Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
A s Hank stood outside the church not quite mingling, he realized how uncomfortable, no, downright embarrassing , a bride search could be. The members of the congregation mingled on the street in front of the church, only moving like a slow wave when a vehicle passed by.
He didn’t know what to do with himself besides nodding at folks and touching the brim of his Stetson to the ladies. No wearing a bowler for him today. He didn’t want to worry about a breeze taking off his hat.
Luckily, it had lightly rained yesterday, just enough to dampen the dirt without bogging down the road. So, the wheels didn’t kick up dust to cover everyone’s church-going finery.
Hank was only acquainted with a few people. It wasn’t like he’d go up to the Cobbs for a chat, and both pairs of Nortons were already several churchgoers deep in conversations.
Therefore, he stood alone, feeling like all kinds of a fool, while trying to discreetly check out the ladies without rudely staring—hard to do when it sometimes took him more than a few seconds to first make the assessment of availability and then decide if he was interested.
Unfortunately, aside from seeing the worn-out looking widow with her children, Hank couldn’t be certain any of the women were available.
“That’s the new doctor come from Scotland,” Hank heard someone say from behind him. “Dr. Cameron’s brother Angus.” He hadn’t known there’d be a second one and studied the man with interest. Another Cameron, all right. Red hair and all.
Turning his attention to watch a woman from the back who was standing alone, he was about to do a wide circle around her, when she waved at a man walking down the street.
With a sigh, he scanned down the opposite way and saw two younger women exit the Gordon Building, one wearing blue-green and the other in dark pink. The pink woman immediately caught his eye because of her wide smile and the way she moved. Her happy expression and bounce, bounce, bouncy steps, betokened an enticing exuberance. She glanced guiltily around, slowed to a staid walk for a few paces, then apparently forgot, and practically skipped.
He chuckled. She couldn’t have been more different from the decorous kind of woman his grandfather would want for him.
No, the old man would prefer the elegant lady who glided next to Miss Bouncy, like a swan across the lake. A peacock feather waved from her hat, and Hank couldn’t help feeling sorry for the shorn bird who’d made a sacrifice for ridiculous female fashions.
Miss Bouncy stopped, holding her side and breathing hard.
A concerned glance from her companion set Miss Bouncy off again, at a smoother pace, obviously trying to match her friend’s graceful gait.
As they drew closer, he recognized Miss Bouncy’s large brown eyes, a snub nose sprinkled with freckles, and wide mouth, which hadn’t stopped smiling, as the girl who’d rescued Jewel’s hat. However, he couldn’t help feeling some disappointment that she was too young for his purposes, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He’d already decided not to wait for a girl to grow into marriageable age.
But the blonde looked just about perfect, albeit a mite too fancy. Still, she was worth approaching after the service. The thought made his stomach tighten.
Hell is wearing a corset. With Miss Taylor’s help, Elsie’s corset was pulled so tight she could hardly breathe, much less move. She briefly pictured Hell as an immense furnace of fire and brimstone with the trapped souls—both women and men—squeezed almost in half by their corsets. The vision made her smile, but then she felt guilty for indulging her blasphemous imagination.
She tried to bring her mind back to sacred thoughts. Yet, even as Elsie tried to moderate her imagination, she wondered, how do women endure this torture? Taking a deep breath, only to have her air cut off, made her grimace and attempt several shallow quiet pants.
But even the cursed corset couldn’t dampen her high spirits and deep gratitude for the chance to live in town, earn money from doing what she loved, and wear new clothing. She smoothed down the skirt of her pink dress , one of Miss Taylor’s, altered for Elsie in appreciation of all her hard work.
Elsie practically danced with happiness and then caught herself and slowed to a ladylike pace, relieved that Miss Taylor’s attention was on the people congregating near the church. But her good spirits soon made her feet light, before a stitch in her side made her stop and grab her waist, feeling the rigid whalebone of her stays.
Miss Taylor glanced over, her expression concerned.
Elsie quickly straightened and smiled, trying to imitate the dressmaker’s glide, although she knew she wouldn’t quite succeed.
She looked closer at the people gathered near the church, searching for her family, hoping they came to town. The thought of seeing them almost made Elsie’s feet start dancing again. But, with each step, she strove to firmly keep them planted on the dirt street where they belonged.
Well, not so much dirt in this area. At the beginning of the summer, Mr. Gordon had laid down some gravel on the street in front of his building, making the road less muddy.
She held up her skirts and walked around a puddle caused by yesterday’s rainstorm—a reminder not to get her hopes up about reuniting with her family. Perhaps, it had rained more on the prairie. She knew Pa didn’t like to drive in the mud. Their team of horses were getting up in years, and Pa didn’t want to tax them unless necessary.
With a sigh, Elsie wondered if she should add Team of Horses to her things-to-buy list. Will probably take me a few years to save up for such a big purchase. But then she realized that Pa would never accept her giving him horses. New boots were as far as he would stretch.
A man in a Stetson stood at the edge of the crowd in front of the church. Something about him seemed familiar. As he grew close, she recognized him as the man who’d lost the little pink hat to the wind. She wondered why he was walking alone, and if he intended to meet up with a wife and daughter. Lucky women.
Or maybe he was a bachelor, and the hat was a present for someone else’s little girl. At the wishful thought, her heart gave a hard thump. “Oh, Miss Constance.” She lifted her chin in his direction. “That cowboy’s ever so handsome.”
The dressmaker’s raised an eyebrow. “How do you know he’s a cowboy?”
Elsie’s cheeks heated. “Well, he’s wearing a cowboy hat and certainly doesn’t look like a farmer or a clerk.”
Miss Taylor barely glanced at the man. “Could be a logger.”
Elsie didn’t know anything about logging, but she ventured a question in case Miss Taylor did. “Aren’t the loggers still at the logging camp?”
“I have no idea. Remember, Elsie, I’ve only lived in Sweetwater Springs for a short time.” With a ladylike smirk, she glanced over. “We can arrange to meet him after the service.”
Miss Taylor’s obvious matchmaking suggestion reminded Elsie too much of her mother. Oh, no. No meeting up with a potential suitor. “I saw him last week with a small hat he’d bought from the mercantile,” she said airily. “I’m sure we’ll see his daughter wearing it today.”
“Oh, was it the pink boater?”
Relieved that mentioning the hat had shifted the conversation, Elsie nodded. “Straw. About this big.” She made a circle with her fingers.
“Hmmm. We should think of carrying some hats for girls.”
“You’ll be treading on the Cobbs’ toes.”
“You mean treading on the Cobbs’ toes even more than I already am?” Miss Taylor hooked her arm through Elsie’s. Her eyes danced. “It’s Sunday, so I don’t dare answer with a more… pointed rejoinder.”
Elsie giggled, then had to gasp for air. She put her hand on her stomach. “Oh, this corset.”
Miss Taylor rolled her eyes. “Elsie, lower your hand immediately. Ladies don’t touch their stomachs in public.”
Not at all abashed, Elsie did as Miss Taylor requested. “I don’t suppose they roll their eyes, either,” she teased.
“ Touché . But I only did so because there’s no one close enough to see. A hand on the stomach is obvious to more distant observers.”
“ Too-shey ?”
“ Touché is French. Means something like ‘you bested me with a clever remark.’”
Touché , Elsie repeated silently, mentally adding the word to the growing list of French terms she planned on sharing with Mary. Her sister loved words and reading in the same way Elsie loved clothes.
She let out a sigh, this time remembering to keep her breath shallow. Who knows when I’ll next spend time with my sister?