Song of My Heart (21 page)

Sadie offered a quick nod, and he released her arm. She scurried up the stairs, her heart pounding in trepidation.
Oh, Lord, please don’t let him discharge me!

20 

A
sa paced along the edge of the stage. He’d extinguished most of the lights but left one wall of sconces—those above the row of box seats—burning. The domed sconces couldn’t penetrate the darkness of the entire room, leaving the stage area cloaked in gray. The shadows gave the room an element of secrecy that appealed to him.

The
pat-pat
of footsteps alerted him to Miss Wagner’s approach. He turned toward the double doorway as she stepped through. The apprehension on her face boosted Asa’s feeling of power. He plunked his fists on his hips and pasted a stern scowl on his face as she made her way up the aisle to meet him.

“M-Mr. Baxter?” She bit down on her lower lip and clasped her hands at her waist.

He allowed a few seconds to tick by, giving her an opportunity to squirm, before he released a little grunt that made her jump. “You sang good tonight. Folks were pleased.”

She looked so confused he almost laughed. He’d complimented her—done it deliberately—but in such a disapproving tone, he’d befuddled her good. Swallowing his humor, he went on.

“Now that I know what kind of audience I can get in here for your
hymns
an’ such”—he didn’t bother to hide his derision for her choice of songs—“it’s time to expand an’ try some new things, too.”

Miss Wagner’s brow pinched. “N-new things?”

Asa stalked to the corner of the stage and snatched up the stack of music he’d been collecting. He marched back to where she waited, looking as timid as a church mouse, and thrust it at her. “Startin’ at the end of July, gonna open up the opera room on Tuesday nights. For special performances.”

She flicked through the music, her gaze scanning the titles. “These are . . . these are very different from my usual numbers.”

He snorted. “S’posed to be. That other stuff you do—it suits a mixed audience. But these Tuesday shows? They’ll be for men only.”

Her fingers tightened, creasing the music sheets. “B-but—”

Asa plowed over the top of her protest. “Eight to eleven. Since it’s a longer show, you’ll earn more. Five dollars a night.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Five dollars!”

His sisters paid the girl five dollars for a full six-day week in the mercantile. He’d known the sum would astound her. Asa grinned. “That’s right. Since this show’ll go later, I’ll talk to Melva an’ Shelva about lettin’ you off on Wednesday mornin’ from now on. Maybe even see about them givin’ you either Friday or Saturday afternoon free, too, to give you more time to relax before performances. They might cut your pay some, but you’ll be makin’ it up with your singin’, so it shouldn’t hurt ya none. You’ll still have plenty to send home to your ma an’ pa.”

He spoke briskly, confidently. Little mouse like her wouldn’t dare to argue with the tomcat. “I already put out the word about these special nights of entertainment for menfolk, due to start the twenty-third of July. That gives you a little over a week to learn these songs. Girl smart as you oughtn’t have any trouble pickin’ ’em up.”

Miss Wagner was examining the sheet music again, her brows low. Her lips quirked off to the side, as if she chewed the inside of her mouth. It tickled Asa to see her so deep in thought. While she was busy thinking, he bustled to the far corner of the room and pulled back the curtain. The ruby-colored dress he’d special-ordered from Chicago hung on a hook. He’d ordered a hat, too—a befeathered black velvet with seed pearls, bold red glass stones, and a rolled brim that’d sit low over Miss Wagner’s eyes. He’d seen a saloon girl wear a similar hat, and the picture had never left his mind. He couldn’t wait to see Miss Wagner’s pale blond hair set against the rich black velvet.

He pulled the dress from its peg, scuttled back to the stage area, and held the frock out to her. “Got a dress for you to wear for them Tuesday shows, too—somethin’ that’ll please the men for sure.”

She lifted her gaze from the music and looked at the dress. Her eyes widened into saucers of surprise, and her face drained of color. “Th-that’s a . . . a bawdy dress, Mr. Baxter! I could never wear anything so scandalous!”

Asa scowled fiercely. He wadded the dress in his fists. “Not askin’ you to wear it to work or to Sunday service. Just for these performances.” He jammed it toward her, and she recoiled. He grunted in frustration. “I paid a goodly amount to have this dress made for you, Miss Wagner, an’ you’re gonna wear it.”

She stumbled backward, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter. But I . . . I can’t wear that dress. And I can’t sing these songs.” She extended her arm, offering him the rumpled sheets of music. “I’m more than happy to continue performing Friday and Saturday nights, but you’ll need to find another singer for your Tuesday evening programs.”

Asa crunched his brow so tight his head hurt. “If I find someone else for Tuesdays, I’ll ask that same person to sing on Fridays an’ Saturdays, too. That’ll put you off the stage, Miss Wagner. That what you want?”

He watched a war play across her pale face. She’d come around. She had to—she needed the money. Besides that, he’d seen her sing. She came to life on that stage. Singing for an audience delighted her as much as making money pleased him. Maybe even more. And making money thrilled him deeper than anything else in the world.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Baxter, I thank you for giving me the chance to sing for the folks of Goldtree.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “But what you’re asking me to do now . . . I’m sorry. Find another singer.” She bounced the music at him. When he wouldn’t take it, she dropped the handful and ran from the room.

Asa stared after her, too stunned to give chase. He stood for several minutes holding the red dress. Then he cursed and threw the dress on top of the scattered sheets of music at his feet. Find another singer? How would he find another singer willing to come to this podunk town? And even if he found one, how would she learn the music in time for the opening of his most promising money-making venture yet?

Raising his curled fists, he growled at the ceiling. His carefully laid plans were coming undone at the seams. She’d crossed him. And
nobody
crossed Asa Baxter. Scooping up the dress and the music, he made a silent vow. He’d change Sadie Wagner’s mind. His hands paused, a sly grin finding its way to his face. And he knew who to use to do it.

Sadie weighed the paper cone of sugar, rolled the top closed, and handed it across the counter to Mrs. Hanaman. “That’s five cents.”

The woman dug in her little beaded reticule and withdrew a round silver coin. “Here you are, Miss Wagner.” As she took the paper cone from Sadie, she added, “Roscoe and I so enjoyed your performance last night. I’m delighted he purchased season tickets—the first offered by Mr. Baxter—so we won’t miss a single performance. Will tonight’s repertoire be the same as last evening’s?”

Sadie was too heartsick to try to make changes for what would be her final time to sing on the Goldtree Opera House stage. She nodded.

Mrs. Hanaman beamed. “Oh, such a delight. There are several numbers I wish to hear again.”

Sadie’s lips quivered with her attempt to offer a genuine smile. She swallowed the tears gathering in her throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Hanaman. I . . . I do enjoy singing.”

Mrs. Hanaman cupped Sadie’s hand. “And you have a gift for it. I’ve attended vocal recitals in several eastern cities. Your performance equals and even exceeds many of those. Any number of people possess the ability to sing the notes, but you, my dear, sing the
music
.” Her words of praise increased the fierce ache in the center of Sadie’s breast. “Such an asset to Goldtree you are, Miss Wagner.”

Sadie ducked her head, embarrassed yet pleased by the woman’s commendation. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re very welcome.” She tucked the small bag of sugar into the bend of her elbow, bestowing another smile. “I shall see you this evening.” She strode out, the ostrich plume of her hat gently bobbing in time with the swirl of her emerald skirts.

Miss Melva peered over the top of a shelf, watching Mrs. Hanaman’s exit. After the screen door closed behind the woman, Miss Melva scurried to the counter. “Somethin’ about that lady puts my teeth on edge.”

Miss Shelva poked her head from the storage room and blared, “Now, Sister, don’t be bitin’ the hand that feeds you. The Hanamans do a heap o’ purchasin’ in here. We need their business.”

Miss Melva scowled at her sister. “I ain’t sayin’ it
to
her, just
about
her. An’ Sadie here ain’t likely to repeat it.” Turning back to Sadie, she lowered her voice somewhat. “She’s lived most o’ her adult life right here in Goldtree, but when she was still a girl, her ma sent her back east for a year or two with an aunt who planted all sorts o’ highfalutin’ ways in her. She’s just so hoity-toity a body can’t hardly have a conversation with her.” She sniffed, lifting her pointy chin. “Don’t see how she’s better’n anybody else. Just ’cause her husband owns the bank, an’ she wears them fancy dresses an’ pea-sized diamond stones in her ears.” Miss Melva pinched her own naked earlobe and then slicked her hands down the front of the bleached muslin apron covering her simple calico dress.

Sadie searched for words to reassure Miss Melva of her worth—obviously she found herself lacking. Stretching her hand across the counter, she captured her employer’s bony wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s better to have a heart of gold than an overflowing money box. You and Miss Shelva possess two of the purest hearts I’ve ever known.”

Miss Melva charged around the counter as Miss Shelva charged out of the storeroom. They encircled Sadie in a combined hug that nearly stole her breath.

Miss Melva bawled, “That’s the nicest thing anybody ever said to us.”

“You plumb turned our heart inside out, Sadie,” Miss Shelva added.

Sadie noted Miss Shelva’s use of “heart” rather than “hearts.” Sometimes she believed the women viewed themselves as two halves of one person. She wriggled her arms free and wrapped one around Miss Shelva and the other around Miss Melva. Tears stung the back of her nose. If Asa made things difficult for her now that she’d turned down his demand for her to sing bawdy songs and dress like a saloon girl, she might have to leave Goldtree. It would be very difficult to say good-bye to the spinster sisters, who railed at each other yet embraced Sadie as if she were their child.

The little bell above the screen door jangled, alerting them to the arrival of another customer. Sniffling, the twins released Sadie and dabbed their eyes with their aprons, their movements perfectly in tune with one another. Miss Shelva bustled back toward the storeroom, calling, “I gotta finish unloading them crates o’ shoes.”

Miss Melva headed for the stairs. “I’m gonna put our lunch on. Sadie, you mind the store!”

Sadie quickly swished her apron across her eyes, then turned to greet the customer. She jolted in surprise when she found Thad standing on the opposite side of the counter. Her pulse skipped, and her breath followed its lead, refusing to flow smoothly but instead releasing in stuttering gasps. Remembering their last encounter—his anger followed by a possessive kiss—she found herself torn between throwing herself into his embrace or running upstairs, where she could hide from the tumultuous emotions he created within her heart.

She pressed her sweat-damp palms to the scarred top of the counter and pasted on the semblance of a smile. “G-good day, Thad. What can I do for you?”

He rested one elbow on the counter and leaned in, his green eyes shimmering. “You can forgive me.”

She blinked twice, too surprised to speak.

“I wanted to ask you last night after you were done singing, but Asa said you were turning in early, so I didn’t stay around.” He sighed, his breath stirring the little wisps of hair that always escaped her bun. “I was pretty hard on you yesterday.”

Your lips weren’t hard at all
. She stared at his lips, the upper one shielded by the coal-black mustache. His whiskers were so soft, she hadn’t even noticed their intrusion when he’d kissed her.

“It’s just that I was so scared,” Thad continued. “You could’ve been run down. Hurt. Even killed.” His face contorted. “The scare turned to anger real quick, but I shouldn’t have been so rough with you. I’m truly sorry, Sadie. Will you forgive me?”

Sadie ducked her head. She’d spoken harshly to him, too—accused him of losing her letters and of masquerading as a sheriff. She’d never know what Mama would have advised concerning Thad, but somehow in that moment Mama’s opinion didn’t seem to matter. She only cared about her own feelings. Peeking at Thad through her eyelashes, she whispered, “I forgive you. And will you forgive me for attacking you with accusations? I . . . I was wrong, too.”

A tender smile lifted the corners of his mustache and brought out tiny starbursts at the corners of his eyes. He plucked off his hat and set it aside before placing his hand over hers.

“All is forgiven.” He squeezed her hand. “We’re friends again?”