He answered before Alice could say a word. “I’m sorry, Pearl, but your sister was very clear, and I intend to respect her wishes.” He held his arm out. “Alice, would you honor me with this dance?”
“I’d be delighted.”
He twirled her around the dance floor, mindful not to hold her too close. Alice felt a wellspring of emotion fill the space between them: it was no longer air alone but a connection of love and longing. Whoever had invented dancing had known the yearning of a young lady’s heart. She was transformed, no longer the same Alice she was at home, the one who wiped noses and hung laundry and solved the family’s problems.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I was thinking how lucky it was that of all the places you could have worked this summer, you came to me.”
He nodded and leaned in a bit to talk quietly. “I have had that same thought myself. I have thanked God every night ever since you said you loved me. And when you said it didn’t matter about my family background, I knew you were an angel.”
“I cannot believe my father gave you permission to accompany me this evening,” she said. “He is so protective of all of us and rarely lets us out of his sight.”
John said, “We had a long talk one day at the mill between customers. He had guessed we are in love, Alice.”
She looked up at him, shocked. “No.”
John laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Yes. And he did not run me out of town, as you had feared. We discussed my life and my future at length. I told him about my father. He already knew he was in prison for murder, if you can imagine that, and he still hired me for the summer. He said he would judge me based only on my actions and deeds, not by those who came before me. Your father is an uncommon man, Alice.”
Out of the corner of Alice’s eye, she spotted Mrs. Donohue looking their way, so they hurriedly resumed dancing. She fought the urge to pull him close and rest her head on his shoulder. Doing so would be paradise, but the few moments of joy were not worth the cost. For now, she would take what she could get.
They danced six songs in a row before taking a break for refreshments. Walking off the dance floor, Alice became suddenly aware of her surroundings. She’d been so wrapped up in enjoying John’s company that she barely noticed that the barn had filled to capacity, the crowd growing while the music played. She ignored the room’s mugginess and the ache of her heels from rubbing against the backs of her shoes. In the morning, her feet might be blistered and bleeding, but tonight she was dancing on air.
They found an empty table and were sipping their punch when the music stopped. They noticed Edna, up on the stage, talking to the bandleader. “The fiddle player is Edna’s cousin, so she knows all the men in the band,” Alice explained. No doubt Edna was requesting a favorite song or letting the band know they should announce a birthday or anniversary of someone in the crowd. She was always thinking of others.
The middle-aged bandleader helped Edna step off the stage, then had the drummer tap several times in succession to get the crowd’s attention. “Good evening, everyone,” he called out. “Welcome to Pullman’s annual Barn Dance. I am Chester Larson, and this is my band.” A smattering of applause rose up from the crowd. “Miss Edna Clark has just informed me that we have a songbird in our midst, and that if we hear her sing, we will know heaven here on earth. I am talking about Miss Alice Bennett. Are you out there, Alice?” He shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand.
“Oh no,” Alice whispered, her heart sinking. She and Edna sang the night away when they were together doing kitchen chores at Edna’s house, but the idea of singing in front of other people was unthinkable.
“Alice, would you come up and grace us with a song? Please?”
Voices rang out:
“Come on, Alice.”
“Sing for us, Alice!”
And then Pearl’s voice, above all the others. “She won’t do it. Alice is a scaredy-cat.”
John leaned toward her. “If you don’t want to . . .”
“No, I will,” she said, suddenly pushing back her chair and walking defiantly up to the stage. The sound of clapping spurred her on.
Chester helped her onto the stage and asked, “What would you like to sing, Miss Bennett?”
“I don’t know.” She wrung her hands and glanced out at the crowd. In the softness of the kerosene glow, the mass of people looked less intimidating, their faces encouraging and friendly. Members of the audience yelled out suggestions: