South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

    
 
T
he ladies smoothed their skirts as they handed their wraps to the check girl in the entranceway to Billington Hall and waited for the men to unload the food into the kitchens.

      The hall bustled with excitement, the screech of tuning strings and boisterous calls filling the air. Emma peered around the corner into the ballroom expectantly. The huge structure of arched stone and rough timber had a heavy solid look about it. The floor was covered in wide planked wood with an extensive stage at one end and rows of benches along the walls. The rafters were strung with garlands and flowers. Bundled stocks of corn stood tied to each pillar, wrapped with colorful ribbons and grasses. The air smelled of straw and cinders. Wide doorways opened out to the dining area and on one wall a massive fireplace blazed, surrounded by gentlemen in all types of attire sharing mugs of ales and ciders cheerfully.

      Tim returned first, followed by the others, and the group gathered to enter the party. Timothy Elgerson, a head taller than nearly any man in the place moved easily through the crowd, shaking hands repetitively with Rebecca smiling sweetly at his side. Mark climbed the stairs quickly to the upper loft, joining a group of several teen-aged boys looking down on the gathering crowd.

      Ben and Lillian moved hastily through the throng towards the kitchen where they had volunteered to serve food as the first shift in the dining area.

      Emma looked up to Roland and he led her, directing her gently by her elbow as they met with quite a few of the couples who were arriving. Emma recognized several of the men who had worked on the house and she and Roland thanked them profusely. Emma invited many of them to visit and see the finished product.

      They worked their way towards the food tables where men and women alike were setting out casseroles, pastries and numerous bowls of cocktails and punches.

      Roland filled two glass cups with a berry and apple brew and led Emma to a bench along the main room wall.

      “This is so thrilling!” The young woman gasped, looking around the room, taking in the excitement. The band continued its tunings, the halted drumming and sliding notes contributing to the anticipation. The ensemble, satisfied with their sound, jumped from the stage and worked their way towards the beverages, hoping to fortify themselves for the onslaught of celebration. They returned quickly with foaming mugs, laughing with the crowd and promising a rousing performance.

      Emma watched the room raptly, tapping her toes nervously against the floorboards and swinging her legs.

      “Are you really that eager to dance?” Roland remarked, leaning forward to watch her confined steps.

      “I have to tell you,” she confided. “I love to dance!”

      “I guess so,” he smiled. “You’re as fidgety as a cat in a flea circus.”

      “I should have warned you, I suppose.” She smiled with anticipation. “If the music is good it’s nearly torture for me to sit still. We can go outside if you prefer.” She smiled apologetically.

      “No, no,” he grinned. “I do think however, you ought to save your dancing for when the music begins.”

      He reached down and watched her restless steps again.

      “You really do dance, right?” she asked nervously. “You didn’t just say that because you thought I wanted to.”

      “No, I didn’t,” he grinned broadly, caught up in her excitement. “I dance.”

      “Oh, good,” she sighed.

      Timothy and Rebecca beckoned them from the dining area and Emma distractedly followed Roland to the other room.

      “Look at them going after your pies!” She gestured to the long end of the table. Emma watched several couples grabbing plates of the cut pieces of pie and smiling with appreciation at each bite.

      “They appear to be enjoying your efforts,” Timothy chuckled. “I suppose it was prudent of me to have left two pies out on the wagon to take back to Stavewood.”

      Roland and Emma laughed aloud, and indicated that they hoped everyone at Stavewood would enjoy them as well.

      “Well,” Roland remarked. “There were originally twenty pies.”

      “How many did we bring?” Emma creased her brow.

      “We brought in seventeen,” Mark interjected as he joined the group.

      “If we brought in seventeen, and you have two,” Emma figured. “There’s a pie missing!”

      “Not exactly,” Roland admitted. “I tried one early this morning before you got up.” He hung his head in mock guilt.

      “What happened to the rest of it?” she asked, certain she never saw a partially cut pie.

      “It was all very good,” he smirked.

      “Roland!” she gasped. “An entire pie?”

      “I had better make sure I get a piece of that before you get to it!” Rebecca patted Timothy on the stomach. “If you can eat an entire pie, Roland, Tim can certainly put away two!”

      “I’m going to get a piece now. I’ve seen what Pa can do to a pie!” Mark crossed the room hurriedly, grabbed a plate and dove into the pie.” He held his fork up in appreciation and gulped down another bite.

      Emma heard a voice from the stage and the group followed the crowd to the main hall.

      “Welcome to the Billington Annual Harvest Dance!” an elderly man, whose voice was much larger than his size announced.

      “Most of you have been coming to this celebration since you were youngsters. Many of us, myself included, have brought their own youngsters of the next generation.

      “We can keep doing this every year because of the contributions of all of you good folks who brought fine food and have shared their good fortune with us. We’ve been doing this through famine and fire and we hope to continue it for many more years.”

      The gathering, now quite large, clapped and nodded to one another warmly.

      “I would be remiss if I did not mention Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Elgerson over there from Elgerson’s mill, who provided all of the beverages, hard and soft for tonight.”

      The crowd cheered, and applauded loudly.

      “And, sadly, though he cannot be here tonight, I am moved to thank Phillip Elgerson for putting up this fine building so that all of us, for many years now, and for many more to come, might have a place for celebration.”

      The crowd grew hushed and lowered their heads in silence.

      “We all knew Phil Elgerson and we know one of the things that man loved was a good reel, so let’s get this dance going boys!” The man gestured to the band and jumped from the stage.

Chapter Thirty

    
 
T
he band started into a lively Scottish reel and couples filled the floor quickly. Emma stood on tiptoe to look over the crowd and watched the dancers enraptured. Roland looked down at her and studied her soft face, then led her through the crowd so that she might watch more closely.

      The gathering burst into raucous applause as the first dance finished and many of the dancers headed directly for the punchbowl, gasping and laughing loudly.

      The fiddle began a waltz, holding a note softly and Timothy took Rebecca by the hand and led her to the floor, where several couples parted to allow them room.

      Roland bowed to Emma, from the waist, in an exaggerated gesture and took her hand gallantly.

      “May I have the honor of this dance?” he requested graciously.

      Emma touched her fingertips to her lips and giggled softly, then curtsied deeply and took his hand. He led her to the floor as the tempo of the waltz picked up and swept her to him expertly. Emma gasped.

      A year ago he had sat on the edge of the dance floor in a chair, with those men who were convalescing from the accident, trying hard to find meaning in his life. Once he had attended every dance held there. He could put away his feeling of distance from most women he met because he had confidence on the dance floor. He didn’t know why, but, for as long as he could remember, he could dance. He swore on that day that, if he ever regained use of his leg, there would be no keeping him from dancing. As he spun his stunned Emma around the floor, light and quick on his feet, he was certain again she held some kind of magic that had given him back his life.

      Emma exhaled in surprise as the song ended and Roland bowed.

      “You big tease!” She grabbed his arm as the next song began. “You’re a great dancer! Why did you make me worry so?” Roland chuckled and spun her happily across the room.

      Mark watched from the loft and laughed as he watched Emma’s stunned face on the dance floor. Everyone knew that Roland Vancouver was the fanciest dancer in the whole territory. The boy caught Rebecca’s eye and exchanged a knowing smile, enjoying another moment of folly with her.

      “Look at them!” Rebecca tugged on Timothy’s arm. “That day she saw the poster I knew there would be no containing her.”

      “I didn’t even think about it,” Timothy admitted. “But, after she came running up to the mill, Roland and I had a pretty good laugh over how excited she was. I guess when you’re right for each other it all just falls into place.” He took her hand and kissed it softly.

      “You do alright on the dance floor yourself,” she smiled, pleased.

      “Maybe,” he considered. “But Roland can stay out there all night.”

      Rebecca watched the couple pass swiftly in a polka and smiled fondly.

      “I surrender!” Emma waved her hand in front of her face, gasping.

      “What?” Roland asked, struggling to hide the fact that he was a bit winded. “Are you saying you have had enough dancing?”

      “No,” she smiled. “I just need a drink.”

      “I see,” he teased, and led her from the dance floor.

      They filled their glasses with punch, drank them quickly, then found a bench in the corner. A breeze coming in the entrance way cooled them and they enjoyed their second cup.

      “I am having more fun than I can ever remember,” Emma remarked. “I forgive you for keeping your secret.” She kissed Roland on the cheek as he gulped down his punch.

      He sat with his elbows on his knees, catching his breath as Emma huddled close to him, whispering highlights of their evening intimately and complimenting him on his dancing.

      “Well, Roland Vancouver and… whatever was your name again?” Mina Caudell stood in front of the couple in a deep plum gown.

      “Hello, Mina,” Emma replied.

      Roland looked up at the woman and groaned.

      “Hello, Mina,” he scowled.

      “So I hear you two are married now. For several months I hear. So am I to assume that the honeymoon is over?”

      “No, not at all,” Roland scowled.

      “Not ready to come see me yet?” She directed her question to Emma. “It can’t be much of a honeymoon with him crippled and unable to walk as well.”

      Roland went to stand up and Emma put her hand on his arm and gestured him to remain seated.

      “Mina,” she began. “My name is Emma. Emma Vancouver. Roland and I were married several months ago and we’re expecting a child in July. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to dance with my husband.” She took Roland’s hand and led him to the floor, where they joined into a lively reel, Roland laughing as he turned in time with the crowd.

      Mina stood and watched the couple and stomped her foot. “How dare he pretend to be crippled!” she muttered to herself. “A baby?” she scowled. “That has to be a lie. He’ll never father children.” Mina grunted as she watched Roland Vancouver swing his wife around the floor easily, never missing a step. She thought back to the dances they had attended together, huffed, and walked outside.

      Mark leaned casually in the doorway, and bit into a ripe apple. He watched the dancers on the floor with interest. Rebecca had been dancing with him at the house and he was confident he could do as well as many of the dancers there.

      “Hello.” He heard a voice behind him.

      “Hi.” He smiled and nodded.

      “Are you Mark Elgerson?” The girl was close to his age, slender and petite, her hair in curls tumbling around a pretty face.

      “That’s me,” he smiled openly. “What’s your name?” He bit into the apple hungrily.

      “Virginia. Virginia Densmore. I’m Abigail’s cousin.” She looked over her shoulder nervously. “Abigail told me I should talk to you.”

      “Okay.” He shrugged his shoulders and returned to watching the dancers.

      “Does my hair look alright?” she asked shyly.

      He turned to her and moved from side to side, studying her curls. “I guess,” he shrugged.

      “Abigail did it and I think it looks stupid.” She pouted slightly.

      “It’s alright, I guess. Why did she think you should talk to me?”

      “She says you never dance because you don’t know how. She told me to come over here and ask you to dance. I don’t know why she would tell me that if you don’t dance. She’s always trying to make me look dumb. I’m not really.”

      He watched her curiously.

      “I thought she might stop pushing me if I just came over here for a minute and talked to you. She’s not very nice, but you look okay.”

      “She thinks I don’t know how to dance?”

      “She says you never dance because you don’t know how. She says you are the richest boy in all of Billington County so it’s beneath you or something like that.” She frowned and shot a look to the girls giggling across the room behind her.

      “Here, come with me!” Mark tossed his apple into the bin and grabbed her hand.

      It took him a minute to get his timing, but quickly he was leading the girl around the floor easily, her curls bouncing and a huge smile on both of their faces.

      Rebecca watched him closely, helping him in her mind each time she thought he might miss a step, but his enthusiasm and confidence made up for any shortcomings in his strides and he spent the rest of the evening enjoying the dance with his new friend.

      Mark promised Virginia he’d ride into town in the morning and meet her and then jumped lightly into the wagon behind his father and Rebecca at the end of the evening.

      “Who’s your friend?” Timothy asked casually.

      “Abigail Densmore’s cousin. Abigail fixed her hair and she hates it. She’s meeting me in town in the morning.”

      “She’s very pretty,” Rebecca remarked.

      “She’s okay,” Mark commented and checked the pie in the back of the wagon.

      Rebecca leaned close to Timothy and whispered into his ear discreetly, “I guess she’s not the one.”

      Timothy chuckled and shook out the reins.