Stay With Me (16 page)

“Pollution,” she said. “That’s one thing 1888
has going for it. No pollution.”

She sat down on the sloping green grass of
the churchyard. “No traffic jams. No AIDS epidemic. No
terrorism.”

The good old days. Simpler times.

Perhaps simpler. Certainly not easier. There
wasn’t a darn thing easy about lugging water from the well and
having to wait thirty minutes for it to heat up before taking a
bath in an ugly, cold tin tub. She missed her coffeepot with its
timer and she undoubtedly would miss tampons in another two weeks
time.

Maybe? Maybe not? She might be back in her
time before she ever had to worry about such mundane things. That’s
what she’d come to talk to God about.

She got up, dusted off her skirt, and walked
into the small white church. She saw two rows of pews, six deep to
a side. In the front of the church, there was a piano and a small
podium.

She slipped into one of the empty pews and
bent her head over her folded hands.

Dear God. Can you hear me
?

The walls didn’t shake and the floor didn’t
tremble. Still, she’d always assumed God had a subtle streak so she
continued.

It’s me. Sarah Jane Tremont. Your living
time-travel experiment.

She looked around the church. The sun shining
through the stained glass windows caught a few dust motes
irreverently dancing around.
Sorry, I don’t mean to sound
ungrateful. I mean, I’m glad I didn’t drown. It’s just that I’m
feeling a bit uneasy. I’m worried about me.

She looked up and waited for the lightning to
strike.
I’ve got two issues. Wait, make that three. I’ve got a
thing for John Beckett. Sexy, too sweet for his own good, too
obtuse for belief, and too much for me to handle, John Beckett. He
can’t see me for me. All he knows is the hatred he carries for
Sarah One.

She scooted forward, reached out her hand to
the pew in front of her and ran her finger down the fine wood
grain.
He’s solid, God. Like this pew. But I’m fluff. Here but
not really here. Present but not accounted for.

She picked up the red hymnal and held it
tight against her breasts.
I’m worried about Suzanne. I want to
shake her, but she’s so close to the edge, I’m afraid she’ll
crumble, wobble off her wall, and I won’t be able to put
Humpty-Dumpty back together again.

She stood up and started to pace around the
small church.
So problem number one is John and problem number
two is Suzanne. My being here is problem number three. I need to go
back to my time. If I don’t, who is going to help Miguel
Lopez?

She stood behind the small podium and looked
out at the empty church. She hadn’t come to God to have him make
the choice for her. She’d already made it.
Guess what, God.
Listen close because I can barely believe what I’m going to say. I
don’t think I can get on that stage on Wednesday. Who’s going to
take care of Suzanne? Who’s going to make sure she eats and takes a
bath and goes outside and starts living again?

She walked over to the piano and ran her
fingers lightly across the keys. The soft sounds flowed through the
empty room. She pulled out the wooden bench and sat down. Lovingly,
she began to play, relishing the feel of the hard ivory keys. Eight
years of piano lessons kicked in, as if they’d ended last week
instead of ten years ago. She played her favorite John Lennon song,
“Imagine.” When she finished, she closed her eyes and bowed her
head, grateful that her music hadn’t been stripped away.

“That’s a beautiful song.”

Sarah jerked her head around to the left. A
man, probably close to sixty, his small frame leaning heavily on a
cane, stood in the doorway.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it before,”
he said, smiling at her.

“It’s a little piece I picked up in
Cheyenne,” she said.
Forgive me, John.

“I heard you were back in town,” he said. “My
grandchildren went on and on about you.”

Pastor Dan. Fred’s father-in-law. “Great
kids.”

He beamed. “You’ll get no argument from me on
that. By the way, I had no idea you were such an accomplished
pianist.”

Wasn’t that sweet? “I’m a little rusty.”

“Not nearly as rusty as Mrs. Hammerstein and
she’s played every Sunday for the last three years.”

“You won’t tell her I touched her piano, will
you?”

He shrugged and swung his body into the last
pew. “She moved four weeks ago. She’s sorely missed. Church just
isn’t quite the same without music.”

“Just like a bad horror movie,” she said.

He looked at her oddly.

She waved her hand. “Never mind.”

“Fred tells me you’re leaving on the next
stage.”

Sarah nodded. “That was the plan.”

“Was?”

He might be old and skinny but his hearing
had held up. “Yes. I’m staying another week. My friend needs
me.”

“Your friend?”

His tone said it all. She didn’t have any
friends.

“She works at the saloon.” At. Over. She
didn’t feel the need to be specific.

“Ahhh. Miss Suzanne?”

This had the makings of a good nighttime
drama. The Two P’s. The Preacher and the Prostitute. “You know
her?”

“Not well. She’s been to church a few
times.”

“Bet that went over big with the rest of the
parishioners.”

Pastor Dan laughed. “Not during regular
services. She comes during the week, when no one else is here. I
suspect she prefers to pray in private.”

Good thing he didn’t suspect Miss Suzanne was
praying about his son-in-law. “She didn’t deserve to get beat
up.”

“Of course not. I hope they arrest Mr.
Dority. He’s a disgrace.”

She had a few other names for Dority but
didn’t particularly want to shock Pastor Dan, who looked like a
strong wind might blow him over. She got up from the piano. As she
stood, she ran her hands one last time over the keys.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Pastor Dan
said.

Sarah tilted her chin down.

Pastor Dan laughed. “Not that kind of
proposition. Is there any possibility that I could persuade you to
play for services this Sunday? You could play any songs you
like.”

She hadn’t played for an audience since her
last recital. “I couldn’t. Really. It’s been too long.”

“It sounded wonderful to me.”

She felt like she was disappointing God. A
skinny God. “There’s no one else in town who plays the piano?”

“No. The saloon has a piano but the woman
that normally plays there broke her hand last week.”

Sarah rubbed her fingers together. They
itched to get access to those beautiful ivory keys.

“I could pay you a little something from the
collection basket. It’s just that there’s not much left. We have so
many families in need.”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t accept the
church’s money, even to keep up Sarah One’s soiled reputation. “No,
that’s not necessary. I’d be happy to help.”

Pastor Dan stuck out his arm and smiled,
showing a row of yellowed teeth. “Welcome to my flock, Sarah.”

Yes, well. She hoped his flock didn’t mind
that he’d invited in a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

***

When Sarah walked into the hotel, she saw
John Beckett sitting on the top step of the stairs. He jumped up,
as if he’d committed some crime.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked,
thinking how wonderful it was to see him again.

He glanced around, as if he might be looking
for answers in the corners. He adjusted his hat, then rubbed his
hands across his thighs.

Wait a minute. She was the one with sweaty
palms.

“Stage leaves day after tomorrow,” he said.
“I wanted to see…see that you didn’t need anything before you
go.”

“That’s nice of you.”

He looked even more uncomfortable, as if he
sure as hell didn’t want to be caught doing anything nice. “How’s
Suzanne feeling?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Physically, she’s better. Her
eyes are still black and blue but the swelling on her face has gone
away and her lip looks a lot better.”

“But?”

“But I think her hurt isn’t just physical.
It’s like Dority took his stupid knife and sliced into her
spirit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know it’s crazy, but it’s almost like she
thinks she deserved it, that she’s the kind of woman who should get
beat up and tossed around.”

“No woman deserves that,” John said, looking
mad.

“I know that and I thought she knew that. But
now I’m not so sure. She won’t eat. She won’t go outside.”

“Maybe she’s just embarrassed about her black
eyes. Once those heal, everything will be fine.”

“I don’t think so. She doesn’t even know what
her eyes look like. She won’t look in a mirror.”

John rubbed a hand over his chin. “How’s she
feel about your leaving?”

“She hasn’t said much.”

He did the hand wipe thing again. “I guess I
could look in on her after you’re gone. I mean, someone’s got to do
it.”

He just couldn’t help being a nice guy.
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said. “Here’s the thing,
though. I’m not going on Wednesday.”

“What?”

“I can’t go. Not when Suzanne is like this.
She doesn’t have anybody. People in this town aren’t going to care
if she withers away in her bed. I can’t leave her right now.”

With short, jerky steps, John started to pace
around the hallway. “You said you had to leave on Wednesday.

“I did. I do. Look, it’s difficult to
explain. There’s someone in another place that needs information
that I have.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her. “What
information?”

She shrugged. “I can’t say.”

He frowned at her.

“It’s nothing about you or your family. I
promise.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he
smiled. “I believe you.”

Until he said the words, she hadn’t realized
how important it was to her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Are you going to stay here at the
hotel?”

“Yes.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out
some bills. “You’ll need more money.”

She shook her head. “No, I can’t take
anything else from you.”

His face turned red. “Look Sarah, I said some
things before about you coming back to take more from me and my
family. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want you to go without.
Peter wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Sarah’s stomach rolled. Everything John did
he did for Peter, certainly not for her. It was wishful thinking to
hope that he could look beyond the past. He couldn’t forget that
she’d been his brother’s wife. She needed to start remembering the
same thing.

“I saw my mother-in-law this morning.”

A muscle in the side of John’s jaw jerked.
“And?”

“We had a nice chat. I got the impression she
couldn’t wait for Wednesday. She’s going to be disappointed when
she learns I’m not on that stage.”

“I’ll talk to her. I don’t want her to be
surprised.”

“Well, if it’s surprises you’re trying to
avoid, you might want to let her know that I’ve agreed to play the
piano for Pastor Dan’s services on Sunday.”

John cocked his head to one side. “You don’t
play the piano,” he said.

She shrugged. “Actually, I do. Fairly well,
too.”

“You never mentioned it,” he said, his tone
accusing.

“I never had the chance,” she said.

He put his hands on his hips, almost rocking
back on the heels of his boots. “You know, Sarah. There are times
when I don’t feel like I know you at all.”

Sarah could feel her heart rate speed up.
This was it. He’d given her the perfect opportunity.
Hey,
there’s a reason for that. You’re not going to believe this but I
haven’t even been born yet.

Sure, that would work. Even if he didn’t run
screaming into the street, it didn’t matter. In a week, she’d be
gone, back to her own time.

“I’m full of surprises,” she said, unable to
keep the bitterness out of her voice. She was tired. For days she’d
been the lead actress in a drama. The lights were bright, the crowd
unforgiving, and the lines seemed to be fading off the page. She
didn’t know what to do or say next. She couldn’t tell the truth but
every lie she told tore at her soul.

“Look, John,” she said. “I think you should
go. It’s pretty clear that you and I don’t have a lot in
common.”

She could hear his short hiss of breath.

“If you need me,” he said, “send Freedom.
I’ll come. You know I will.”

He would. Strong, dependable, responsible. A
damn boy scout. Except she didn’t want him to build a fire or lead
her out of the woods. She wanted him to open his arms and hold her,
to rock her against his hard body, to claim her as his own. But he
wouldn’t. Because Boy Scouts were loyal. He couldn’t be anything
but loyal to his brother’s memory.

***

When Pastor Dan had mentioned that the saloon
was minus one piano player, Sarah had taken that tidbit, added in
the cold reality of her empty purse, balanced that off with the
need to pay for a hotel room for another week, and before she knew
it, she’d bellied up to the bar, asking for work.

“Are you Thomas Jefferson?” she asked the big
man standing behind the bar. He had a bald head, a red face, and a
clean white apron wrapped around his protruding middle.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She almost asked to fill out an application.
Just in time, she remembered to smile pretty and act sweet. “I’m
Sarah Beckett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“John Beckett’s sister-in-law?”

He said it without malice, as if he was
trying to put the pieces together.

“Yes.”

“You’re the one helping Suzanne?”

“Yes.”

“How is she?”

“She’s getting better,” Sarah said, not
wanting to share her concerns with a stranger.

“I like her.” Thomas Jefferson wiped the bar
with a cloth. “If I’d have known that she planned to go off with
Dority, I’d have set her straight. I watch out for my girls. Not
like some places.”