Ruby's Song (Love in the Sierras Book 3) (4 page)

Expose the rabble cause. Defund the canker blossom.

Such debauchery, idolatry. It must be banned in Boston!

When ye see parades of renegades, don’t stand and watch. Accost them.

Let ring the cry, lest evil rise. They must be

BANNED IN BOSTON!

The song ended, and the crowd continued to chant in mockery, in rebellion, against the yoke of censorship. “Banned in Boston!  Banned in Boston!”

Soon, their words gave way to applause as the players came back on stage for a final bow. The strength of cheering rose higher when the company stepped back to leave Marlena in center stage to receive the praise as the lead. She bowed and nodded until the noise died down. As the people dispersed, the clap of one pair of applauding hands echoed down to her and she looked aloft at the balcony in the back of the theater to find a familiar male form.

“He’s back,” one of her fellow actors muttered behind her.

It had been months since she’d seen him and the familiar feeling that had needled through her chest and stomach before came again. It was only his silhouette, as the theater was dark inside, but she could make out his form and the distinct outline of something she’d not seen since the last time he was there. A hat style worn in the west.

He stood applauding, begging for acknowledgement, just as he had in his notes. This time, she gave in and offered him a deep bow before slipping behind the stage curtain and ripping off the sweat-soaked headpiece and mustache. Her body temperature cooled instantly and she blew out a sigh of relief. Once inside her private room, she untied the bulky body suit, continuing to strip down until she stood in her chemise and bloomers.

A knock sounded on her door and she opened the portal for Monkey, who entered with a knowing grin. He handed her the note she’d been expecting.

“Thank you, Monkey,” she said, leaning toward a lantern to read.

We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

She smiled as she folded it back into its tiny square and stuffed it in her coin purse. All of his notes had been quoted from Shakespeare and pertained to her role in the social rebellion. On his first visit, he’d quoted the
Merchant of Venice
. With his second visit, he had written
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful
. The third had brought,
How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world
. But tonight’s note carried a different implication. At least, she allowed herself to imagine so.
We know not what we may be?
Her lips curled in a sideways grin.

“What does he look like, Monkey?” she asked. He flinched, a blank look washing over his features.

“He looks like a man.”

She sighed and chuckled. “I already assumed that, silly, but what kind of man? Is he burly or lanky? Does he have an honest face or…or hooded eyes you can’t trust? Is he handsome?”

Monkey’s face scrunched in distaste. “He looked like a man. I didn’t take in all that other stuff. But I can tell you this: he is most definitely
not
from Boston.”

“Is he old or young?”

“He’s not as old as I am.”

She relaxed at that. “Is he still around, do you think?”

“How should I know?”

“Go run and see for me, please? If he’s here, tell him to stay put. I wish to write a reply.” Monkey’s shoulders sagged and he eyed her with a slant of his head. “Please?” she begged.

With a roll of his eyes he strode off to do her bidding.

“You’re so good to me!” she shouted after him, laughing as she searched for a pencil. With one in hand, she leaned over her vanity and scribbled out a quote from Shakespeare in return.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves. Come again two nights hence.

Her chest shook with silent laughter as she folded the note and tasked a young stagehand with delivering it to Monkey.

Chapter 4

The hour was late by the time Marlena disembarked a block away from her residence and strode briskly down the cobbles of Beacon Street to scramble up the old oak. She fell asleep quickly and dreamt of Virginia City on a starry night; a raucous festival with roasted pig and candied apples; her first glimpse at Sarah Jeanne, The Opera Queen; her dance with Dalton. His hands, large and calloused, swallowed her thirteen-year-old palms as he twirled her around in time to the music. He told jokes that made her laugh and drew a blush to her cheeks with his smile.

A heady sensation of giddiness overwhelmed her and she awoke the next morning in its hold. As soon as she left the bed she opened the top drawer of her nightstand, smiling when the tiny wooden horse stared back at her. Every time she held it in her palm she felt closer to home, and though her newfound friendships at
The Museum
were a salve to her loneliness, they could never replace the friends she had in Virginia City.

When she entered the dining room, Sarah was already seated in her usual place, nibbling on a buttered pastry.

“Good morning,” Marlena chirped as she fixed herself a plate at the sideboard before joining the table.

“You’re unusually chipper this morning,” Sarah returned, massaging her temples. “Almost as bad as the birds outside my window every morning at the crack of dawn. Ugh, it’s one of my least favorite things about summer. And about being a singer.” Marlena raised a questioning brow and Sarah shrugged with a knowing grin. “The rest of the females of our acquaintance happily drink themselves impenetrable, but we singers don’t get that luxury.”

Marlena tightened her lips against the laughter pressing to come out. Sarah had never uttered an ill word against her peers, at least not in her presence. When Sarah allowed a soft chuckle to escape her lips, Marlena comfortably joined in, ignoring the oddity of the two of them laughing together. When the moment passed, an awkward silence descended and Marlena cleared her throat.

“How did last night go?” she asked.

“Oh, fine. Fine,” Sarah waved absently, but there was an air of preoccupation about her that Marlena had never seen before, an unguarded distractedness. Her eyes fixed across the room and out of the window. “Do you know what it’s like to feel everything shift in your life? Like suddenly everything that meant something no longer has any value?”

The unusual question brought with it the familiar tang of sadness and Marlena studied her tutor. “Are you all right, Sarah?”

“Yes, Sarah,” a deep, male voice called from the doorway and Marlena turned to see Elijah standing there, looking exactly as she had depicted him only hours before. His cold gray eyes bore down on his sister across the room. “I’m quite curious for you to elaborate on your little epiphany as well.”

It took a full minute for Sarah to lock eyes with her brother, and the tension between them, the hate, was thick enough to raise the hairs on Marlena’s arms. She looked from one face to the other, waiting to hear Sarah’s response. For a moment, it appeared Sarah would engage in a verbal match, but the fight faded from her eyes and she shrugged casually.

“Just making conversation, brother.”

“Really?  Because it sounded to me like you were suggesting you might be somewhat dissatisfied with your life here? That you’d rather...drink yourself impenetrable? I would hate to hear that kind of talk coming from anyone in
my
household.” He faced Marlena. “Anyone indulging in any immoral behavior or espousing that sort of ungrateful attitude may find themselves turned out. Or worse.”

Sarah’s eyes dropped to the tablecloth and there was a noticeable sag to her shoulders. Elijah’s white mustache twitched upward in a smug grin and Marlena’s hands curled into fists on her lap. She’d seen this kind of manipulation and oppression before. She’d been silent then, but she promised herself never again.

“If a person were truly unhappy here, I would think turning them out would be a blessing, not a punishment,” Marlena said in an even tone, drawing Elijah’s tight-lipped purse and frosty gaze.

His beady eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a menacing tone. “You forgot the ‘or worse’ Miss Beauregard.”

The warm press of the gun strapped to her calf was a comfort, but even still, she had no fear of Elijah. He ruled by the power of threat. There was meanness of manner in him, but not in deed. Not yet, anyway.

“I assure you, I didn’t,” she said, and the sides of her mouth curled in a grin. He flinched, surely not expecting such a response from her.

“Just remember who has financed your little opera enterprise all these years, my dear.  Remember whom you owe.”

He turned and left the room.

Sarah slammed her teacup into the saucer, and glowered at her. “Are you out of your mind? For years, you hardly speak a word in this house and when you finally do,
that
is what you say? What were you thinking, provoking him like that?”

Marlena felt her forehead scrunch indignantly. “I defer to Elijah out of respect for him and his home, but I’ll not cower before him as you and your family do. He doesn’t own me and he certainly doesn’t frighten me. I’ve been through worse than he can inflict.”

“Don’t underestimate my brother,” Sarah returned with a warning shake of her head. “You don’t think Elijah owns you, but he does. He owns us all. Believe me, I know from experience he
always
makes good on his threats. There’s no way you’d be able to repay the funds it’s taken to turn you from little more than a street urchin to the lady you are today. He’ll see your family in financial ruin, no matter how much silver is in Nevada. Is that what you want?”

Marlena shook her head, feeling her entire body droop.

“Sit up straight, please,” Sarah commanded quietly, after which she sighed and Marlena thought she saw the bright glistening of unshed tears, but as soon as she blinked they disappeared. “Marlena, be sure the thing you risk everything for is nothing less than your heart’s truest desire. Regret is the first step toward ruin.”

A moment passed in silence between them, a moment where Marlena felt strangely connected to Sarah. In some ways, they were both trapped and beholden to Elijah. A twinge of sympathy ached in her chest.

“I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me,” Marlena said, guilt weighing down the tone of her voice. “I’m just restless to begin the life I came here to build and you reminding me of my debt makes me that much more anxious to set my debut and get started paying it back.”

In the last four months, she had been praised and paraded three nights a week before a growing crowd of admirers. The more her confidence grew at
The Museum
the more frustrated she became with Sarah’s constant criticism and reluctance to set her opera debut. “Put me on the stage, Sarah. I’m ready. I know I am.”

Sarah’s brow knotted contemplatively. “I agree it is time. The first of next month, then. That gives us three weeks to prepare.”

Marlena’s spirits soared, her body feeling light and weightless for the first time in years. She felt her smile all the way to her ears as she ran to Sarah and threw her arms around her neck.

“Thank you!” she wailed. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

Sarah gently pushed Marlena away. “You’re going to snap my neck, girl.”

“Sorry,” she laughed and pulled away.

A pointed finger waggled in her face. “I still meant what I said to you before, Marlena. You must find a way to emotionally connect with the music and your audience. Work on that, or I won’t be blamed for your downfall.”

“I will,” Marlena said with a nod. “I promise.”

Sarah waved her away with a tired gesture. “I don’t feel up to a lesson today. I pray you can find some other occupation of your time?”

“I’ll be fine,” Marlena said.

She ran to her room, excited enough to burst only to turn crestfallen at having no one to share the happy news with. The stationary sat undisturbed, mocking her for the many untruthful letters she’d written to Jess about fictitious performances at the Boston Opera House. She couldn’t very well write about a debut that Jess believed had already happened.

She sat near the window, listening to birdsong while pondering Sarah’s parting words. How could she elicit an emotional response in her listeners when she used music to deflect emotion? Opera embraced the drama of life, exposed the vulnerabilities of a person’s heart through fear and loss and pain. If she wanted the respect of the musical community and Boston society, if she wanted the celebrity of Sarah Jeanne, she would have to deliver a piece of her she’d locked away years ago.

In the turbulent years of her childhood, music had been her escape, her way out of her emotions and thoughts. The first real traumatic event she recalled was the murder of her father. Afterward, she’d gone to live with her sister, Jess, whose brutal husband commanded her to silence. Marlena had learned quickly to be invisible. When she wanted to cry, she’d sing softly to herself instead. Besides, she hadn’t the right to cry. All of the tears in that household belonged to Jess, who had earned them in her three years of abuse. When Marlena saw that the sound of her voice was a great comfort to her sister, she sang all the more.

Music was her escape and comfort, but never her way to connect, and she’d never, ever, wanted to be a concert artist, until she saw Sarah Jeanne perform. She’d made is seem so effortless, so easy. But it wasn’t for Marlena and she wondered. Could she do this?

Her stomach clenched painfully in doubt. She’d left her family, learned five languages, six if she counted the language of music, studied books upon books of etiquette, how to converse properly, how to sit properly how to dance properly, and signed away her free will for another five years. The idea that it may have all been for naught made her nauseous.

The teacup trembled in her hand and she swallowed the rest of its contents in one gulp before setting the porcelain down. Her footsteps echoed around the room as she paced, attempting to calm and reassure herself. Music was her one strength, and she’d always been confident in it. She wouldn’t doubt it now, no matter what Sarah said. She’d simply have to find a way to give Sarah what she wanted. Emotion. A hot breath escaped her lungs. That was a tall order.

She paced until the room grew too hot and small to accommodate her attitude. A dose of fresh air was necessary. She left the house and ambled down Beacon Street, passing familiar faces and greeting them with the same cold indifference they showed her. She chuckled and rolled her eyes. Today she didn’t care, for her debut was set and soon after she’d leave Boston on tour and never look back.

Down one block after another, Marlena strolled until she turned a corner and bumped straight into another lady. Amid horrified apologies, she glanced up to see a familiar set of blue eyes and a shock of scandalously red hair. The women shrieked in happy recognition, leaping into one another’s arms.

“Juliet!” Marlena exclaimed.

“Good Lord,” Juliet said as she pulled back to appraise. “I always said you’d grow up to be a beauty, but you are far more exquisite than I could have imagined.” She squeezed Marlena’s hands, surveying the shimmering silk gown and ivory hair combs before she leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Money agrees with you.”

Marlena’s smile faded a fraction. People
only
saw money when they saw the Winthrops, but she’d never counted herself as part of that camp.

“Never mind that,” Marlena said, brushing aside her consternation. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“You are too kind to an old woman,” Juliet said as she fought the smirk rising to her lips. “But I thank you just the same.”

“What brings you to Boston?”

“We’re on our way back to Virginia City. We’ve been in London these past months.”

“London?” Curiosity gnawed on her insides, but she wouldn’t ask. Thankfully, Juliet continued without prompting.

“I received a letter from my mother four months ago.” Her eyes turned sad as they fixed out over the crowd of patrons. “I couldn’t believe it. After twenty-three years, after casting me out for having my Dalton, after all of the horrible words we exchanged, she wanted to reconcile.” She covered her emotions with a snort. “Well, of course she wanted to reconcile. She was dying.”

Marlena thinned her lips in sympathy, and Juliet shrugged.

“Perhaps it was my own mother’s heart that made me go. I couldn’t bear it if Dalton and I were estranged. I could sense her desperation. She gave me life, much as it’s been. The least I could do was give her a peaceful death.”

“I’m sorry,” Marlena said.

“Thank you,” Juliet returned with glistening eyes.

Marlena changed the subject. “Your accent is much more…what’s the word?”

“Proper?” Juliet said with a laugh that Marlena joined. “Honey, I know when to behave. Unfortunately, there’s no way to disguise
everything
about what I am.” She patted her coif of dyed red hair. “But the farther west we go the less scandalized everyone is by it.” She grasped Marlena’s hands. “I was actually going to call upon you. There is so much to discuss.”

A wave of relief swept through Marlena that Juliet hadn’t called. She would have never made it past the Winthrop front door, and if Elijah ever saw her, he would have pounced brutally. She’d seen him send beggars away with a shove and reduce prostitutes to nothing more than tears with his words.