Song of My Heart (10 page)

“Almost got it all ready now,” Miss Melva said. “Just get the coffee, Sister.”

Miss Shelva spotted Sadie huddling in the corner. “C’mon over here, Sadie. You ain’t no wallflower, so no need to hide.” Sadie slipped into the chair across from Mr. Baxter and tried to make herself as small as possible while the sisters completed supper preparations amid a steady stream of high-pitched banter.

At last they plopped into the remaining two chairs and promptly folded their hands. In unison, they ordered, “Asa, bless the food.”

Sadie bowed her head. She assumed Asa offered a blessing for the meal, but she couldn’t be sure. His low voice and mumbled words sounded more like a bee’s drone. But he ended with a hearty, “Amen.” He stretched his hands toward the platter. “Let me cut that bird. Looks real good, sisters.”

Miss Shelva handed Asa a carving knife. Asa stood and angled his elbows high, brandishing the knife like a spear.

As her brother whacked the beautifully browned chicken into chunks, Miss Shelva asked, “So did Sadie sing somethin’ for ya, Asa?”

Miss Melva boomed, “You gonna let her be your opry house singer?”

“She did. An’ I am.” In comparison to his sisters’ thundering voices, Mr. Baxter’s words fell like gentle raindrops. Using the knife as a serving fork, he flipped a piece of chicken onto Sadie’s plate, grinning widely. “There you are, Miss Wagner. Enjoy.”

Sadie waited until he’d served his sisters each a wing section and placed the entire breast on his own plate before she picked up her fork. Despite Asa’s poor carving job, the chicken tasted wonderful, well seasoned with sage and other herbs Sadie didn’t immediately recognize. She might miss Mama, but if Miss Melva and Miss Shelva treated her to meals like those she’d enjoyed today, she wouldn’t need to miss Mama’s good cooking.

“Miss Wagner?” Mr. Baxter spoke out of the corner of his mouth while chewing. “Before the openin’ performance, I need you to put together a repertoire of songs an’ show them to me so I know for sure what you’ll be singin’.” He jammed another bite in his mouth.

Sadie swallowed and set her fork on the table before replying. She wouldn’t shame Mama and Papa by ignoring her manners, no matter how her tablemates approached the meal. “How long should the program be?”

“Oh . . .” He crunched his forehead. “Let’s start with an hour. Maybe build to two, if you’re able.”

Although Sadie had sung in her church choir and for school programs since she was a little girl, she’d never sung all on her own for an entire hour. Her heart began to pound in trepidation. “I know at least two dozen hymns by memory, as well as several patriotic tunes. Would . . . would those be suitable for a . . . a repertoire?” She sampled the sound of the fancy word. Real singers had repertoires.

Mr. Baxter used his finger to work a bit of meat loose from a front tooth. “Well, as I said earlier, hymns an’ such’ll be fine for startin’ out, but we’ll need a little somethin’ more eventually.” He squinted at her. “You happen to know ‘The Foggy, Foggy Dew’ or ‘Oh No, John’?”

Sadie pressed her memory. Neither sounded familiar. She shook her head.

Mr. Baxter sighed. “Well, I’m gonna order up some sheet music for you.” He jabbed his fork tines into the mound of roasted vegetables on his plate. “No worry, though. We got time. You start with songs you already know, an’ we’ll just keep addin’ new ones until we’ve put together a program that’ll rival anything a big city’d offer.”

Miss Melva and Miss Shelva beamed at Sadie. “You jest wait, Sadie,” Miss Shelva said.

Miss Melva patted Sadie’s wrist. “Our brother’ll bring fame to you yet.”

Roscoe Hanaman leaned across the little table and lowered his voice. “I’m telling you, Sheriff, if you don’t find those bootleggers soon, they’re going to bring ruination upon Goldtree.”

Thad pretended great interest in carving off a bite-sized chunk of his pan-fried steak. He wished he could eat in peace. The food was good, but the company was giving him indigestion. “I’ve only been in town a week, Roscoe.” He sent an unconcerned look across the table, hoping to pacify the mayor. “As they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“Maybe not.” Hanaman used his fork to chop his green beans into tiny bits. “But I bet it came tumbling down a lot faster than it went up. And I don’t want to see the same thing happen here.” He smacked his fork onto the table and sagged in his chair, fixing Thad with a worried glare. “Goldtree was founded by my father and two of his best friends. They had high hopes for this community, and I don’t intend to let their dreams die. But no town can stand strong when there’s evil running through it.” He pointed at Thad, his brows low. “You’ve got to find the lawbreakers, and find them soon.”

Thad set his fork and knife aside to give the man his full attention. Seated in the middle of a half-filled café wasn’t the best place for a private conversation, but the mayor had started it. Thad would finish it. Keeping his voice even, he said, “What you have to understand is you don’t catch a fox by running wild. Foxes are wily. They’re always on the lookout. You got to get a fox feelin’ comfortable, like there’s no need for him to fear, an’ then you can bait the trap. That might take a little time.”

Hanaman frowned, but he didn’t argue.

Thad ate a bite of collard greens before continuing. “It would help if you had some inkling of who’s responsible.”

Hanaman snorted. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have needed you. I would’ve just run the perpetrators out of town on a rail on my own.”

Yet Hanaman—who was familiar with the town, its inhabitants, and its habits—expected a newcomer to uncover the ring and break it up in a week. Thad inwardly petitioned the Lord for patience. “Mayor, I give you my solemn oath, I’ll do my best to catch these men an’ bring their operation to an end.” A too-familiar band wrapped around his chest, hindering his breathing. “From what I’ve seen so far, most of the men here in Goldtree are family men.”

He’d been called to a house midweek by a boy whose father had stumbled through the door and collapsed. When Thad roused the man with cold water, the fellow claimed he’d taken too many doses of a traveling medicine man’s snake oil. Thad had confiscated the bottle so the fellow couldn’t repeat the incident. The worried look on the boy’s face still haunted him. “I know what kind of suffering is brought on when a man squanders his pay on drink. I’m not inclined to sit around an’ watch men destroy their families without doing something to help.”

And once he’d busted up this operation, he’d hand in his badge, take his pay, and turn his sights to helping in a different way. He’d finally be able to pay for his schooling to become a preacher. The sooner he found the lawbreakers in Goldtree, the sooner he could finally replace the ugly mar his father had placed on his family name. But Goldtree’s fine mayor didn’t realize Thad had a strong reason to locate the bootleggers, too.

Hanaman released a long sigh. He propped his elbows on the table and linked his hands. “It’s not that I think you’re ignoring anything, McKane. I know you’re trying.” He grimaced. “I’m just thinking about the money spent on those handbills. I’m wanting to get them distributed in time for folks to get packed over the winter and make their way here next spring. Why, I’ll be a laughingstock, bringing new folks into a town that’s been overrun by drunkards!”

Although Thad hadn’t discounted the idea of illegal happenings somewhere in or near Goldtree, he hadn’t uncovered so much as a shred of evidence of the town being overrun by bootleggers. As a whole, the town appeared peopled by moral, godly folk. Hanaman’s hysteria seemed overdone, but Thad would stay alert. If there was someone in Goldtree encouraging men to indulge in wickedness, he’d find them. He set his jaw.
As the Lord is my witness, I’ll find ’em.

10 

B
y midmorning on Saturday, Sadie was ready to run upstairs, pack her bags, and talk the driver of the first passing wagon into taking her to the train depot. The Baxter twins’ method of “showing her the ropes,” as the women had put it at breakfast, consisted of screeching at her to “Come over here an’ see what I’m doin’ so you’ll know how it’s done!” She’d run back and forth so many times, she had a blister on the heel of her right foot, and her neatly formed twist of hair had worked loose of the pins and flopped across her left shoulder. She’d suffered less exhaustion after a full day of play with her four rowdy little brothers. And the day wasn’t half over yet.

“See here, Sadie?” Miss Melva whammed canned goods into rows on pine shelves. “You gotta stack ’em three high, four deep, an’ six across. That makes the best use o’ shelf space. Do ya see?”

Sadie nodded wearily. “Yes, ma’am. I see.”

“Sadie!” Miss Shelva bellowed from the opposite side of the large store. “Do ya remember how to add up an’ record purchases in the charge book?”

Sadie stood on tiptoe and peeked over the shelves. “Yes, ma’am, I remember.”

“Then see to the sheriff! I gotta get this flour measured for Mrs. Rahn.”

Heat rose in Sadie’s cheeks. When had the sheriff entered the mercantile? Her first command of the morning had been to greet every customer coming through the door so they’d feel at home. Somehow she’d missed Sheriff McKane’s entrance. She tried to straighten her hair as she skittered across the wide-planked floor and stepped behind the counter. One squiggly black pin bounced from her shoulder, hit the wooden countertop, and landed on the back of his tanned hand. Sadie reached to retrieve it and encountered his fingers. She jerked back, mortified. “Please excuse me.”

He pinched the pin between two long, blunt-tipped fingers and offered it to Sadie. “There you go.” He angled his head to the side, seeming to examine her hair. “Looks like you’ve had a rough start to the day.”

The kind understanding in his tone soothed the edges of Sadie’s fractured nerves. She sagged against the counter. “The morning has been quite . . .” She sought a word that would describe it without sounding like a complaint. “Frenzied.”

He glanced around. Half a dozen shoppers browsed the aisles or picked at the fabric table. In the background, Miss Melva and Miss Shelva dashed here and there, arms flying in every direction, tongues wagging. When he turned back to Sadie, a grin creased his face. “I’m thinking it’s not the morning that’s frenzied, but more like some folks are just a tetch overwrought.”

His bland description—understated yet accurate—in combination with his teasing grin brought a giggle from Sadie’s throat. She coughed to cover it—she shouldn’t poke fun at her employers—but she didn’t fool him. His eyes twinkled, and he leaned one elbow on the counter to bring his face near hers.

“Y’know, Miss Wagner, just because the Baxter twins enjoy runnin’ around like a pair of wingless geese with a fox in pursuit doesn’t mean you need to. I suspect you’re no stranger to hard work. Am I right?”

Although it might be construed as self-pride, Sadie said, “I’m the oldest of six children. I’ve been my mother’s helper for many years, and I always enjoyed helping her keep the house nice, work in the garden, and entertain the younger ones.”

“That so?” He seemed pleased by her response. Then he gave his head a little shake. “Then you’ve seen how a person can get things done without—”

Miss Melva whizzed by, her apron flying like a sheet in the wind.

Sheriff McKane watched her until the storeroom door’s curtain settled into place behind her. “. . . runnin’ yourself ragged.”

Sadie considered his statement. Mama had always been busy, yet she’d never appeared frantic as she went about her duties.

“Well, then,” the sheriff said, straightening, “as long as you get your work done, you don’t need to frazzle yourself. Remember that.”

She appreciated his candor and common sense. “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll remember.”

“An’ something else you can remember . . .” He leaned in again, his mustache twitching. “My name.”

Sadie drew back in surprise. “W-what?”

His friendly green-eyed gaze held her captive. “Would you consider calling me Thad instead of Sheriff McKane? You and me are the newest ones in town, and I think it’d be nice if we could be friends. Would’ja mind?”

Sadie contemplated his request. Mama had taught her a lady never called a gentleman by anything other than his surname. But Mama called the men who worked with Papa, as well as men from the church—husbands of the women she considered her friends—by their given names. Maybe the rule was different for friends.

Other than Sid, she didn’t have any friends in Goldtree. The thought of being friends with the sheriff made her feel warm and comfortable inside. Especially since she knew he was a Christian man—he’d made that clear when they walked together yesterday. Surely Mama wouldn’t disapprove.

Her decision made, she offered a quick nod. “Thank you. I’d like to call you . . . Thad.” The name felt right on her tongue. She added, “And you may call me Sadie.”

A full smile grew on his face, bringing out a little fan of lines at the outer corners of his eyes. “All right, then. And now, Sadie, would you tally up my purchases here so I can get back to work?”

Miss Melva burst from the storeroom, waving something stiff and white over her head. “Sister, I found that corset in the size you was wantin’!”