Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (37 page)

“So that’s how you feel about my cooking?” She laughed and picked up the bucket. “I’m sure Tim would agree.”

“You’re learning.” He pointed at her hem. “That’s why clothes like that don’t belong out here.”

“Nonsense. Clothes wash.”

“Yeah, but you and Velma finished the laundry this afternoon.” His eyes narrowed. “And her washing machine would rip the daylights out of that.”

“Her Blackstone machine is a marvel, isn’t it?” Sydney plucked a little piece of hay from her sleeve. “Warm as it is, I can hand wash this now, and it’ll be dry by bedtime.”

When he went to the house, her dress fluttered on the clothesline. Somehow, when she wore her gowns, they seemed . . . pretty. Feminine. But on the clothesline, with the skirts all pinned out to keep them from dragging, the creation looked impossibly out of place. Yards upon yards spread out, pinned clear across the line, the delicate ruffles and lace mocking their rugged surroundings.

“Flutter your fan, don’t flap it.” Sydney stood in the parlor, reached over, and guided Linette’s hand.

Marcella laughed. “If you had a fan in the other hand, you’d start flying like a goose!”

Linette’s lower lip began to quiver.

Sydney cast a look at Marcella. “‘Jests that give pains . . .”’ “‘. . . are no jests.”’ Marcella completed the quote. “Sorry, Linny.”

Linette closed the fan with an awkward slap and wailed, “I can’t do this. I’ll never catch a man!”

“I hope you never do!” Sydney snatched the fan from her and gave her a playful tap on the wrist with it. “The gentleman is to catch you! If you don’t feel comfortable with a fan, you needn’t use one.”

“But when you use it, you look so . . . charming.” Linette sniffled.

“Despair is a folly brought on when we compare ourselves.” Sydney opened the fan and fluttered it. “Or so my mother told me when I wished with all my might that I’d be a tall, blue-eyed blonde.”

“You’ll never be tall, blue-eyed, or blond,” Katherine said.

“Indeed, I won’t. Even though that is all the rage in London. So I learned to use a fan instead. You, Linette, are willowy, blue-eyed, and flaxen-haired. I’m so impressed at how gracefully you’re holding yourself. Your posture is positively regal.”

“I’ve been working on it!”

Katherine looked down at her hands. “Mama made up that recipe Velma had with glycerin and rosewater. My hands are so soft now, no one would believe I shucked corn all last week. I was afraid none of the men would want to dance with me when they saw my hands.”

“And I, thanks to your wonderful lessons, am able to make applesauce cake. I plan to bake one for the dance.” Sydney clasped her hands. “So we’re all helping one another. Shall we practice dancing again?”

Marcella moaned. “I’m hopeless. Even Daddy won’t dance with me. He said I’ve broken every one of his toes twice.”

“All the more reason to practice.” Sydney lifted the vase from the occasional table and placed it on the mantel. “Marcella, would you and Linette please scoot the settee over against that wall there? Yes, below the cross. And, Katherine, you’re such a dear to move that table. Look at all this space we’ve made! Outstanding!”

While they practiced to the tinkling music of a music box, Tim clomped through the house. Linette called out, “Come join us! We need a man!”

Tim shook his head and said in a terse voice, “I’ve got work to do. Velma? Pancake needs your tweezers. He’s got a splinter.”

After Tim strode back outside with the tweezers, Linette sighed. “He’s never going to fall in love with me. It breaks my heart. I wish I were beautiful.”

“You are beautiful.” Sydney held Linette’s hands and squeezed. “You know how I adore Cervantes.”

“You quote his writings the way the parson quotes the Bible.”

Sydney smiled. “Well, he wrote many wise things, and one of them comes to mind right this very minute: ‘All kinds of beauty don’t inspire love; there is a kind that pleases on the sight, but does not captivate the affections.’ You wouldn’t want a man who merely wanted you to be a decoration on his arm. How very empty a marriage would be if all that mattered to your husband was your appearance! You want a husband who will love your zest for life and appreciate the gentleness you show children.”

Tim didn’t venture near the house again until long after the Richardsons left. He didn’t say much at supper, so Sydney waited to speak until Velma left the supper table to get the applesauce cake. She cleared her throat to gain his attention. “Tim, if it bothers you so much for the Richardson girls to come here, I could go to their farm.”

“No.” The word lashed out of him. He pointed his fork at her. “You’re staying put. If anyone caught wind of you being there, men would storm the place.”

“That would be wonderful!”

He scowled. “No man is getting within ten feet of you unless Fuller approves of him.”

“But think how lovely it would be for Linette and—”

“Sydney, you’re doing a right fine job with ’em from what little I’ve seen, but any man in the world would ignore them with you around. Those girls are dull as dishwater compared to you.” He stabbed his fork in his meat and muttered, “Then again, water is getting so scarce . . .” His head shot back up. “But you’re staying on Forsaken. I’ll put up with those girls being here as long as I don’t get trapped into anything.”

“Sydney, I told you that gown’s too fancy for you to wear while milking and feeding—see there?” Tim shook his head.

“Everything rinsed out last time. Is it my imagination, or is Moustache growing bigger?” She merely laughed when the calf licked at her hand and skirt.

Tim pushed the calf away. “I’m putting him out to pasture. He’s plenty big enough now. Has been for days.”

She compressed her lips and nodded.

Feeling like a brute, Tim knew he couldn’t let her continue to dote on the beast. “You knew this would happen. This is the way things have to be. Don’t be disappointed.”

Sydney reached over and petted the calf ’s red face and traced the edge of the white moustache. “It’s not your fault, Tim. I understand.”

“Good. If you think on it, I’m sure you can come up with one of Cervantes’ axioms that will apply.” There. That would give her something to occupy her mind.

“‘Man appoints, and God disappoints.”’

“Sydney!” Horror streaked through him. Was that her image of God?

“I’d better go rinse out my dress.” Her expression was guarded. “You told me not to be disappointed, and that’s what popped into my mind. I know you believe the reverse—that God appoints and man disappoints. Maybe both are true. Please don’t say anything. I don’t want to discuss religion just now.”

Tim fought the urge to chase after her after she turned and walked away. Instead, he stared up at the heavens. “Lord, Sydney’s got so much roiling inside. Ever since she figured she’s a sinner, too, she’s been struggling. I don’t know what to do or how to help. That girl needs you. She needs you bad.”

The next morning, Sydney hastened outside after breakfast to hang out her dress so it could finish drying again. Tim shook his head.

Velma poked his arm. “Don’t you go back to judging her by her duds, Big Tim. She’s got a plan, and if you say anything, you’ll spoil it. By the way, Sydney made a couple of big, fat sandwiches for you and put them in a bucket with an apple. That way, you don’t have to wade past the Richardson gals while we’re having our sewing bee today.”

He grunted and walked off.

It wasn’t long before just about every woman and child for miles around arrived. Mrs. Orion and Heidi rode in a buckboard with the pastor’s wife and some of the other town women. Heidi waved to him. “Mr. Creighton! Come look!”

He strode over and helped the ladies alight. The Widow O’Toole paraded into the house carrying a cake. Heidi wiggled by his side until he helped the last woman. “Look!” The little girl stuck out her foot. “Mr. Matteo—he fixed my old shoes extra special!”

Tim grinned. Matteo had replaced the rivet for the buckle— but he’d also cut out the toes to turn the almost-toosmall shoes into sandals. He’d stained them red, too. “Aren’t those a sight!”

“Jesus wore sandals. Mama says it’s a reminder to me to be good like Jesus wants me to.”

“Come, Heidi. Mr. Creighton’s a busy man.” Mrs. Orion took hold of the wooden handle of her sewing box and grabbed Heidi’s hand.

Tim winked at the little girl. “Your mama’s right about those sandals. Show them to Lady Sydney.”

“Big Tim,” the parson’s wife said, “could you please carry this crate into the house?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Bradle.”

As he walked up the porch steps, Heidi was showing Sydney her sandals. On his way back out, Sydney said, “Isn’t that true, Big Tim?”

“What?”

“Mrs. Orion was admiring that dress I hung up to finish drying. I told her it’s unsuitable for ranch life. You said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“See?” Sydney grabbed Mrs. Orion’s hands in hers. “My second cousin’s wife understood my wishes to wear proper mourning for Father. I fear she went a bit overboard, though. It’s been over a year now—” Sydney closed her eyes, then took a steadying breath. “Gray, mauve, purple, lavender, lilac, white and burgundy—they’re permitted after the first year. It’s been more than a year for you, hasn’t it?”

“Why, yes, but—”

“I nearly ruined that dress yesterday, spilling milk all down the skirts. And that shade of lilac would be so pretty on you. I might sound dreadfully vain, but that gown always makes me look sickly. Sallow. It’s the red in my hair, you see.”

“Your hair is a beautiful shade of chestnut.”

Tim slipped away before he got drawn further into the conversation. Velma warned him Sydney had a plan. He hoped it was simply to give Mrs. Orion the dress and not to corner him into paying the widow any compliments. At the earliest opportunity, he’d drag Sydney off and make sure she knew not to try matchmaking.

“Boss.” Gulp’s indignant tone sent Tim in his direction. As he drew closer, Gulp motioned toward the barnyard. School had still been in session the day the women came to sew the dress for Sydney. Free for the summer, children now filled Forsaken’s yard. “Boss, you’ve gotta do something!”

Tim crooked a brow.

“A bunch of boys turned my lariat into a swing—a
swing
!”

Tim laughed in sheer disbelief.

“Go ahead and laugh. That ain’t no skippin’ rope over yonder. Them girls stole your lariat.”

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to break your clothesline.” The Smith boys stared at their feet.

Sydney patted Harvey’s shoulder. “We’re just glad you didn’t get hurt, aren’t we, Big Tim?”

Tim stared at the jumble of rope, wood, and blankets on the ground.

Since he hadn’t responded, Sydney felt obliged to explain. “The boys were building a tent.”

“We use Ma’s line at home. Hers must be stronger.”

Harvey wrinkled his freckled nose. “We always drag the blankets across Ma’s. We never tried tightrope walking the blankets across before today.”

Sydney gasped. “You could have broken your necks!”

“No, ma’am, we were careful. We walked on two lines apiece and had hold of each other’s shoulder with one hand.”

Tim folded his arms across his chest. “You boys are lucky the fancy dress Lady Sydney gave to Mrs. Orion wasn’t hanging there anymore. Now shake out the blankets and go spread them out for lunch.”