He smiled at her, then glanced nervously at Savannah. His eldest daughter was chewing on her lower lip and
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carefully unwrapping the package. She moved slowly, as if she were afraid of what lay beneath the thin paper.
She peeled the brown paper back, and immediately looked up at him.
Jack smiled at her, nodding.
A slow, excited smile tugged at her mouth. She bit down harder on her lower lip, as if she were afraid to show how much the simple frock meant to her. But she couldn't keep the emotion from her eyes. "Oh, Daddy," she breathed, holding up the short-sleeved muslin gown sprigged with tiny pink flowers. "It's beautiful."
"I thought you ladies might need something special for the dance tomorrow night."
Savannah gasped. "Really?" she said. "We can go?"
Jack knew then that he'd made the right decision. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We can go."
Chapter Twenty-one
That night, Tess dried the last supper plate and put it carefully away. As she was turning to leave, a shadow of movement caught her eye.
Intrigued, she went to the window and saw Savannah sitting on the tree swing. Just sitting there, head bowed, hands in her lap. Alone.
Tess tossed her damp rag on the riddle board and went outside.
"Savannah?" she said quietly, making her way cautiously down the shadowy steps.
Savannah sighed unhappily. "Hi, Mama."
Tess picked her way across the yard and kneeled in the cold, damp grass in front of Savannah. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, Mama, that dress ain't?isn't?gonna help me. I'm gonna make a fool of myself at the dance tomorrow night."
"You don't know how to dance?"
She shook her head.
Tess pushed to her feet. "Well, that's nothing to worry about. I'll have you dancing in no time. You go run on into the barn. I'll get... a few things and meet you there."
"Really?" Savannah whispered. "You'll teach me?"
Tess forced a smile. "Sure. Now, run along. I'll be right there."
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Savannah was up like a shot. "Thanks, Mama," she called out, already skipping along the dirt road toward the barn.
Tess crossed her arms, the false smile on her face turning downward. She had no idea how to dance, of course. It was not something she'd done a great deal of in her life, for though she had always been able to feel the beat of the music, she'd felt too self-conscious to actually get out on a dance floor.
Then again, she had learned the steps to a dance back in the seventies, during college. She grinned at the thought of teaching the hustle to Savannah.
Remembering to hike her skirts like a good little pioneer gal, she walked back into the house. There was only one thing to do. And it was a damn good plan, if she did say so herself.
Jack stared at her in horror. "I can't teach Savannah to dance."
Tess frowned. "Don't you know how?"
He shoved a hand through his hair. "Of course I know how. We were raised in the South, for Christ's sake. Dancing's like breathing."
"Then what's the problem? You know how, she doesn't. Seems like a perfect fit to me."
He looked away. Tess moved toward him, placed a hand on his arm. "Jack? What is it?"
Slowly he looked down at her. "What if she won't let me?"
The quiet question wrenched her heart. Tess smoothed the unruly hair from his face. "Jack, she's been waiting for you all her life. She won't turn you away."
"Okay," he murmured. "I'll give it a try."
"No, Jack. Don't try. Do"
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He almost smiled. "You're an authoritative wench, you
know that?"
She pressed onto her tiptoes and kissed him. "So I've
been told. Now, hurry up."
He curled an arm possessively around her waist and drew her up for a longer, more intimate kiss. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the night.
He stood on the porch, staring down at the blackness of the Straits. A thick gray cloud let go its anchor and scudded past the half moon. Pale, blue-white light immediately slithered across the water in undulating waves. Stars poked their faces through the velvet sky.
He felt a small foot on his butt. "Go, Jack."
"Yeah, yeah." Dropping his chin, he moved woodenly down the steps and headed toward the barn. With every crunching step of his bootheel in the dirt, he winced. His mind was chock-full of images?times Savannah had looked at him with mistrust or not looked at him at all; times she'd almost come toward him and then stopped, her eyes wide with fear; times he'd wanted to reach out to her and been too damned afraid of his own darkness to even
try.
Please God, don't let me screw up.
Savannah paced back and forth, her small, boots clicking on the hard-packed dirt floor. Her stomach felt like a butterfly nest, all fluttery and full. She let out her breath in an anxious sigh. Calm down, Savannah. It ain't?isn't? that hard. Mama'II teach you, '?' everything'II be fine.
Tiny teeth nipped at her self-confidence. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. She was gonna make a fool of herself at the dance for sure.
"Savannah?"
She froze at the sound of her daddy's voice, then spun around. He was standing in the doorway, a broad-
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shouldered shadow against the midnight blue of the night behind him. A few stars twinkled in the sky beyond. There was only the barest light from the moon behind him, and yet even in the semidarkness, he was so handsome, he took her breath away.
"There's a rumor my little girl can't dance."
Yearning wrenched through Savannah. Tears lurched into her throat and stung her eyes. Her mouth wobbled dangerously. But she did her level best not to cry.
She wanted to say something that sounded grown-up, but all of a sudden she felt like a little kid, scared and lonely. She'd wanted him to notice her for so long, had waited and ached and prayed for it. But now that it was here, he was here, she didn't know what to do. Her knees felt like unset pudding.
She didn't move. She just stood there, her heart beating too fast and her throat as dry as toast, staring at her daddy. She was scared to death she'd burst into tears and he'd run away again. Standing still, she tried desperately to be a perfect little lady so he'd be proud of her.
"Come here, Vannah."
Vannah. The nickname almost did her in. She squeezed her eyes shut. Don't be a crybaby. Don't do somethin' stupid and make him leave again.
She tried to clear her mind, but it was impossible. Her head was full of the cherished, oft-remembered memories of long ago, from before she should even be able to remember, when she used to wake in the middle of the night to the sound of crying. It had happened so often back then. So often ...
When she woke up, she'd see him through the slats in her crib. He was standing there, reaching for her, whispering her name, Vannah, over and over again.
Somehow, even as a child, she'd sensed that he didn't want her to say anything. But once she hadn't been able to
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help herself. The word "Daddy?" had slipped from her small mouth.
He'd jerked his hand back and stumbled away from her. He'd never come back.
The memory burned in Savannah's chest, brought more stupid, stinging tears. She'd done something wrong that night. Something bad to make him run. Ever since, she'd tried to be so good, so quiet. But it didn't seem to matter.
Now he was giving her another chance, and she didn't want to do something wrong.
He held his hand out. "Come here, Vannah."
She stared at his outstretched hand until it became a flesh-colored smear. She blinked, swiped at the babyish tears.
"I'll wait here all night, Vannah," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere this time."
"I don't understand...." she said for lack of anything better to say, but it wasn't true, and she knew that even as the wor
ds slipped from her lips. She was afraid to understand, afraid she was wrong.
"It's simple, Vannah I just want to teach my little girl to
dance."
A tiny sob escaped her. This time there was no force on earth or within her soul that could have kept Savannah back. With a hiccuping squeak, she snatched up her skirts and ran for him. His strong arms closed around her, squeezing so hard, she had to gasp for breath as he lifted her up.
She didn't care a bit. She drew in a shuddering, watery breath and buried her face against his shoulder. He held her tightly against his chest, and this time there was no holding back the tears. They burst from the small, dark box in her heart in which she'd buried them long ago, surging through her dry soul in streaks of life-giving moisture.
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Daddy smoothed the hair from her cheek and kissed her forehead. "Vannah," he murmured against her moist temple, "I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"
Savannah tilted her face to look up at him. Moonlight illuminated half his face, casting shadows through his lashes and across his high, sharp cheekbones. He gazed down at her through eyes that were overbright, as if he, too, were holding back tears.
"Oh, Daddy." The words slipped out in a watery blur. She wanted to say more, but her throat was thick with tears, so she simply nodded.
He gave her a smile so warm, it heated all the places in her heart that had long been cold and dark. "I love you, Vannah."
Savannah's breath caught. Happy tears rolled down her cheeks and plopped on his flannel shirt. "I ... I love you, too, Daddy."
After that, the night took on a magical quality. Savannah knew it was a time she'd remember all her life. They hugged for a long time, forever, and then, gently, he let her down.
"Come on," he said, cocking his head toward the center of the barn. "We've got dancing to do."
Savannah followed him to the middle of the barn. They stood there, arm's length apart, staring at each other. Neither seemed to know what to say, or how to begin. Beside them, on the workbench, the lamp sputtered, sending plumes of gold into the darkness and creating a magical circle of light. From the stalls came the quiet rumbling of hooves on hard-packed dirt. The barn-smell of fresh hay, old wood, and dust filled the air.
Daddy reached for her. "Take my hand." Savannah shuffled into the circle of light, and took his hand. His other hand moved to the curve of her back and drew her close. In his arms, she felt small and warm and
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infinitely safe?it was a feeling she'd never had before, and it filled her with a giddy sense of happiness. She grinned up at him.
He smiled. "We'll start with a waltz." Humming a quiet tune, he began to move. He went slowly, accommodating her clumsy, awkward movements. Her feet seemed suddenly to swell to elephant size and she stumbled grace-lessly in his arms.
Shameful heat crawled up her throat and fanned across her cheeks. "Daddy, I can't do?"
"Shhh," he murmured. "Just relax. One, two three. One, two, three."
Savannah closed her eyes and accidentally slipped into the timeless rhythm. The soft, lilting rain of his humming soared in her senses like a symphony, merging with the creaking floorboard and sputtering lamp to create a full, rich sound. Smiling, moving easily in his arms, Savannah joined her voice to his, and together they made the dusty old barn swell with music.
The night was more than half gone by the time Jack and Savannah finished dancing. They'd laughed and danced and talked for hours, forging the strong, solid bonds of a new relationship.
But finally Savannah's eyelids had begun to droop, and Jack had known this special night must come to an end. So, still talking and hand in hand, they walked back to the house. A lazy breeze chattered through the leaves overhead and whistled through the grass as they climbed the creaking steps.
The house was cold and dark inside. On the kitchen table lay a puddle of wax where a stubby candle had been.
"Uh-oh," Savannah said, smothering a giggle. "I guess we stayed a bit too long."
Jack gave her hand a squeeze. "I could' ve danced all
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night with you, pumpkin. It was like dancin' with air, you were so light on your feet."
She blinked up at him. "Really? You think Jeffie'll think I'm a good dancer?"
Jack's heart tugged hard at the thought of his Savannah, his baby girl, dancing with a boy. He gave her a bittersweet smile that was the best he could do. "Yeah," he choked out. "He'll think you're great."
She grinned. "Thanks, Daddy." She reached up on her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Good night." He kissed her. "Night."
Before he could say anything else, she scampered down the hallway and disappeared in her room. The door squeaked shut behind her.
Jack stared at the door long after it had closed. A strange mixture of emotions was swirling through him: joy that he'd finally kissed his daughter, sadness that he'd waited so long, and regret for the thousands of moments he'd missed. He felt all these things and more, much more. For the first time in years, he felt good about himself, about the decision he'd made.
Amazingly, it wasn't as hard as he'd thought. He'd reached out just a little, and his hand hadn't been smacked as he'd feared. Instead, it had been grabbed, held firmly. And he hadn't failed her. He thought about how it had felt in the barn, swirling on the straw-strewn floor with his daughter in his arms. About how she'd looked, her face all flushed with happiness, her eyes glittering with tears. / love you, too, Daddy.
They were words he'd remember all his life. Smiling, Jack headed for his wife's?no, he reminded himself, their?bedroom. He found her sleeping, curled up beneath the heavy coverlet. Her deep, even breaths filled the darkened chamber.
Jack quickly peeled down to his long Johns and climbed
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into bed beside her. The tired old bed planks creaked beneath his weight. He thought briefly about waking her, loving her, but decided it was too late. Tomorrow was a big day that started early, and they'd have plenty of time for lovemaking tomorrow night.
He smiled and drew her into his arms. Holding her tight, breathing the unique wildflower and lavender scent of her, he went to sleep.
Sunlight streamed through the open kitchen window, bringing with it the smell of new roses and the singsongy chatter of nesting birds. Tess opened the stove door and bent down, peering into the oven. Hot, dry heat hit her in the face, bringing with it the cinnamon-spicy scent of baking apple cake. Certain that it was browning nicely, she closed the heavy metal door and straightened slowly.
Pushing a sweaty lock of hair from her eyes, she glanced around. The kitchen table was heaped with bags of flour and sugar. Beside the huge crockery bowl of batter lay a dozen or so cored apples and a pile of precious walnuts. Five cakes were cooling along the edge of the table, and a big pan of chicken pieces was frying on the back burner. Minerva Hannah was standing at the kitchen table, elbow deep in cake fixings.
"Thanks for coming over, Minerva," Tess said, feeling a rush of affection for the woman who'd shown up at ten o'clock with her sleeves rolled up and a wagonload of baking supplies. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
Minerva waved a floury hand. "I was glad to come. Nothing makes a big job seem small like a friend's help."
Smiling, Tess poured two cups of coffee and went to the table.
"Just put mine down," Minerva said. "I'm almost done." Before the words were even out of her mouth, she
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thwacked a big glob of lard into the blackened cast-iron pan and started smearing the goo around.
Tess looked the other way. Lard was one of those foods a twentieth-century woman had trouble with. Sitting down across from Minerva, Tess curled her fingers around the warm tin. "So, how many of these cakes do we need to make?"
Minerva expertly poured the last of the batter into the greased pan and carefully smoothed it out with a wooden spoon. "Three per family is usual. When we get to the dance, we layer the cakes with applesauce and whipped crea
m and have plenty for everyone. And no two cakes taste the same."
Tess smiled at the quaint custom. "I'm really looking
forward to the dance." Minerva pushed the pan aside and sat down. With a
tired sigh, she took a sip of coffee. "Hey, this is better than
the last batch. You're catching on." "Thank God. I was about ready to chew the beans." Minerva laughed easily. "Don't forget: Tonight you'll
want to pack enough meat and fixin's for your own family.
At the hall, they'll have a big table set out for food. You
just put yours in with everybody else's and eat whatever
you want. It's a real treat." "Not for the poor soul who picks my cooking." Minerva clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Now,
Lissa, that recipe I gave you is so simple, a child could
make it."
"It's a good thing," Tess laughed, " 'cause I'm going to give it to Savannah."
Minerva laughed with her. Deftly moving a bag of flour from the table in front of her, she plopped her elbows on the table and stared at Tess. "You've really changed, you know that?"
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Tess smiled softly. "Minerva, you don't know the half of it."
They sat there a long time, sipping coffee and chatting. They talked of many things, of children and diapers and husbands. Of big things and small, of the myriad day-today challenges facing pioneer women trying to forge a new life in a rugged land. The morning slid into noontime, then drifted into early afternoon.
By the time Minerva left, Tess felt as if she'd really, truly made a friend.
Chapter Twenty-two
Tess was sweating like a pig by the time she finished lacing, buttoning, hook-and-eyeing, and smoothing her dress. Panting for air, blinking against dizziness, she took a cautious step backward. The distance helped. She could see more of herself in the wide, U-shaped mirror on the washstand.
What little breath she had disappeared. Her mouth rounded in surprise.
She looked beautiful. Not just pretty; pretty was a dime a dozen. She was drop-dead gorgeous. Savannah had pulled the pale, honey-hued hair away from Tess's face and braided it, then curled the wrist-thick weave into a coronet that sat on her head like a fragile golden crown. Wisps of curly blond hair fell in disarray across her brow and temples, giving her a soft, almost ethereal look. The beautiful silver lavaliere Jack had brought her hung just below the hollow of her throat.