She looked at him in surprise. She had mentioned those things, but only in passing, usually to Tom or the other cowboys. She hadn't realized Jake paid attention to her casual comments. I Yes, supplies would be helpful. Then it settled.
We'll leave at noon on Saturday. You can shop while the men get cleaned up. Then he paused, seeming to search for words. Then if you happen to stop by the dance hall and if I happen to be there and if the musicians happen to play something worth dancing to. Despite herself, Margaret smiled.
That's quite a lot of happenstance, Mr. Caldwell. Jake, he said quietly. In the evenings when it's just conversation, call me Jake. He left before she could respond, but Margaret found herself humming as she finished the pies. A dance.
She hadn't danced since before Charles died. Her good dress was long gone, sold to pay for travel, but perhaps she could do something with one of her calico dresses. That evening, after the supper dishes were done, Margaret heard a soft knock on her door. She opened it to find Jake holding a package wrapped in brown paper. "This was my mother's, " he said without preamble.
"It's been in a trunk for years. Might need altering. " But he thrust the package at her and strodee away before she could even thank him. Inside, Margaret found a dress of deep blue wool. Simple but beautifully made, the kind of dress a rancher's wife would wear to church or to a dance.
Nothing fancy by Philadelphia standards, but the fabric was quality, and the color would bring out her eyes. She held it up to herself, noting it would need taking in at the waist and hemming, but otherwise she spent the next evenings altering the dress by lamplight, listening to the cowboys practice their harmonicas and guitars on the bunk house porch. Jake had taken to sitting in the kitchen after dinner, working on his account books while she sewed. They rarely spoke, but the companionship was comfortable, like an old married couple sharing the evening hours. You're good with a needle, he observed on Thursday night.
Another useless Philadelphia accomplishment that turned out to be useful after all, she replied, biting off a thread. Along with piano playing, watercolors, and the ability to make small talk with boring people. None of those sound useless to me. He looked up from his ledger. Especially the last one.
You'll need it if Mrs. Henderson corners you at the dance. That woman could talk the ears off a donkey. Margaret laughed. Duly warned. Any other social hazards I should know about?
Well, there's Samuel Morrison. You've met him at the store. He's sweet on the widow Patterson who runs the boarding house, but she pretends not to notice. Then there's the usual collection of young cowboys who want to dance with anything in skirts. Oh, and avoid the punch.
Charlie Benson always spikes it with rotgut whiskey when no one's looking. "You sound like you actually enjoy these events, " Margaret said, surprised. "I go because the men expect it. A boss who won't socialize with the community breeds resentment, " he paused. "But I usually leave early.