Thirteen

Troubled and confused, Em slept little that night. When at last sleep did come, she dreamed she was in the arms of a prince. Twirling around and around, floating. The feeling was enchanting—and just like her stories, it was not real. Disappointed to find it only a dream, she lay awake. For how long, she was not sure. What she did know was when the new day began, she did not feel rested.

Working with Margaret later that day was difficult. She wanted desperately to sit down, lean her head back, and sleep. Instead, she worked harder, hoping to distract her weary body and tired mind.

“I heard Caleb Reynolds was back in town,” Margaret said.

Em didn’t look up from the bread she was kneading. “He is. Just back yesterday.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Briefly. He stopped by the Howells’ to let us know two of the men have been apprehended.”

“That’s all he came to tell you? I thought it was something more exciting. Judging by the way you’ve been darting about like a nervous worker bee all afternoon, I thought he had either proclaimed himself sweet on you or told you he had no such feelings for you.”

Em pulled her hands from the bowl and tried to pull off the dough stuck between her fingers. “He doesn’t care for me. Not that way. At least I don’t think he does. I don’t think he ever could.” Frustrated with the dough, she groaned and brushed her hands on her apron. “I never counted on anyone caring for me like that. And yet, I was fool enough to hope. Is it so wrong to dream?”

Margaret laughed a deep laugh, her whole body shaking. Her curls bobbing with each whoop. “Oh, my dear girl. We all think there is no one for us. Even Eliza and Olivia wonder it at times. I’m positive they do.”

“It’s not funny. I don’t have their looks or your confidence. I am poor and plain. Caleb even admitted as much when we first met.”

“Settle down,” Margaret said from across the room. “Your appearance may not turn all men’s heads, but it will turn someone’s. Besides, you have plenty of gifts. Different from others, but they’re gifts that the right man will treasure. So, tell me, did he say how he feels about you?”

“Well, no, not exactly. He told me he owed me a dance and we danced. Margaret, I have never danced before and it was just like you said. I was floating. For a few glorious moments I was floating under the stars without a single worry. Then he pulled away and acted as if it had never happened. I tossed about all last night, trying to decide what to make of it, and I came to no conclusions.” Em pushed a strand of straw-colored hair away from her face. Dough stuck to it, provoking another groan.

Margaret walked to her and picked the dough from her hair. “This has got you all stirred up. Relax. You don’t need to understand it all right now—and neither does he. He’s your friend, you know that much. Enjoy it.”

“You’re right, I’m sure. I’ve never felt this flustered before. I think about him so often throughout the day and even at night. I am either thinking of him or telling myself not to.”

Margaret put her hands on Em’s face. “Enjoy that too. Enjoy it all.”

Noise, so much noise. Before she even walked into the dining hall, Em knew there was a crowd. Hefting a bowl of potatoes in her arms, she pushed the door open and stepped into the busy room. She saw a few regulars, a traveling family, and several men she had never seen before. She stopped her scan of the room when she spotted Caleb. He was looking at her. Their eyes locked for just a moment before she pulled her gaze away and busied herself serving potatoes. With her heart racing, she started at the opposite side of the room.

She served a bald man with a mustache. Then the traveling family. A group of dirty railroad workers were next. Slowly she piled potatoes onto the plate of a guest who looked more like a little boy than a full-grown man. Only two plates were between her and Caleb now. She couldn’t avoid him.

And then she was standing at his side.

“Potatoes?” she asked, eyes on her feet.

“I’d love potatoes.”

She gave him a large scoop. As she stepped to serve the next patron, she felt something slide into her apron pocket. Startled, she looked to Caleb. He winked at her. “Just something I picked up on the trail.”

Not wanting to draw attention to them, she gave him a half smile and walked on. For an hour and a half she served food. Each time she stood near him, he made small talk with her. Pleasant, easy talk. It infuriated her that he could be so . . . normal.

At last the night was nearly done. Well, not done. A mountain of dishes still needed scrubbing. But the food was gone and soon the crowd would leave. Dishes were the only chore between her and her pillow. Rolling her sleeves up, she prepared herself for the task ahead.

Margaret entered the dining room with a large, empty pan in her hand. Like always, she banged on it and announced that the kitchen was closing up and the meal was over. The noisy crowd left reluctantly, leaving Margaret and Em alone with the dishes. No, it was not just Margaret and Em. Caleb remained in the room and leaned casually against the wall. The same twisted smile on his face.

“Mrs. Anders. Em. That was a fine meal.”

Margaret wiped her hands on her apron and began stacking up plates. “Glad you liked it. Don’t get any ideas though. You may be a fine sheriff and you may have been sleeping under the stars, eating who knows what for the last several weeks, but it makes no difference. The kitchen is closed and I’m not feeding you one more bite.”

“Why, Mrs. Anders, do I look like a man begging for food?” Not waiting for a reply, he said, “As much as I could use another piece of that pie, that’s not what I was after with my compliment. It was a delicious meal. I was hoping if I waited long enough I might have a word alone with Em.”

“This girl can wash dishes twice as fast as anyone I know and you want to whisk her off right now? Leave all this work for the poor widow woman?”

Em spoke up then. “I’ll finish before I leave.”

“I knew you were loyal. Never doubted you. It’s this scoundrel I’m accusing.” Margaret pointed a finger at Caleb. Em would have balked at her words if she had not been working with Margaret all this time. She knew her now well enough to know she was having fun.

“Mrs. Anders, what kind of a man do you think I am? I would never try to sneak Em off. I was hoping you would let me help scrub these dishes. If the dishes were done, you would let her go, wouldn’t you?” Caleb asked, already stacking up dishes so high Em feared he would drop them.

“I’m a smart woman. I never turn down free labor. Get busy, you two young ’uns.” With that, Margaret left them in the dining hall and went to the kitchen.

Em started stacking dishes as Caleb worked beside her. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since we had a reading lesson. I was hoping we could begin again tomorrow.”

Despite her early hesitancy around him, she beamed now. “Oh, I have something to show you. Come with me.” She took her pile into the kitchen and he followed. When they entered the kitchen, Margaret left and went back to the dining hall, leaving them alone again.

Em set her stack on the counter and pointed to a can. “I was practicing my letter sounds a while back. I tried to make the sounds of all the letters I saw while I worked. I made these sounds and in my head I heard soda and—”

“And then all around you, you saw words,” he said.

“I did. I read everything I could in the kitchen. There are words I stumble over. Lots in fact, but most I can figure out. Then I started walking down the street, finding words to read. A few days ago I picked up Abraham’s newspaper and for the first time in my life it looked like more than ants crawling across the paper.” Em sank her hands into the warm water and started scrubbing plates. “I haven’t read my mother’s papers yet. I want to and I will. I think I’m scared to though. I’ve waited so long and spent so many hours wondering what they say. I suppose I’m reluctant—nervous to have the moment here and gone.”

She took the plate she had been scrubbing, dipped it in a rinse bucket, and handed it to Caleb. He took it without waiting for instructions and dried it. “I knew you would be able to read. I had no idea it would come so quickly though,” he said.

“It’s not easy. I sound like Mae and Milly when I read, but I find every day it comes a little easier. My letters look better too. I’ll show you . . . tomorrow.”

“Good. I was afraid I’d scared you off. I wouldn’t want that. We’ll have to meet tomorrow at eight and do our lesson quickly. I promised Eliza an outing and am to meet her at eleven.” Caleb dried another dish and returned it to its spot in the cupboard.

Keep washing, Em told herself. Coaxing her hands to keep moving, she washed in silence. Afraid her voice would give away her disappointment.

Caleb, equally silent, dried each dish beside her.

When she could trust her voice again, she said, “I’ll be there at eight. Eliza will be happy to spend the day with you. She’s talked of little else during your absence.”

“Eight it is.” Smoothly changing the subject, he asked, “Did you like your gift? I admit it was harder to make than I’d expected.”

“Oh! I was so busy with the dinner rush that I forgot.” She eagerly dried her hands and was about to reach in her pocket when his hand came over hers.

“Finish up here. Look later. It’s nothing much anyway.”

“Very well. I’ll wait.”

She worked faster, curious to see her gift but also eager to be done with dishes. Margaret finally reappeared in the kitchen. Eyeing her nearly clean kitchen, she said, “A fine pair you two are. If there is ever a dish-washing competition, be sure to enter as a team.”

“A competition as teammates. That’s a brilliant idea.” Caleb winked at her. “Normally I just compete against Em. It works out well though. She says she’ll beat me one day, but so far I’ve won every time.”

Em grabbed the towel she had just wiped her hands on and whipped him in the side with it. “I will beat you someday.” She set down the towel and brushed her hands on her apron.

“Did you just do what I think you did?” He laughed. Then he grabbed a cup of water from the counter and splashed it at her.

Shrieking, she grabbed the towel and got him again.

Margaret stepped between them. “Before you destroy my almost-finished kitchen—leave!” Turning to Caleb, she said, “Take this girl home and tell Abigail to put her right to bed. I can tell by her eyes she didn’t sleep a wink last night. Something had her tossing and turning.” Then, facing Em, she said, “I’ll finish up here. You two go on.”

“No, I’ll finish,” Em said, reaching for another dirty dish.

“Out!” Margaret pointed to the door. “Go on, out with the two of you.”

Caleb grabbed Em’s hand before she could insist on staying. He smiled a thank-you at Margaret and the two set out.

Once they were alone on the street, he asked, “What kept you up?”

Em shrugged. “I suppose it was the excitement of my first dance. Or maybe it was Mae talking in her sleep. It’s hard to say.”

“So the twins don’t even stop talking when they sleep? I should have guessed.”

“Can I look at my gift now?” Em asked.

“Well, if you want to. It’s nothing fancy. Just something I put together on the trail.” Caleb rubbed his hand absently over his stubble. He looked embarrassed—timid, even. Not his normal confident self.

Em reached into her pocket and felt for the gift with her fingers. Without even seeing it, she knew Caleb had made a man out of sticks for her. A little man, just like she’d made for Lucy. She pulled it out and turned it back and forth in her hand admiring it. Little legs and arms, even a head with fuzzy hair made from some sort of moss she’d never seen before. He was right, it was not fancy. But she loved it. She pressed it to her heart. “It’s perfect.” With tears in her eyes, she whispered, “It is the kindest gift I’ve ever received.”

“I kept thinking of Lucy while I was away. You were a good sister to her. Making that was no easy task.”

Em looked at it again. “I’ll treasure it. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

As they continued toward the Howells’, Em read—in her head—the words on the buildings they passed in town. He must have seen her eyes scanning the buildings. “What does that one say?” he asked, pointing to the single-story building on the corner.

“That one took me three days to figure out. But I believe it says ‘millinery,’ and under that it says ‘premade’ and ‘made to order.’”

“Very good.”

He asked her several others. Each time she was right. The walk was much too short, and they were almost at the Howells’ long before she was ready to say good night.

Nearing the porch, Caleb stopped. “Em, about last night, I—”

“Caleb, I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow!” Eliza’s voice broke into his sentence.

“Ah, Eliza. I’ll be by tomorrow. I ate at the boardinghouse and thought I’d see Em safely home.”

“She carries that pistol with her everywhere. I don’t think she needs any protection from you.” Eliza pointed to the basket Em was carrying.

“It’s true—I have your pistol with me,” Em said quietly. “Do you want it back?” She fumbled with her basket.

His hand came over hers. “Keep it. Until Alroy’s brought in, I feel better knowing you have it.”

Em nodded and took back her hand. “I better hurry in so I can see the girls before they go to bed. I plan to tell them the story of Rose Red tonight.”

She ducked her head and scurried up the porch and through the door, leaving Caleb and Eliza alone outside. Then she stuck her hand in her pocket, tucking it around the little stick man.