Sarah sang quietly while she pinned up Christine’s hair. A flurry of excitement rippled through the dormitory tent. The women giggled like schoolgirls, all except for Garnet, who retreated to her bunk in the corner. The others helped each other dress, loaned hair ribbons and sashes, and shared secrets about the men with whom they hoped to dance that evening.
Sarah hadn’t seen Lanny all day. Most of his belongings were still tossed on or under his cot, so she felt certain he hadn’t taken off for parts unknown—at least not yet. She sang another verse of “My Faith Looks Up to Thee.” Lanny was making it harder and harder to practice the faith she sang about, but she was determined to do so.
A tap at the door sent the ladies scurrying, hiding behind the curtains that separated their cots. Sarah frowned. The men all knew the dormitory was off-limits, and they would see her indignant wrath in all of its glory if they trespassed.
She jerked the door open, ready to berate whoever dared to cross the invisible line, but to her surprise, it was Mrs. Falk.
A rush of pleasure filled Sarah. “Oh, Mrs. Falk. I hope this means you’ve decided to attend the get-together this evening.”
The quiet woman shifted her gaze from Sarah to the partially closed door behind her. “If I’m allowed. Not for me, you understand. But I think I can coax Garnet to go if she has something nice to wear.” Mrs. Falk held up a dress draped over her arm.
Sarah stepped all the way outside and closed the door behind her. “That is very nice of you. Garnet is so timid and shy, sometimes I wonder why she came. The others are anxious to get married and settle down, but Garnet …”
Something in Mrs. Falk’s eyes halted Sarah’s words—a pain with which Sarah could not identify or comprehend, heartache that aged the laundress beyond her years.
Mrs. Falk stared, unblinking at Sarah. The woman’s voice dropped so quiet, Sarah had to lean in to hear. “Garnet is one of those women I told you to be careful about. Not because she’s a bad person, she’s not. But the day she arrived, I knew. I knew what she’d been through and why she ran away.”
Sarah widened her eyes. “You know her?”
Mrs. Falk shook her head. “Not until a few days ago. But I know her and a hundred like her. She feels … unworthy because of her past. She wants to break away, and that’s why she walked for days to get here. But she’s scared.”
“Scared?” Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the closed dormitory door. “Why?” She touched Mrs. Falk’s shoulder. “Tell me.”
Moisture collected in the older woman’s eyes. “More than anything else she wants to leave her past behind, to find a shred of value within herself. But in her own eyes, she is worthless.” A single tear slid down Mrs. Falk’s drawn cheek. “Be careful of her. She’s already broken. Because her virtue has been stolen.”
Sarah couldn’t breathe. The ache of compassion tightened her throat. “You mean—”
Mrs. Falk lowered her gaze. “I believe the term is ‘soiled dove.’”
“Ohh …” Sarah slipped her hand up to cover her mouth. “No wonder she’s so withdrawn. I can’t imagine the …”
“The shame?” Mrs. Falk looked Sarah in the eye once again. “I can.” She brushed the tear from her cheek. “I know the torment of desperately trying to make a new life for myself, but constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering when some man might recognize me. And I see the same fear in Garnet.” She held the dress out to Sarah. “I will understand if you don’t want me to be around the other women. Will you please give this to Garnet?”
“No.” Sarah shook her head. “I won’t.” She stepped away from the door. “You should. Garnet needs a friend. I believe God sent her here to meet you. You will be most welcome—here with the other ladies, and at the party tonight. Please come. We need you, Mrs. Falk.”
“It’s Miss. I’ve never been married.” She dipped her head again. “Missus made things easier. People accept a widow when they won’t accept a—” She bit her lip and then offered Sarah a tight smile. “My name is Deirdre.”
“Deirdre.” Sarah opened her arms and wrapped Deirdre in a gentle hug.
Sarah slipped into the Hash House and checked one last time to be sure everything was just so. Jarvis was already there, tuning his fiddle, and Cy was looking over the refreshment table with a keen eye. They both looked up when Sarah approached.
“You got the place lookin’ mighty festive, Miss Sarah.” Cy clasped his hands behind his back.
She smiled and told them to help themselves to a cookie.
Jarvis grinned and licked his lips. “Thank ya, kindly, Miss Sarah.” He leaned a little closer, as if sharing a secret. “Do ya think maybe you can do a little singin’ tonight with just Cy’s harmonica? I hope I can get a dance with that little gal, Christine.”
Sarah patted his arm. “I’m sure we can work something out so you and Cy can both have free time.”
A few of the men came drifting in, each one scrubbed and spit-shined, sporting a new shirt and fresh shave—evidence the men were serious about meeting a lady and settling down. Sarah’s repeated prayer for God to send a preacher to Prescott flitted through her mind and heart once again. If the evening was successful, they’d have need of a preacher before long.
Quinn held the door open for a few of the ladies who entered the Hash House with a blush on their cheeks and anticipation in their eyes. He paid each one a kind compliment, and Florence tittered behind her hand and batted her eyelashes at him.
A strange sensation burned in the pit of Sarah’s stomach as she observed Florence openly flirting with Quinn, but she silently berated herself. This party was for the purpose of the men finding potential mates and coming together to help establish their town, not for her to give free rein to foolish emotions. She busied herself fussing over the details and encouraging the men to sit and chat with the ladies before the music started.
Quinn moved to stand next to her. “Everything looks wonderful.”
Sarah glanced up at him, but he wasn’t looking at the room or the decorations. He captured her gaze and she couldn’t pull it away. “Thank you, but you helped, remember?”
“It was nothing. I enjoyed being … here … helping.”
What had he been about to say?
Jarvis tapped his foot, counting out the beats, and the strains of “Over the Hills and Far Away” filled the air. For the first minute or two, the men all stood looking at the women, and the women all pretended they didn’t notice.
Sarah murmured to Quinn, “Are they just going to stand there?”
Before she knew what was happening, Quinn bowed in front of her. “Shall we show them?”
Heat raced up her neck. She looked up into Quinn’s smiling face and was mesmerized by what she saw written there. His eyes spoke silent words she’d missed in all the months she’d known him. When Quinn took her hand, a shiver skittered up her arm and her breath abandoned her.
As he guided her around the floor, carried on the strains of the music, a vague thought tapped her. Why did it feel so right to be in Quinn’s arms?
The sound of applause pulled her out of the fog and she realized they’d stopped dancing. The song was over, and Quinn’s smile set her pulse to racing. She sucked in a breath and yanked her focus to the women waiting expectantly to be invited onto the dance floor.
This isn’t the way she’d planned for the evening to go. The party was for the men and the brides. Flustered, she mumbled a ‘thank you’ and backed away from Quinn. She needed something to occupy her hands, and she scurried to the serving table and began slicing the cakes.
Deirdre Falk slipped in with Garnet, the girl looking lovely in the deep purple dress Deirdre had brought her. Garnet sent a fearful glance darting around the room. Deirdre spoke quietly to her and they found seats. Sarah lifted a prayer for both of the ladies, and before she whispered ‘amen,’ one of the men, Reece, shyly stepped over and held out his hand to Garnet.
Sarah paused in mid-slice. “Oh, please, Lord. Give her the courage to say yes.”
Garnet’s eyes widened and she looked to Deirdre, who gave her a reassuring nod.
Jarvis and Cy struck up another tune and Garnet rose. Reece caught her hand and grinned. He guided her with the music, as if holding something fragile and precious. Sarah’s gaze connected with Deirdre’s, and they shared a victorious smile.
Couples came together, the self-conscious men remembering to look at their partners instead of their feet. The women smiled in response, attentive to the men with whom they waltzed.
After “Arkansas Traveler” and “Sweet Betsy from Pike,” Sarah stepped up and sang an old folk song with Cy’s harmonica accompaniment while Jarvis made a beeline to Christine to ask for a dance. When she finished, Quinn leaned toward her and whispered, “It’s going even better than we hoped.” He nodded toward several couples dancing, or merely sitting and chatting while they sipped punch and ate cookies.
Jarvis drew his bow across the strings in the opening strains of “Reynardine,” when angry shouts were heard over the music. Jarvis’s fiddle stopped abruptly as gunfire rang out. The women screamed and the men pushed them to safety behind the tables.
Sarah took a few steps toward the door and heard hoof beats thundering away. Quinn grabbed her arm. “Get over behind the tables and stay down.” Her heart clenched as Quinn and the other men ran outside, and she lost sight of him. She couldn’t make sense of all the shouting.
Sarah scrambled to where the women huddled together. “Is everyone all right?”
Between tears and trembling voices, they assured her they were all fine. Moments later, the door opened and the men carried Milton Slade into the Hash House and laid him on one of the benches. Blood soaked his trouser leg, and he groaned in pain.
Sarah gasped and ran to the kitchen to fill a basin with water. She grabbed some clean dishrags and hurried back, only to find Deirdre Falk had taken charge and was directing one of the men to use his pocket knife to slit Slade’s trouser leg, and another to go get a bottle of whiskey.
Sarah handed the basin and rags to her, and stepped back, her hands trembling. Quinn gently pulled her to the other side of the room.
“Sarah.” He tipped her chin up to make her look at him. His voice low, he took hold of her arms. “Slade said it was Lanny. He said Lanny was angry because he’d overheard Slade telling you about him spending the gold in the saloon.”
Nausea rose in Sarah’s throat, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. A sob escaped and she couldn’t breathe. Her knees buckled. Quinn caught her and helped her to a bench. He sat beside her and took her hands.
“Mrs. Falk appears to know what she’s doing. Hopefully, Slade will be all right. But Sarah … I’m the closest thing we have to law enforcement in Prescott. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. I have to go after him.”
He thumbed the tears from her cheeks and stood.
“Please understand.” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek and strode out the door.