September's Dream (9 page)

*  *  *

As soon as September was forced to give up her chores at the boardinghouse, Aggie managed to find a replacement. In a town filled with drifters, it was easy.

Billy Warfield was fourteen and already taller than September by a head. He had stowed away on a boat out of Seattle, determined to find gold in Alaska. Like those before him, what he found was endless days of hunger, and endless nights of shivering in an unheated grub tent. That’s where Aggie found him, hiding out until after dark and squirreling away scraps of food to survive. He was thrilled to be offered a warm place to sleep and a chance to earn his way. He proved himself as able and willing a worker as September had been.

When September came out to the kitchen to start the pies, he rolled from the corner, washed hurriedly, and started the morning chores.

While he hauled water, scrubbed floors, washed the laundry in a tub, and hung it on the fine, he chattered like a bluejay.

"I’m the oldest of ten in my family," he boasted. "Four brothers and five sisters."

"Ten." September looked up from her baking. "How old are you, Billy?"

"Sixteen."

"How old?"

He flushed. "Fourteen."

September remembered her mother, trying doggedly, year after year, to give her Patrick a son.

"Wouldn’t you have been more help to your family if you’d stayed at home and worked?"

He grinned. "Nah. I was just one more mouth to feed. I’m going to find lots of gold, and bring my mother home a fortune." His eyes danced with the light of innocence and youth. "She’s never going to have to cook or scrub again. We’ll hire someone else to do her work. She’ll live like a queen."

"And you, Billy. What do you want for yourself?"

He shrugged. "I don’t need much. I just want it for my ma."

A thatch of brown hair fell over one eyebrow as he scrubbed the kitchen floor. His rolled sleeves revealed thin arms and the beginning of muscles. September watched him and felt a stirring of warmth at his earnest devotion to his mother. She found herself wishing again that some of her little brothers had lived. She’d want them to be like Billy.

Later, when she and Billy loaded the kettles of stew and the blueberry pies on the pushcart, she handed him a little tart.

"I made this especially for you."

He stared at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. "Gee. Thanks, September."

"I knew there wouldn’t be any pieces of pie left over. There never are. So I thought you ought to be able to at least taste it, so you can tell everyone how good it is."

"I will. I’ll eat it on the way."

She savored the warm glow of his happiness and went inside to do her sewing.

That evening she followed the same ritual as the night before, bathing and dressing carefully before going to Rawlins’ Saloon.

When September entered the kitchen, dressed in her red velvet gown, Aggie and Billy looked up from their evening chores.

"I’ll be late tonight, Aggie. Don’t wait up."

The older woman nodded. "I don’t like you walking through town so late at night. It isn’t safe."

Billy’s eyes were as round as saucers. He’d never seen anyone as beautiful as September.

"I’ll walk you home, September. Where will you be?"

She laughed. "At Rawlins’s Saloon. And you can’t go in there."

"Why not?"

"Because it’s full of tough miners. It’s no place for you."

"Then why are you going there?"

"I sing there."

"If you can be there, so can I. I’ll go over and walk you home."

Exasperated, September turned to Aggie. "Talk some sense into him, will you Aggie? Explain why he has to get his sleep so he can keep up with his chores. And explain why little boys should do what they’re told and not argue with their elders."

Stung by her words, Billy yelled, "And tell September why she shouldn’t be singing in a place like Rawlins’ Saloon. She ought to stay here and sew like a lady."

Feeling the sting of truth, September’s lips thinned.

Aggie watched the two of them with an amused grin.

Ignoring the boy, September called, "Good night, Aggie. See you in the morning."

At the silence, September turned. Regretting her outburst, she tousled Billy’s hair. "Good night, Billy."

Embarrassed, he turned away.

Without another word, September hurried into the chill night air.

*  *  *

Jase Conroy walked confidently through the gathering darkness toward the general store. He needed a few supplies, but what he really wanted was a few hours of pleasant conversation.

Jacob Mueller was one of the few men in Skagway who was familiar with some of the books Jase had read. Jacob even managed to read newspapers from San Francisco, whenever a friendly ship’s captain was kind enough to drop them off. Jacob made it his business to know everything that was going on in the town. If there was anything of interest that Jase ought to know, Jacob was the one to tell him.

Before entering the store, Jase glanced around. The streets seemed unusually quiet tonight. The whole town seemed to be sleeping.

The jangling of the bell announced Jase’s arrival. Jacob looked up from his tally sheet, smiled at his old friend, then continued writing the last figures. Satisfied, he put the ledger in a drawer, closed it, and rubbed his hands.

"Finished for another day. Good to see you, Jase. Have you come to town to see our star attraction?"

The puzzled frown between his dark eyebrows was a signal that Jase Conroy hadn’t any idea what Jacob was talking about.

"The Velvet Voice. Snake Rawlins has a new singer. Everyone who saw her last night swears she’s an angel who’s fallen to earth."

"Rawlins, huh?" Jase grinned. "Probably the devil in disguise."

Jacob shrugged. "I’m ready to close. Thought I’d take a stroll over for a drink. Care to join me?"

Jase thought about it, then nodded. "Why not? I’ve always wanted to hear a velvet voice."

The two men shared a laugh as they walked through the dusty ruts of town. At the door of Rawlins’ Saloon, they pushed their way through the crowd and found a spot at the bar.

*  *  *

September couldn’t believe the crowd. Every table had a game going. Every chair in the saloon was taken. Men stood two deep at the bar for a drink. Snake’s women, colorful in their brilliant gowns of red, turquoise, purple, mingled with the crowd. Everyone seemed in a holiday mood.

Snake wore that sinister smile that always made her nervous. "We’ve got a good crowd. Did you learn any new songs?"

September nodded. "Three more. I hope I remember all the words."

"It won’t matter." He took her shawl and felt her shuddering reaction to his light touch. The fool woman reacted as though she’d been burned.

Staring down at her, he allowed his gaze to trail the outline of soft curves beneath the lush velvet.

"Those men out there wouldn’t care if you recited the alphabet." He glanced at his watch. "Let’s give them the first two numbers now. That’ll whet their appetite."

September walked through the crowded saloon, and stopped to whisper to the piano player. By the time she stepped on stage, the sounds in the room had been reduced to an expectant hush.

Jase Conroy stood beside his friend Jacob and felt the sharp bite as the first drops of whiskey touched his tongue. He swirled the liquor around his mouth, then swallowed, enjoying the warmth as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat.

"Hello, Jase." Annie, one of Rawlins’ women, sidled next to him and dropped a hand suggestively inside his parka, allowing her fingertips to play along his chest. "Want to get together later?"

She was tall, her head reaching nearly to his shoulder. He stared down into tired blue eyes. Her lips opened invitingly.

"No. My friend and I just came to enjoy a quick drink."

Her tone hardened. "And to see what everybody’s talking about. The Velvet Voice."

She could see that she had already lost his attention. Without another word she moved away, to be swallowed up in the crush around the bar.

When the crowd began to hum with excitement, Jase turned to see what had caused the stir. Taller than most of the men in the room, he had the advantage of seeing the distinctive cloud of silvery hair moving slowly through the crush of bodies. As she lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped on stage, his friend beside him gasped.

"Why, that’s Miss Malloy."

Jase said nothing. He couldn’t speak. The vision on stage had him paralyzed. Her hair, which he had only glimpsed before, was even lovelier than he could have imagined. The red velvet gown clung to the curves of her body, then fell in soft folds to the floor. She was so small, she resembled a doll. So perfect, he thought, so delicate. Looking at her, he felt a strange ache in the back of his throat. His lips felt parched, and without thinking, he lifted his glass and drained it.

His friend signaled the bartender for a refill.

The piano player trilled a few notes of a familiar song. As she began to speak, Jase felt the same reaction he had felt that night on the boat, when he first heard her husky laughter. Something tightened deep in his stomach. As her rich voice washed over him, he allowed his gaze to trail slowly over her, taking the time to burn every little detail of her into his memory.

During those endless, lonely nights in the frozen wilderness, she was the sort of vision which haunted a man. His dreams would never be the same. This ethereal creature would dominate all his waking moments and taunt him while he slept.

When the song ended, she stood quietly while the applause thundered about the room. Too stunned by the strange new emotions rocking him, Jase could only stand mutely and stare.

She walked to the edge of the stage and spoke to the piano player. As her hair swirled about her face and shoulders, Jase felt his breath catch in his throat.

No one moved. No one coughed. No sound broke the eerie silence. As she stood and smoothed her skirts, every man in the room seemed to breathe. Then she began the second song, and the crowd was frozen in rapt attention.

While she spoke the words, September’s gaze moved slowly over the men in the room. At the bar she spotted the man who had defended her honor on the boat and who had then so rudely ordered her to go below. Her eyes rounded. He returned the stare. Although she continued to speak the words routinely, the moment seemed frozen in time. He was touching her, reaching out to her. Was it possible, she thought, for two people to touch each other from so great a distance? The music continued. Her words tumbled out. Yet her thoughts were in turmoil. She wanted to break the contact, but found she couldn’t.
He is touching me, as no one has ever touched me.
Fire and ice splintered along her spine, leaving her weak. And still their eyes met across the room.

When the song ended, she tore her gaze away and stood quietly, acknowledging the applause. When Snake announced that the Velvet Voice would sing again in an hour, she left the stage and made her way through the crowd, feeling drained.

"That was good. You’ve got them hooked. I’m willing to bet that not a single man will leave now. They can’t wait for another glimpse of the Velvet Voice."

Snake followed her along the narrow passage to the back room. "You don’t have anything to do for an hour. Why don’t you rest up in my room?"

Her gaze swept the cramped dressing room. "Why can’t I wait here?"

"You can. But you’d be more comfortable upstairs. There’s a fireplace. I’ll have someone fight a fire to keep you warm. There are a couple of comfortable chairs. And there’s a bed, if you want to lie down."

At that, she turned to give him a hateful look. "How convenient. And will I be alone in that room?"

Snake pulled a cigar from his pocket, avoiding her eyes. "If you want to be."

"Why do I get the feeling I can’t trust you, Snake?"

He shrugged and scratched a match across the wall. Holding the flame to his cigar, he muttered, "Look kid. I don’t care where you spend your time between acts. If you want to sit in this cold room, suit yourself. But when you get tired, let me know. I’ll send someone upstairs to start a fire." He turned on his heel. "I don’t have time to wait while you make up your mind. I’ve got work to do."

As the door closed, September sat down wearily on a hard wooden chair. A fire would be nice. A bed to rest on between performances would be heaven. But could Snake be trusted? She tossed her head. She couldn’t afford to find out. She didn’t care how long the night wore on, she was staying here. She’d already accepted one man’s offer of a comfortable room. How many times did she have to get burned before she learned?

Shortly after midnight, Jacob Mueller stifled a yawn. Nodding toward the stage, he muttered, "As fascinating as this evening’s been, I’m afraid I have to give up and go home." He glanced at Jase. "Are you coming?"

Despite his tension, Jase forced himself to affect a casual stance against the bar. "No. I think I’ll stay awhile."

"Good night, old friend." Jacob slapped him on the shoulder and ambled through the crowd toward the doors of the saloon.

Jase stared around at the drifters nursing their solitary glass of whiskey, and at the gamblers and con artists strolling among the tables, looking for an easy mark.

He should go home, he thought. But something compelled him to stay. It wasn’t the Velvet Voice, he told himself emphatically, annoyed that thoughts of her had crept into his mind. She wasn’t an angel who’d just fallen from heaven. He wasn’t enthralled by that sultry voice, or that face, so perfectly sculpted, or those blue eyes, so wide and innocent. It was simply good for him to be here, picking up little bits of information. To survive in his business, he needed to know everything he could about what was going on in this town.

With a brusqueness that was his trademark, he elbowed his way through the crowd to watch the faro game and listen in on the raucous conversation. There was no telling what a man might overhear that would be of benefit later.