A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(46)

“Of course.” Del pushed to her feet. “Good thing I’ll be on guitar. I’m too full to dance for a while.”

“We’ll have to take turns on the music so we can all dance.”

“Gather ’round, folks.” Rev. Pritchard cupped his hands to his mouth to be heard across the gathering. “Grab your partners! We’ll start off with the grand march.”

Laughter sprinkled the falling dusk. Men pulled their wives to their feet, and single men hung around awkwardly, looking for an available partner among the shy or simpering young girls. Del frowned at the sight of several men sauntering over from the liquor tent, none too steady on their legs. Parents had better keep a close eye on their daughters tonight.

She and Lilac joined a couple of other musicians to sound the lively marching notes of the opening polonaise. She saw Forsythia leading off with Adam, Robbie and Sofie following close behind and winning many a grin. Climie bounced Mikael on the sidelines, a smile brightening her face. There were Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell, and even Hiram Young with his wife, who apparently had convinced him to forget the missing train for at least one dance. Many of her pupils’ parents followed, and even her pupils, including Elsie Weber led by a red-faced Thomas Dwyer. Del chuckled, her heart lifting as she strummed. And there went Lark, promenading alongside Isaac McTavish, of all things.

The grand march finished with a flourish, and everyone clapped. Rev. Pritchard had just lifted his hand to announce the next dance when a man hurried up to the banker, and then Mr. Young strode to the front of the platform and whispered something to the minister.

“Mr. Young has an announcement for us, everyone.” Rev. Pritchard nodded to the banker.

“We’ve just received a telegram from Omaha.” Mr. Young lifted the paper as if it contained crucial news of the war, had it still been going on. “General Thayer is safe, but the train had to back up due to some danger on the tracks. We’ll learn more details later.”

The crowd murmured and rustled.

Mr. Young stood there a moment, telegram still raised, then lowered his hand. “That’s all I know.”

“Then let’s get back to dancing,” someone hollered from the back. Laughter rumbled through the gathering, along with cheers of agreement.

Slightly crestfallen, the banker stepped aside.

“Thank you, Mr. Young.” Rev. Pritchard took charge again. He wiped his spectacles, then beamed out over the gathering. “Now that we know the missing train is safe, let’s celebrate with the Virginia reel.”

Whoops and applause. Couples separated, and new ones formed.

Del was just strumming the first chords of the reel when Rev. Pritchard appeared at her side.

“May I have this dance, Miss Nielsen?” The young minister’s eyes were bright and eager.

“I—” Del glanced at the other musicians. “I’m needed to play.”

“Go on.” Lark appeared at her other side and reached for the guitar. “I danced the last one.”

Del hesitated, holding onto the strap. But how could she say no without being rude? “Very well. But just this one.” She lifted the strap over her head and handed the guitar to Lark, who slipped it on and joined in without missing a beat.

As the preacher led her away, Del caught a glimpse of Lilac’s face that nearly stopped her cold. What—Oh dear.

She fought to focus as they lined up for the reel, clapping automatically as the head couple began sashaying up and down. At least this dance didn’t require much close contact with one’s partner. Did Lilac think . . . ? Del glanced back at her little sister, fiddling away, her face now in shadow. Did Lilac carry a torch for the preacher? And what kind of sister was Del not to have noticed before?

One who has been too wrapped up in your own problems, that’s who. Guilt smote Del’s chest as she circled a right-arm swing with one of the railroad workers.

The dance passed in a blur until she and Rev. Pritchard reached the head of the line and joined hands to sashay down and up.

“Enjoying the celebration?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“I am.”

“So am I.” He sent her another beam as they separated to begin swinging opposite partners up and down the line.

Oh, Lord, please show me how to let him down gently. He’s a fine man, but . . . They met at the bottom and lifted their hands to form a bridge, other couples lining up to file beneath their arms.

Finally, the dance ended with a few exuberant chords and a burst of applause.

“Thank you.” Del joined in the clapping and dipped her head at Rev. Pritchard. “Now I’d best go back to play for the next one.”

“Can’t I get you a cup of punch?” His face so resembled an eager little boy’s that Del bit her lip not to smile.

“Thank you, but—”

“May I have the next dance, Miss Nielsen?”

Del turned at the voice, lower than Rev. Pritchard’s. RJ Easton—the last man she would have expected to rescue her.

“Well . . .” Perhaps the musicians could do without her for another round. And the minister couldn’t follow her this way. She accepted RJ’s outstretched hand. “I suppose I could dance one more.”

RJ quirked the brow above his good eye as he led her back out toward the center of the platform. “Don’t let me put you out of your way, now.”