.
.
4
Saturday Night Supper
.
Saturday night came in a blaze of glory. Glowing lamps hung in clusters around the dance floor, bunting fluttered between the supports and the sweet smell of massed flowers was only outdone by the perfumes of the ladies and the scented hair oil of the gentlemen.
Mrs. Mulholland and her entourage were among the earliest arrivals. As self-appointed First Lady of Laramie, not to mention the wife of its only bank manager, she had her position to maintain and that included the best, most comfortable and least draughty seats. A flick of her finger sent her husband scurrying towards the refreshment table to secure their supper, but he had scarcely moved a yard when a positive phalanx of young men surrounded her party, plying cool drinks and assorted edible items.
"No, thank you!" she snapped in exasperation. "Go away!"
Such was Mrs. Mulholland's force of personality, that the love-lorn young bucks of Laramie beat a hasty retreat. But not for long. Although studiously ignoring them, she had a distinct impression out of the corner of her eye that a queue was forming. Fortunately she spotted nice young Mr. Sherman and, since he was not ludicrously armed with redundant refreshments, was quite ready to beckon him over – at least, ready after a swift glance all around assured her that the unconscionable reprobate he employed was nowhere in the vicinity. This was distinctly unfair to Jess, who had been instrumental not only in rescuing her and her husband from outlaws but also preventing a serious robbery at the bank.
Jess, however, had spotted Jago leaning gloomily against a convenient wall on the far side of the dance floor and made a bee-line for him. Jago silently extended a hand with the inevitable cigar. Jess flicked a match and the two of them lit up. They might as well enjoy something before the evening began to deteriorate. Certainly neither of them had stomach for eating supper.
Slim had succeeded, thanks to the sponsorship of Mrs. Mulholland, in seeing off all rivals and securing his first dance with Hope. He was hopeful that it would not be the last. In fact he had no intention of yielding his place to anyone.
The band were still in that 'beloved-to-musicians and a pain in the ear-drum to anyone else' stage of tuning up. Their attention, alas, was far from focused on their instruments and the leader had considerable difficulty in dragging their combined gaze away from the Mulholland entourage and back to the sheet music in front of them. Most of them could probably have played far better without it, but the leader felt that professional prestige required a show of musical expertise. Almost immediately, such considerations were driven from his head.
Hope rose daintily from her seat beside her aunt and left Slim standing looking after her in some bewilderment. She ran lightly up to the platform where the musicians were assembled and whispered something in the enraptured ear of the conductor. Then she flitted back to her seat and her partner. Jess and Jago exchanged uneasy glances.
The band struck up for the first dance, but, instead of playing the lively introduction to a good, old-fashioned traditional square dance, the music was romantic and compelling, sweeping and swirling the dancers into the graceful turns of the waltz. Slim led his lady out. For the opening bars at least, they were sole rulers of the dance floor.
Jess and Jago exchanged another of those harassed glances, after which they turned their attention to the dancers. Jess, for one, was thinking over-time - not one of his favourite occupations. Still, at least conflict had not erupted into direction action – yet. But it was only a matter of time before the thwarted swains realized that the style of dance had effectively blocked them from having a turn with the lady of their dreams. Meanwhile, a host of disappointed and undoubtedly angry young ladies remained on the shelf.
All this, Jess took in in an instant. He surveyed the older spectators and the couple waltzing together in solitary splendour. Then he reviewed the queue of young men and, on the opposite side of the dance floor, the massed ranks of disappointed young women. He muttered: "Youngest? … Richest? … Prettiest? … Most willing …?"
He appeared to come to a decision and, turning to Jago, hissed: "Just follow m'lead!" He walked out on to the dance floor. Jago was far from eager to engage in any terpsichorean activity, but he had formed an unspoken alliance with Jess. He followed.
They were half way across, neatly side-stepping to avoid Slim and the damsel of his dreams, when Jess issued a further instruction: "Ask y'aunt."
Huh? Jago said nothing, but pain-stricken disbelief was worth a thousand words.
"No way will she dance with me," Jess informed him out of the corner of his mouth, with perfect truth. "You're related. She ain't gonna slap y' into the ground."
Jago looked far from convinced about this, but nonetheless advanced bravely to where the Mulhollands were seated.
Meanwhile Jess directed his steps towards the seat of a small, shrewd and indomitable lady, who would never admit to the years that she had nor give away the many confidences she received. The town's seamstress was an excellent choice, being confidant to all the young ladies in the vicinity, and, in addition, she was one of Jess's favourite people.
"Miss Eli, will you do me the honour?"
"I most certainly will, Mr.. Harper!" Miss Eli was on her sprightly feet the instant he asked. Not only was he quite her most favourite young man, but she perceived the way his mind was working to avert disaster and she would give him all the support in her power. Just dancing with him would be reward enough.
Jago, obedient to orders, was advancing towards martyrdom as Jess and his partner swept by. He was, however, saved by an unexpected turn of events. Mr. Mulholland had been watching his wife's protégé dominate the empty dance-floor. He had nothing against Slim Sherman, whom he regarded (a bank manager's compliment) as a sound and sensible young man. But he could see that Hope could not be allowed to rub her success quite so obviously in the faces of her contemporaries. He exchanged a long look with his wife. There was nothing for it, but to intervene.
As Mr. M rose to lead his lady out on to the floor, he was prevented by the courteous but determined intervention of the Reverend William Fitzwilliam, the local minister. Though, if he admitted to his deepest desires, the reverend much preferred a good fight, he could see that the situation was going to get out of hand very rapidly unless something was done. For once, he considered, young Harper had the right idea. Accordingly, he bowed politely to the bank manager and led his wife out to dance. Mr. Mulholland, conscious of his duty however onerous, invited one of his wife's best friends and Jago scooped up another. Soon they were followed by other stalwart, mature males from the local community, who were fed up with having to give place to the young bucks with their starry-eyed quest for a fairy tale ending; their redoubtable ladies, of like mind, were also not averse to showing that they too could execute the once scandalous steps of the waltz.
Soon the fairy tale couple, waltzing in paradise to the most romantic music, found their splendour eclipsed as they were surrounded by a deep crowd of dancing couples, none of whose average age would have made thirty. Meanwhile, on the sidelines stood the thwarted young men and the disappointed, indignant or downright jealous young ladies they had rejected. At least the objects of their wrath were thoroughly hidden from view.
Mort Cory, meanwhile, was viewing the situation with a keen eye to keeping the peace. It looked as though this first dance would pass off without incident, mostly due to a quick-thinking young Texan, but it could not last for ever. He began to move quietly towards the platform on which the band were playing.
At length, the waltz did draw to a close. It was the longest dance in history or the shortest, depending on the disposition, age and agility of the dancer.
"Nice move, Jess!" Miss Eli whispered in his ear once the music had stopped.
"Not as good as your dance moves, Miss Eli!" His eyes twinkled with the mischief that she had been pleased to share with him. "You're a life-saver. Thank you."
"Any time your life wants saving, young man, you can rely on me," she assured him as he led her back to her seat.
Jess bowed politely over her hand. "Miss Eli, I'm gonna need you to hold my hand all night! But right now, will you excuse me? I need a shot of whiskey even more!"
"Get along with you!" He was dismissed with a friendly tap on the arm, followed by a subtle push.
As he turned to find Jago, Jess saw that Mort had reached his objective, the conductor, and was engaging in some serious instructions. Jess grinned and paused for a second to see whose influence was the greater – youthful prettiness or a cold steel badge? The conductor didn't have a chance, as the sheriff's orders were immediately reinforced by the minister and the bank manager, both of whom had had the same idea, once they had recovered their breath from the waltz.
As a result, for the next dance the expected kind of music struck up and the youngsters took the floor. Slim had not let go of Hope, so he was going to be her main partner, but this time other ambitious young men would have at least part of the dance with the desired one, and the young women of the town would not be left out so blatantly. Another grin crossed Jess's face as he imagined some of the conversations which were going to take place during the dance between previously attentive young men and never before rejected young women!
Jago had returned to propping up his wall. It seemed to be his mission in life. Or it might be that he needed the support after expending so much energy dealing with the turbulent events which surrounded his sister. Jess gave him a wink and tipped an imaginary glass. The square dance was going to last long enough for them to seek solace in the uncustomary quiet of the town saloon.
#####
By the time they returned, the dance was in more or less normal full swing. The atmosphere was tense, but not yet cataclysmic. Jess refused to let Jago return to his wall and dragged him over to sit with Miss Eli. She was naturally delighted to have the more or less undivided attention of two good looking young men, who plied her with victuals and refreshing beverages, though they themselves appeared to be sustained solely by recourse to whiskey. The three of them scrutinized the dancers with a mixture of amusement (Miss Eli), apprehension (Jess and Jago) and a kind of disbelieving comprehension. Jess eventually expressed this, as he watched Hope flit from partner to partner with complete delight in each of them and not a little pleasure in the chaos boiling in her wake.
"How does she do it?" His brow was furrowed with disapproval. It seemed irrational. Hope was certainly not the richest or most accomplished girl on the dance floor and she was not even the prettiest. She was petite and slightly plump, her hair, although shining, was a common enough brown and her eyes sparkled with no more allure than any other girl present.
Jago just shrugged. Miss Eli chuckled.
"Why, Jess! Don't you think she's a worthy object of any man's attention?"
"No!" Jess said bluntly. "She's nothing to look at and she can't talk about anything but herself. She's ready enough to trail men after her skirts, but she's no idea what that really means!" He caught himself abruptly, realizing he was in the company of one of his subject's relatives. "Sorry, Jago – but it's true! What is it drawin' them all like bees round a honey pot?"
Jago merely shrugged again. Miss Eli chuckled again.
"That's easy. She's the perfect girl every boy would be proud to take home to his mother."
Jess refrained from pointing out that Jonesy and Mort and even Slim were hardly boys. He just snorted. "My ma'd show the pair of us the door if I did that!"
Miss Eli had maternal feelings for Jess as well as some which certainly weren't. "Your ma was obviously a sensible, practical woman who raised her son to expect more from a wife than just a pair of light heels and a little light housekeeping," she observed.
"Miss Eli!" Jess's face was suddenly flooded with embarrassment.
Miss Eli took no notice. "And if I'm not much mistaken, you aren't going to settle for a woman you have to look after and cosset every moment of your life."
"Miss Eli!" Jess protested. "I ain't aimin' to get married."
"I'm sure you're not," she told him with a twinkle in her eye. "Just looking for a life-partner, if I know anything about it." And she knew a great deal.
It took a lot to shut Jess up, but this reduced him to silence once again.
Miss Eli twinkled at him affectionately. "There's a lot to be said for wholesome naivety, you know."
"And a whole lot more for brains and courage and …" Jess stopped abruptly. For some inexplicable reason, the words 'cliff-climbing' had come into his head. He shook this appendage vigorously and hastily amended: "And bein' old enough to know what life's about."
"Yes, indeed." Miss Eli had plenty of experience of that in her former capacity as a school-teacher and her present role as the town's seamstress. She let it be, for now. Jess didn't deserve any more teasing, with the weight of concern for Slim's safety and sanity on his shoulders.
The evening seemed interminable to the worried elders, or at least, most of them; Miss Eli derived a great deal of enjoyment from her two young escorts. But at long last – and after Jess and Jago had made more than one foray back to the saloon - the dance drew to a close. This was the moment which Mort Cory and Mr. Mulholland and the Reverend Fitzwilliam and Jago Robinson and, most of all, Jess Harper had been dreading.
At least there was no last waltz. The dances had all been strictly communal and the final one was no exception. To give Mr. Mulholland full due, he had devised an exit plan and executed it with aplomb. Since this involved him dancing the last set with his young visitor, it was no mean feat for his feet and no light undertaking either. His spouse, meanwhile, had gathered together all the miscellaneous accoutrements that women considered necessary for a Saturday night dance and had also sent Jago, whom she re-commandeered, to have their carriage draw up as close as it could.
As a result, Mr. M was able to sweep his young partner off the dance floor and into the carriage as soon as the music stopped. Before the suitors could draw breath, they were once again thwarted by their elders! The carriage disappeared swiftly down the main street, heading for home.
#####
Home was uppermost in the minds of everyone who was not totally smitten with Hope Robinson. Parents hastened to remove their still fuming daughters forthwith and the rest of the gathering also dispersed with rather more alacrity than was usual after a pleasant evening.
Maybe it hadn't been an entirely pleasant evening? The atmosphere was still bordering on the dangerous as, for once left in a cloud of dust not of their own making, the young men milled about in a restless crowd.
"Break it up, boys!" Mort's commanding voice rang out across the now deserted dance floor. "You've all got homes to go to."
His intervention would have worked fine, had it not been for human clumsiness. Turning too quickly in order to get out of the crowd, one young man stepped heavily on another's toes. Well, they'd been doing that metaphorically all evening. The pain and surprise caused the victim to stumble and crash heavily into a third. It was like watching dominoes fall. Soon the veneer of civilized behaviour was ripped away by the urges of much more primitive instincts. Every man there was rattling antlers with the next like stags in the rutting season.
Jess scowled and sighed and gritted his teeth and drew his gun. Jago looked slightly alarmed until Jess reversed his hold to grip the barrel and it became obvious that, whatever else he was going to do, he was not going to fire into the crowd. Catching the movement out of the corner of his otherwise extremely busy eyes, Mort also registered with relief that he was not going to have to risk disarming the town's fastest gun at this point.
Slim was in the middle of the melee and, characteristically, he was disregarding his own powerful feelings in order to try to stop the fight between his rivals. He was yelling a warning, doubtless about the immanence of arrest for the combatants, but his voice was totally drowned. Seeing that this was of no use, he grabbed a couple of them by the scruff of their necks and practically banged their heads together, thereby reducing the odds somewhat. He never even felt the gun-butt as it tapped him neatly on the back of the skull.
Jago was close behind Jess and together they dragged Slim's limp and unwieldy body out of the crowd and away into the relative peace of the street.
"Hotel," Jess explained succinctly.
They carried Slim along the boardwalk until, just outside the hotel, he began to come round.
"Was happnin?" he slurred.
"You're goin' to have a nice long sleep in a nice quiet bed," Jess informed him.
"Shleep?" Slim considered this and seemed to come to the conclusion that it was a good idea.
"Yeah. Come on." Jess hitched his partner's arm across his shoulders and steered him towards the door, giving Jago a heartfelt and grateful grin as he mouthed "Thanks!" over Slim's drooping head. Jago just nodded and shrugged and sloped off in the direction of the saloon again.
Getting Slim up the hotel staircase was no easy feat. For one thing, he was inclined to stumble over his own feet and tread heavily on Jess's, given half a chance. He also seemed to assume that they had been out drinking and were now in that convivial state where bursts of cheerful song and hilarious jokes were bound to emerge.
This misapprehension made Jess thankful for small mercies. On the other hand, it didn't help to make their progress silent nor enhance their respective reputations.
"Will you shut up!" he hissed, manfully shoving Slim up another few steps nearer the top. The sooner they got there, the better. After all, Slim had already had one fall down a staircase when he was tripped up by the Mulholland's cat. Jess was not in a hurry to repeat the experience with himself in the role of the squashed cat.
Slim blinked at him owlishly. "Y-ou joking? 'S a good night. W' w-ere having fun!" He lurched up another couple of steps, enabling Jess at last to push him to the top.
"Save it!" Jess ordered, restraining his urge to protest that fun had nothing to do with his evening. "Silence is golden, remember?"
So Slim himself had said somewhat more forcibly when dealing with an inebriate Jess and his inability to climb into the top bunk after a night on the town.
"'S golden!" Slim agreed.
He proceeded to tip-toe in an exaggerated manner along the corridor until Jess grabbed him and turned him in the direction of the door of their room. With a bit of a struggle and a couple of crashes, they got the door open and both of them stumbled inside. Jess reflected that it had been considerably easier on those occasions, albeit infrequent, when they had actually been drunk!
Fortunately Slim managed to divest himself of his best jacket and his tie before falling thankfully on to the bed. As his head hit the pillow, his eyes flashed open in pain.
"M'head hurts."
"Yeah?" Jess started to undo the buckles on Slim's boots, which were doing no favours to the counterpane.
"Someone hit me!" Slim exclaimed with sudden lucidity. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head.
"Yeah? Thought your head was too hard to feel anything!"
"Why would anyone want to hit me?" Slim was indignant.
Jess appeared to consider deeply. "Well, you're a young, handsome, successful rancher and y' ain't exactly unpopular with a certain young lady."
A blissful expression crossed Slim's face momentarily, but he was not satisfied. "No-one would slug me while I was dancing!"
"No. Now get y' shirt off, will y'!" Jess was getting impatient for the rest he considered he was fully entitled to after such a nerve-wracking night.
Slim obediently pulled his dress shirt over his head, but he continued to protest. "It's ungentlemanly to hit a man from behind when he's just being sociable."
"Pants!" Jess was inexorable, divesting Slim of the hindering garment with a brisk yank. "And y' can take your own socks off!"
Slim did so absent-mindedly. He was still puzzling over his experience as he rolled into bed and pulled up the quilt. "Must've hit me hard. Can still feel it."
"Yeah? Well, I guess some fella just thought y'd be better out of that fight and gave you a tap on the head to discourage you."
"Fight?" Slim's brow wrinkled. "Don't re-memb-er any fi-i-ght." He yawned prodigiously and turned over on his side.
"No, I don't expect y' do!" Jess looked down at him with what was rapidly becoming a habitual expression of exasperated affection. Then he pulled off his own clothes and relaxed thankfully into the cool sheets. At least Slim's catechism had stopped and been replaced by the sound of gentle breathing, which hardly disturbed the surrounding silence at all.
After a remarkably short enjoyment of this peace and quiet, Jess groaned and sat up. Reluctantly he forced himself out of the comfortable bed. Against all habit, he gathered up their scattered clothes, sorted them and hung them carefully over the backs of a couple of chairs. There would be hell to pay from Slim if it looked as though they'd slept in them the next day.