He pointed. “See that big one with a porch both top an’ bottom an’ all the windows? That’s the doctor’s house. His office is the door on the south side. An’ he answers it anytime, day or night, so if you ever have need of ’im, he’s available.”
Sadie didn’t answer. She still gripped the seat as if she was afraid he’d bounce her out. If he wanted her to enjoy her time with him, he’d better behave himself. Besides, they’d left the sheriff behind. There was no need to rush anymore. He drew back on the reins, slowing the team to a plodding
clop-clop
. She drew in a breath and blew it out. Slowly, she moved her hands to her lap and wove her fingers together, as if she needed to hold on to something. He wished she’d hold on to him the way she’d been holding the sheriff’s hand.
He tightened his fists on the reins. “Do you wanna see where I live?”
No answer.
Sid glanced in her direction. “Sadie?”
Although she didn’t reply, she nodded. Her lips were set tight, and she looked straight ahead. Sid knew the signs of irritation, and he knew he’d caused them. But she’d aggravated him, too. Why couldn’t she have waited for him?
He turned his attention to the horses to keep himself from asking the question. “C’mon there, Rudy and Hec, take ’er easy now.” He tugged the reins, instructing the animals to go east, and he drew the wagon to a stop in front of his house. “This here is home.”
Sadie leaned forward slightly to peer past him, but he couldn’t tell from her expression what she thought. He knew it wasn’t much—just a little clapboard house with a square stoop instead of a porch and three rooms arranged shotgun style. It wasn’t even really his. He was only renting it from his boss. Asa had told him after six months he could consider his rent payments a house payment if he was of a mind to buy the place. But that depended on how things went with Sadie. He’d want something a lot nicer if he was going to bring home a bride.
“I rent it from Asa Baxter,” Sid told her, watching her face for any sign of softening. “He owns a half dozen houses in town an’ rents ’em out.” Asa had his fingers in lots of businesses—landlord, drayman, mercantile owner, and farmer. If you could call a man who harvested grapes and hops a farmer. Swallowing, Sid dared to hint at his future hopes. “It’s pretty small, but just fine for me now. But . . . later . . . I know I’ll want somethin’ bigger. An’ nicer.”
Sadie sat upright and turned her intent gaze on Sid. “It’s a fine house, Sid. But would you take me to the opera house now? I’d really like to see it.”
Sid jolted. “O-opera house?”
Her brows came down. “Yes. Opera house. The one you wrote to me about in the letter.”
“Oh, of course, the one I wrote about in the letter . . .”
Sadie bopped him on the arm. Hard. “Sid, did you fib to me? Because if you did, I—”
He raised one hand in defeat. “No, Sadie, honest! Asa Baxter wants to talk to you about singin’. This mornin’ he told me he’d be comin’ into the mercantile tonight to talk to you an’ take a listen to your voice.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Tonight? An audition?”
Sid nodded, grateful the mad look had left her face. “Sure enough. An’ if he likes what he hears, you might be able to start singin’—and gettin’ paid—next week already.”
Sadie’s eyes grew wide, eagerness lighting her features. He got so caught up in how pretty she looked—face all aglow with little strands of golden hair swishing alongside her rosy cheeks—that when she spoke, he didn’t catch what she’d said. He gulped. “Huh?”
She pursed her lips briefly. “Sid, where is the opera house? Sheriff McKane said he didn’t know of one in town. And he’s walked the streets of Goldtree from front to back and side to side.”
McKane again. Sid snorted. “Well, that’s his trouble. He’s been stayin’ on the streets.”
“What?”
Sid wasn’t about to explain his meaning. He’d scare her off before she had a chance to see the truth. “I’ll show you. I don’t think Asa’ll mind, since he was gonna take you there himself tonight anyway.” He gave the reins a flick. “Giddap there, Rudy an’ Hec.”
Sadie shook her head in confusion when Sid drew the wagon in front of the mercantile and set the brake. “Sid, what—”
“Just stop talkin’ for a minute an’ lemme show you.” He climbed down and then helped her to the ground. He battled the urge to keep hold of her hand. Once she saw the opera house, she might want to turn tail and run. But she couldn’t, he reminded himself. She needed the job. He released her and gestured to the mercantile doors. “This way.”
The Baxter twins looked up—one from behind the counter, the other from the table of dress goods—as Sid led Sadie toward the storage room at the back corner of the store. The twin behind the counter called, “Asa was here a bit ago, Sid, lookin’ for you.”
The other added, “He said for us to tell you to stay put if you showed up.”
Sid acknowledged them with a nod.
The twin at the dress goods slapped a bolt of fabric into place and screeched, “Where you goin’ now?”
Sid pretended he hadn’t heard her and put his hand on the small of Sadie’s back, hurrying her through the curtained doorway. The room was a maze of boxes and barrels, but he led her to a doorway in the far corner, this one bearing a wood-planked, latched door rather than a curtain. He removed the key from a nail pounded in the doorjamb and unlocked the door, revealing a dark stairwell.
Sadie peeked into the space, then jerked back. “That’s a cellar.”
“I know it looks like a cellar from up here, but trust me. Go on down.”
She didn’t budge. “It’s
dark
down there, Sid.”
He sighed. “Lemme get a lantern.” Both a lantern and a small box of matches sat on a nearby shelf. He lit the wick, then took Sadie’s elbow. “C’mon. We’ll be able to see just fine now.”
Sadie shivered, but she descended the wooden stairs at his side. Their feet echoed eerily in the narrow stairwell. The stairs made a turn near the bottom, and a long earthen hallway greeted them. A dank odor hung in the space, and the air felt clammy. Sadie hugged herself. “I don’t like it down here. It’s creepy.”
Sid had felt the same way the first time Asa had brought him down. But he knew Sadie would be as surprised as he’d been when they finally reached the main part of the basement. Holding the lantern well in front of them, he guided Sadie down the hallway and around a sharp corner that led to yet another door, this one solid oak with a decorative pattern of leaves and swirls carved into the wood. Sadie sent him a curious glance as he opened the door, then she gasped.
The lantern’s glow bounced off the polished tin squares covering both the walls and the ceiling of a small room—what Asa had called the foyer, the brightness almost blinding after the shadows of the dirt hallway. She skittered forward a few feet, her gaze lifting to a crystal chandelier overhead. She stretched one hand upward, touching the bottom tip of one glistening prism. “Oh! It’s lovely!”
And she hadn’t seen anything yet.
Smiling, Sid gestured to a pair of carved double doors on the other side of the room. “This way.”
Sadie didn’t hesitate, scurrying along beside him with her hands clasped in front of her. He turned the brass knob on the right-hand door and pushed. The hinges released a soft groan as the door swung open. He angled the lantern into the room, and Sadie poked her head inside.
“Oh my . . .” Her voice held wonder. She stepped into the cavernous room, moving so slowly across the painted concrete floor that she appeared to float. He watched her examine the rows of seats, pausing to run her fingers across the top edge of one red velvet cushion. Her gaze drifted along the side walls, and she seemed to count the brass gas sconces secured on a background of flocked gold wallpaper.
He hurried to the front of the room, the glow of the lantern leading the way. “Look here, Sadie.” He waited until she reached his side, then he caught her hand and drew her between two columns of stained oak and up onto a raised platform. Their feet echoed on the highly polished oak floorboards. Sadie turned a slow circle, her eyes taking in the lush velvet curtains falling from floor to ceiling at the back of the stage, the gleaming upright piano in the corner, and the pair of chandeliers overhead.
At last she faced him. He read both awe and confusion in her expression. “Sid . . .
this
is the opera house?”
8
A
sa Baxter sat square-shouldered in the heavily tasseled saddle atop his black Percheron stallion, his head held high. He trotted the animal right down the center of Goldtree’s main street. As always, folks paused on the boardwalk to admire the horse. Asa didn’t give the gawkers so much as a glance, but inwardly he smiled. Nobody in Goldtree—or anyplace else in Kansas, he guessed—had a horse that could hold a candle to his Percival.
He reined in at the mercantile and sat scowling at the high-sided wagon standing in the street. Rudy and Hec, two of his workhorses, lazed in the traces. What was the wagon doing here instead of in his barn, where it belonged? Sid knew to put the wagon and horses away as soon as he returned from making a delivery. The kid might just need a good talking-to. Asa adjusted his ten-gallon hat, puffing his chest as he contemplated the dressing-down he’d deliver. But first he needed to dismount.
On his ranch, he always brought Percival alongside a fence so he could climb down without hurting himself. But there was no fence in front of the mercantile. Just a long way to the ground.
He sucked in a big breath and swung his leg over the horse’s glossy rump.
The force of his sole hitting the ground nudged a grunt from his throat. His other foot, still caught in the stirrup, held him like a mouse with its tail in a trap. It took some doing to work his boot loose of the silver stirrup, what with his knee nearly under his chin. Percival was a tall horse and Asa was not a tall man. Asa hoped the townsfolk had gone on about their business rather than witness his clumsy display. Last thing he wanted was to listen to disparaging titters. He’d had enough of that to last him two lifetimes.
His foot popped free, throwing him off-balance. He grabbed for support, and his hand captured one of the thick tassels of black leather that dangled from the saddle’s seat. He’d bought the saddle because of its ornamental beauty. The tassels, held by bold silver conchos, always attracted attention. Lovely to look at. And they’d come in handy more than once.
“Whoa there, whoa,” Asa muttered to Percival. The big horse planted his hooves and held steady until Asa got both feet under him. His balance secure, Asa made a show of straightening his silk tie as he ambled around to the horse’s head and looped the reins through an iron ring embedded in a limestone pillar next to the boardwalk.
He smoothed his hands up and down the horse’s sleek neck. “Good boy, Percival.” Percival bobbed his head, nickering in response. With a clap on Percival’s broad shoulder, Asa hiked himself onto the boardwalk in his typical sway-legged gait and headed for the mercantile doors. The moment he stepped over the threshold, Melva careened around a display of work boots with a huge smile on her face.
“Asa, thought you was headin’ back to your ranch. Did’ja decide to eat supper with us after all?” Her long arms tangled around his neck, dislodging his hat. With his face buried in the abundance of ruffles hiding her flat chest, he couldn’t reply.
From across the room, Shelva’s piercing voice reached his ears. “Sid’s in the storeroom.”
Melva released her stranglehold and beamed down at Asa. After fifty-five years of looking up at his sisters, he ought to be used to it. But he still resented the twist of fate that had made his sisters tall and thin like their father and him short and stout like their mother. Broomsticks and a butterball—that’s what the town’s kids had called them.
Melva said, “New clerk’s with him, so—”
“—you’ll get to meet her,” Shelva put in.
The pair was so entwined in each other’s lives, they couldn’t even deliver an entire sentence without the other’s help. Asa swung around and headed for the storeroom.
“Asa, you gonna eat with us?” Melva called after him.
“Roasted chicken with carrots, taters, an’ onions,” Shelva added. “Your favorite!”
Asa waved his hand over his head as he charged through the doorway. Like a couple of pecking hens, they were. But he’d stay and eat their supper. Save him the cost of a meal at Cora’s or the trouble of cooking something for himself at home. He stopped inside the storeroom, his scowling gaze swinging from one corner to another. Had Sid sneaked off without Melva and Shelva seeing him? No, the wagon was still outside, so he had to be around here somewhere.
“Sid? Where’n tarnation are you, boy?” Asa spoke softly. So softly it wouldn’t carry beyond the curtained doorway behind him. The way he always spoke so folks had to lean in to hear him, bringing them down to his level.
No one answered. Asa started to repeat his question, but then he noticed the cellar door standing ajar. Melva and Shelva never went down there—they’d always been terribly afraid of the underground—so Sid must’ve left it open when he took the new clerk down to show her the singin’ room. A smile crept up Asa’s cheek, and he poked his finger against his lips to draw it back down. He was supposed to be aggravated with Sid—couldn’t smile yet. But he’d have a big smile ready to cast on the new clerk if she proved as talented as Sid had proclaimed.
Asa bounded down the stairs as quickly as his short legs would allow. He thumped his booted heels—special-made a half inch higher than standard bootheels—deliberately alerting Sid and the young clerk to his approach. When he stepped into the large, decorated room designed for singing performances, both of them had their eyes trained in his direction. He battled another smile. Such pleasure in being the center of attention.
Ignoring Sid, he moved straight toward the little blond stranger. Sid had said his cousin was comely, and the boy had spoken truth. Even in a simple calico frock with a funny-shaped straw hat on her head, the girl was fine to look upon. If Asa’d been thirty years younger—and a foot taller—he’d consider courting the girl. But since that wasn’t possible, he’d just make sure she sang as good as she looked.