Chapter Eighteen

The grange hall was crowded, the air stifling and ripe with the smell of heated bodies doused in perfumes and pomades. At one end of the room, a band made up of a fiddle, bass and banjo played a reel. The dancers faced in rows down the middle of the hall dancing the steps of a country promenade. Couples met and twirled then moved down the line to take their place at the end. The fiddle was irresistible, and Catherine’s toe tapped in time to the beat as she stood with Rowena and Horace Albright near the door. Jennie had gone to find Ned the moment they arrived.

It seemed every family in the surrounding countryside had come to the event. For one night, the social barriers were relaxed as the poorest farm families and wealthiest merchants mingled. However, the difference in attire between them was noticeable, with the town ladies’ gowns being only few years outdated while their country counterparts wore styles that could have blended in at a barn dance a decade earlier. In her copy of a Parisian fashion with its layers of lace and fabric and beaded trim, Catherine felt ostentatious and out of place. She didn’t want anyone to think she was trying to be a peacock, and wished she’d chosen a less showy gown.

As a waltz began, couples paired up to circle around the floor. A passing thought of Howard roused a dull ache inside her that she would always be with her now. How many dances had she gone to with him? How many times had he held her and looked into her eyes with such love and joy? It was on the night of a dance such as this that he’d pulled her outside to a garden for a breath of fresh air and went down on one knee to propose.

“Miss Johnson, your dress is simply gorgeous!” Two of her older students, Sarah Jalkanen and Mabel Driscoll, broke her from her trance.

“The style is so modern.” Sarah fingered the material and examined the drape of the modest bustle and skintight bodice.

“I’d give anything to own a gown like this,” Mabel sighed.

After a while, Catherine managed to extricate herself from their enthusiastic attentions. “Thank you, girls, but I believe I’m needed over at the refreshment table.” She crossed the crowded room to the buffet.

Several of the ladies were setting out platters of cookies and tarts when others were emptied. Again, Catherine was surrounded by an admiring group of women, complimenting her dress and hair and asking a hundred questions about life back east. She reminded them that she was hardly a big city girl herself. White Plains wasn’t New York. But they soon had her telling about social events she’d been to, her university classes, and the wonders she’d seen while visiting her relatives in the big city.

While she talked, Catherine glanced around the room. Charles Van Hausen was near the window talking to Beatrice Hildebrandt, Ned’s older sister. Nathan Scott was in deep conversation with Mike Gunderson. But there was no sign of Jim. Relief and disappointment warred in her, and she cursed her fickle emotions. Why did she have to be attracted to him? Why couldn’t she maintain a proper distance as she’d managed to do with every other man since Howard’s death?

“May I have this dance, Miss Johnson?” Herbert Nordstrum, the telegraph operator, stood at her side, a smile lifting the corners of his pencil-thin moustache. He looked very dapper with his hair parted neatly in the center and slicked back, and wearing a pinstriped suit and string tie.

“That would be lovely, although I must confess I don’t dance well.”

“I don’t believe that.” He took her hand, and they moved onto the crowded floor. He swept her into a fast-paced two-step. They glided around the floor among the other dancers, and soon Catherine was flushed and smiling. It felt good to dance again.

When the song was over, the band took a break and the dancers left the floor, going to find friends or relatives or stepping outside for air.

“Let me bring you a glass of punch,” Herbert offered.

Catherine fanned her face. “Thank you, Mr. Nordstrum.” She watched as he disappeared through the milling throng in the direction of the refreshment table. For a moment, her gaze met Nathan Scott’s across the room. His expression was blank, and then he turned away. Her nerves prickled as she imagined the damage he could do her if he chose to share what he’d seen in the livery. But Nathan was an honest fellow. If he said he’d keep her secret, he’d do it—unlike what she imagined Charles Van Hausen might have done with such information.

The thought of how much Nathan may have seen invoked memories of that night, the magnetic pull that had taken her straight into Jim’s arms the moment she saw him, the passionate kisses and frantic groping, the feeling of his body thrusting against hers until he suddenly froze. She’d realized with a shock that he’d done what men do during intercourse right then, in his trousers, all because of his desperate need for her. That knowledge sent a thrill through her and the heat between her legs hovered on the edge of igniting. Given a few strokes more she would explode too. But Jim had eased her down to her feet, kissing her softly, before turning away to put on his shirt.

Memories of his naked skin gleaming golden in the glow of the lantern awakened need once more. Her sex throbbed with her heartbeats, and her breasts, beneath the skintight bodice, felt as if they were bruised. Her body yearned for the touch of his hand or mouth.

As though summoned by her thoughts, Jim suddenly appeared across the room. At the sight of him entering the door, Catherine’s breath caught and her desire burned hotter. Dressed in a navy suit with a crisp white shirt and dark blue tie beneath it, Jim looked as if he’d stepped from the pages of a magazine. The material of the suit was understated, unlike the current rage among young men for houndstooth, wide stripes and other flashy fabrics. The soberness of his attire, coupled with his erect posture, gave him an austere, elegant appearance. His black hair was newly trimmed quite short, but thank heavens the barber hadn’t lacquered it flat with pomade. Shiny as a crow’s wing, it was brushed in natural waves. An errant lock fell over his forehead, making her fingers itch to delve her hands into that lustrous hair.

As Catherine took in Jim’s stylish new appearance, she realized others were doing the same. The people near him turned to look, particularly the women. People leaned together to whisper, as if he could hear their words. Many pairs of eyes focused on Jim at the same moment that he caught sight of Catherine. His eyes shone as he smiled at her. Everyone who’d been staring at Jim immediately looked to her.

No, Jim. Don’t look at me that way as if you could devour me with your eyes. Everyone will know. They couldn’t help but know what you feel.

Catherine schooled her expression to neutrality and nodded at him then turned toward the refreshment table. Her heart pounded and her body was as rigid as a flagpole. She prayed no one would notice the fiery red of her cheeks.

Over by the punch bowl, Herbert caught her eye and held up two filled glasses. He made his way back to her through the crowd.

Her stomach hurt and she felt lightheaded from the too-tight corset and the crowded room. She wished she was brave enough to flaunt convention, walk across the room and take Jim’s hand. But she was a coward and so she ignored him and smiled at Herbert as she accepted the glass.

She sipped punch while staring off to the left, examining Maizie Banks’ gown, anything other than look back toward the door and catch Jim’s eye again. The fruit punch was overly sweet, but cooled her parched throat. She drank the small cupful down in two gulps. Pressing a hand to Herbert’s arm, she leaned in to be heard above the noise.

“Excuse me, Mr. Nordstrum. I must talk to Mrs. Albright about something.”

“Save another dance for me later?”

“Perhaps.”

She quickly walked away before he could try to extract a promise from her. Over near the door, people had resumed their conversations and Jim was no longer in sight. She frantically scanned the room, praying he wouldn’t approach her. She remembered how he’d danced with her in the schoolhouse. Would he want to do that here? Dance to music he couldn’t hear? What would people say about the schoolmistress dancing with the stable hand?

Then Catherine saw Jim again, leaning against the wall, arms folded. People passed back and forth between them, but she caught glimpses of his face. His expression was tense and unhappy and his eyes still focused on her.

She ducked behind a large man to hide and chatted with various people to keep the distance of a room between them. Knowing Jim might be here tonight, she’d planned to greet him politely as a teacher would treat a student since everyone knew she was tutoring him. But that smoldering look he’d given her had changed everything. Surely if they got within a foot of each other the entire town would see the combustible attraction between them as if they’d shouted it aloud.

Better to accept a dance with some white-bearded farmer who swung her around hard enough to rip her bodice seam beneath one arm. Better to help Mrs. Hildebrandt cut cake at the refreshment table, or gush over Polly Flint’s new baby, or spend a moment in the coatroom fixing Jennie’s straggling curls. Better to chat or dance with every member of the Broughton community than admit to the fact that Jim was standing solitary and friendless in his brand new suit, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

At one point, it seemed he might come to her as he moved through the crowd in her direction. But when Catherine flitted away, putting more distance between them, he stationed himself by the wall once more, leaving it up to her to come to him.

To her infinite shame, she didn’t, not even to say a quick hello, and when she next stole a glance toward him, he was gone. She looked everywhere, but it seemed he’d left the building. She had no idea how long he’d been gone.

The anxiety she’d felt with him in the room was replaced by heartsickness from knowing she’d cold-heartedly snubbed him. What kind of person had she become to let a man believe she cared for him, let him kiss and hold her, then hurt him so?

The tight feeling in her chest built until she knew she would either burst into tears or faint right there in the middle of the room.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted Sonia Parkins, who was explaining how her family had moved to Broughton back in 1872. “I’m sorry. I need some air immediately.”

With a growing ringing in her ears, she slipped past the jostling bodies and out the door of the hall to gasp in great draughts of the cold night air. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, as if she could force back her tears. She’d brought these horrible feelings on herself and deserved them. How could she remedy the pain she’d given Jim? Maybe it was better for her to, at long last, leave him alone. Let this slap in the face end their relationship once and for all before she caused him any more grief.

She picked her way across the yard, avoiding the puddles from the rain earlier in the day, seeking drier spots where her heels wouldn’t sink in. Without conscious thought, she headed toward the boardwalk. From there she knew her feet would take her to the livery stable. She was weak and drawn to Jim like a compass needle to north. If she explained her behavior, perhaps he could find it in his heart to forgive her.

Lifting her skirts high, Catherine was so concentrated on avoiding the mud that she didn’t see the man standing in front of her until she almost ran into him. A cry of surprise startled from her, and she looked up at the tall figure looming in the dark—the horrible man who’d dragged Jim behind his horse.

“Hello there. Where you headed?” The words slurred and he swayed on his feet.

“Pardon me.” Catherine attempted to step around him and continue on her way, but his two companions, the black-bearded man and the chinless one, flanked him on either side, blocking her path.

Catherine attempted to turn back toward the lights and noise of the grange hall.

“Wait a minute!” The leader grabbed her arm and peered into her face. “I know you.” His breath was sour and hot. She didn’t have to see his expression in the dark to know his eyes were bloodshot and his mouth slack. The man was as drunk as he’d been the day he’d assaulted Jim.

She attempted to wrench her arm free from his hard grip. “Let me go right now or there will be repercussions.” She glared at him. Inside she was screaming, but she mustn’t show fear or weakness.

“Hey, Sanborn, best let her be,” one of his cronies warned. “We don’t need any more trouble with Karak than we already got.”

“Shut up.” Her assailant gripped her harder and began to drag her with him away from the grange hall.

The bearded man protested again. “I’m not gonna be part of another one of your messes.”

“Let me go!” Catherine fought to maintain an authoritative tone, but she could hear how pleading she sounded. She realized she was in serious trouble and just as she decided it was time to scream for help, Sanborn pulled her close and covered her mouth with his big hand. One of the slender heels of her shoes broke off in a crack in the boardwalk as he dragged her toward the dark mouth of an alley.