One True Love (Cupid, Texas 0.5) (5 page)

Mabel eyed Penelope. “How you aimin’ on doing that?”

Penelope placed a palm over her heart. “I’ll have you know, I was one of the best dancers at Oldfields Finishing School, second only to my best friend, Wallis.”

“Her best friend was a boy?” I whispered to Mabel.

“Wallis is a girl with a boy’s name,” Mabel whispered back.

Penelope was waltzing about the room, bumping into bushel baskets full of tomatoes. “Her first name is Bessie, but she hates it. Wallis has such a strong personality. The name suits her much better than Bessie.”

“I wasn’t talking about your dancing abilities.” Mabel steered her back on topic. “I was speaking of Mr. Beau. That man has two left feet.”

“True, Beau would rather have his head stuck in a tin can than get out on the dance floor.” Penelope sighed. “And we’re all better for his lack of interest. John will be my partner. He’s the best dancer in Cupid.”

At the mention of John’s name my pulse quickened. He knew how to dance too? Was there anything the man could not do?

Mabel shook her head. “Mr. John doesn’t have time to practice with you. Not with rebuilding the silver mine and bringing in that new well.”

Penelope paused, momentarily stumped. “You’re right. I need someone to practice with. I don’t know the new dances at all.” She eyed me speculatively. “Millie, do you know how to dance?”

“I can square dance, ma’am.”

“I suppose you’ll do. We start practicing tomorrow. I’m going to go call Wallis and see if she’s got any tips.”

With that, she waltzed away.

Mabel let out a long held breath, shook her head. “I don’t envy you.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“When Penelope gets an idea in her head, she’s like a bulldog with a bone. Mark my word. She’ll dance the legs right off of you.”

Chapter Five

P
ENELOPE’S FRIEND
W
ALLIS
S
IMPSON
was sending a dance marathon promoter from Chicago out to Cupid to orchestrate the event, and she was over the moon. More than once, Penelope said, “I’m going to show those old biddies. We’re going to put on a dance unlike anything the Trans-Pecos has ever seen.”

The Ladies’ League charity event was always held the last weekend in September. That gave us six weeks to practice, and Mabel’s prediction was indeed prophetic. Penelope and I danced three to four hours a day. Danced until our legs were so achy and sore that we often woke in the middle of the night with painful charley horses.

When I’d protest that I wasn’t getting all my cleaning done, Penelope would wave away my complaints. “This is more important than a few cobwebs in the corner.”

Margaret Fant watched her grandchildren, keeping the kids from getting underfoot while we practiced. I appreciated how this family worked together and supported each other, but it made me homesick for my own kin.

We learned every single one of the hot new dance crazes sweeping the cities from a chart that Penelope’s friend Wallis sent us—the Charleston, the fox-trot, and the Baltimore Buzz. I was surprised at how quickly I picked up the steps, and Penelope declared me a natural dancer. When I danced I felt freer than I’d ever felt in my life. Dance took me out of myself and into the music spilling from Penelope’s Victrola.

“You have an elegant grace,” she said. Flattered, I blushed, until she added, “That you rarely see in someone from your station in life.”

There it was. The unbridgeable gulf between her class and mine. She might use me as a stand-in dance partner, but I would never be her equal. I knew that, but it still stung.

The closer it got to the dance marathon, the more Penelope pushed me, and we’d finish our dance sessions exhausted, but exhilarated.

“I’m going to set this town on fire!” Penelope declared, and rubbed her palms together.

“Will Mr. Fant know these dances?” I asked Penelope, not daring to say John’s first name. I was careful to look away from her when I asked the question, so she couldn’t see from my eyes how I felt about her brother. I didn’t want to lose my job.

“John is a man of the world,” she said. “He gets to Houston quite often and I know for a fact he’s been to some of the jazz clubs there. I’m sure some of the young ladies have taught him a thing or two.”

Jealousy made my stomach hurt. I didn’t like thinking about John dancing with other women. Silly of me, I know, but I could no more stop the jealousy than I could stop breathing.

“Maybe you should practice with him this last week before the dance marathon,” I broached the subject carefully. My reasoning was selfish. I wanted John in Penelope’s house.

“I’ve already asked. He’s says he can’t make any promises, but he’ll try to get in a practice session or two before the event.”

My hopes leaped. I saw John around town of course—at church or in passing on the street. He’d smile and lift his hat, but he’d never stop for a lingering conversation. Whenever I hung out the clothes, I’d peeked over the clothesline, but I never again caught him smoking his pipe. I assumed he’d given up the habit. I wondered if he’d already forgotten our ride home from the caverns. Or that he’d nicknamed me Millipede.

Penelope had ordered a flapper dress all the way from Chicago. It arrived on Friday, the day before the dance marathon, and John was the one to bring it into the house.

There was a knock on the door and I opened it to find John standing there with the package in his hand.

“I intercepted the delivery,” he explained.

I lowered my lashes and stepped aside. “Please, do come in.”

“Is that my dress?” Penelope came running into the room like she was the same age as my sister Jenny, her face alight, her hands grabbing for the package.

“Don’t I even get a kiss on the cheek, dear sister?” John asked, sweeping off his Panama hat and hanging it on the hook by the front door, where it rested beside Mr. Bossier’s newsboy cap. “I put aside everything to come dance with you.”

Instead of a kiss on the cheek, Penelope lightly punched his upper arm. “That’s for not coming to practice before now.”

“Ow.” John pretended she’d hurt him and rubbed his arm. “Relax. In a dance marathon, you don’t have to be a great dancer. You just have to have a lot of physical stamina. The point is to outlast the other dancers, not outshine them.”

“I intend on doing both.”

“I’m sure you will,” he told her.

“Wait here. I’m going to go try on the dress.” With the package tucked under her arm, she bounded up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Mr. Bossier.

“Wow,” John said to me. “I had no idea she was this invested in the dance marathon.”

“Oh, she’s very invested.” I nodded.

“I’ve heard you’ve been my stand-in,” he said.

I finally dared to sneak a peek at his face. “No one could ever stand in for you.”

He laughed at that. A clever sound that made me smile. “You’ll be forever ruined for dancing with a man.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, alarmed. Many of my fantasies were centered on dancing with John and even though they were just fantasies, the thought of being ruined scared me to death.

“After this, you’ll always try to lead.”

I put a hand to my forehead “My goodness, you’re right. Mrs. Bossier taught me to lead.”

“But what’s wrong with that?” he asked with a wink. “Women now have the right to vote, they should have the right to lead if they wish.”

“I don’t want to lead,” I said, not wanting him to think I was manly.

“Everyone,” Penelope called downstairs. “Gather around so you can witness my grand entrance.”

John and I grinned at each other and in unison we moved to the bottom of the stairs. I marveled at how we fell into step together, side by side.

Mabel came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and smelling of vanilla. “What’s all the fuss about?”

John waved with a flourish to the top of the stairs where Penelope had appeared.

She stood on the landing, posing with a dramatic flair in the stunning mint green dress. It was sleeveless, quite scandalous indeed for the likes of Cupid, and it had a straight loose bodice that dropped all the way to her hips. The hem hit her just a few inches below her knees, exposing lots of leg adorned in silk stockings. On her feet, she wore high-heeled shoes, and on her head sat a floppy mint green hat decorated with white lilies of the valley.

“My heavens,” Mabel muttered, “The world is turning topsy-turvy.”

I stared at Penelope, awestruck. She could have stepped straight off the pages of
Harper’s Bazaar
. Until this dancing thing, I had tended to think of Mrs. Bossier as matronly. She was well and properly married and had two children, but right now, she looked no older than I. Her passion for dancing shone like a beacon from her eyes.

No way would I dare tell her that when she appeared at the Ladies’ League event dressed like this, whether she earned hundreds of dollars for the charity or not, she would not regain her lost position with that tight-lipped crowd. In fact, appearing dressed this way might be her social undoing.

I wondered why John did not point this out, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d already noticed he wasn’t the type to put restrictions on the behavior of others. Which was better? Warning his sister of her potential downfall or giving Penelope her independence and allowing her to make her own mistakes? I’d grown up in a world marked by distinct right or wrong. This gray area confused me.

“You would look amazing in that dress, Millie,” John murmured so low that I was certain I had misunderstood him, but I couldn’t stop a sweet thrill from sweeping over me.

Penelope spread her arms wide. “Ta-da.”

John cupped his curled fingers over his mouth as if he were speaking through a megaphone and said, “Here she is folks, straight from Chicago, to grace our modest hamlet with her incredible dancing skills, the thoroughly modern Miss Penny.”

In that moment I saw them as they must have been as children, loving and teasing each other.

“Oh, John, you’re making fun,” Penelope protested, but her cheeks turned a dark shade of pink and she started walking sideways down the stairs, regal in her flapper clothes. She was the bravest woman I knew, daring to do something most women wouldn’t have the courage to pursue.

And that’s when one of Penelope’s high heels slipped out from under her and sent her plunging down the length of the stairs.

A
LL THREE OF
us ran to Penelope; John and I, being younger and quicker, beat Mabel to her side.

But Mabel, being bigger and older, muscled us away. She knelt on the floor, scooped Penelope up in her plump arms, and cradled her back in the crook of her elbow. “Good Lord, ma’am, what on earth was you thinkin’? Parading down the steps in those heels.”

Concern pulled John’s lips tight. “Sister, are you okay?”

Tears sprang to Penelope’s eyes and she grabbed for her ankle. “Ow, ow, ow.”

I looked down at her right ankle that was swelling big as a cow’s udder, and plastered my hand over my mouth.

Penelope’s gaze met mine. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

I shook my head.

Penelope reached for John’s arm. “Get me to my feet. I have to see if I can stand.”

“Penny, that’s not a good idea.”

“Johnny,” she said through clenched teeth. “Help me up.”

Reluctantly, he took one of her arms and Mabel took the other and they helped Penelope to her feet, but the second she put weight on that right leg, she collapsed back onto the floor with a loud wail of pain.

Mabel clucked her tongue. “There’ll be no marathon dancing for you.”

Beneath the pallor of her skin, Penelope burst into fresh tears. “No,” she whispered, “I have to dance.”

But I could see the fight draining out of her.

“I’ve bragged to the Ladies’ League.” She sniffled. “I have to show them up.”

“Well, you know what they say about pride going before a fall,” John said.

“You’re not helping. I was going to raise the most money for needy children. It was my way back into everyone’s good graces after that mess with Ruthie.”

“I don’t know why you care so much about what a lot of old biddies think.” Mabel fussed over her, dabbed Penelope’s tears with the corner of her apron.

“They can make or break you, Mabel. Success in life comes down to how well you play politics.” Penelope let out a long sigh, leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes. Her right leg was stuck out in front of her, her left knee drawn up.

Mabel carefully rearranged the flapper dress to cover as much of Penelope’s leg as possible. “There now.”

“Shoo.” Penelope waved her away. “Let me think.”

Mabel got to her feet and waddled to the door. “I’ll go for the doctor.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip and glanced over at John. He studied me with a pensive expression in his eyes. Did I have something on my face? I scrubbed a palm over my cheek.

“Have you registered for the marathon yet?” he asked his sister.

Penelope waved a weak hand, but kept her eyes closed. “The registration starts tomorrow morning. Why?”

“In the rules and regulations brochure that you gave me to study, it said that once the contestants have registered, if one partner drops out the other one can’t go on with another partner.”

Penelope opened one eye. “What are you getting at?”

“If you haven’t registered us yet, I can still dance and uphold the family name.”

She perked up a little. “With whom? Elizabeth is still in Baltimore and besides, even if she was here, Elizabeth might be a good dancer but she has no stamina. A dance marathon is about more than just dancing. It’s being able to outlast everyone else. You’re not going to find anyone who fits that bill this late date.”

Who was Elizabeth? I darted a sidelong glance at John. An old girlfriend? My chest tightened and I felt slightly sick at my stomach.

John was looking straight at me. “You’re wrong about that.”

Penelope’s other eye popped open. “You don’t mean—”

“Who else has been practicing for weeks?” he asked.

I frowned. Were they talking about what I thought they were talking about?

“It’s unheard of, John.” Penelope swept the flapper hat off her head and fanned herself with it. One of the lilies of the valley flew off and landed on the floor at my feet.

“This is a new decade, Pen, things are changing.”

“But what will everyone say?” she mused.

“That Mrs. Penelope Fant Bossier has set this town on its ear.”

“It would be social suicide.”

“Or you could start your own society of younger, more modern women.”

Penelope canted her head pensively. “What about you?”

“I don’t give a damn what they think about me. Let’s shake this place up.”

I widened my eyes. I’d never heard him curse. He must be serious.

Penelope moved to sit up straighter; her faint smile couldn’t cover her wrench of pain. “You make an excellent point, little brother.”

Both of them were staring at me now.

“She is about my size. The dress would fit her.”

Gooseflesh speckled my arms. I looked from John to Penelope and back again.

Penelope notched her chin up and gave John her permission when she said recklessly, “Why not?”

“What is it? What are you talking about?” But I knew and I could scarcely believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, because it was an unreal dream. Too late, hope spread through me as bright and yellow as the noonday sun.

“Millie,” John said. “Will you be my partner for the dance marathon?”