Posted November 9, 2020 | Matilda Devereau | With: Jonah Danforth, Col. MacKenzie
Matilda stood listening as the two gentleman exchanged a few words but the music was starting up now and she had come to dance. Not to mention she had been asked by the both of them to do just that. Enough chattering.
"Excuse me, gents, but that's our cue to get out there on that floor. It is called a DANCE not a discussion after all," she smiled.
Then she threaded her arm with the doctor's and practically led the fellow out of the dance floor before turning to face him.
"You do know how to dance? You lead then," she waited with a grin.
's a wonder I don't have gills. But usually it's just me n' Clara swimmin'. I like my sister n' all, but it'd be more to swim with a friend."
Posted November 9, 2020 | Ralph Flandry | With: Arabella Mudd
The girl was plainly enthralled with this whole thing, she practically quivered with excitement and the look on her face, well Ralph would do his best to allow her to enjoy this moment even if dancing was so not his kind of activity. That did not mean he didn't know how to dance, it had just been years since the last time.
Turned out the girl needed no lessons (thankfully) and the pair were soon among the rest of the dancers enjoying themselves to the music. Once they bumped into another couple and Arabella snapped at them but if the man thought to snap back, he took one glance at Ralph's bearded visage and decided not to risk it.
Once the music stopped, this commencement dance over, suddenly the young teen went up on tip toes and gave him a quick kiss. Alright he had not seen that coming.
“That ain’t cause it’s the kiss waltz” she explained, still grinning, but wiping a sentimental tear from her eye “That’s to say thanks fer bein’ my Daddy tonight.”
Ahhh. So that's it, Ralph relaxed a bit and even as hard a man as the ex-veteran was couldn't helped but be touched by the emotion of the moment. He nodded then.
"Yer welcome, Arabella. Think you could do a whole lot better than the likes of me in yer search for a father but I am flattered," he smiled down upon her.
As they walked off the dance floor, he added on a sudden whim, "If you wanna second dance - LATER that is - you can ask me. But I gotta get back ta work. Wouldn't want Tildy ta catch me not on the job, she might just fire me on the spot."
It was a joke of course and he was smiling as he said it.
Posted November 9, 2020 | Clara Lutz | With: Charlie, Emeline, Pronto
Charlie readily agreed with her about the pretty color of the dress, least they agreed on something. But apparently he was over not to simply talk to her (or ask her for a dance) but for food. Of course, men!
"I see that the baked goods you and Mrs. Blakesley have prepared have been popular tonight. Is there anything in particular that you recommend I should try?"
***Yes, ME ! Not to eat but to dance with.*** Well, that was her very first thought but of course she would never dare utter such a thing aloud.
"Everything is very good. The diner is known for it's fine food and especially the bakery. Mrs. Blakesley and myself work hard to turn out a quality product. It seems that the cookies are going especially fast already?" she threw another quick glance at the rather meager amount still left on what had been a heaping plate.
The music had stopped then. Emeline and Pronto stepped off the dance floor and returned to the display table, looking very happy. Least someone was, Clara sighed.
"You certainly looked good out there, you two. Dancing, having fun," she addressed the couple though some of it was meant for Charlie's ears of course.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Posted November 9, 2020 | Arabella Mudd | With: Ralph Flandry
"Yer welcome, Arabella. Think you could do a whole lot better than the likes of me in yer search for a father, but I am flattered," he smiled down upon her.
She twined her arm in his and patted it, fair bustin’ with pride at having had the first dance with him. Mr. Flandry would have made such a wonderful father for some, sadly never-to-be-born brood of children: it was a pity, felt like a waste, especially as there were so many terrible, or completely absent fathers in the world.
“Well, if my Daddy’s lookin’ down right now, and I reckon he is, well, I think he’d be right happy with the feller I found to take his place. And, Lord, you sure stomped on my toes a heap less than he used to!” she laughed.
As they walked off the dance floor, he added on a sudden whim, "If you wanna second dance - LATER that is - you can ask me. But I gotta get back ta work. Wouldn't want Tildy ta catch me not on the job, she might just fire me on the spot."
Arabella closed her eyes and let out that gurgling chuckle of hers. “Well, she ain’t fired me yet, after all my mistakes, so I don’t think she’ll fire you. Now, Mr. Flandry, you betcha I’m gonna hold you to that promise, but don’t you want to dance with anybody else? How ‘bout Mammy Cookie?” she asked for a joke.
They were back at the tent by now and the large woman looked up at the sound of her nickname.
“Don’t you go takin’ my name in vain Arabella Mudd!” she said in mock serious tones, before looking her dance partner up and down and commenting “Well praise the Lawd! Mr. Ralph, you survived!”
Posted November 9, 2020
“Can’t write ‘r … read. Ar’ bella teach … me.”
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Brendan said with a grin. He felt better about talking with her - or at her - after her confession. "Lots'a people can't read or write. I can't. Much, anyway. You don't gotta know much to do what I do."
He was enjoying dancing with Bridget lots more than he thought he would. She seemed to be enjoying herself, too, and he decided that if his luck ran out with other girls at the dance he would ask her to dance again. She didn't try to give herself airs, like someone.
He squeezed her hand lightly and moved a little closer to her unconsciously, still speaking. "But some jobs you need to read an' write. If I wanted to be a banker, now, I'd need to do both and do 'rithmetic. I 'spect you won't need to do any of those, though. Say, what do you do?"
He'd been curious about her fancy clothes, quietness, and "construction" and he only had answers to one of his curiosities, so he figured it couldn't hurt to ask.
Posted November 9, 2020 | Emeline Pike | With: Barnabas, Clara, Charlie
“Yes ‘um, you can shorely do that. Seein’s I know where they come from, and I’d be a fool to turn that down. He responded to the bribe. “Better make that a gift, bribery’ll likely get me fired.” Then he laughed. Like anyone would even notice.
"A gift then." Grinning she headed for the tables, hand in hand with him. "Or perhaps payment for all the dishes you will help with tomorrow morning?" It was strange, that the man was a lawman and a dishwasher, an odd combination, but it suited him.
As they approached the table, she smiled and nodded to Clara and the young man with her, wondering why the girl wasn't dancing.
"You certainly looked good out there, you two. Dancing, having fun,"
"It's quite fun," Emeline agreed, glancing up at Barnabas then back to Clara. "And now that we're here to watch the table, you can try for yourself."
She wasn't really certain that Clara would appreciate the meddling, and essentially being goaded into dancing, but certainly one dance wouldn't hurt.
Posted November 9, 2020
"Sure is," Mike said as he shook his head slightly, "No thanks. I've never quite got the taste for those things but you go right ahead."
Quentin nodded and put the leather case away. "It's a filthy habit...but it was one of the few things we had plenty of back then."
He took another glance around, "I see both Harriet and Sarah are very popular this evening. I'll probably have to get in line to have a dance with either of them besides, I think my brother, Matt has some ideas about Sarah and I wouldn't like to get in his way. However, Harriet is another matter."
Quentin was in the middle of drawing on the cigarillo when Mike made his comment. Quentin coughed lightly as he realized what Mike was alluding to. Quentin tugged it from his lips and stared at it as if it had suddenly grown horns and a tail while he considered his response.
Glancing sideways at Quentin, Mike wanted to see if there was any reaction from the man. It was no secret that both Quentin and Harriet were showing an interest in each other that was more than friendly. Even though no-one had actually said anything, it was obvious by the way the two of them acted around each other. The long winter had provided plenty of opportunity for the hands to mix with those who lived in the house and a person would have to be blind not to notice.
"You do and I will break your arm..." Quentin said but he was grinning when Mike looked to his face. "...Alright, fine...Harriet and I haven't been as secretive as we thought we were, but nothing has really happened...Yet!" Quentin pointed the cigarillo like a pistol at Mike when he saw the other man's mouth start to open. Quentin realized how he must have looked standing there and he jammed it back into his mouth, giving an exasperated puff.
Looking back in the direction where Harriet was busy talking with a group of people, Mike nodded, "Now, that I think about I just might go and ask Miss Mercer for the next dance...unless you're planning to do so."
Quentin rolled his eyes and he ground the cigarillo out and stuck it back into the case. "Alright, alright!..." He turned to look at Mike, "...You should stick to being ranch foreman...your matchmaking skill needs work." Quentin lightly punched Mike's shoulder. "There's still no use trying to fight my way in there, but I am next."
Posted November 9, 2020 | Weedy | With: Wyatt
"I don't rightly know, hadn't considered it. Maybe be a captain of one of those big sailing ships and go all over the world?"
"Oh, that could be interesting! You can see all kinds of countries." That actually sounded like a good idea, although it might mean being gone for long periods of time -- he had no idea -- and he wasn't sure he'd like to be away from home that much. A few days here and there was one thing, but weeks was something else!
"Hey! It's gonna be summer soon and nice n' hot. You should come to my place and I can show you the farm and such. Then we could go swimmin!" he beamed.
Weedy looked over at Wyatt, a little surprised, no one had ever asked him to go out of town before, except for a few times that Miz Addy had let him go out with her on deliveries, but those had never been too far, or too long. And...Wyatt had a dad!
"That'd be great!" He was curious about how a farm was, and some of what went on, so long as there wasn't a lot of work involved. And...
"Swimming! That'd be fun!" Once he learned how...
"We are right next to a nice little lake. I love to swim. Pa sez it's a wonder I don't have gills. But usually it's just me n' Clara swimmin'. I like my sister n' all, but it'd be more to swim with a friend."
"You'll have to teach me, I never been swimming, but I know I can learn. And we can climb trees and stuff. And no girls!" He'd talk to Miz Addy as soon as the dance was over.
Posted November 10, 2020 | Jonah Danforth | With: Matilda, Col. MacKenzie
"You do know how to dance? You lead then,"
"Of course," Jonah declared, giving her a bow, then taking her hand and lightly placing his other at her waist, keeping proper distance as he started moving them around the floor, "it's part of the doctor training, so that we appear appropriately elegant and refined." He grinned. "Our teacher told us that if we are to be incompetent, to at least look good doing it!"
He chuckled, finding her a good dancing partner, but then, he expected nothing less from her, and was enjoying the dance.
Want... dolls!
Posted November 10, 2020 | Bridget Monahan | With: Brendan Connolly
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Brendan said with a grin. He felt better about talking with her - or at her - after her confession. "Lots'a people can't read or write. I can't. Much, anyway. You don't gotta know much to do what I do."
Bridget's mouth opened in amazement at Brendan not being able to read or write, even with the rider ‘much’.
That might have been construed as hypocritical, but everybody else in her life had always seemed so deft, so quick, so able at anything and everything in life. They all moved and talked so fast and clever, and no matter how quick she walked around town and no matter how hard she listened, she could just never keep up with them.
He squeezed her hand lightly and moved a little closer to her unconsciously, still speaking. "But some jobs you need to read an' write. If I wanted to be a banker, now, I'd need to do both and do 'rithmetic. I 'spect you won't need to do any of those, though. Say, what do you do?"
Talk of bankers made Bridget think of that nice Mr. Wentworth, the older gentleman who owned the bank and to whom she paid in any odd pennies she found on the sidewalks, he was one of that class of folk who were especially nice to her, among which she numbered Clara, Mr. Fa the Chinaman and Mr. Ryker, who’d helped to reconstruct her.
There was also another class of people who were especially mean to her, like those boys who had tripped her up into the mud the other day.
Finally, and most confusingly up until now, there were those odd people like Mr. Crabbe and Arabella who possessed some kind of blind spot, or character defect, which made them treat her like she was just another of the ‘normal folk’.
But Brendan was something different again. He made her feel like she was different and special in a good way as she swayed to the music with him, hearing his deep calming voice, and feeling his hard, muscled body through the soft brushed cotton of his red plaid shirt. He smelt different, too: mostly of horses and hay, but so very, very nice. She wanted to literally bury her face in his chest and just smell him all up. She wondered if all the men she would dance with tonight would make her feel like this, all relaxed and dreamy, but all excited and tummy-jumpy at the same time, or whether Brendan was a special one.
She snapped out of this reverie when he asked her what she 'did', and the question flummoxed her totally. She blinked rapidly, processing the question through the rerouted synapses of her brain. Like many who suffer brain trauma as children, the miraculous power of nature had enabled her to recover lost functions and faculties, but they didn’t work quite the same way as other folk and past, present and future weren’t as fixed as they might be in her gingery noggin, and the ability to lie had quite passed her by.
“Am a beggar … a beg.” She eventually said. That’s what she had done, the last time she’d had to do a ‘job’ as such. The amazing thing was that she didn’t whisper it, she said it out quite loud, with neither a smile or a frown on her innocent face.