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discovered that dance marathons for charity required the contestants to get sponsors to pay them for the length of time they danced, say a penny an hour. The marathon continued until there was only one couple left dancing.
    “Not only am I going to put on the dance marathon, but I’m going to dance it and earn the most money for charity, and then those old biddies on the Ladies’ League will have to stop turning their noses up at over that unfortunate incident with that unfortunate girl.”
    Mabel eyed Penelope. “How you aimin’ on doing that?”
    Penelope placed a palm over her heart. “I’ll have you know, I was one of the best dancers at Oldfields Finishing School, second only to my best friend, Wallis.”
    “Her best friend was a boy?” I whispered to Mabel.
    “Wallis is a girl with a boy’s name,” Mabel whispered back.
    Penelope was waltzing about the room, bumping into bushel baskets full of tomatoes. “Her first name is Bessie, but she hates it. Wallis has such a strong personality. The name suits her much better than Bessie.”
    “I wasn’t talking about your dancing abilities.” Mabel steered her back on topic. “I was speaking of Mr. Beau. That man has two left feet.”
    “True, Beau would rather have his head stuck in a tin can than get out on the dance floor.” Penelope sighed. “And we’re all better for his lack of interest. John will be my partner. He’s the best dancer in Cupid.”
    At the mention of John’s name my pulse quickened. He knew how to dance too? Was there anything the man could not do?
    Mabel shook her head. “Mr. John doesn’t have time to practice with you. Not with rebuilding the silver mine and bringing in that new well.”
    Penelope paused, momentarily stumped. “You’re right. I need someone to practice with. I don’t know the new dances at all.” She eyed me speculatively. “Millie, do you know how to dance?”
    “I can square dance, ma’am.”
    “I suppose you’ll do. We start practicing tomorrow. I’m going to go call Wallis and see if she’s got any tips.”
    With that, she waltzed away.
    Mabel let out a long held breath, shook her head. “I don’t envy you.”
    “Why’s that?” I asked.
    “When Penelope gets an idea in her head, she’s like a bulldog with a bone. Mark my word. She’ll dance the legs right off of you.”

 
    Chapter Five
    P ENELOPE’S FRIEND W ALLIS S IMPSON was sending a dance marathon promoter from Chicago out to Cupid to orchestrate the event, and she was over the moon. More than once, Penelope said, “I’m going to show those old biddies. We’re going to put on a dance unlike anything the Trans-Pecos has ever seen.”
    The Ladies’ League charity event was always held the last weekend in September. That gave us six weeks to practice, and Mabel’s prediction was indeed prophetic. Penelope and I danced three to four hours a day. Danced until our legs were so achy and sore that we often woke in the middle of the night with painful charley horses.
    When I’d protest that I wasn’t getting all my cleaning done, Penelope would wave away my complaints. “This is more important than a few cobwebs in the corner.”
    Margaret Fant watched her grandchildren, keeping the kids from getting underfoot while we practiced. I appreciated how this family worked together and supported each other, but it made me homesick for my own kin.
    We learned every single one of the hot new dance crazes sweeping the cities from a chart that Penelope’s friend Wallis sent us—the Charleston, the fox-trot, and the Baltimore Buzz. I was surprised at how quickly I picked up the steps, and Penelope declared me a natural dancer. When I danced I felt freer than I’d ever felt in my life. Dance took me out of myself and into the music spilling from Penelope’s Victrola.
    “You have an elegant grace,” she said. Flattered, I blushed, until she added, “That you rarely see in someone from your station in life.”
    There it was. The unbridgeable