Disclaimer: I own nothing, I own nothing, I own nothing. All credit to David Dotort and the writers and actors and set designers and camera technicians and wardrobe experts and hairdressers and Chevrolet. Except for Liberty. She's mine. YOU CAN'T HAVE HER, DAVID.
"You'd never believe me if I told you I'm gonna marry you, but it's true an' I can
prove it."
"Sure, Hoss."
"I can."
Liberty Ortez had bright, quicksilver-colored eyes, the prettiest he'd ever seen in all
his thirteen years, even when she was rolling them at him.
"I'll prove it right now, if'n ya want me to."
The thing was maybe she didn't want him to. And he didn't know what he'd do if that
was so. Maybe lie down and die, right there out back of the barn. Better that, than
going the rest of his life unable to look Liberty in those pretty eyes of hers, ever
again.
Then Liberty asked, "How?"
"Okay, now we put 'em in."
"This is addled," Liberty muttered.
"Ain't either." Truth was, Hoss was starting to think maybe old Toby had been
joshing him. He rolled the greased sewing needle between his big fingers nervously,
oil slick on his skin, and saw Liberty was doing the same thing with hers.
It hadn't been easy, getting the needles from Hop Sing's kit, even with Liberty
keeping a lookout. If Hop Sing, or worse, Pa had caught him poking around in the
cook's room, well-there would've been fire and brimstone raining down, for sure. And
Hoss had to-Adam would say appropriate but Hoss figured it was borrowing-one of
Pa's handkerchiefs. None of Hoss' own were clean and Little Joe never could keep
track of his.
He looked at the handkerchief now, afloat in the water-filled bowl setting there in
the dust. It had the letters MC embroidered on the corner and his throat filled up-he
had just grabbed the first one out of Pa's drawer and scooted without even glancing at
it. But those were Mama's initials. Mama's handkerchief getting wet and dirty.
He knew she wouldn't have minded, if she was alive to know about it. He still felt
like a louse.
"So," Liberty said. "We just set the needles down on the cloth?"
She was looking at him, and he knew Liberty knew he was feeling bad inside, just
like she always did. She maybe didn't know why but that didn't stop her from smiling
at him, her special smile, eyes lit up like Lake Tahoe glittering in the sunshine after a
rain. Making all the storm clouds scatter away.
"And if they roll together," Liberty said slowly, "we'll be married someday?"
"For sure," Hoss said. "At least, that's what ol' Toby says."
Liberty tilted her head to the side, squinting at him. "What about if they roll away
from each other?"
He didn't like to think about that. He sighed, "Means we'll-well, we won't
be married." Iffen the lovers' needles drift apart, Toby had said, so'll they.
Liberty pursed her lips at that. "Huh," she said. "Well. On three?"
He nodded, and they held their needles out in front of them, like them epées Mama
brought from New Orleans.
"One," Liberty said.
Hoss licked his lips. "Two."
"Three."
Plink. Plink.
Hoss sucked in a breath. Liberty chewed the end of her dark braid. The needles
skimmed back and forth over the floating cloth.
And rolled apart.
Hoss thought he might cry. Now she'd never believe him. Not that it mattered. No
girl with good sense would want anything to do with a big, dumb ox like him anyway.
Of course, there had been plenty of times during the two years he'd
known her that Hoss had wondered if Liberty had any sense at all.
Because she was reaching her fingers in the bowl, and she pushed those two needles
together so they were bobbing side by side.
"There," she said, flicking her hand at him, and Hoss flinched from the drops of
water that smattered his cheek. "You just remember, you're my fiancé now, Hoss. I
catch you makin' eyes at any other girl an' I'll punch you in the nose."
"Libby," he said thickly. "That ain't-that ain't how it works. I told you I'd prove I'm
gonna marry you and I didn't, I didn't prove anythin'."
Those mercury eyes settled on him. "So I'm supposed to believe a couple
of stupid needles over you?" Her voice raised a little higher in that way it did
when she was getting wound up.
Hoss rubbed a hand over his hair. "Well, no, but-"
"Did you mean what you said, Hoss Cartwright?" She fixed a blazing glare on him.
"Did you mean it when you said you're gonna marry me?" Sitting up on her knees,
she glared down at him, strands of dark hair flying out of the braid, smudges of dust
on her calico dress. Her hands were white-knuckled at her sides as if she was ready to
pop him one.
Hoss wanted to kiss her.
"Yeah," he said, but it came out as kind of a baby frog's croak, so he cleared his
throat and said it again, firm. "Yeah, I meant it-I mean it, Libby."
The fire cooled in her eyes, and she rocked back on her heels, letting out a loud
breath, like she'd been as scared of 'no' as he was. "Good." She grinned at him all of a
sudden. "Hoss?"
Her smile left him dumb, his tongue too tied up to answer.
Liberty spoke in a soft, secret way he'd never heard before. "You'd never believe me
if I told you I love you, Hoss, but it's true and I can prove it."
And then Liberty Ortez leaned in and pecked his cheek.
And Hoss believed her.