"People assume because Pa encourages them."
"Pa wouldn't if there were nothing to encourage."
Rachel wanted to say Matthew had been clear enough without saying anything formal. She did not. That belonged to Matthew. Not her.
Instead, she said, "Then ask him."
Lillian looked offended. "I can't ask a man whether he intends to court me."
"Then don't."
Rachel climbed into the wagon. Lillian stood another moment before joining her. The annual spring dance was held the third Saturday of April in the Cedar Ridge meeting hall. Rachel had no intention of attending.
She said so on Thursday. George looked at her over supper. "Don't be foolish."
"I'm not."
"Lillian shouldn't arrive without family."
"You're family."
"You know what I mean."
Rachel did. He meant somebody needed to carry wraps, help with food, fetch coffee, and make sure George did not stay too late at the card table. Helen Ward settled the matter Friday morning by coming to the Hart Farm herself.
"I need another pair of hands with supper."
Rachel opened her mouth. Helen raised one finger.
"And before you say you're busy, I already asked George."
Rachel stared at her. "That's betrayal."
"That's friendship."
"I don't remember agreeing to either."
Helen smiled. "Six o'clock."
So Rachel went. She wore the green dress because it still fit and because the flour stain from the previous dance season had mostly come out. Mostly.
By 7:30, Cedar Ridge's meeting hall was full. Lanterns hung from hooks along the walls. The stove burned too hot. Wet coats steamed near the entrance where riders had come through spring mud.
Two fiddle players and a man with a guitar occupied the corner platform. Lillian danced the first reel with Thomas Bell, the second with one of the Carson brothers, the third with Jacob Mason's cousin, though Jacob himself was now well occupied with preparations for his marriage to Lillian and seemed relieved to let other men handle the social part. Rachel poured coffee. She replaced empty plates.
She moved apple cakes from one tray to another because Helen insisted the cracked platter looked untidy. It was all comfortably familiar. Then Matthew arrived. Rachel felt the room notice before she looked up.
He stood just inside the door, ducking under the frame, his black coat fitting badly across shoulders that had probably been measured by some Cheyenne tailor who had underestimated him. George straightened. Lillian did too. Rachel reached for another coffee pot.
Her father crossed to Lillian. "Stand up straight."
"I am."
"Smile."
"Pa."
Rachel heard every word. She kept her eyes on the table. Thomas Bell appeared with an empty mug.
"You reckon Hail means to do it tonight?"
Rachel poured. "Do what?"
Thomas looked embarrassed almost immediately. "Nothing."
"That's what I thought."
He escaped. Rachel rubbed at a fresh flour mark on her cuff. The music stopped. Voices moved around her.
Matthew was coming across the room. She expected him to be intercepted. He was. Judge Wilkins stopped him.
Then Mrs. Cooper. Then the blacksmith. Each time Matthew answered whatever required answering and continued forward. Rachel finally looked toward Lillian.
Her sister was standing beneath the lamp in her blue dress. Beautiful. Still waiting. Matthew passed her.
At first, Rachel assumed he simply had not reached her yet. Then he came around the end of the supper table. Rachel's fingers tightened around the coffee rag. He stopped before her.
Up close, his expression was calm. Almost annoyingly calm.