Free Jubilee Trail by Gwen Bristow

around her black satin slippers.
    As the music gradually became faster she raised her arms and began to move her hips. At first it was a slow, seductive twirling that still only fluttered her skirts. But as the tempo of the music increased, her whole body began to turn and twist and ripple. Her skirts lifted and swirled around her, showing them her long slim legs glistening through tights of black lace. She moved faster and faster; the pink skirts rose about her shoulders and drifted down and whirled up again and spun outward. By now they saw that most of her bodice was gone, leaving nothing but two semicircles of black lace to tease them with her breasts, as the gloves and tights of black lace were teasing them with her arms and legs. Swift waves of movement went through her, up and down and back again. The skirts were like a rosy cloud blown around her, never letting them see everything at once nor anything for more than an instant at a time, and never quite revealing as much as she kept on promising.
    It was a brilliant performance, and outrageously beautiful. They began to applaud long before she had finished. As she went on they applauded louder, adding shouts and whistles of admiration. In her chair before the stage, Garnet sat bewitched.
    She knew she ought to be scandalized. But she just couldn’t be. Oliver had no doubt used the right noun to describe that woman, but he had also used the right adjective. She was splendid.
    The dance went on and on. If the spectators had had their way it would have gone on indefinitely. But at last the dancer whisked out of sight. If their enthusiasm had been noisy before, it burst like an explosion when she had finished. Garnet sighed in rapture. That wicked, wonderful dancer, these shouting people, everything—this was life.
    The dancer came back several times to curtsy. But though they were clamoring for more, she only laughed and shook her head. Her laughter was gay and teasing, as though she were telling them they had had their money’s worth, and if they wanted more they could come back tomorrow night.
    The curtains closed. The show at the Flower Garden was over.

FIVE
    B EFORE THE SHOW , GARNET had been too excited to eat. But now she said she was hungry. Oliver told her there was a room at the hotel open for late suppers.
    When they went through the lobby, a clerk handed Garnet a package that had been delivered for her that afternoon. “What have you been buying?” Oliver asked as they sat down at table.
    “A book of engravings.”
    “And what,” he inquired, “are you going to do with a book of engravings on the California trail?”
    “Don’t be so practical. It was such a dear old shop, and the salesman was so nice to me, I just had to buy something. I want a crab,” she announced as the Negro waiter came over to them.
    Oliver ordered a crab for her and a cup of coffee for himself. But just as she began to eat, Oliver sprang up. He had caught sight of two of his employees, passing the door that was open between this room and the lobby. He wanted to tell them the salt meat had arrived this afternoon and could be packed first thing in the morning. They had to carry salt meat for the first part of the trail, for they would not run into buffalo until they had passed Council Grove. If he could speak to his men now, he wouldn’t have to go out so early tomorrow. Would Garnet mind eating alone while he talked to them?
    She did not mind, so Oliver went outside. Garnet ate the rest of her crab. Several other customers, having finished their suppers, left the room, and she was alone with the waiter. To have something to do while she waited for Oliver, she began to look at the book of engravings.
    The pictures were of beautiful girls, one to a page. Under each picture was a fanciful name—Veronica, Esmeralda, Melisande, Mignonette, Florinda. Garnet smiled as she read them, wondering if there were any real women with such names.
    A step sounded in the doorway. Garnet half