by Tanya Hanson
“It’s an old word.” Hawk had already explained it last night several times, but he smiled with new patience and peered around the saloon. Roughhewn in places, it nonetheless boasted a fine mirror over the bar, an impressive array of bottles, and the requisite dance hall girl. She pirouetted over a bustle of orange net and winked at him. Gunnar observed all with a cackle of delight.
Hawk shushed him, and Gunner rolled bloodshot eyes. “Aw-right then, Hawk, my pal. Besides which, with your exhibition coming due, I will prove my Wild Thing can downright fly.”
Somebody interrupted Gunnar by slamming a glass on the table. “That thing of yours got nothing on my Legend.”
Another bloke swallowed a cuss along with his beer. “Oh, heck. You both’ll be choking on my Battlecry’s dust.”
Hawk realized the need to intervene. “Gentlemen, remember. This isn’t a race, but a…a demonstration.”
Gunnar nodded, hair shaking wildly. “I know that for sure. I just said my Wild Thing can fly. You’ll see.”
“Oh, indeed.” For some reason, somehow, suddenly, despite the rampant enthusiasm, Hawk’s confidence dimmed. Doubt roiled anew. The whole exhibition seemed an impossible muddle, far too complicated to make real.
Yet what choice did he have? Cordy’s welfare needed rescuing, too. Panic undulated along with the smoke. Through the gloom, the barmaid winked at him again even though she bent down to kiss an old man’s cheek. Hawk groaned for several reasons. What had he been thinking? Leland Stanford, who had sponsored the initial demonstration with his magnificent horse Occident, was one of the richest men in the world. And the smartest. Railroad magnate. Governor. Establishing a top-notch university in California.
Hawk’s throat tightened with dread. Mr. Stanford had arranged an entire racetrack and had hired a widely famed photographer to prove the flying horse ideal. Eadweard Muybridge was so renowned and talented he’d used the experiment to invent a machine with a rotating glass disk to show pictures in motion. His zoopraxiscope. (Hawk had mentioned the word to the lads at supper last night and from their glazed eyes, he might as well have spoken a foreign tongue.)
As such, despite an esteemed reputation, Paradise’s own Mr. Firnhaber couldn’t possibly own a shutter fast enough. And using sewing thread for a tripwire? Kite string?
Possibly a granny’s knitting yarn itself?
Hawk gulped. His noble plans all but evaporated until Gunnar clunked a glass against Hawk’s beer.
“Cheers! I’m having a real good time. Gonna head to Monroe with some posters soon’s I’m done guzzling. Already got the fellas from last night riding to Silver Creek and Saint Edward and Broken Bow. Platte Center.” He squinted, deep in thought. “Heinrich’s bound for Leigh. Paul’s covering Petersburg and Loup City, too, I recall. He was up all night helping Miss Daisy get things done. And Lyle is already back from Columbus. He headed out before daybreak with the first poster off the press. His Dreamcatcher is swift, despite a foolish name. A fine Morgan.”
“It’s not a race, Gunnar.” Perhaps Hawk hadn’t made the purpose clear enough.
Gunnar ignored him. “I’m thinking we oughta hit up David City and Seward, too. Bring in out-of-towners far enough afield to buy goods and food here in Paradise. Mercantile. Livery. Stables. Doc Hackett’s medicinals. Boardinghouse and dining room.”
“Absolutely.” Exactly Hawk’s thoughts on helping out Cordy. But his nerves flickered again. Gunnar hadn’t mentioned one key component. “Your, uh, men are hiring photographers, too, correct?”
Gunnar nodded and, amazingly, shrugged at the same time. Hawk concentrated more on the nod than the shrug, considering how vital a multitude of photographers was upon getting the task done.
But the warm beer relaxed Hawk’s throat. Yes, he could do this thing. His future, and now his reputation, depended on it. Most importantly, he’d already promised Cordy. His heart tugged as he gulped a swig.
Oh, he loved saying her name, even inside his head. What might she have cooked up had he waited for breakfast? His belly rumbled.
Ah, Cordy. His heartbeats slammed against his ribs. If he believed in love at first sight, it possibly had already happened. And he didn’t mind a single bit.
The beer mellowed him quickly, and he returned to the mission at hand. “I shall pick up the contracts in a trice. Remember, gentlemen, the entry fee is just one dollar. Tell your friends and family. Spread the word.” He intended to walk the room and convince each table in a moment.
“When is the performance?” Somebody bellowed with a belch.
When indeed? Hawk gulped.
“Uh, three days,” he replied. That should give him and Cordy time. “Should it not snow, however.”
“Should it not snow,” Gunnar intoned. “Never can tell here in Nebraska.”
“Yup.” A faceless voice powered through the murk. “Don’t like the weather, wait for a minute and it’ll change. Just like that tarnal blizzard last January. Lost two cows.”
Gunnar smacked the table and bumped hard into Hawk. “In truth, my lord, don’t much like planting til after the last frost and sadly, my lord, don’t think it’s happened yet.”
Hawk didn’t like that announcement because the day’s bright blue sky had so encouraged him. Snow, ice, even rain would doom them. The chair turned harder beneath his rump. A shudder skittered down his spine, and he tried not to notice. Perhaps if Cordy had found sufficient fabric, and Gunnar’s posse enough photographers, they could stage the exhibition in two.
His nerves untied. Of course. Farmers who could raise a barn in a day would likely only need a few minutes to nail together a framework for the screen. Donated lumber had started piling up at dawn. Gunnar had elected himself project manager of the screen. Comforted, Hawk got up to hurry at his tasks.
Yet all around him, men delayed his departure, waved dollar bills and swarmed to his side. His fingers burned from shaking dozens of callused hands.
Was it noontime? The contracts must be ready by now.
Eventually Hawk nodded to no one in particular, and through the gloom, gave a group good-bye. Tossed Oskar Grienke’s entry at the barkeep and took a half-dollar back.
“I won’t be long, and I’ll have the contracts in hand.” Although he’d stop by the boarding house first, for a progress report from Cordy. And possibly luncheon. Oh, how delicious to bask in her presence for a while. Possibly partake of wholesome food. But first things first.
The wind from the north had strengthened, so he hurtled toward the newspaper office. Johan Rademacher from the telegraph intercepted Hawk before he got there. They’d met at the saloon last night, but Hawk’s invitation to participate had been declined.
“Got a wire for you, sir.”
Excitement blistered Hawk’s nerves. Obviously an out-of-town entrant answering the Help Wanted. Word was spreading fast.
“Thanks kindly, my good man.”
Johan hesitated, his bespectacled countenance bearing an expression of interest that confused Hawk. The telegrapher already knew the contents of the telegram. Ah, a tip. With a shrug, Hawk handed over a dime, and Johan skipped off like a happy child.
Hawk then read seven chilling words. Far colder than the brewing wind funneling down his collar. Terror as deep as death ripped through his veins.
If he didn’t find a wife today, he’d die tomorrow.
Chapter Five
“Cordy, we’ve got no bed sheets in stock.” Geraldine Hackett’s plump cheeks shriveled in disappointment over her cash register. Cordy, missing Hawk so much it hurt, barely noticed.
“We’ve had few deliveries of new merchandise since Christmas. But I do have bolts of cloth. How much did you say you need?”
That pronouncement got Cordy’s attention. She knew little about sewing and hoped not to sound the fool. She took a deep breath. Hawk had used the figure sixty feet. And she realized the conundrum. Chuckled inside at using his own word, and trembled all the way to her boot heels. Then she sobered. The conundrum—her boa
rdinghouse was supposed to fill up with contestants; she’d need her own stash of bed sheets for their original purpose. Her heart and their plans crashed hard.
“Um.” She ciphered quick, for she’d often heard the local housewives ordering dry goods in yards. “Twenty yards.”
But…she did further computation in her head. How high would the screen need to be? Horses were tall animals, and taller yet in flight. Oh, where was Hawk when she needed him? She struck away the wayward thought even though her heart pounded. Of course she didn’t need him, but of course, she did. Only as a business partner to be sure, but beside the point. She still trembled, and her blood burned deep inside at the mere thought of him.
And good heavens, miss him? Yes, she did. Now. And when he left, her heart would splinter like a broken mirror. It thudded so hard at the thought she reckoned it would shatter right now.
She gulped at Mrs. Hackett’s curious eyes and reckoned the shopkeeper had, somehow, heard her inner turmoil.
“Uh.” Cordy fought to talk. “And somewhat more. The screen itself, um, must be ten feet high.”
Ah, he’d be staying a week. Her heart lightened both with and without her consent. Many good things could happen in a week.
Mrs. Hackett clattered her teeth in thought. “Hmmmm. I do have bolts of canvas in the back, and mattress ticking. And, hmmmm.” Sweet old eyebrows grew together like gray roots. “And I have much calico if you don’t mind it printed with delicate flowers. Thirty-six inches or so between the selvages. Would approximately nine feet do for you?”
Hawk aside, Cordy scratched her cheek. Now Mrs. Hackett talked in inches but might as well be speaking in tongues. Mama, an academic like Papa, had taught her daughter Emerson’s essays and Descartes’ calculus, not needlework. “That should do, I think.” Cordy raised her face to show confidence. How hard would it be to cobble together a twenty-yard long, approximately nine-foot high screen from selvages thirty-six inches wide? Mr. Emerson’s writings were ever filled with optimism.
Geraldine’s cheeks turned to ripe peaches again. “Well, let me get the materials from the stockroom.” But she paused to pat Cordy’s shoulder. “Oh, dear, I think this exhibition is a wonderful breath of fresh air for Paradise. It’s been such a dismal winter. That Mr. Shockley is quite the clever gentleman.” Geraldine toddled off.
Yes. Cordy agreed silently, missing him anew. And beautiful, too.
Cordy tapped her foot and rested elbows on the counter, peered around the empty store. Outside the front window, the townsfolk milled around each and every handbill, lips busy in discussion of the upcoming event. The populace certainly had livened up since yesterday. While she waited, four buckboards rolled past, and six horsemen clopped by.
Even through the closed windows, Paradise’s excitement rippled across her. Cordy breathed out relief. Surely their venture would bring success. And money. Hawk Shockley wasn’t just a clever gentleman, but her savior. She’d best get her errand done and head home to prepare noonday dinner. An enthusiastic mob had formed near the sign on her front window and they’d eventually need food. With that realization, she wandered the shelves for a few supplies.
The little bell at the front door clanged with a new customer. Katie Haynes, Cordy’s first friend in town. The schoolmarm had been in born in Paradise, and they were close in age. Katie had helped her navigate as a newcomer, and Cordy remained ever grateful.
She set down the groceries and hugged her friend. “Oh, great day, Katie! I missed you at choir last Sunday.”
“It was cold outside, and I had a bit of an ague.” Katie rolled her eyes. “Aunt Mattie kept me inside at the farm with doses of mint tea. She treats me like everybody else in Paradise. Like I’m still six years old with pigtails and skinned knees.”
“Well, you did grow up here.” Cordy chuckled. “You should board with me. Especially after what you went through in January.”
“I’ve suggested, but Aunt Mattie promised my parents she’d keep her eyes out.” Katie flushed, walked Cordy to a display of ladies’ hats. “And me under her thumb.” Her lips tightened. “So she has the farm hand drive me each day. They all disapprove of two young girls alone.”
Cordy bristled. She had been rubbing the soft rooster feather hanging from a bonnet crown and now nearly tugged it free in her pique. “Two young girls? We’re women! You’ve a certificate from an accredited normal school, and I run a successful business!” She swallowed a grunt. Well, successful until Clancy had gotten a hold of it.
“Nonetheless, their only other idea was having me move in with Uncle Call’s parents here at the mercantile. In their apartment upstairs.” Katie grumped and touched the feather, too. “Oh, Cordy, I adore them, but I’d be stifled to death in such close quarters. I’ll take my chances with another blizzard.” For a moment, her freckles and pout did make her seem a child. “Are you doing well?”
“I don’t really know.” Cordy hoped her face didn’t glow with doom. “I’m here, trying to assemble a screen. A backdrop for the photographs of the flying horses. Have you seen the posters?”
“Oh, yes!” Katie’s eyes sparkled, cheerful once more. “I’m here for drawing pencils while the church organist holds music class. My pupils will sketch the flying horses for an art project.” Katie’s smile held a secret. Cordy held her breath. Something else was afoot. Katie moved to finger a lovely capote-style hat bunched with white silk and dripping with lace ties.
“It’s quite bridal. One of my mama’s designs. Mrs. Hackett consigns them, you know.”
“I do, and it is beautiful.”
Katie swiveled her head about the store. “Cordy, I’ve been meaning to confide in you. And there are no eavesdroppers around right now. They’re all outside gabbing about the flying horses.”
Nerves flickered. “Mrs. Hackett will be back any second,” Cordy warned.
“We’ll hear her clomping in time. She’s a large woman. And I’ll hurry. It’s about”—Katie whispered—“Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
Katie blushed. “Charlie Tuttle.”
Charlie Tuttle? Ah, Chullie, Hawk’s first fan in town. Cordy smiled. He tended her Duchess at the livery. “What about him?”
Katie fingered the hat’s ruched fabric. “It’s a dreadful shame, a ’marm forced to give up her schoolroom if she weds.”
“Of course it’s not right. What are you talking about?” Cordy leaned close.
“Charlie and I. Well…”
“What? You and Charlie? You’re getting married?” In shock, Cordy’s jaw fell almost to her collar.
Katie blushed, freckle by freckle. “He wants to make formal calls. I need your help, Cordy. You know how protective Aunt Mattie is. You might prime the pump with what a good, hard-working man Charlie is. Uncle Call knows that, of course. They both work with horses, but he’d never gainsay Aunt Mattie. He’s so henpecked.”
Cordy shoved her friend away. Hurt. “You never said a word.”
“We’ve had sparks between us since we were children but now, we’re grown up.” Katie paused, and Cordy had to admit to understanding. How could she blame her friend for keeping secrets? She’d never once confided in Katie, or anyone, about Clancy’s foibles and troublemaking. Or her own dream of finding a cowboy and wide open spaces.
Katie’s face brightened. “Oh, Cordy, I’m certain I’m in love with him.”
The hurt turned to frustration. “Katie, you can’t possibly think to rush into something. You’re changing children’s lives. Showing your female students they have opportunities. You cannot give up your career just to marry somebody.”
The counter swayed around her, and Cordy grabbed it. Considered an earthquake or hurricane-style wind, until she realized it was steady enough. It was she going off-kilter.
Katie sniffed. “I’m not announcing any marriage. And he’s not just somebody. He’s my first kiss. My only kiss. He won the Bonnet Race when I was fourteen. You know the prize is giving a kiss to the woman of your choice.”
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“Marriage is the next step,” Cordy persisted, somehow jealous of a first and only kiss. “If he wants to call on you, asking for your hand isn’t far off. But Katie, marriage isn’t just love.”
“It’s the most important part.”
“Well, of course. I, uh, everyone wants to find love. But marriage is more than those first flutters.” Cordy seemed to find the strength Reverend Satterburg garnered for his fiery yet gentle sermons. “Marriage is deep and lifelong. You need to know every square inch of his feelings. His intellect. His goals for the future. How much you have in common. What on earth you’ll talk about for the next fifty years.”
Her parents had taught her all of that. Mama in fact had spurned a young man’s love early on because they came from enormously different worlds. Despite the instant sparks between them. Instead, Mama had settled for a man—Papa—whose intellect she shared and whose sentences she could finish.
Settled? Cordy shook away the horrid verb. They’d finally loved; Mama still mourned. But had Mama wasted the sparks?
For some reason, Hawk Shockley swam behind Cordy’s eyelids. His warm fingers trailed across her skin. Oh, so much, so very much could happen in seven days…
Katie’s eyes brimmed. “Well, I look forward to Charlie and me finding new things for fifty years. I don’t want to know everything today.” She grabbed Cordy’s sleeve. “But it’s a grown-up love, Cordy. And I’m so sorry I didn’t confide in you, but you’ve had so much on your mind these past months. Clancy, you know.” She blew a kiss toward the hat. “And the heart wants what the heart needs. Now don’t be cross with me. When the time does come, I hope you’ll be my maid of honor and stand at my side.”
The heart wants what the heart needs. Sparks. Hawk. Cordy couldn’t talk. No, Cordy would never waste a man like him.
She did need him, didn’t she? And not merely for the scheme. And wanting him went without saying. She’d barely slept all night, knowing he was tangled in sheets she’d be washing herself. Only half meaning it, she urged her racing heart to calm down.
Hawk flashed again in her head, but Cordy finally found her voice. “If I’m still here.”