Helen Gore focuses on something only she can see and her eyes never move as Elisabeth O'Meara pushes her wheelchair around the tables in Sandpoint's Evergreen Assisted Living center. Elisabeth's feet keep time to the song pouring from Gil Gibbs, a snappy two-step that inspires Elisabeth, 66, to dip her shoulders and wave her head. Her face lights up as she and Helen pass Evergreen residents waiting their turn to dance with her. Minnie, Evergreen's curly blonde Lhasa-poo pup, trots neatly out of the way as if she and Elisabeth had choreographed their routine. Helen remains impassive throughout her spin around the care center, but her insides are jumping for joy. "I used to be able to dance on my own," she says after Elisabeth parks her by a dining table. "But not in a wheelchair. I never thought about dancing in a wheelchair." Neither did Elisabeth until she noticed the longing looks of the people in wheelchairs while she danced with ambulatory residents. "It wasn't fair," she says. "I could get them moving to music, give them a beat." Helen wasn't aware she missed dancing until people began two-stepping and waltzing in front of her. Poor circulation and a lifetime of tennis combined to destroy the cartilage in her knees and curse her with arthritis. Most days she accepts the price for her active life. But occasionally something reminds her of her younger years and she misses the fun she once took for granted. Helen moved to Evergreen a month ago. She watched Elisabeth joyfully dance with residents in wheelchairs for a few weeks. But Helen can still move around with a walker and wasn't ready to relegate her dancing to a wheelchair – not until now. For reasons beyond her, Helen hesitantly accepted when Elisabeth asked her to dance. Elisabeth twirls some residents and dances face-to-face with others, holding their hands and pulling their chairs. She's gentle with Helen, to prove she's trustworthy and so Helen can enjoy the unconventional movement. Sweat glistens on Elisabeth's forehead. The center is warm and she's working hard, even though Helen is as slim as a sapling. "It really was fun," Helen says, finally smiling after the music stops. "I'd do it again." Which is Elisabeth's reward. She's visited Evergreen to dance for a dozen years. Dancing soothed her soul after her husband died 23 years ago on their daughter's 18th birthday. Elisabeth was 43 and waltzing to Strauss relieved some of her hurt and grief. In 1992, Loren Tausend from Seattle started a folk dancing group in Sandpoint. Elisabeth was so excited that she dragged her aunt to the first meeting. Her aunt was shocked that Elisabeth danced with a man to whom she wasn't married. Loren had shared his dances regularly at nursing homes in Seattle. He began the same routine in Sandpoint with Elisabeth as his partner. Elisabeth not only had a passion for dance, she was a loyal regular in his dance group. Elisabeth and Loren performed dances from Hungary and Spain, Nordic countries and the Alps. They dressed in costume. Their audiences were delighted. "It was wonderful," Elisabeth says softly. They danced together for nine years, pulling their audiences onto the floor with them at the end of their performances. Then, Alzheimer's disease claimed Loren. The people in the care centers appreciated their visits so much that Elisabeth continued them alone. She fox trotted and waltzed with residents, chatting merrily with her dance partners as if they were in a nightclub. Evergreen residents filled the dining room every Wednesday to hear the live old-time country music of Gil Gibbs and Harold Overland, volunteer musicians who never missed a performance. Elisabeth found their bouncy beat just right for swaying or twirling or two-stepping with people from whom life had taken a toll. The band expanded to include Joanne and Bob Brown and Betty Endress on piano. But Elisabeth remained the one dancer until this summer evening. Viven Ivie, a spry gentleman from Clark Fork, waltzes into Evergreen in his white slacks, shoes, shirt and cowboy hat and steers a grinning Vera Jones in her wheelchair onto the dance floor. Viven cha-chas and pushes and Vera laughs and pokes her arms into the air like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Elisabeth beams. "What more could I want?" she says, taking in the smiling faces around her. "They make me appreciate every moment."