Thank you, kind people.
Standard disclaimer.
The girls were all aflutter on this warm summer night, as they got ready for the dance.
"Guess what?" Michele said. "A new rancher was flirting with me at the parade. He said he'd be at the dance tonight."
"Remember to behave like a lady," Mercedes reminded her. "You can't sell the candy store, by giving away the sweets."
"What?" asked Rachel. Mercedes sighed and shook her head.
"Never mind Rach. I think Michele knows what I mean." Michele nodded.
"I do, Miss Jones and I'm very grateful to you, for all you've taught me." Mercedes smiled and patted her arm.
"I only want what's best for all of you. You've become like little sisters to me."
"You're not that old," Rachel said.
"Sometimes I feel like it, though."
She thought about marriage with a wistful sigh. Mrs. Buford Fortenbury. Should she settle for that, if he asked her? There might not be any fireworks, but she'd be part of a respectable family.
Her mind went to the night Sam had caught her arm, and how her heart had hammered at his touch.
Her common sense told her, the gambler was not only wild, but dangerous to a respectable woman, like her.
The lieutenant was a sensible match, any day.
She sighed heavily. She wasn't sure what she would wear. She was going to throw on the same one she'd worn earlier, but the girls were having none of it.
"Miss Mercy," Eva started, "You could look so much better than you do. I'll bet anything, you have some fancy outfits in the back of your closet."
Mercedes wanted to protest and say otherwise, but she hated lying.
"Maybe I do."
"Let's see what you have," Michele said.
"I don't think…" Mercedes started, but was politely cut off by Elaine saying,
"You could at least try. You have a killer body…hips and ass to die for…"
"Language, please."
"Sorry, but you do. And you need to show it off."
"I don't think…"
"Well, don't," Eva said, as she and the others began looking through the closet, attempting to find something enticing for Mercedes to wear.
Just like the girls had said, they found her the perfect dress for the party.
As Mercedes stood blinking at herself in the full-length mirror, she had to admit, she looked radiant.
"It looks good on you," Rachel said, and the others agreed. "Now, you need some jewelry, and something done to your hair."
"What's wrong with my hair?" Mercedes touched it defensively. "It's very practical this way," she finished.
"Practical is out. It needs to be a little softer," Michele said, and then, "I'll get the curling iron. You others, find her some jewelry and something a little sweeter than what she usually wears."
They all scattered, with Mercedes calling after them in protest.
Carmen entered then.
"Hmm, hmm, ain't you something?" She nodded in approval. "You look right pretty, Miss Mercedes."
"You think so?" She stared at herself in the mirror. "My mother frowned on vanity."
"Well, everyone has a right to their own opinion…but in my opinion, you look smashing."
"Thank you, Carmen."
"I've got food in the oven for tonight's big dance…party, whatever." She left the room and the girls reappeared with a string of pearls and a curling iron.
"Have a seat, say bye to the bun and let us do something about your hair," Rachel said.
Mercedes protested, but she was overwhelmed by the girls, who took down her hair and redid it, with giggles of delight.
Downstairs, Sam had just finished shaving, and frowned, as he slipped into a fine black jacket, that was custom-made for him.
He slapped on a little aftershave and a dab of Polo Red by Ralph Lauren. He looked much younger than his twenty-nine years.
There were going to be some pretty girls at the dance and normally, he would help himself to the feast of beauties. But, tonight, he must concentrate on Mercedes.
Mercy, he thought with a smile.
In spite of her stern demeanor, she was really naïve and defenseless in this tough world. He suddenly felt protective of her. Then he remembered that she was ruining his business and he had a bet on with the guys…his reputation as a charmer, was on the line.
No, Lieutenant Nancy-boy was not going to monopolize her evening, if Sam had anything to say about it.
It was turning dusk outside his window.
From upstairs, he heard the girls giggling. 'What's going on up there?'
The errand boy came in the back door and announced that the limo was out front and ready. Sam nodded and went to the foot of the stairs.
"Hey ladies," he shouted. "You ready for the party?"
The girls came down together.
Mercedes must've had a hand in their outfits, because, they wore little make-up and their dresses were demure, he thought. He made an exclamation of surprise.
"You girls look like real ladies," he said before thinking.
"We are ladies and entitled to some respect," Rachel said and then, "Wait until you see Miss Jones." They giggled, as if sharing an inside joke.
"Uh huh," Sam said without enthusiasm, not expecting much. She always looked prim and hardly ever smiled.
"We'll wait in the car," the girls said and trooped passed him, giggling again.
"Hey up there!" he yelled up the stairs. "Are you coming, Miss Jones?"
Her door opened slowly and she came out on the landing and stood there hesitantly. Sam took a surprised breath and muttered to himself.
"Well, I'll be damned!" She paused at the top of the stairs. "Do I…do I look ridiculous? The girls insisted on helping me."
He couldn't say anything. He just stared.
She looked extremely pretty. Her skin looked soft and it glowed. Her neck was adorned with pearls and her hair… She came down the stairs blushing.
"Do I look that bad?"
"You…you look pretty," he stumbled over his words. "What did you do to your hair?" She reached up and touched it with a nervous hand.
"The girls insisted on curling it and putting it in this half up, half down, do. I feel so silly. It's the first time I've actually allowed myself to get this gussied up."
Sam was spellbound and it made her uneasy.
She turned to go upstairs and change, and he grabbed her arm.
"No way. You're not changing."
He caught a whiff of the new scent she was wearing and how brown her eyes were…and that sprinkle of freckles across her nose and slightly over her cheeks, only made her more appealing.
He had a sudden urge to drag her to him and kiss her breathless, there in the darkened hallway, but he also knew, she'd probably slap him.
The lieutenant would probably kiss her tonight, out on the balcony of the ballroom. The thought made him grind his teeth.
"You look upset, Mr. Evans. You don't have to be nice to me. I know how much you dislike me."
"Then maybe I'm the one who has been a fool," he smiled gallantly and offered her his arm. "Shall we go?"
She blushed again and took his toned arm.
Sam was still speechless over her appearance. He patted the dainty hand she put on his muscular arm and smiled down at her again.
"It would be an honor to escort you, Mercy. And while I know you've promised all your dances to the officer, I will fight him and any others off and insist you save me a dance."
Mercedes flushed.
"Please don't make fun of me," she whispered. "I know you're only after the Lily."
Could he deny it? He was as confused, as a calf in a roping pen. Somehow, he could not lie to this soft paragon of virtue.
"Well, save me a dance anyway." They started out the front door and Carmen called after Sam.
"Mr. Sam, I put a coconut and a chocolate cake in the back of the limo, as well as a ham."
"Thanks, Carmen. Doesn't Miss Mercy look nice?"
"She sure does." She shooed the two of them out the door. "Y'all have a good time at the dance tonight."
She stood on the porch and waved goodbye as the car pulled away.
Carmen returned to the kitchen. She knew Sam very well. She'd seen the way he smiled at the naïve Miss Jones, just now.
He was going to try to charm her and the poor thing had probably never had a man court her before.
Sam was a ladies' man. Miss Mercedes would be like a baby chick in a wolf's mouth.
"Uh uh," she shook her head in disapproval.
She used to like Sam much more, until the diamond pin disappeared. She knew he'd given it to Miss Sue the day before she died. But when she had looked for it, to pin it on Sue's dress for the burial, she couldn't find it.
Had he done the unthinkable and taken it from her jewelry box, the day of the funeral? That would be incredibly cheap and not at all like Mr. Sam.
He'd always been kind and generous. No wonder Miss Sue had loved him better than a son.
If he'd been a little older or she'd been a little younger…well, that was water under the bridge, now.
Carmen sat in the dark kitchen, sipping her coffee and wondered about what Sam had done with the diamond pin. He'd probably given it to one of the whores, or even Miss Mercedes, trying to charm her to drop her suspicions of him. She shook her head.
"Yes, the poor little thing, is a baby chick in a wolf's mouth and Mr. Sam will get what he wants. She'll end up in his bed like all those other women."
As the limo pulled up to the fort, the girls in the back giggled with excitement.
"Look at all the cars. Half the county must be here tonight," Rachel said.
It was a warm night and the lights and music streamed from the ballroom.
Mercedes glanced at Sam. He looked handsome tonight, and he's been very polite. And the way he'd look at her, back in the hallway, had made her pulse race.
He smiled at her and started to get out of the car. But just then, the Lieutenant came out of the darkness and bowed low.
"Allow me, Miss Mercedes. My goodness, aren't you pretty tonight?" He helped her out, as Sam sat scowling.
"I was going to help her out," he flatly said. But the officer had offered Mercedes his arm and they were walking towards the entrance.
Mercedes caught herself and looked back. Sam was scowling blackly, but then, he turned and helped the other girls from the car.
"I thought you were afraid of Mr. Evans," Mercedes said to the Lieutenant.
"Who, me?" He smiled almost arrogantly. "Of course, not. Besides, I knew he wouldn't create a scene with the ladies present…at least one lady."
"Oh." Was all that she could manage, but thought differently.
Sam was gallant that way, Mercedes thought.
Her thoughts drifted again, to the way he had looked at her, as she came down the stairs.
"….and so, what do you think?"
"About what?" Mercedes paused and looked at him blankly. She realized she hadn't been listening, she'd been thinking about Sam.
"About the concert at the station. Didn't you think the way I played the tuba was outstanding?"
"Outstanding," she echoed, although, frankly, she couldn't remember the music. Buford beamed at her, as he escorted her into the room.
"You look beautiful tonight. I'm so pleased to be your date. You probably shouldn't have let that scoundrel drive you over."
"Since you didn't have a car. I didn't have much choice…"
"But, he's such a low-class rascal," Buford said, as he took her over to the table, where the buffet had been spread.
"You can't turn a sow's ear into a silk purse, now, can you?" he finished.
Of course, not."
Somehow the Lieutenant's snootiness annoyed her, but she allowed it to slide.
Sam came into the room just then, Rachel on one arm, Michele on the other. Eva and Elaine brought up the rear, carrying Carmen's cakes.
Sam frowned at Mercedes and her escort and turned his attention to the ladies.
Mercedes nodded towards the girls.
"They look nice, don't they?"
"Miss Mercedes, if I may be so bold, everyone will be scandalized that you brought them here."
"Then, let them be," she snapped, a little annoyed with the officer. "They may not have the pedigree that you and I possess, but they deserve a chance."
'What was it Sam had said, about walking a mile in a person 's boots, before judging them?'
She and Buford filled their plates in the buffet line.
About that time, the major gestured for them to join his table. Around it sat himself, his wife and three congressmen.
The men scrambled to their feet, as she approached.
"Sit, please, gentlemen," Mercedes hastened to say. She turned her head slightly. Sam was sitting at a table with the four girls.
They were all laughing and seemed to be having a wonderful time. Of course, the scoundrel could be charming, she admitted to herself.
The conversation at her table, was about protecting the citizens of Nacogdoches.
Buford had turned to one of the congressmen, who was looking a little nervous and said to him,
"Don't worry. I will personally protect you in case of an attack."
Mercedes smiled behind her napkin. Just how would Buford do that? While carrying his big, shiny tuba, probably."
One of the other congressmen changed the subject abruptly,by saying,
"There's a guy dear to my heart. He's escorting four beauties, all to himself."
Mercedes turned her head. It was Sam and the girls.
Buford opened his mouth to say something and Mercedes glared at him. She said,
"Would you like to meet the ladies, sir? I just happen to know them." All three congressmen grinned.
"That little brunette," said the tall one. "Really takes my eye."
"I'm guessing you're unmarried?" Mercedes asked pointedly.
"As a matter of fact, I am. But of course, the right girl could change that and become my wife." Mercedes looked at him. He was handsome and no doubt rich.
"After dinner, I'll introduce you," she said.
Presently, the band began to assemble. Mercedes looked at the lieutenant and asked,
"Aren't you playing tonight?" He shook his head.
"For dancing, there's no need for a tub."
'Oh, shucks!' she thought, fervently wishing there was.
At Sam's table, they looked as if they were having fun.
The music began and couples started towards the dance floor.
Sam took Michele and led her out on the floor, and her eyes stayed glued to them.
The others at her table were talking amongst themselves, except for the lieutenant, who was bitching about Sam.
"Look at that gambler. Bold as brass. Acting like he's respectable, when we all know what he is..."
"Let's introduce the congressman to Rachel." She stood up and all the men jumped up from their seats.
"I think you should meet my friend," she said to the congressman. He nodded.
"I'd be delighted."
Poor Buford could do nothing but trail in her wake, as she took the congressman's arm and led him over to where Rachel sat at a table, watching the dancers.
"Miss Rachel Berry, may I present Congressman Hudson?"
"Charmed, I'm sure." He bowed to her and asked,
"Would you care to dance, Miss Rachel?" Mercedes held her breath, hoping the girl remembered what she'd been taught. She did.
"Sir, I'd be pleased."
The congressman took her arm, grinning like a possum eating grapes and led her out to the dance floor. He was clearly smitten with her.
Mercedes watched in satisfaction, although Buford frowned.
"Well, he's certainly buying a pig in a blanket."
"Don't be such a snob," she angrily said.
"How can you say that, Miss Mercedes? You know breeding counts. And she doesn't have any, just like that low-class gambler."
Wasn't that her thinking? Then, why was she so annoyed with Buford?
"Would you care to dance?" he asked, and she nodded. He whirled her out to the dance floor, but he didn't dance very well. Not even as good as her and she was not a good dancer…mostly due to her lack of a social life.
She frowned looking over Buford's shoulder.
That Texas rascal danced smoothly, as he twirled the strawberry blonde, Michele, passed her.
A tall, handsome cowboy was now at the table asking Elaine to dance.
Mercedes felt good. It meant her plans were working.
The music ended and the couples applauded.
The night was warm, and someone had opened all the French doors, leading out onto the back balcony.
"It's warm, isn't it?" she asked, watching Sam lead Michele back to the table. Buford nodded.
"Would you like a glass of punch?" Buford asked.
"That would be nice. Thank you."
Buford left and she stood there alone, waiting.
Abruptly, the music started, and Sam crossed the floor, in long strides.
"I believe this is my dance, Miss Mercy," he crooned.
"But, I'm waiting for Lieutenant Fortenbury."
"No, you're not. You're dancing with me." And he whirled her out on the floor, holding her tightly, even as she protested.
I know, even I can't believe, I've ended this here. But, have no fear, the next chapter is hours away and will start off, exactly where this has finished. Thank you for following along on this journey. Much love to you and yours.