would be family. The thought held appeal. She had grown to love the older woman deeply. Certainly she would never want for anything, being Gage’s wife. As Gage was so proud to claim, the Hammonds were the wealthiest family in the county. They also had a cook on staff, so her duties would be much less stringent than if she married someone else.

Closing her eyes, she deliberately tried to conjure the image of Gage as he’d stood in the churchyard, his hat pressed to the belly of his Sunday suit, his face contrite. But another image intruded—his leering grin as he’d forced his lips to hers. She shivered. Then a memory of Abel chased away the ugly picture. She smiled as she recalled his relaxed, smiling face as they’d danced on the planked floor in Aunt Hattie’s yard. A pressure built in the center of her chest, quickly becoming an ache of longing. Why couldn’t Abel have asked permission to court her?

“A second-best chance is better than no chance at all.”
Her aunt’s words rang once more through her head. Abel didn’t want her, but Gage did. A life as Mrs. Gage Hammond would carry prestige in this little Kansas ranching community. She could do far worse. . . .

Looking skyward, she formed a silent plea.
God, is Gage a part of Your plan for me? If so, please help me view a life with him as something other than second best.