"Oh."
Thomas looked embarrassed for her, which made it worse. "Well, Lillian's a fine girl."
"She is."
"Didn't mean anything by it."
"I know." Rachel pushed his coffee toward him. Thomas escaped with visible relief.
She watched him go. Then she made herself look toward Lillian. Her sister was beautiful. There wasn't any honest argument against it.
Rachel had spent years listening to women describe Lillian's face as delicate and her waist as neat, as though a person might be judged by how little space she required. Rachel had never been delicate. At 27, she was broad through the hips and full through the waist and chest, with strong arms from lifting feed buckets and holding frightened horses steady. Dresses never hung on her the way they did on Lillian.
Store-bought bodices pulled where they shouldn't, so Rachel altered nearly everything herself. Tonight she wore dark green because it hid stains. It had already proven useful.
"Rachel."
Mrs. Helen Ward came bustling from the small kitchen with another tray. "Those apple cakes need putting out."
"I'll take them."
"You've done enough."
"I'd rather be useful."
Helen gave her a strange look. Rachel pretended not to see it. She took the tray. The musicians finished the reel.
Applause filled the hall. Chairs scraped. Men started changing partners. Rachel arranged the apple cakes in two rows while conversation rose around her.
"Hail. High Mesa. Nearly 8,000 acres now."
"I heard more cattle than that place knows what to do with."
"Never seen him court anybody."
Rachel heard the fragments without wanting to. She reached across the table. Her cuff brushed the flour left beneath a bread basket. When she pulled her arm back, a white streak marked the green fabric.
"Perfect."
She rubbed at it. That only made it worse. Across the room, Lillian laughed at something one of the Carson brothers said. George stood nearby, pretending not to supervise.
Matthew Hail had made it halfway across the hall. Rachel saw him shake hands with the blacksmith. Then Judge Wilkins stopped him. Then old Mrs. Cooper caught his sleeve and spoke to him for nearly a minute.
Every interruption brought him closer to the center of the room. Closer to Lillian. George noticed too. He touched Lillian lightly between the shoulders.
"Stand up straight."
"I am standing straight."
"Smile."
"Pa."
"Just smile."
Lillian did. It was the smile Rachel had seen reduce sensible men to complete foolishness. Matthew freed himself from Mrs. Cooper. He looked forward.
Rachel reached for the empty cups. This part she knew. She knew the rhythm of it almost well enough to perform it without watching. A man noticed Lillian.
He found a reason to approach. George became agreeable. Lillian became luminous. Rachel became useful.
There was comfort in knowing your place if you stopped asking whether you liked it. She stacked three cups, then a fourth. One slipped against the saucer. She caught it before it fell.
"Good hands."
The voice was close. Rachel looked up. Matthew Hail was standing on the other side of the table.
For one foolish second, she looked behind herself. Nobody was there. She turned back. Up close, he seemed even larger.
Not because of his height, though she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. It was his stillness. A man that size could have made every movement feel threatening. Matthew didn't.
He stood with his hat held against one leg, leaving a respectful stretch of table between them. Rachel glanced toward Lillian. Her sister was staring. So was George.
Matthew's eyes remained on Rachel.
"Mr. Hail."
"Miss Hart."