CHAPTER SEVEN #2
"Your duty? Do you know what I had to endure in that city of New York?
But, I suppose you and Mother had no way of knowing how those people would look upon me, as though I were a cowgirl with no education.
How they stared at me with so very much disdain.
And yet, you can stand here before me and tell me how magnificent it was for you to have sent me there with the condition that I was not to return to my home unless I had agreed to an engagement with another. How could you?"
Her father nodded. "That will be all now. You have said enough on this matter. Go and change now for the celebration."
"I shall, Father. I shall. But, Papa, you should change, too. And, I do not mean your clothing."
Turning away, Briella fled from the ballroom, tears in her eyes. But, she would not let her father see how his words had hurt. Not ever.
****
Music flowed throughout the ballroom. As Briella stood at the entrance to the hall, she saw there were so many people in attendance here tonight, she wondered where they had all come from. Fort Benton, of course. For a moment, she had forgotten.
The steamship had pulled into the dock only a few days previous.
Looking around, Briella saw there was such a mixture of cultures in this one place, it was almost inconceivable how happily they all got along together.
Why, over there were the factor and the engagées with their Indian wives.
Most of them were dancing to the lively music of a polka at present.
There were gold-seekers and grubstakers here tonight, too.
Had that been wise? But, most of those men were not dancing.
Instead, her father had set up a fancy gambling casino for those unattached people.
By her side was Maximillian, looking quite handsome in his striped black pants, his white shirt, black tie and his black waistcoat that fell to just above his knees.
There was no hat upon his head, perhaps because this was to be an evening of dancing.
Much as she disliked him, she had to admit he was really quite handsome, with his dark-brown hair, tiger-brown eyes and his unusual handlebar mustache.
His hair was cut close to his head, as was the fashion in the city of New York.
His figure was tall and slim, and he might have been even more good-looking if it hadn't been for the disdain in the uptilt of his chin and the look in his eyes that spoke clearly of his loathing of these people and this far-western establishment.
At present, Briella stood on his right side, her white-gloved hand placed lightly upon his arm.
The music changed from a lively polka to a waltz, and gently, Briella swayed in time to the music.
Turning toward her, Maximillian asked, "Shall we dance, my betrothed? We must not let this beautiful waltz play out so prettily without our dancing to it."
"Of course," Briella replied as she allowed Maximillian to take her hand, ignoring her father who looked upon the both of them with what appeared to be affection. Affection? More than likely, what she saw was his pleasure at seeing his own schemes come to pass.
"Might I ask you to remove your gun from around your waist as we dance, m'dear?"
Briella smiled up at Maximillian before saying, "In this far-western Indian country, where a war party might be hiding behind any bush or tree, is it not wise to be properly prepared to defend oneself and one's loved ones?"
"I wouldn't know, m'dear. But, surely this would not happen here tonight. There are guards all around your father's home."
"Have you never seen how an Indian conducts war?"
"I beg your pardon! Of course not!"
"Well then, if you don't know, let me tell you about how these warriors can get into a place with the greatest of ease, even one that is so very well guarded. And, if this be true, might I suggest you start wearing a firearm so you can defend the women in your life?"
Maximillian nodded diligently, apparently ignoring the word "women" instead of the singular word "woman." "I will consider it, madam. I will consider it."
He escorted her onto the dance floor, and soon they were gliding around it as though they had practiced this dance, which of course they had not done.
The waltz was keeping to a slow, three-quarter beat, making it easy for her to match her steps to his. “You look nice tonight," Maximillian said to her.
"Thank you, sir."
"What an unusual ballroom," Maximillian commented.
"By this, I mean it is quite provincial, isn't it?
It has an open-air roof instead of a sturdy and elaborate ceiling overhead, so very unlike those one might find in the city.
I suppose this is why there are only stone sculptures here instead of gold ones. "
Annoyed at Maximillian's degradation of the efforts her parents had made on his behalf, she quipped, "Gold? Here, where there are so many grubstakers and gold-diggers? Why, such statues would remain here for only a few minutes before they would be stolen."
"'Tis quite a rough and wild place where you have grown up, m'dear. Though quaint, of course. Perhaps this is why you are so different and without the proper…ah…manners a young lady should have… But then, let us not talk about it."
"Yes," Briella agreed readily. "Let us not speak of it. Oh, look! Over there, do you see? My lady's maid? She is so beautiful, is she not?"
Maximillian didn't answer; although, looking up into his eyes, Briella was witness to the admiration so clearly evident there. And, why wouldn't he admire her?
Blonde-haired and slim, Sheila stood slightly shorter than Briella.
Her hair was caught up in a beautiful style on top of and behind her head, and with delicate curls framing her face, she was beautiful almost beyond compare.
But, if one looked into her eyes, it was there where her beauty ended.
Was it because of the look of condescension for this beautiful hall her father had fashioned in this far-western place?
"How kind it was of you to invite Miss Sheila to come here as my lady’s maid so that I would be always properly dressed."
"Do not think of it. It was nothing," replied Maximillian. "I was happy to do it."
"How kind of you." Sarcasm practically dripped from Briella's voice as the song finished and the musicians stood up to take a break. "Excuse me, if you please."
As Briella turned away, she saw Maximillian bow slightly to her—as he was expected to do, of course. Stepping quickly away from him, she rushed from the room, exiting the ballroom from its far end.
Briella didn't know her mother had followed her until she heard her mother say, "You are not leaving, are you?"
"I am afraid I must."
"You are upset?"
"I am. But, do not fear. It shall pass in a moment, I am sure. I think the dance was a little too quick for me. Perhaps I need more than a few days' rest."
"You? My daughter who thinks nothing of hunting buffalo and of riding her pony for days on end?"
"Yes, well," answered Briella. "I am not used to dancing, I think."
"Perhaps you are hungry. Come, we will all sit down for our supper."
"Yes," Briella answered with a sigh. "Perhaps I am merely hungry."
Taking her daughter's arm, Mária Fehér smiled and patted Briella's hand. And, turning around, they stepped back into the ballroom, avoiding the many dancing partners. Slowly, they paced toward the dining room and the dinner so carefully prepared for their guests this very night.