A Texas Kind of Christmas Page 16

  A knock on the door of the sewing room startled Birdie. She almost dropped the gown, but caught it as Mrs. Firestone, carrying four new servants’ dresses, strode in.

  “These need to be hemmed by six o’clock. Absolutely not a minute later. I’ve marked each one for length,” Mrs. Firestone said, as if they were in the middle of a conversation. She laid the dresses across the sewing table.

  “These need to be done for the ball tonight?” Birdie gasped.

  “Yes, tonight,” Mrs. Firestone said, picking up the first one. “Start with this one. It’s for my Olive. Even though she’ll be working at the dance, I want her to look perfect. She’s such a pretty girl, I’m sure she’ll catch someone’s eye.”

  “I’m not sure I can get these finished by then.”

  “It’s your job to have them finished,” Mrs. Firestone snapped. She eyed the gown in Birdie’s hands. “You clearly can do amazing work when you put your mind to it.”

  “Mrs. Firestone,” Miss Quigley’s voice broke into the conversation. “What a pleasant surprise. To what could we possibly owe the honor?”

  “Mrs. Firestone needs these four uniforms hemmed by six o’clock,” Birdie answered the question.

  “Six o’clock, you say?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Firestone said.

  Miss Quigley frowned and studied the crisp dresses laid before her.

  “Is this on Mrs. Cockrell’s orders?” Miss Quigley asked.

  “It is,” Mrs. Firestone said, sounding vaguely triumphant as she shot Birdie a fierce glance. “And if that means some of us are going to be late to the Jingle Bobs and Belles Ball, well, so be it.”

  Birdie bit her lip. She didn’t mind being late to the dance. But she did mind failing at an impossible task.

  “My work comes first. I might not get to the ball at all,” Birdie said defensively.

  A shadow passed over Mrs. Firestone’s face.

  “Oh, you have to go to the ball,” Mrs. Firestone said, her tiny teeth showing through a mean smile. “Just get the dresses done first.”

  Why would Mrs. Firestone suddenly want to make sure I get to the dance? Birdie asked herself.

  “If Mrs. Cockrell needs the dresses done for the ball, we’ll get them done,” Miss Quigley said. “Thank you for bringing these down to us. You may pick them up at six. But not a minute sooner.”

  Miss Quigley held up a butler’s uniform from the pile Mrs. Firestone laid on the sewing table.

  “What about this?” Miss Quigley asked.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Miss Quigley said, snatching it back.

  “But the cuff is frayed,” Miss Quigley said. “That will need to be fixed.”

  “Just concentrate on the dresses,” Mrs. Firestone said.

  Folding the butler’s uniform over her arm, Mrs. Firestone swept past Birdie and closed the door behind her.

  “That woman!” Miss Quigley said.

  “The nerve!” Birdie agreed.

  “I don’t know how she runs a hotel.”

  Birdie was about to say something, but closed her mouth. Did Mrs. Firestone run the hotel?

  “Sending Mrs. Firestone down here and expecting us to hem four full skirts by six o’clock,” Miss Quigley said. “I swear she doesn’t know the first thing about sewing.”

  Oh, we’re talking about Mrs. Cockrell, Birdie thought. Good think I didn’t run my mouth any further.

  “I’ll take this gown up to Miss Charlotte and come right back,” Birdie said. “It looks like we’re going to have a long day.”

  Birdie rushed up the stairs, carefully cradling the gown. Charlotte’s door was ajar. Birdie was about to take a step into the room when she heard a sneeze so violent it shook the floor.

  “Father, I told you that you should have worn your scarf last night!” Charlotte said. “You sound terrible.”

  “I’m fine,” the judge said. “Just a cold. It’s just been damned impossible to get anyone in the town to focus on business with this damn Grand Ball breathing down our necks. I have to talk business when I can, even if it’s at a poker game.”

  “Life can be very hard, Father,” Charlotte said.

  Birdie recognized Charlotte’s sarcasm and tried to stifle a giggle. She coughed to cover it.

  Judge Rutherford turned toward the sound and swung the door open.

  “Birdie,” he said, sounding more stuffed up by the minute. “I was just leaving. Come in.”

  Birdie smiled. With all the hardships she’d endured since coming to America, one thing she had to give these friendly people was their lack of pretention. A man of the judge’s stature back home would never have bothered to learn her name.

  “Take care of yourself, Judge,” Birdie said as he walked back to his room, sneezing the whole way.

  “It’s finished,” Birdie said, trying not to sound too proud.

  Her mother had taught her that being prideful was not an admirable quality. She found that Americans had less of a problem admitting to one’s own talents . . . many didn’t even have a problem boasting about them.

  “Let me see,” Charlotte said.

  Charlotte took the gown over to the window and ran her hands over the beading and down to the embroidery on the hem. Then she stared out the window.

  “You should try it on,” Birdie said, perplexed by Charlotte’s apparent lack of enthusiasm.

  “Yes, of course,” Charlotte said. “Come give me a hand.”

  Getting Miss Charlotte out of one set of corsets and petticoats and into another took almost twenty minutes. Finally, Birdie slipped the new gown over Charlotte’s head, careful not to muss her hair, and laced her into it.

  The dress was all the more beautiful with Charlotte in it.

  Birdie tried to look humble, staring at her shoes and peeking up and then waiting for Miss Charlotte’s reaction. She didn’t have to wait long.

  Charlotte suddenly sank to her knees, crying violently into the skirt of the dress. Birdie rushed to her.

  “What’s the matter?” Birdie asked.

  Fearing the gown would get stained, Birdie gently guided Miss Charlotte to her feet, handing her an ornately embroidered handkerchief to stem the flood of Miss Charlotte’s tears. “Don’t you like it?”

  “It’s perfect,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t want to go to the ball.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t want to go to the ball?” Birdie asked. “Everybody who is anybody is going to be there.”

  “I don’t care,” Charlotte sobbed. “I don’t want to go.”

  “But what about Captain Newcastle?” Birdie said, her loyalty to Charlotte outweighing her complicated feelings about the captain.

  “What about him?”

  “How can you marry a man you haven’t danced with?” Birdie tried to sound teasing.

  “I don’t want to marry Captain Newcastle,” Charlotte sobbed. “I want to marry Joey.”

  “Joey?”

  Who was Joey?

  “Sheriff Holden,” Charlotte moaned. “I want to marry Sheriff Holden.”

  Chapter 9

  As his mother used to say, Dangerous Jack was a gambler in his heart and soul, “if he had either one.”

  He had a big gamble ahead of him: stay focused on the business at hand or temporarily put it aside for a potential bonanza.

  He decided to gamble on the bonanza.

  Thanks to Mrs. Firestone, he would be working at the Grand Ball, moving quietly, like a good servant, clearing away plates and glasses. The entire hotel would be crowded. He would practically have his pick of jewels and rawhide wallets. When he had enough loot to get him through the winter—he’d learned the hard way not to be too greedy—he’d head over to the Jingle Bobs and Belles Ball and finish up the business that brought him to Dallas in the first place. Impatient by nature, Jack had forced himself to be a good listener. And listening to Mrs. Firestone would test a saint. But Mrs. Firestone knew just about everything about everybody who lived or worked at the hotel. It didn’t t
ake long for Mrs. Firestone to mention that Birdie would be among the girls going to the Jingle Bobs and Belles Ball. Jack relied on his poker face not to show how pleased he was to get this news.

  “Here’s your suit.” Mrs. Firestone’s voice broke his concentration. “The girls in the sewing room were going to be busy, busy, busy, so I took it up myself.”

  “Aren’t you just a darlin’?” Jack said with his most engaging smile.

  He slipped into the jacket and turned to show it off to Mrs. Firestone.

  “Fits like a glove,” Mrs. Firestone said, standing behind him and smoothing the shoulders. “I hear the snow is going to keep on until tomorrow.”

  Jack turned to face her.

  “With your beautiful, warm smile, I’m sure nobody at the ball will notice the cold.”

  Mrs. Firestone blushed coquettishly.

  Sometimes, life was just too easy, Jack thought.

  * * *

  Charlotte lay on the fainting couch, sobbing into Birdie’s handkerchief. Birdie knew she had to get back to the sewing room as quickly as possible to hem the servants’ uniforms, but she could hardly leave Charlotte in such a state. Birdie wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should she ask about Sheriff . . . Joey? Or would it be best to leave it alone? The choice was made for her when Charlotte suddenly sat up and dried her eyes.

  “I’ve been meeting Joey secretly for the past few weeks,” Miss Charlotte announced.

  “When? How?”

  “At night, when my father leaves to . . . to do whatever it is he does.”

  “So he doesn’t know any of this?”

  “Of course not! It’s a secret,” Charlotte said. “A deep, deep secret.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? I can’t imagine that you have any deep secrets.”

  You have no idea.

  “What are you going to do?” Birdie asked.

  “What can I do?” Charlotte asked. “My father has his plans for me, and that’s that.”

  Birdie knew this was probably true.

  Charlotte stood up and looked at herself in the looking glass.

  “It really is the most beautiful dress ever, Birdie,” Charlotte sniffed. “I can’t imagine Captain Newcastle will be able to resist me, frankly.”

  “I was thinking that too,” Birdie said.

  Birdie felt like she might burst into tears herself.

  “The ball is still hours away,” Birdie continued. “Do you want me to help you out of it, so it stays fresh?”

  “No, that’s all right,” Charlotte said. “I want to wear it. Maybe I can slip away and show Joey.”

  “It’s snowing,” Birdie said. “You’ll have to be very careful out there.”

  “I will be.”

  “But seeing Joey before going to . . . to the Grand Ball,” Birdie said carefully. “Won’t that make matters worse?”

  “Nothing can make matters worse,” Charlotte said, her lower lip trembling. “He knows the situation is as impossible as I do.”

  “I need to go back to work,” Birdie said. “But I’ll try to come back before the ball, if I can.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Charlotte said. “But promise me one thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “When you get to the Jingle Bobs and Belles Ball, make sure Joey doesn’t have too good a time.”

  Birdie smiled, unsure if Charlotte was kidding or not. She promised and quietly closed Miss Charlotte’s door.

  Birdie could hear the judge coughing and sneezing as she passed his room. She wondered if he was really as inflexible as Charlotte thought he was.

  We misjudge people all the time.

  She adjusted her mobcap before heading down the stairs. She knew it was imperative that all staff look their smartest, especially today, with so many high-powered guests milling around, and she was glad she’d taken the time to embroider the edges of her cap. She saw Miss Quigley coming out of the sewing room carrying three enormous hatboxes. Birdie rushed to her.

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” Birdie said. “Can I help you with those?”

  “No, thank you,” Miss Quigley said. “They’re not heavy. I’m just taking them to the trunk room.”

  “The trunk room?”

  “It’s a room we use to store trunks that don’t fit in the guests’ rooms. Miss Adelaide in room 12 just rejected the three headpieces I made for her and there’s no space left in her room for these boxes.”

  “There’s no room for hat boxes?” Birdie asked, then blushed.

  She should not be judgmental.

  “She didn’t even look at these,” Miss Quigley said, shaking her head. “God only knows what she’s going to wear to the ball now.”

  Birdie knew Miss Quigley had spent hours on the various caps, sewing cloth leaves and berries into one elaborately designed cap and attaching several streamers of ribbon to another. Birdie couldn’t imagine how Miss Quigley stayed so calm in the face of these pampered women. Birdie realized she was being unkind. Since getting to know Miss Charlotte, she could see that the privileged had just as many problems as the rest of the world.

  “I’m so sorry,” Birdie said. She suddenly remembered the uniforms that needed to be hemmed. “I know we only have a couple of hours left, but I’ll start on those uniforms right away.”

  “I’ve finished three of them,” Miss Quigley said as she headed down the hall. “There’s one left. I’m sure Mrs. Firestone will find everything satisfactory when she comes to collect them.”

  Birdie’s jaw dropped. How could Miss Quigley have finished three gowns and have a consultation with Miss Adelaide all in the space of time it took Birdie to get Miss Charlotte into her gown?

  There was no time to worry about that now, she had to hem a dress—and it had to be perfect.

  Birdie concentrated on the rhythm of the needle and thread moving across the hemline. Sewing had always been her solace as well as a way to make a living. She could block out all thoughts of the problems around her. She heard the door open and called out.

  “I don’t know how you got three dresses done, but I’ve just put the final stitch in this one.”

  “That’s good to hear, but I don’t think I’ll be needing one tonight,” Captain Newcastle said teasingly. “It’s mandatory dress uniform for officers, I’m afraid.”

  Birdie stood up and faced him, mortified.

  “I thought you were Miss Quigley.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Is there something I can do for you, Captain?”

  “No. I just got lost on my way to the kitchen.”

  “That seems highly unlikely,” Birdie said. She could feel herself blushing furiously.

  “You caught me,” Captain Newcastle said, taking a seat on a large trunk full of ribbons, trims, and furbelows. “Actually, I just wanted a minute alone.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Birdie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Birdie said, bristling. “So you can’t be here alone, can you?”

  “You caught me again,” he said. “What I really meant was, I wanted a minute alone with you.”

  Birdie felt frozen to the spot. She hugged the dress tightly to her chest, but loosened her grip when she realized she’d get it wrinkled. Captain Newcastle looked perfectly at ease as he looked at her.

  “I’m very busy,” Birdie said, trying to sound efficient and businesslike. “There is a Miss Carpenter from England who needs me to look at a dress immediately.”

  “I’d better let you go, then,” the captain said, looking disappointed. Birdie felt a prickle of annoyance. What kind of officer gave up so easily? And she had to admit, she didn’t really want him to leave.

  “Why did you want to be alone with me?” Birdie asked softly.

  She hoped she hadn’t given any indication of the attraction she felt. It would be unseemly for a girl of her station to have feelings for an officer. And even if Miss Charlotte didn’t h
ave any romantic inclination toward the captain, Birdie felt she would be being disloyal to her friend to be entertaining such notions.

  “Ah, Birdie,” Captain Newcastle said. “Do you know what it’s going to be like tonight?”

  “At the Grand Ball?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, Captain,” Birdie said. “I don’t know. And I won’t know because I’ll be going to the dance across town.”

  Why did she feel the need to say that? Did she want him to know she had plans? Her own life? He probably didn’t even care. This conversation was about him.

  “I’m on all the eligible ladies’ dance cards,” the captain said. “With others waiting in line.”

  Could he be more conceited?

  “I’m sure that must be preferable to war,” Birdie said dryly.

  “The thing is,” Captain Newcastle said, standing up and walking toward her. “It’s all about the uniform. These girls don’t want to dance with me, they want to dance with the captain in the United States Army.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Birdie said, although she knew that it was true for Charlotte, or if not exactly for Charlotte herself, for her father.

  “It is true. Trust me. When I was just Douglas Newcastle from St. Louis, Missouri, I wasn’t on anyone’s dance card.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be brave in the face of battle,” Birdie said, squeezing the dress again as the captain stood over her.

  “Maybe I’m wrong, but I had the feeling you’d seen beyond the uniform,” the captain said, brushing aside her sarcasm. “I just thought it would be nice to have a few moments of real conversation before that infernal dance envelops me.”

  He leaned in. Birdie wanted him to kiss her, but she felt she was being disloyal to Charlotte, even if Charlotte no longer had any interest in the man. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. She looked back at him. Birdie had been duped in the past by a man who said all the right things. She now knew how to spot the truth in a man’s eyes.