Song of My Heart (19 page)

She joined him, and together they moved down the back stairway to the cellar and on into the singing room. Sadie headed immediately to the piano on the stage, and Sid followed with the lamp held high. He set the lamp in one of the brass holders attached to the piano’s smooth face. Then, stepping behind the piano, he rested both arms on its top and watched Sadie pull out the stool and lay out several loose sheets of music. The pages, all marked with lines and dots, meant nothing to him. But somehow Sadie found a melody hiding in the strange scratchings.

He remained very quiet while she practiced, hiding a smile when she huffed at misplayed notes or closed her eyes to repeat a certain phrase until it pleased her. He watched her face change as she sang, mesmerized by the transformation. Somehow singing made Sadie glow from within, magnifying her natural beauty.
I love you, Sadie. I want you to be mine.
The words quivered on the tip of his tongue, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to hold them inside.

Time slipped by, and Sid’s feet began to complain about standing still, but he didn’t budge. He wouldn’t disturb her. At last she closed the cover over the keys, restacked the pages, and lifted her face to him. “I’m done. For now.” She yawned, holding her dainty hand over her mouth, and then she stretched both arms over her head. “Oh my, I’m tired.”

Was she hinting she wanted to turn in? But they hadn’t talked yet. In the lantern’s glow, her yellow hair shone like morning sunlight. He wished he had the courage to coil one of the loose strands dangling from her temple around his finger. “You coulda been done a lot sooner if you hadn’t gone to the café with McKane.” He hadn’t intended to sound accusatory, but it came out that way anyway.

She shot him a frown. “Sid . . .”

He held up both hands in surrender. Then he rounded the piano and braced one hand on his knee, leaning close to her. “But I’m hopin’, in the future, you’ll be goin’ out to supper with me instead o’ him.”

Her gaze zinged away, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

Gathering all his courage, Sid caught her chin in his hand and lifted her face to him. He wished his fingers would stop trembling, but the glory of her soft skin nearly undid him. “Did’ja like the little present I left for you today?” With her face caught in his fingers, she couldn’t nod. But he saw a soft look creep into her eyes. She liked it. He smiled. “Y’know, Sadie, I loved you even back then. You’ve always been important to me.”

She swallowed, the sound loud in the silent room. She leaned back slightly, removing herself from his quivering grasp. “I . . . I know, Sid. And you’ve been important to me, too. Always my favorite—”

He covered her lips with his fingers. “Don’t say ‘cousin.’ ’Cause we aren’t.”

She shook her head, giving him a pleading look. “But, Sid, I’ve always thought of you as my cousin. How can I just set that aside after all these years?”

“By rememberin’ we aren’t really related.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes. “But then I have to remember Papa isn’t really my father. And I want to think of him as mine.”

Sid sighed. Why’d she have to be so stubborn? He reached for her again, but she leaned away. Sid bolted upright, jealousy straightening his spine. “I didn’t notice you actin’ all shy when McKane cozied up to you.”

Red flags of temper flashed on her face, and Sid knew he’d made a mistake. But he couldn’t take the words back. And he didn’t want to. He intended to court Sadie. She might as well know how he felt about her spending time with Thad McKane.

“I consider the sheriff a friend, Sid, and—”

Sid snorted. “Sheriff . . . Don’t let that tin badge fool you. He’s no lawman.”

Sadie blinked at Sid, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “W-what do you mean?”

Sid balled one fist on his hip. “Asa Baxter told me—Mayor Hanaman brought McKane to town to play lawman, make the town look like a safe place so new families’d move in. But he isn’t a
real
sheriff.” Leaning in again, Sid dropped his voice to a near whisper. “You think you know him, Sadie. But you don’t. He’s a stranger. But me? We go way back.”

Sadie sat in silence, staring into his face. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t try to retreat, either.

He went on softly, sweetly, adopting the tender tone he’d use to placate a frightened horse. “You
know
me, Sadie. Haven’t I always been there for you? An’ now you’re here, in the same town as me, finally singin’ your songs on a stage for folks’ pleasure.” Lifting his hand, he eased his fingertips along the line of her jaw. Soft . . . so soft. His heart lurched. “I arranged all that ’cause I love you, Sadie.”

Without warning, she shot to her feet, nearly tipping the piano seat. Her expression turned frantic. “Sid, I—” But instead of finishing the sentence, she turned and ran up the middle aisle.

Sid snatched up the lantern and stumbled after her. “Sadie, wait!” But she clattered through the open doors at the hallway, her footsteps pounding on the stairs. He trotted after her, pausing to latch the doors before making his way upstairs. By the time he reached the main room of the mercantile, she was long gone—probably closed in her room. He wouldn’t pursue her there.

He returned to the storage room, blew out the lantern, and slid it onto the waiting shelf. Then, standing in the dark room, he made a silent vow. He wouldn’t say the words “I love you” to Sadie again. They obviously scared her. But he’d
show
her how he felt.

Squaring his shoulders with determination, Sid made his way out of the quiet store. He’d win her over. It was just a matter of time.

There were times over the following weeks Sadie thought she might pull out her hair in confusion. Each day, she discovered a little something on the front porch, just outside the door. Even though no notes accompanied the items, she knew Sid left them. The gifts, although never elaborate, were sweet and thoughtful. Clusters of wild flowers, a bag of black gumdrops—her favorite—hair ribbons, a book of poetry . . . But instead of making her feel cherished, they left her feeling smothered. And manipulated. She hated herself for being unappreciative, yet she couldn’t shake the honest reaction to his persistent bid for her affection.

She also grappled with Sid’s statement about Thad not being a legitimate lawman. Thad had asked her to be honest with him at all times, yet if Sid had spoken the truth, Thad hadn’t been completely honest with her. She wanted to ask him to verify or deny Sid’s claim. She had ample opportunities to broach the subject—Thad stopped by the mercantile daily to purchase supplies or a bag of candy sticks to share with Goldtree’s youngsters or to simply chat with either Sadie or the proprietresses. Yet she held the question inside. A part of her feared his response.

So she poured her confusion into a letter to her parents and sent it off, praying for a speedy reply. She trusted Mama and Papa to wisely counsel her. Until she heard back from them, she vowed to hold both Sid and Thad at bay. But she found it more difficult than she cared to admit. She missed the carefree relationship she’d once shared with Sid and wished to resume it, and she longed to explore the flickers of love stirring to life within her heart for Thad.

Several times either Miss Melva or Miss Shelva snapped their bony fingers in her face to draw her from inner reflection to reality. Most times the ladies laughed and teased Sadie about drifting away into dreamland, but other times she witnessed impatience in her employers’ eyes. She needed to find a means of dealing with her jumbled emotions before she jeopardized her job.

The only time she managed to forget Sid’s unwelcome pursuit or Thad’s possible duplicity was when she was singing. The stage became her refuge, and she found herself wishing away the hours to Friday and Saturday nights, when she could pour all of her passion into song and allow the exuberant applause of the audience to carry her away from her troubles.

The second Friday in July, as Sadie prepared to refill one of the glass-front storage drawers with dried navy beans, Miss Melva swooped in and snatched the wooden scoop from her hand. “Just saw the mail stage pull out. Sister’n me’s expectin’ a package from Boston. A newfangled medicine for”—she dropped her normally strident tone to a hissing whisper—“female troubles.” Her voice rose again. “Go on over an’ see what come in today.” She gave Sadie a little push toward the door.

Sadie brushed away the fine dust raised by the beans from her apron skirt as she headed out the door. A hot gust of wind greeted her, hurrying her across the street. The screen door slapped into its frame behind her as she entered the post office and stepped to the counter. Mr. Rahn turned, the mail pouch dangling from his wrist and a cluster of letters fanned like a hand of cards between his fingers. He sent a weary smile in Sadie’s direction.

“Don’t tell me—you’re here to fetch the medicinal concoction the Baxter sisters ordered.”

Sadie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How did you know?”

The man snorted. “Because they’ve pret’ near pestered me to death, wantin’ to know when those bottles of Dr. Kilmer’s miracle cure’d get here. I finally told ’em not to come ask again—I’d deliver ’em myself when they arrived.”

Sadie giggled. How sneaky of Miss Melva to send Sadie in their stead rather than facing Mr. Rahn’s ire. “Well, I’ll leave you alone, then.” She turned to leave.

“Wait up there, Miss Sadie.” The man flopped the pouch onto the sorting table and crossed to the counter. He held out two envelopes. “These come for you—both from Dalton, Indiana.”

Sadie couldn’t stifle her exclamation of joy. She reached eagerly for the letters and examined them. One from Mama and one from Papa. She crinkled her brow. Why had they written separately? Then she noticed the date inked over the postage stamp—Papa’s had been sent three days prior to Mama’s. Yet they’d arrived at the same time. Apparently a holdup along the line delayed the arrival of Papa’s letter. She smiled. How exciting to receive both letters in one day. And how exciting to find a letter solely from Papa. He usually just jotted a few lines at the end of Mama’s lengthy discourses. An entire letter from him was an unexpected treat.

Mr. Rahn grinned. “Busy day for folks in Dalton sendin’ letters. Got one over there for Sid, too.” He stretched his hand toward the letters scattered on the table. “You wanna take it to him? Seein’ as how you’re family an’ all, I don’t reckon the United States Postmaster General would have cause to complain.”

She wasn’t ready to seek out Sid. She took two backward steps toward the door. “No, thank you, Mr. Rahn.”

The man looked at her as if she’d suddenly broken out in green warts. “Well, then . . .” He scratched his chin. “Sid don’t come in every day, the way you folks at the mercantile do. When you see him next, would you tell him he’s got a letter over here waitin’?”

Sadie assumed Sid would come to the opera house that evening—he hadn’t missed a performance yet and he always arrived early. They wouldn’t be able to engage in a lengthy conversation if she was preparing to sing, but she could mention the letter. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.” She scurried out the door and stepped into the street, eager to return to the mercantile where she could find a quiet corner and read her letters.

“Runaway wagon!”

The cry took Sadie by surprise. She came to a startled halt and looked up to see a fully loaded wagon, pulled by two enormous, galloping horses, bearing down on her. With a shriek of terror, she reached to lift her skirts and run. The letters fell from her hand, and the wind immediately whisked them down the street.

Sadie cried out in alarm and spun toward the escaping squares of white. But before she could take a step, someone’s arms coiled around her waist and flung her to the ground. The wagon rattled past, inches from Sadie. Two men on horseback and three on foot chased after the escaping wagon. Dust billowed in her face, and she squeezed her eyes closed against the onslaught. Coughing, she tried to scramble to her feet and retrieve her letters. But strong arms held her fast. Then an angry, masculine voice thundered in her ears.

“What in tarnation did you think you were doing? You could’ve been killed!”

She angled her head to peer over her shoulder. Thad lay beside her, his arm draped across her waist. Fury blazed in his eyes.

19 

T
had rose and reached for Sadie. His hands shook worse than tree leaves in the stout Kansas wind. Fool woman! She’d scared him out of ten years of life at least. He caught her wrists and pulled her upright. She found her footing quickly, but he didn’t let go.

“Didn’t your mama teach you to look into a street before trying to cross it? You came within a hairsbreadth of being run down!” An ugly picture formed in his head, and he gritted his teeth, willing it to depart. His hands involuntarily tightened. “You gotta be careful, Sadie!”

She wrenched free of his grasp, then rubbed her wrists, glaring up at him. “I didn’t step in front of the wagon deliberately. I was—”

“Being a plumb fool!”

A small crowd gathered on the boardwalk, their excited mutterings competing with the pounding rush of blood in his ears. He waved his hand at the throng. “Go on about your business, folks.” He waited long enough to make sure they’d follow his direction. Then he whirled on Sadie, who’d lifted her skirts as if ready to take off. “Not you! You stay put.”