barn dance

storytime—yayyy !! i’m going to skip the apologies for not posting on here in ages, and also leave out the excuse that i’ve been so very hecking busy with school, and get right to it, shall i? [also, credits to my choir director/piano teacher for telling me that lumberjacks were such good dancers, that piece of information turned into this story lol]

Barn dances were the absolute worst, Kit had decided. Or perhaps just dances in general. Or any social convention. As always, the ratio of women to men wasn’t equal, and with most of the men not willing to dance, Kit had to resign herself to sitting in a corner. Sitting—when she could have been dancing! Kit had swept herself through the high barn doorway with lofty imaginings of being carried away into a swirling crowd of dancers and never once having to stop. But here she was, sitting, while the fiddlers were just beginning to play.

“Miss Chauncey! Oh, Theodora!”

Kit glanced to meet the round, pink face of Eveline Cati, pushing herself forward from across the room. She winced.

“Miss Cati,” she acknowledged politely, turning back to face the dance floor.

“Do you want to dance?” Eveline pleaded. "We’re rather short on men, you know, so I thought you might want to do a friend a favour. I’m positively desperate to get on that floor.”

“I’m sure you are,” Kit said drily. She quickly plastered a smile onto her face to ease the sting of her tone. “I suppose I might, but just one dance.”

Eveline squealed and grabbed her by the hand. “You’re too good, really.” She led Kit into the middle of the floor, where several other girls were already beginning to dance. “But don’t worry about it for long, I heard that we’re going to be interrupted soon by a group of loggers.”

“Loggers?” Kit wondered, her brow furrowing.

“Yes,” Eveline beamed. “You know—lumberjacks, woodsmen.”

“I know what they are,” Kit huffed, as she was dragged about the room in a poor resemblance of a two-step. But her partner continued on, excited enough to take no notice as she repeatedly marched on Kit’s feet. 

“They’re coming up from the west river. Miss Lincoln was telling me—they’re staying at her husband’s inn over the weekend.”

Kit rolled her shoulder, shrugging. “It might be nice to have a real partner for a dance,” she mumbled.

“It’ll be lovely!” Eveline insisted. “Be sure to snatch one up as soon as they come; all the girls here are just dying to dance. And you know what they say, loggers are supposed to be the most wonderful dancers.”

“Why is tha—" Kit’s question was broken off the by the slamming open of the barn doors. 

The fiddlers continued, unaware that all the dancing had stopped. In strode a group of men, all a head or two taller than Kit, with dark flannel shirts underneath their suspenders. Eveline gasped.

“They’re positively medieval! But so many!”

Kit raised an eyebrow at the girl and stepped away.

“Go on then,” she urged. “Get yourself a partner.”

Eveline winked, a smile stretching across her rosy cheeks, and disappeared.

Kit shook her head, rolling her eyes, and stepped back to her seat in the corner. She would love to dance—more than anything—but she would not resort to Eveline’s plans of begging with the first man she saw. No, she would wait in a dignified fashion. Kit watched as the group was quickly swallowed up and spread across the dance floor. Only a handful remained by the door, but they also scattered, taking up the remaining chairs that were positioned near the walls.

“Miss?”

Kit jolted in her chair. Turning, she met the amused eyes of one of the loggers.

“Yes!” she nodded eagerly. Would she get her dance? He looked confused.

“Just wondering, miss—could I use this chair?” He motioned to the one placed near hers.

Kit frowned in disappointment, and debated whether she should tell him she was saving it for someone else. But honesty won through and she shrugged.

“I suppose so.”

He stretched out a hand. 

“Acel Manuel, forever in your debt.”

Kit shook her head, breathing a short laugh. “Please no. I don’t need anyone to be in my debt. I’m Theodora Chauncey.”

His hand completely swallowed hers as she took it to shake. Kit frowned and turned away, still stinging with disappointment. 

“Do people call you Dora?”

She glanced over in surprise. Acel was still turned to her, a smile showing itself in the crease below his eye.

“Heavens, no. Not twice, anyway.” Kit turned back around.

“Teddy, then?”

Kit sighed and swivelled back. “Only my brother.” She gave him a critical look. “And I hate it.”

Acel sighed, a grin curling his lip.“Do you have any sort of nickname?”

“Kit. It’s my middle name, short for Katherine. But everyone calls me Kit.”

“Theodora Katherine Chauncey. That’s quite a name.”

Kit raised an eyebrow. “That in itself is, but it’s not all. My full name is actually Theodora Katherine Arabelle-Desi Chauncey.”

“Now there’s a mouthful.”

“It’s terrible,” Kit moaned, propping her elbow on her knee.

“I wouldn’t agree. It’s hard to write, to be sure, but it’s beautiful.”

She flushed and blinked, glancing wide-eyed at the man beside her.

“Please, sir,” she laughed breathily, ducking her head. “Don’t flatter me.” 

He hesitated, but she spoke again before he could reply. “And I’m not surprised my name sounds so grand to you—Mr. Manuel.”

“Are you saying my name is lacking?”

She gave him an impish glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, yes. Yes, I am.”

“Please, ma’am,” he mumbled, pressing a hand to his chest. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Kit straightened—was he making fun of her? She tossed her braid behind her back, lifting her chin.

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” she insisted tightly. “It simply made me uncomfortable.”

“Begging your pardon,” he replied, twisting in his chair so that he was no longer facing her. “I didn’t mean to be a disappointment.”

“But you are, rather,” she huffed. 

Acel looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you wanted to dance with me!” Kit burst out. She froze, before rambling again to try redeem herself of the embarrassment. “And now that I’ve said that you’ll feel you must ask me to dance. But I don’t want to—not if you don’t. And I didn’t mean to force you to. I don’t know why I said that, I’m constantly getting myself in awkward situations.” She reeled herself to a stop, blushing furiously.

Acer raised an eyebrow slowly, staring at her. Finally he broke the silence, his mouth twitching.

“If I had know you were such a difficult person to talk to, I would never have asked to sit here.”

Kit growled and jumped to her feet.

“I’ll save you the trouble of leaving and do it myself then!”

Acel leapt to his feet as she spun around to leave, grabbing her wrist. She whirled and froze, glancing down at his hand.

“Forgive me,” he urged. “So much time spent in the presence of only men had made me forget my manners. It was just meant as a joke.”

Kit narrowed her eyes. “Honest?”

“Honest.”

She took a step forward, his grip loosening on her wrist. “Well then. I’m sorry for reacting so harshly. I do try to be dignified, you know, but it hardly ever works. Most often the things I try to say come out quite the opposite as how I intend them.”

Acel grinned. “Now that we quite understand each other, would you like to dance with me?”

“Only if you’re not asking to save me the embarrassment of spending the night alone.”

“I’d be surprised if anyone would let you alone, I’m just the lucky fellow who got to you first.”

Kit arched her brow, gently taking his offered hand. 

“What have I said about flattery, Mr. Manuel?”

“I’ll stop, I promise,” he grinned, sweeping into a bow. “And call me Acel. Now, shall we have this dance, Miss Theodora Katherine Arabelle-Desi Chauncey?”

“If I may call you Acel, then you must call me Kit,” she insisted, following him to the dance floor.

Acel spun her to face him, placing a hand on her waist and nodding.

“Kit, then.”

She ducked her head, raising it again with a smile spread across her face.

“Why are loggers such wonderful dancers?”

“You think I’m a wonderful dancer?” Acel laughed.

Kit blushed, accidentally stumbling on his foot. She shook her head and chuckled. “Better than me, at least. But my friend Eveline told me that loggers were supposed to be wonderful dancers, right before you entered.”

Acel shrugged, raising her hand to twirl her underneath his arm.

“I suppose we’re not that bad,” he confessed. “But I must say I practise nearly every day.”

“You dance every day?” Kit sad, shocked.

“I said almost every day, and no, I don’t dance. I practise footwork. Loggers need to be light on their feet to ride the logs. So people are always surprised that big burly men like us can dance so neatly.”

“Big burly men?” Kit scoffed. “You’re giving yourself airs. Just because you’re taller than me—"

“A lot taller,” Acel grinned, looking down at her.

“And you carry logs around all day—"

“Sometimes through the night, too,” Acel added. 

Kit shut her mouth, raising an eyebrow again. “Are you done?”

He nodded, chuckling. 

“Then pay attention so you don’t break my toes with those boots of yours.”

Acel gave a deep bark of laughter, raising his hand to brush it against his grizzled jaw. Kit shook her head, smiling.

“Show off."