Song of My Heart (13 page)

“Hey there, Roscoe. What you doin’ back here?” Asa hoped he didn’t sound as resentful as he felt. Wouldn’t do to make an enemy of the town’s mayor.

Roscoe strode forward and propped one polished black shoe on the edge of the high wooden porch floor. “I was passing by on my way to sip a cup of Cora’s coffee and heard the banging. There’s been quite a lot of that over the past several days. So I thought I’d come see what you were making back here.” His gaze roved over the newly cut doorframe made of crisp white oak.

Asa swung the hammer, assuming a casual pose. “Just a door, as you can see.” But not just any door—a door with a half-circle window up above, fronted by a six-by-six-foot porch with a roof, carved pillars, and a spindled railing. A fancy entryway. “Needed it so’s folks could go straight on down to the opera house.” He grimaced. “Wouldn’t do, y’know, to bring folks through the mercantile an’ its storeroom. Undignified. Plus, havin’ a separate door’ll let my sisters secure the mercantile at night.” One less reason for them to be fussin’.

“Good thinking, Asa. Good thinking.” Hanaman nodded his graying head.

Asa smiled, feigning appreciation of the man’s approval. But he didn’t need it. He already knew it was good thinking. “Gonna have our first show this Friday night.” Three more days and his long-held plans would finally be set in motion. “You plannin’ to come? Miss Wagner’s a real good singer.”

“The missus and I wouldn’t miss it,” Roscoe said. “Miriam’s excited that culture has finally arrived in Goldtree. But . . .” Hanaman’s round face creased. “She’s wondering, kind of like the rest of the town, why you aren’t just using the community center for these shows.”

“An’ have everybody sittin’ on hard, backless benches?” Asa injected as much shock in his tone as he could manage. “Might be all right for a town meetin’ or a short program, but Miss Wagner’s got a whole collection of songs ready to go. Folks’re gonna wanna settle in, get comfortable, an’ relish every minute of the show.”

Hanaman’s mustache twitched. “You’re a fine salesman, Asa. You’ve piqued my interest.”

Asa broke out in gooseflesh as an idea crept through his brain. Having the support of the mayor and banker would be just the boost he needed to ensure that all of Goldtree’s residents put their money in his coffer. His pulse sped as if he’d just run a footrace. “Would’ja—” He sounded breathless. He sucked a lungful of air and tried again. “Would’ja like a sample performance? Gonna have Miss Wagner practice on the stage tonight after supper. Come on down, take a look at the singin’ room, an’ listen in.” A sly grin teased the corners of Asa’s mouth. “I think you’ll like what’cha see an’ hear.”

Roscoe backed up a step, his smile wide. “Why, thank you, Asa. I just might do that.” He lifted his hand in a wave and ambled around the corner of the building.

Asa pulled a nail from his pocket and positioned it against the smooth oak, but he didn’t bring down the hammer. There was somebody else in town he needed on his side. Somebody even more powerful than Hanaman. His eyes flicked over the unfinished doorframe. There was much to do—a porch roof, pillars, railings—and steps so old ladies wouldn’t have to heft themselves onto the stoop. But he still had two days. If he worked hard and put Sid to work on it, too, it’d get done. This errand was more important.

He dropped the hammer onto the wooden floor with a clatter and took off at a clumsy trot around the building.

Sadie stood between the richly stained pillars, the toes of her shoes aligned with a little mark Mr. Baxter had made so she’d be seen from every row of seats. He’d lit both chandeliers and all of the wall sconces, bathing the entire room in a yellow glow that turned the crystals dangling from the elaborate chandeliers into glittering diamonds. She hadn’t realized her practice would be attended by more than Mr. Baxter. Her stomach trembled, and she pressed her linked hands more firmly against her waist as she looked across the trio of men seated in the first row.

“Anytime you’re ready, Miss Wagner,” Mr. Baxter called from his spot between the mayor and Thad McKane.

Sadie swallowed, sending up a silent prayer for strength. If she survived this practice—a practice that now had the feel of a performance—then surely it would indicate she was ready for a full audience. She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes to fully focus on the music, and began. “ ‘Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm has bound the restless wave . . .’ ”

Although she’d intended to insert the relatively new hymn in the middle of the repertoire, she chose to sing it first for this small audience. She sensed they would find it more pleasing than her original choice, “Abide With Me.” As she sang through all four verses, her voice gained strength, her confidence building. The joy of singing carried her to another plane. She forgot about the three pairs of eyes aimed in her direction, forgot about her nervousness, forgot everything except the bliss of bringing forth song.

On the closing phrase, she slowed the pace, increasing in volume and climbing one octave higher than the composer had penned. “ ‘Thus ever let there rise to Thee glad hymns of praise from land and sea!’ ” The words echoed from the rafters. She held the final note, giving freedom to her natural vibrato. The moment she ended with a demure bowing of her head, applause erupted. Her eyes popped open, and joy flooded her frame. Both the mayor and Thad had leaped up, and both enthusiastically pounded their palms together.

The mayor dashed forward and captured her hand. “My dear, that was splendid. The most amazing vocal performance I’ve ever heard!” Still holding her hand, he spun toward Mr. Baxter. “Asa, it was genius to bring this girl to Goldtree. Why, her abilities will draw people from all of the neighboring communities. Goldtree will soon be hailed as the cultural center of Clay County. Genius, purely genius.”

Mr. Baxter’s chest expanded, his face set in a knowing smirk. “So you like Miss Wagner’s singin’, do ya?”

“Like it?” Mayor Hanaman’s eyebrows rose so high they touched his slicked-back hairline. “I’m in awe.”

Mr. Baxter slid a look in Thad’s direction. “What about you, Sheriff? You think this girl’s got any talent?”

Sadie held her breath. Thad’s exuberant clapping spoke of his approval, but she wanted to
hear
his praise. He moved forward slowly, as if slogging through a sea of cornmeal mush, his eyes pinned on her face. Sadie’s pulse tripped ever faster as he closed the gap between them. He didn’t reach for her the way the mayor had. Instead, he anchored his fingers in the pockets of his tan trousers, his movements so slow she might have imagined them. And then, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Real fine, Miss Sadie. Your singing’s real fine.”

Simple words. Yet delivered with such sincerity and adoration Sadie’s heart fluttered like a butterfly lifting on a summer breeze. She beamed in response, a giggle of pure delight spilling from her lips. “Th-thank you, Sheriff.”

Mr. Hanaman raised Sadie’s hand and planted a kiss on its back. “Miss Wagner, I could listen to you sing all night. But I think my time will be better spent alerting the fine citizens of Goldtree to the wonderful treat they have in store this coming Friday evening.” He kissed her knuckles a second time, his mustache prickly against her skin. Then he released her and charged for the double doors at the rear of the room. “Asa, genius . . . purely genius . . .” His footsteps receded.

Mr. Baxter planted his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushed to his feet. He sidled to the stage and stopped beside Thad, who continued to gaze into Sadie’s face with such rapture she marveled that she hadn’t melted from delight. The man cleared his throat, and both Thad and Sadie jumped.

“So, Sheriff, ya gonna stay an’ listen in on the rest of Miss Wagner’s practice?”

Thad shook his head, regret tingeing his features. “I’d like to. As Mr. Hanaman said, I’d be content to listen all night. But I need to make my evening rounds.”

Disappointment twined through Sadie’s middle. She asked, “Y-you’ll come Friday night, though, won’t you? For the whole performance?”

His mustache quirked with his charming grin. “You can count on it, Miss Sadie. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good! Good!” Mr. Baxter pounded Thad on the back with a pudgy hand. He chuckled, an odd burble of humor that almost sounded rusty. “Promises to be a fine performance, an’ I reckon the entire town’ll come. That means nobody’ll be out an’ about causin’ mischief.”

For a moment Thad’s brow wrinkled, as if he were puzzling over something. “Reckon you’re right, Mr. Baxter. Can’t imagine anybody wanting to stay away.” He inched backward, his gaze lingering on Sadie’s face. “Thank you for letting me sit in on your practice, Miss Sadie. I look forward to hearing your whole program on Friday.”

As Thad thumped off, Mr. Baxter waved his hands at Sadie. “All right, all right, let’s hear your other songs.”

Sadie experienced a sense of loss with Thad’s departure, but within minutes she once again lost herself in the joy of singing. She moved flawlessly from one piece to another, and Mr. Baxter sat quietly and attentively through the entire repertoire. When she’d completed the final number, she gave a complete bow, holding the bent-low position for a count of ten before rising. Then she hugged herself and said, “Will . . . will that be sufficient?”

Mr. Baxter worked his jaw back and forth, his forehead set in such tight crinkles it looked painful. Finally he let out a loud sigh. “I reckon it’ll have to do.”

His halfhearted statement wasn’t the affirmation Sadie had hoped for. She stepped off the stage. “Is something wrong? I realize the program is entirely hymns, but—”

“No, no, I told’ja to start with hymns.” He sounded cranky. “An’ judgin’ by the way Hanaman an’ McKane went all soft, hymns’ll probably suit most of the audience. But . . .” He paced back and forth, scuffing his heels, his chin pinched between his thumb and index finger. He stopped and pointed at her. “We need somethin’ . . . more. Got that piano back there. Planned on havin’ somebody playin’ afore you start to sing—sort of a prelude, y’know.”

Sadie nodded, even though she wasn’t completely sure what he intended.

“I’ll have the pianist here to accompany all your songs, too. Bigger sound.” He waved his arms, a smile growing on his jowly face. “More hullabaloo.”

“H-hullabaloo?”

“Why, sure! Your voice mixed with the poundin’ of the piano.” He leaped onto the stage in a clumsy hop and lifted the keyboard cover. He brought down both hands on the ivory keys. One inharmonious chord hung in the air. He laughed and slapped the cover back into position, making the strings
whang
. “That’ll do it. That’ll do it for sure.”

Sadie stepped back as he charged toward the far corner of the stage and retrieved the crate he’d used as a stepstool when lighting the lamps. He crawled up again and turned the little dials on the chandeliers. Their bright lights flickered and died. Marching toward the wall sconces, he called over his shoulder, “That’ll do for tonight, Miss Wagner. Head on up an’ get a good night’s rest. Big performance on Friday. Yes, sir, it’s gonna be big!”

Sadie headed for the doors as he’d directed. His unusual chortle rumbled behind her. Suddenly, for reasons she little understood, the anticipation of performing faded into a lump of uncertainty.

13 

S
id swiped at the dribble of sweat that tickled his temple. His eyes stung from squinting against the sun, but he placed another shingle into position and whacked down two nails, securing it in place. Sitting back on his haunches, he tugged his hat brim a little lower to shield his eyes and examined the remaining patch of unprotected porch roof. Just a few more shingles, and he could climb down, find some shade and a jug of water, and enjoy a little rest.

When Asa Baxter had told him he’d be doing carpentry work at the mercantile instead of serving as a drayman for a couple of days, he’d thought it sounded like a welcome change. The man had nearly run him ragged for the past two weeks, sending him back and forth between Concordia to collect enough timbers to construct a barn. But then he’d said, “Finish the porch.”

Sid liked the idea of being in close proximity to Sadie. And porch building sounded a lot less strenuous than loading and unloading lumber. But he hadn’t bargained on having to shingle and paint the railed porch in only two days. Sadie might be only a few yards away, but who had time to speak to her?

He had to admit, though, as he climbed down the ladder and stepped back to admire his handiwork, the porch for the new entry to the opera house looked mighty fine. Asa had insisted on a four-color scheme—white with green, red, and gold trim. At first Sid had thought the man was batty and the porch would resemble a circus wagon. But now that he’d finished, he liked the way the posts and spindles looked, the different turnings set off by bold color. Maybe he’d paint his own porch in a similar fashion someday.

That is, if he managed to convince Sadie to marry him.

He lifted the jug he’d left in the shade between the mercantile and drugstore and took a lengthy swig, his gaze lifting to the window of Sadie’s room. Wouldn’t she rather have a whole house to call her own? Sure she would. Every woman wanted her own place, a husband, and a family. And he was willing to give it to her, if only she’d stop fluttering her eyelashes at the sheriff and look at Sid.