Only the last could Kate answer with any certainty.
“Your short pants will be fine for you to visit while we wait for dinner,” she told her son, “but you will eat in the kitchen with Alberta and Pansy, as usual.”
Danny, who had been assisting Pansy in polishing the dining chairs, stopped to look at her, rag in one hand. “Why?”
Enough of her guests had grumbled about the children of the families who visited that she knew not everyone appreciated dining with a child.
“We may have to discuss serious matters during the meal,” Kate said. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”
Danny made a face, but Pansy called for his help just then, and he returned to his work.
But his question about long pants made her think. Her son might be fine with his usual short pants and a clean shirt, but what should she wear to dinner? She intended the hotel to impress. Shouldn’t its owner look impressive as well? Likely the officers and their men would come in dress uniform.
She hadn’t sewn anything new for herself since she’d arrived in the park four years ago, except for her riding skirt, and that would hardly do. She did have one dress she used to wear to church in Boston. It hadn’t seen much use in Yellowstone. Lace and ribbon didn’t fare well in sulfur fumes and mineral-laden water. Would it still fit?
Pansy helped her try it on that evening after everyone else was in bed. The long blue bodice with the cream lace insert hugged her curves. And the bustle! Kate turned to glance behind her. She’d never be able to wear one of those for any other occasion. But just once, she’d look like a Boston belle.
Three guests remained Friday evening: Mr. Jones, Miss Pringle, and Mrs. Pettijohn. Of course, she invited them to dinner as well. The two older ladies agreed with pleased smiles. Mr. Jones declined.
“I’m the solitary sort,” he said, as if she could have thought otherwise. “I’ll just take a tray in my room.”
Those arrangements settled, Kate asked Pansy to help her dress for the evening and made sure she was in the front room when her guests began arriving.
Lieutenant Kingman and his men were first. His short-cropped light-brown hair looked much as she’d remembered, and his eyes still dipped down at the corners. She had never been certain whether the stiff set of his beard was because he held strong opinions or merely because of the shape of his chin.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Kate greeted them as they came in the door in their dress uniforms. Unlike the uniforms of the cavalrymen, the stripe down their trousers, the facings, and the collars of their coats were a vibrant red.
“Kate Tremaine,” Lieutenant Kingman said, going on to introduce the sergeant and two corporals who had been sent to work with him that season. Pansy hurried to take their coats and kits back to their rooms.
Kate introduced her lady guests. Mrs. Pettijohn was in black taffeta, the high neck of the gown pressing against her double chin. Miss Pringle was in lavender, and she’d crimped her snowy curls into ringlets beside her round face. Both simpered over the engineers.
Danny scuttled to Kate’s side, hair slicked back and collar crisp. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Alberta said I had to wash again.”
“You’re just in time,” Kate assured him, pride combining with affection. “You remember Lieutenant Kingman over there with our lady guests. Do you feel comfortable shaking his hand?”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Ma-a.” He moved to join the engineers and the ladies.
Voices outside announced the arrival of Will and his men. Kate’s throat felt dry as they climbed the steps to the door, and she smoothed her blue skirts over her hips.
Will walked through the door, muscular physique outlined in a navy coat faced in golden yellow. He whipped the yellow-plumed helmet off his head and bowed.
“Mrs. Tremaine.”
That voice had never sounded more dear. “Lieutenant Prescott,” she acknowledged as he straightened. “Privates. You are all welcome.”
His men shuffled behind him, gazes darting around the room as if they expected to find it inhabited by hostiles. They wore dress coats too, brass buttons winking in the lamplight. Private Waxworth’s hair looked nearly as wet and slick as Danny’s, and Private Lercher’s solid chin bore a cut where he must have nicked himself shaving. But the greatest change was in Private Smith. Gone was the thick beard, to be replaced by a pointed goatee and trim mustache. His dark eyes glittered as he came forward and bowed over Kate’s hand.
“Mrs. Tremaine, a vision.” He stepped aside and eyed his comrades.
Private Waxworth reacted first, moving forward to bend his lanky frame in a bow. “Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Tremaine.”
O’Reilly elbowed him aside, took her hand, and pressed it between his own. “Sure’n you’re prettier than the heather on the hillside.”
Smith cleared his throat, and the Irishman released her, grabbed Waxworth’s arm, and pulled him away.
Franklin took his place, spine stiff and gaze off her left shoulder. “Mrs. Tremaine, thank you for the opportunity to meet with the engineers.” He snapped a nod as if satisfied by his performance and went to stand by O’Reilly and Waxworth.
Lercher ambled up to her, blue eyes wide. He clicked his boot heels together before bending to meet Kate’s gaze.
“I have never attended so fine an affair,” he assured her. “I vill do your hotel honor.”
“I’m sure you will,” Kate said, and he straightened to join the others.
With a nod to her, Smith followed him.
Kate gazed after them. “What’s gotten into your men?”
“Respect for your hospitality,” Will promised, offering her his arm. “And awe for their gracious hostess.”
Kate accepted his arm, feeling as if bubbles from a geyser rose inside her. “Come, allow me to introduce you all.”
As she accompanied them toward the group by the hearth, she noticed through the arch
