Autumn's Angel (3 page)

Chapter Four

When Luvena awakened the next morning, sunlight spilled through the window of the small bedroom. Next to her in the bed, Merry and Elsie slept soundly, the older girl cuddled up to the younger. But sounds from the front of the house told her she was not the first one to rise. She sat up and looked at the floor. Buried beneath a couple of blankets, Ethan slumbered on. Which meant it must be Clay Birch who was rattling pots and pans beyond the bedroom door.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach.

Clay had slept in his office at the theater. Or at least that was where he'd said he was going when he left her and the children in the house the previous night. But now he'd returned, and if her nose was correct, he was preparing breakfast.

She rose from the bed and slipped her arms into a dressing gown before smoothing the wild appearance of her hair with a brush. One more glance at the children told her even hunger wasn't likely to wake them for another hour or so. She would let them sleep.

When Luvena stepped into the kitchen doorway, Clay had his back to her as he turned sausage in a hot skillet. The meat sizzled and hissed.

“Can I help, Mr. Birch?”

He looked over his shoulder. “No need. I'm used to fending for myself.” He motioned with his head toward the table. “Sit yourself down. This won't take much longer.”

She moved to comply.

“Want coffee?”

“Yes, please.” She covered her mouth as she yawned.

“This will help.” He set a large mug of coffee on the table, along with a sugar bowl. “No milk or cream. Sorry.”

“That's all right.” Cream and sugar were luxuries she'd learned to do without.

Clay turned back to the stove, and a short while later he set a plate of eggs and sausage before her. Then he sat opposite her with a plate of his own. After a quick blessing, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

How
did
you
sleep? What are you thinking about us? How much longer before our belongings arrive?
The questions tumbled in her mind.
Where
do
you
mean
to
send
us
if
we
can't stay? Whatever shall we do to survive? No family. No friends. No money. No skills
. She played with the food on her plate, worry stealing her appetite.

Clay's voice intruded on her thoughts. “Would you like to see the opera house?”

“Yes,” she answered, surprised by her quick agreement.

“We'll go as soon as you're dressed.”

His words made her feel strangely exposed, even though she knew she wasn't. She fingered the top button of her dressing gown at the base of her throat.

“But you better eat some of that breakfast first, Miss Abbott. Can't afford to waste it. And besides, I'm pretty sure a good wind could blow you away.”

She obeyed. After all, her future and the future of her nieces and nephew lay in this man's hands.

•••

Before Clay could take Luvena to the old theater, the children woke up and were hungry. The eldest girl, Merry, offered to help him with the second round of breakfast preparations, but as he'd done with her aunt, he told her it was easier to do it himself.

When the children were all seated at the table and eating the food that Clay had prepared, Luvena told Merry to keep an eye on her younger siblings. “Mr. Birch and I won't be long. We shall be right next door at the theater if you need me.”

Despite his first negative impression of the Browne children when they'd exited the stagecoach yesterday, Clay had to admit they were well behaved most of the time.

He and Luvena went out the back door of the small house and made their way to the rear entrance of the brick building next door. The sounds of saws and hammers met their ears.

“Come this way,” he said.

They climbed the back staircase to the third floor of the theater. The hallway was dark, but it was only a short distance to the door that opened into the balcony of the theater; there was plenty of light there. Below them lay the stage apron and, off to the far side, an area for a small orchestra. Before them were the rows of wooden balcony seats.

Clay stopped and grasped the handrail as he looked down. “The Grand Theater was a hurdy-gurdy house.”

“What kind of house?”

“Hurdy-gurdy. A dance hall.”

“Oh.”

“The place made money, but the owner wasn't the best of businessmen. Or so I was told. He wasn't choosy about what sort of acts appeared on the stage. A two-headed calf or a great thespian were all the same to him. He invested nothing back into the theater. Eventually he let it fall into disrepair. Then I won it in a game of poker, like I told you.” He looked down at the workers below who were laying new boards on the stage. “I don't suppose anyone would consider me a refined or cultured man, Miss Abbott, but I've seen how people can be transformed by performances of great artists. The audience may think they're just being entertained for a few hours, but it can be so much more than that. It can make them long for something better. It can make a man long to
be
something better. When I was in Washington, D.C., during the war, I saw a performance of
The
Barber
of
Seville
.” He shook his head slowly. “I didn't understand a word they sang, of course, but that didn't matter. The music moved me, and I laughed in the comic parts along with the rest of the audience. I felt happy for that one evening, even in the midst of civil war.”

“You surprise me, Mr. Birch.”

“Yeah. I imagine I do.” He looked at her. “I bet you've attended many operas in your life.”

She nodded.

“And plays by Shakespeare?”

She nodded again, this time with a small smile bowing her lips. Her invitingly kissable lips.

He cleared his throat as he looked away once more. “I suppose what I want to do here seems silly to someone like you.”

“No, it doesn't. It doesn't seem silly at all.” Her smile broadened. “I admire you for what you want to accomplish, Mr. Birch. Music stirs my heart too.”

At least that part of their letter exchange had been true.

•••

Luvena had no trouble envisioning what Clay wanted to do in this town and in this building. She found his enthusiasm contagious. Yes, the theater was small and modest in comparison with some of the great concert halls and opulent theaters she'd visited before her father's death. Still, she believed he could accomplish something amazing in this place, even with limited funds.

An hour after they first entered through the back door of the theater, they exited through the front door into the golden sunlight of midmorning. Main Street appeared busy today. People—including more women—were out shopping and conducting business. A couple of men on horseback rode toward them in the middle of the street. Both of them grinned and tipped their hats in her direction before they turned the corner. At which point, both riders looked over their shoulders, straight at her.

Mercy. She wished the men in this place wouldn't stare like that.

“They haven't seen a woman as beautiful as you in a month of Sundays
,” Clay's voice echoed in her memory
. “If ever.”

She felt the warmth of a blush rise in her cheeks. Oh, how she hoped Clay Birch couldn't tell what she thought.

“Maybe we should—” He broke off suddenly, then said, “Here comes Reverend Adair. Guess he wants to be one of the first in town to welcome you.”

Luvena hoped against hope that she looked composed as she turned to face the reverend. She'd known Clay less than twenty-four hours, but he'd said enough for her to know he held this minister in high regard.

Delaney Adair was a distinguished-looking gentleman. Perhaps in his mid- to late fifties, his hair was pure white, including his close-trimmed beard. He smiled broadly, and she had the distinct impression that he did so often.

“Clay, I was on my way to your house.” Reverend Adair stopped on the boardwalk before them. “And this must be your Miss Abbott. Welcome, my dear, to Grand Coeur. I'm Reverend Adair.”

“Thank you, Reverend. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

He took her hand in his, smiling all the while. “Your photo­graph did not do you justice.”

Clay said, “I just finished giving Miss Abbott a tour of the theater.”

“Exciting, isn't it?” Reverend Adair looked back and forth between the two of them. “I'm sure you'll help Clay find the best performers for the opera house's grand opening.”

“Of course, if I can be of help to Mr. Birch, I'd be delighted.”

The reverend continued, “Now to the purpose of my call. I don't like to perform a wedding ceremony without having a talk with the couple first. Would you come to my office tomorrow? The two of you. Shall we say nine o'clock?”

Luvena expected Clay to tell the minister there wouldn't be a wedding, that he didn't want to marry her. But that wasn't what he said.

“All right, Reverend. We'll be at your office at nine in the morning.”

She managed not to gape as she looked at Clay, but she felt certain her surprise still showed on her face.

“Good. Good.” Reverend Adair squeezed Luvena's fingers again, then gave Clay a hearty handshake before turning and walking away.

Meeting her questioning gaze, Clay shrugged. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to tell him what's happened.”

Luvena supposed he was right. And she had other, more important things to worry about. Like how would she feed, clothe, and shelter her nieces and nephew in this town on the edge of the civilized world?

Chapter Five

Later that morning Clay returned to the theater. Alone this time. He talked with the men remodeling the stage before going into his office on the main floor in the back. For the next few hours, he read through mail and answered correspondence and studied his accounts. The latter made his eyes begin to blur after staring at them too long. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

Maybe
I
was
crazy
to
think
I
could
do
this
.

He'd borrowed money to pay for the improvements he was making to the theater, using the building and the house next door for collateral. If he didn't make a success of things, he could lose it all in a heartbeat. If the workmen didn't finish on time. If materials cost more than he'd estimated. If he didn't manage to bring in the right performers. If the audiences stayed away.

So many ifs. Too many ifs.

And then there was Luvena Abbott. What was he going to do about her? And about those kids who were with her?

He groaned in frustration. If he'd never decided he wanted a wife—a proper wife—to help turn him into a successful businessman, he wouldn't be in this predicament now. Why had he thought he needed to marry? He'd managed well enough up to now. Alone. What made him think—

You
were
tired
of
being
alone. That's why you wanted a wife
.

There it was. That was the truth he'd tried not to admit to himself. But there it was. He'd finally let it in. Yes, he was tired of being alone. In the years since the war ended, he'd bounced around the West from camp to camp, from town to town. Just him and his horse. If this theater hadn't fallen into his hands because of that card game, he wouldn't still be in Grand Coeur. He would have moved on. Looking for something. Looking for peace and contentment and a bit of happiness. Alone. Always alone.

But because of the good reverend, Clay had discovered he was never truly alone—the Lord was always with him—and yet the longing for someone to share his life's journey was still there. The Bible said it hadn't been good for Adam to be alone and so God had made a helpmeet for him. Clay figured that meant the Lord cared enough to make a helpmeet for him too. But nothing in the Bible told him when he might meet her or how he might find her.

“Maybe this wasn't the right time for it, and even if it was, Luvena sure isn't the right woman.”

A floorboard squeaked and then a young voice said, “Who're you talking to?”

Clay glanced up. Peeking around the edge of the doorway was Ethan Browne. Clay ignored the boy's question, asking his own instead. “What are you doing in the theater?”

“Just looking.”

“You shouldn't be in here. Go back to the house.”

“Aunt Vena said I was in her way.” Ethan stepped into the small office.

Suspicion loomed. “Did she send you over to find me?”

“No.” The boy shrugged. “I just wanted to see the theater. Aunt Vena said it was nice.”

“Well, you've seen enough. Now go back to the house. Your aunt will wonder where you are.”

“Aunt Vena's cleaning. She won't miss me. Like I said, I was in her way.”

“Cleaning?” He hadn't asked her to do that. Of course, if they'd married, it would have been her place to do so, but as things stood between them, it felt wrong.

Ethan sniffed the air. “I like the way it smells in here. What makes it smell so good?”

“Fresh lumber. The carpenters are replacing the boards on the stage.”

“Can I go see what they're doing?”

“No.” Clay stood. “I'm taking you back to the house.”

Ethan mumbled a complaint, but he turned and led the way out of Clay's office.

They entered the house through the back door. While Ethan hurried on through to the parlor, Clay came to a sudden stop when he saw Luvena on her knees, scrubbing the brick floor of the kitchen—the same type of brick used on the exterior of the theater. Her hair was hidden beneath a large kerchief wrapped around her head, and the hem of her dress was tucked into the waistband of an apron, leaving most of her white petticoats in view.

“Miss Abbott,” Clay said—and waited for her to blush.

She obliged as she scrambled to her feet, pulling her skirt free to cover her petticoats once again.

He liked what that added color did to her appearance, and it took great effort to keep from smiling. “You've had an exhausting journey from Massachusetts. Shouldn't you rest for at least one day?”

“I needed something to do, and the house needed a good cleaning.”

Luvena Abbott was a lady, through and through. She hadn't been taught how to scrub floors as a girl. He'd bet his life on it.

“You don't mind, do you?” she asked, brows raised.

“No. I don't mind.” He let his gaze roam. She'd done more than scrub the kitchen floor while he was over at the theater. “You've been busy this afternoon.”

Amusement curved the corners of her mouth. “Idle hands are the devil's playground.” As quickly as it had come, the smile disappeared. “Mr. Birch, we must talk about . . . about what we are going to do. The children and I cannot continue to stay in your home since there is to be no wedding. And I must find some way to provide for them. I do not want and cannot accept your charity any longer than necessary.”

He believed her. There was pride in her eyes. Not the kind of pride that said a person thought they were better than others. No, hers was the pride of someone who believed what the Bible said—if any would not work, neither should he eat. She didn't want life handed to her on a platter. She didn't want her hands to be idle.

His admiration for her increased with that understanding, but admiration didn't change the fact that he couldn't be a parent to those children. For their sake, if not his own.

So
what's the answer?

•••

Luvena waited for Clay Birch to respond. She'd learned that he wasn't quick to speak. At least not most of the time. She liked that about him. He was thoughtful. He weighed and considered his words. Even in his anger yesterday, when he believed she'd lied to him in her letters, he hadn't been cruel with his words. Or in any other way. He could have left them in Boise City to fend for themselves. He could have been indifferent to her financial circumstances. But instead, he'd shown compassion. She believed him to be good and honest and upright. All attributes she'd hoped for in a husband.

If
things
were
different, if we'd met under other circumstances, perhaps
— She cut off the thought. It served no purpose to wish for things that might have been.

“Maybe we should take a walk, Miss Abbott, so we won't be interrupted.”

She knew what he meant:
So
the
children
won't hear what I'm going to say
.

He continued, “I can show you more of the town, and we can stop at the mercantile to get supplies for our supper.”

Hearing the kindness in his voice caused tears to well in Luvena's eyes. She quickly looked away, hoping he hadn't seen them. “I'll tidy up first. It won't take me long.” She hurried into the bedroom and closed the door.

There was no dressing table, this being a bachelor's room. The only mirror was a small oval above the washbasin on a corner table. Not large enough to see her full head and hair, let alone her entire body. She would have to make herself presentable without the aid of a mirror. At least she could be thankful she was no longer freshening up in the tiny lavatory of a train's passenger car that rocked from side to side.

With her face washed, her hair smoothed and controlled with hairpins, and her apron removed, Luvena said a quick prayer for wisdom, then opened the bedroom door. Clay sat on a straight-backed chair in the corner of the parlor . . . with Elsie on his knee. They were looking at an open book in the young girl's hands.

The sight of the two of them caused the breath to catch in Luvena's chest. Yesterday she'd assumed Clay Birch didn't
want
children because he didn't
like
them. Or at least didn't like other men's children. But that couldn't be true.
Look
at
him
. No, this was not a man who disliked children.

Somehow Luvena found her voice. “I'm ready, Mr. Birch.”

He looked up. “So am I.” He leaned forward so he could meet Elsie's gaze. “Thanks for sharing your book with me.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Birch.”

Luvena hadn't seen Elsie look this happy in many weeks. She decided right then, whatever else she had to face, she would be grateful to Clay Birch for that.

He moved the girl off his knee and stood. “Okay, let's go.”

Luvena looked at Merry.

The girl grimaced, sighed, and nodded in quick succession. “I know. I know. Look after them while you're gone.” Apparently Mr. Birch's charm had failed to affect the older sister as easily as it had the younger.

The thought made Luvena smile.

Clay grabbed a burlap sack from the floor near the door, and the two of them left the house. They followed Adams Street past the opera house and turned right onto Main Street. As they walked, Clay shared more about Grand Coeur than he had the previous evening. Luvena learned not only the street names but the names of the sheriff, the town doctor, the publisher of the tri-weekly newspaper, and the banker. She learned that the Presbyterian church—she could see it up on the hillside—had been the first and only church in Grand Coeur for several years, but now there were also a Catholic church and a Lutheran church.

Three
churches, but more than ten saloons
.

Several blocks later, when they turned right again—this time on Jefferson Street—Clay pointed out a dressmaker's shop. “Reverend Adair's daughter, Shannon, told me once that Mrs. Treehorn is the finest dressmaker in the territory.” He laughed. “Although what she thought a bachelor would do with the information, I have no idea.”

Luvena liked his laugh. “Perhaps she meant it for your future wife.”
Perhaps
she
meant
it
for
me
.

“I would believe that, only she told me before I'd given any thought to marriage.” His grin broadened, as if he'd remembered something more. “You'll like Shannon when you meet her. She's quite the lady.”

Luvena's lighthearted feeling fled, replaced by something not as sweet. Jealousy? But that made no sense. She had no right to feel jealous of anyone, especially not when it came to Mr. Birch.

They walked on, and Clay pointed out the area south of Grand Coeur known as Chinatown. “There's been trouble here in the past, although not as much lately. Some miners don't think the Chinamen have a right to be here or to mine their own claims. The truth is, many of the Chinese are more successful because they aren't afraid of hard work and long days. And most don't waste what gold they find on liquor or women in the saloons.”

Another turn to the right, now onto Lewis Street, brought their destination into view. After what Clay had just told her, she was surprised when she saw the name of the store—Wu Lok's Mercantile.

As if Luvena had expressed her surprise aloud, Clay said, “Wu Lok's got the best prices and the best selection in Grand Coeur. Everybody knows he's fair and honest. Even folks who think the Chinese should be sent packing shop in this store to save money.” He pulled open the door. “Come on. I'll introduce you.”

•••

Inside the mercantile, Clay introduced Luvena to Wu Lok and to several customers as well. With each introduction, there was a moment of awkwardness. He could tell people expected him to say that she was his intended or to announce their wedding date. Luvena must have felt the awkwardness too, for as soon as their shopping was done and they stepped outside, she broached the subject they'd avoided throughout their walk.

“There won't be much opportunity for a woman like me to find employment here in Grand Coeur. Will there?”

“No.”

“I'm not an accomplished seamstress like Mrs. Treehorn, and I'm not trained as a teacher. Whatever else is there for me to do?” Fear laced her words. Fear, but also determination.

But of course. Wasn't it obvious? He should have thought of it before. “For now, you can work for me.”

“For you?”

“Yes, you can help me manage the opera house. With your experience, it'll be the perfect fit.”

She shook her head slowly. “To what experience do you refer?”

That was when he knew. The mysterious letter writer at the
Hitching
Post
had struck again. “You never worked in an opera house, did you?”

“No. Whatever made you think—” She broke off as understanding dawned on her too.

“What do you know about opera, Miss Abbott?”

“I received vocal training as a young woman. Before the death of my parents.”

“Did you ever perform on the stage?”

One of those small smiles that he was learning to anticipate played across her mouth. “Not really. I sang in church on occasion, and I was in a local production when I was fourteen. My vocal instructor said I had perfect pitch, and that if I'd been born to another family, I might have had a career singing. I don't know if that is true or not, but I believed it for a while. I hoped for it for a time. But, of course, such a thing would not have met with my parents' approval, even if . . . things had turned out differently.”