by Alice Addy
Evie’s eyes nearly popped from her head as she gazed up at the strange lady. She feared she was going to arrest her or put her in an orphan’s home. Her whole body started to quake with fear. Pete stopped munching and drew up close to the little girl’s side.
“I don’t have all day, child. I have a business to run. Tell me your name,” the lady insisted.
Very quietly, the little girl replied, “Ebbie.”
“I see. And who is that beast guarding you so closely?”
“Pete.”
“Well, Evie, do you and Pete have a home to go to or any folks to care for you?”
Evie’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open in disbelief. The lady knew her real name! She shook her head no. “I have a lost papa and a mama in heaven. I don’t know about Pete. Maybe he’s an orphan, too.”
The woman’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” she said in all seriousness. “Come on inside. You need good food and a hot bath . . . in that order. Then we’ll see about getting you some clean clothes and a proper bed to sleep in.” The woman was softening. “I think this is going to be fun for the both of us. What do you think, child?”
Evie was no longer afraid of the lady with the bright hair. She had a kind face when she smiled, and a soft voice, when it served her, and she wore a bright red dress.
“Can Pete come inthide, too?” Evie inquired.
The lady looked the dirty mutt over and sighed. “Yes, Pete, too. But he gets a bath and sleeps outside!”
Evie discovered that the nice lady was named Frieda Birdsong, and she owned the saloon. The large man, with no hair, was called Whiskey, like the liquor he sold. He worked the bar, and Evie liked them both very much. Frieda asked to be called “Aunt Frieda” or simply auntie, and that suited Evie just fine.
Aunt Frieda saw to it that the doctor checked up on Evie, every week. He said she was a little underweight, but in good overall health. He said there was nothing he could do for her lame foot, but Aunt Frieda wasn’t so sure. She had read about cases, such as Evie’s, where, with the proper exercise and braces, the twisted muscles could be reversed.
One day, while Evie was playing in her pretty pink bedroom, with Pete sound asleep on the floor, Aunt Frieda walked in with an old gentleman at her side. He worked with the horses over at the livery. He explained to Evie, that he had been a horse doctor in his youth, and he had helped foals when they were born with twisted legs. If Evie was willing, he would like to try and help her.
Evie nodded excitedly. “I could be a foal?” Her eyes sparkled with wonder. “They’re pretty.”
To celebrate, Aunt Frieda bought Evie a beautiful pink dress—the same color as her room. It was the prettiest dress Evie had ever seen. She also bought her a new pair of shoes. Evie knew they were, without a doubt, the ugliest shoes anyone had ever seen, and they hurt her bad foot.
She learned that the shoes were designed by a doctor to be stiff and tight, forcing her foot to straighten. It was very important, Aunt Frieda said, that she wear them night and day, even when she slept. Evie wanted to rebel, until she was told she might be able to dance when she grew up.
Evie remembered the time, when she was a very little girl, her papa picked her up and swirled her around the room, twirling and gliding across the floor while her mama sang a lively tune, causing them all to fall down in a fit of laughter. It was one of her clearest memories. She had always wanted to dance again, so she decided the pain and ugliness of the shoes was worth it.
Twice a day, the old gentleman came in and rubbed her foot with a stinky oil, followed by a deep, total leg massage. Evie hated the smell of the awful lotion, but it was nice to have her foot and ankle rubbed. It felt good to have the ugly shoe off her foot, even if for a short while. Evie had no idea just how long all this was going to take, but she would persevere.
Sometimes, Aunt Frieda allowed Evie to go downstairs and listen to the music. She particularly liked the piano man, Bo. He was kind and encouraged her to sing along. As if by magic, she no longer had a lisp when she sang, and she was encouraged to sing often. They all soon discovered that Evie was not only a beautiful child, but also musically gifted. Her voice was clear and pitch perfect. She had the ability to interpret the lyric in a way that was amazing, for a child her age. More than once, people would slow down as they passed by the swinging doors of the saloon, and listen to the little girl.
One day, a lovely woman actually opened the doors and looked in. She didn’t dare step into the Six Gun, but she had to take a good look.
“Excuse me,” she called out. “I heard a child singing and I was wondering if you would allow me to take her to church on Sundays? She could sing to her heart’s content, there. I’d watch her very carefully. My name is Clara Butler and my husband is the pastor of the Good Shepherd Church, right at the end of the road. We have two daughters and a son. I know they would like to meet . . . what is her name?”
Frieda studied the pretty woman, standing just outside her door. She looked sincere and had a kind face, and she was certainly brave to be sticking her head into a saloon, being the wife of a preacher and all. Frieda looked over at Evie.
“Would you like to go to church, child?” she asked softly.
Evie wasn’t for sure she knew what a church was, but she nodded. Maybe she’d find a friend.
Looking back at Mrs. Butler, Frieda said, “Evie. Her name is Evie. She’s my orphaned niece and a good girl. I don’t want nobody to hold this here saloon against her. She means the world to me, Mrs. Butler, and I know people can be cruel. In addition to that, my Evie is lame—for the time bein’, anyway.” She waited for the woman’s response.
“Ma’am, my husband was blinded by the Indians. I can assure you, no one will treat Evie any differently from the other children.”
Frieda felt a sudden camaraderie with this preacher’s wife. How could she go against a good woman such as this? “I’m beholdin’ to you, Mrs. Butler. I’d be honored if you’d take my little Evie to church and teach her the Bible ways.”
Clara brightened up immensely. “Thank you, Frieda. Thank you for your trust in me, and I want you to know that you, too, are welcome, anytime.
“I look forward to seeing you on Sunday, Evie,” she said to the pretty blonde child standing by the piano. “My children and I will come by and pick you up.”
Sunday morning arrived, and Evie had never been so excited. Frieda was trying to get her dressed and becoming more frustrated by the minute. “Stand still, darlin’. I cain’t get to all the buttons with you squirmin’ around like you are. Where’re your shoes?” Frieda looked high and low, but the shoes were nowhere to be seen. Frieda Birdsong was nobody’s fool
“Eeeviee . . .”
The little girl was fidgeting with her sash and chewing on her bottom lip, ignoring her aunt.
“Evie Birdsong! What have you done with your shoes?”
Evie looked up, as innocent as a lamb. “Hmm? I don’t know. I think they got lotht.” Her small hands busily twisted the sash into a knot.
Taking her hand, Frieda sat the little girl on her broad lap. “Sweetheart, I know you think the shoes are ugly, but they’re gonna help you walk and play and dance one day. Your dress almost hides them, and ‘sides, you don’t have another pair. Is it better to go to church with bare feet?”
Evie was aghast! She hadn’t thought of that. She couldn’t go barefooted. She quickly got up and hobbled to the open window. At the end of a long ribbon, were her shoes, dangling in the wind. Carefully, she pulled them up and handed them to her aunt.
“I gueth they’re not too ugly,” she admitted, reluctantly.
Evie was waiting by the doors, too excited to sit down. She had wolfed down her breakfast in record time, and ran to the doors to wait. Frieda tried to tell her that she was early and could rest a bit, but Evie would not listen. Back and forth, she marched.
“Are they coming, Auntie?” Worry was etched all across the little girl�
�s face.
“Yes, darlin’. They’re comin’.” Frieda was starting to have a few doubts of her own. She didn’t want to tell Evie, but Mrs. Butler was already late. She casually strolled to the doors and peered down the sidewalk. She saw no lady approaching the saloon, let alone one with three children in tow. How would she avoid having Evie’s heart broken?
“Sweetheart, you stand right here, by the doors, and wait for me. I have to change my clothes. Don’t you move.” Frieda walked swiftly up the stairs to her room.
Evie was pouting and had given up hope, when her eyes were drawn to the top of the stairs. There stood her auntie. Her hair was demurely tucked under a pretty bonnet and her dress was a pale blue calico print. With her soft, fringed shawl wrapped around her shoulders and pristine white gloves on her hands—she was a far cry from her usual self. Evie liked the beads and spangles she wore everyday. But now, her Aunt Frieda looked quite the proper chaperone for a five year-old child.
“Don’t stand there gaping at me, child. We’re late fer church!”
Frieda grabbed Evie by the hand and they walked as fast as they could manage, to the end of the street and up to the open doors of the Good Shepherd. Frieda would make certain Evie had a good time, and then she was going to have a serious conversation with the good preacher’s wife. That woman would never again promise a child something and not deliver.
They were the last to arrive and all heads turned to look at the latecomers. People in the last pew made room for the woman and child.
Evie was all eyes and ears. The people were dressed in their very best, and looked so nice with their faces scrubbed and their hair combed—even the boys looked clean and shiny. Colorful flowers filled large jars, in the front of the little church, lending their sweet fragrance to the warm air. Sitting at a piano—at least it looked like a piano—was a very thin woman with thick glasses perched on her nose. Evie learned later, that it was a small organ and it sounded like sheer heaven to her. When the congregation raised their voices in song, Evie was the happiest she had been in a very long time. She wanted to sing too.
Frieda looked down at the smiling child. “Go ahead, honey. You can follow along if you don’t know all the words. They repeat most of ‘em. Just listen fer a bit.”
Evie nodded. Then, she realized she knew the words they were singing. Her mama used to sing it to her. With a big smile on her face, she opened her mouth and the purest notes began to flow. Some people turned to stare at the child with the angelic voice. Evie didn’t care that people looked at her. She was singing!
After the hymn, the pastor got up and addressed his flock. “Good morning. It is good to stand here and imagine all your happy faces and hear your joyous voices.” He turned toward Frieda and Evie.
“Oh no,” thought Frieda. “Please don’t make a scene.” She closed her eyes, crossed her fingers, and prayed.
The pastor continued. “I believe we have some visitors this morning. It must be Evie Birdsong and her aunt. I was expecting you, or rather hoping you would come on your own, as my wife could not keep her promise.” Then he addressed the entire crowd. “I am sad to report that my three children are all down with the mumps and my wife is attending to them, naturally.”
Frieda silently chastised herself for thinking Clara had been cavalier about her promise to Evie. She smiled and patted Evie’s leg in reassurance.
“My wife informed me that this beautiful little girl would be a great addition to the children’s chorus; after hearing her sing, this morning, I must agree. Evie, we would be very happy to have you and your Aunt Birdsong in church, every Sunday. May we count on your lovely voice to help fill out our choir?”
Evie was beside herself with joy. She turned and looked beseechingly at her aunt. Frieda smiled and nodded.
Evie stood carefully, and said in her strongest and happiest voice, “Yeth, you can count on me, thir.”
The whole congregation broke into applause and much laughter. But, unlike the mocking tones that Evie was used to, this was friendly and welcoming. Little did anyone know, at the time, but Frieda Birdsong and Evie Birdsong would never miss a single Sunday after that first day.
CHAPTER TWO
With the passage of time, Eve eventually blossomed into a graceful swan and was loved by all who knew her. She had been such a blessing to Frieda and Whiskey over the years. The big man felt like he had a vested interest in the girl and loved her as his own daughter.
The old horse doctor had been correct in his form of therapy for Eve’s affliction, and people praised his work. He’d gained back his self-esteem and it was worth more than gold to him. With his relentless attention to her foot, Eve no longer showed any sign of ever having been lame. In fact, just fifteen years after having been discovered rummaging through the trash, Eve was the headliner at the Six Gun Saloon, singing and dancing her way into the affections of half the town. She helped make it the most popular saloon in all of Hays City.
Frieda kept a close eye on her child. To all the townspeople, Frieda was known as Eve’s aunt, but in her heart, Eve was the child she never had. There was always some tenderfoot trying to make time with the beautiful young songbird, but Frieda made it clear to everyone that Eve sang and danced for their enjoyment . . . and nothing else. Whiskey kept a big shotgun conveniently stowed behind the bar and it was no secret he knew how to use it.
On this particular day, business was slow, due to an unusually heavy snowfall. It gave everyone a chance to catch up on things put off for too long. Eve was running a few new songs past Bo, the piano man. Her clear voice filled the near empty house and spilled out through the doors and into the streets. That’s where the young cowboy first heard the voice of an angel.
Ty secured the wagon in front of Anderson Feed & Grain, and moseyed on over to the Six Gun Saloon. He didn’t drink, nor did he gamble, but he did enjoy good music—that feminine voice in particular. He thought the saloon was as good a place as any to warm up and grab a quick meal before heading back to the ranch. Just as he stepped up onto the sidewalk, the angel’s voice reached a crescendo that caused chills to run up his spine. Never had he heard anything as magnificent as that final note. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the doors, prepared to cast his eyes on a celestial vision wrapped in silk and satin.
“Oh, Bo, I love it. You really wrote it just for me?” A tiny, curly-headed girl with a scarf wound around her head and big leather boots on her feet was talking to the piano man. She wore a drab-colored dress covered by a man’s plaid coat, hiding her form and shape.
“Auntie will be so pleased when I sing it for her birthday. Thank you.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on the old man’s rough cheek.
Ty stood there looking confused and slightly disappointed. He’d been expecting to see a lovely woman with spangles and beads, her hair piled high upon her head, singing her heart out. Maybe she would be dancing on the stage and showing a little too much leg—but no such luck. This was probably the girl that cleaned up and did the domestic chores. Voices, he thought, sure could be misleading.
A gruff voice spoke to him from behind the bar. “You want somethin’, kid?”
Ty shook his head. “Nope. I think I’m in the wrong place.”
His ma wouldn’t approve of him going into such a place, anyway. Disappointed, he turned and went back outside to fill his feed order. Soon, he’d hit the trail and go home.
“Who was that boy?” Eve asked.
Whiskey looked up and smiled. “It weren’t nobody, honey. He said he came in here, by mistake. You sure sounded pretty, Evie.”
She smiled at dear Whiskey. “You forgot again. It’s Eve, now. I’ve grown up and Evie was a child,” she giggled.
“Well, I guess growed-up women don’t like chocolates, now, do they? I guess I should just toss these ones, I’ve got hidden under the bar, into the trash out back, huh?” Whiskey grinned slyly as he reached under the counter.
Eve shrieked. “No! Don’t you dare. I know you got those for me,
Whiskey, and I wouldn’t think of hurting your feelings by not accepting them. Where are they?” Evie clapped her hands and bounced up and down. She still got excited just thinking of their rich, creamy goodness. She’d never been able to turn down chocolates, no matter what her age.
Whiskey pointed to a red box with a big bow on it. “Happy Birthday, sweetie. I know we don’t know the real date, but when you came here, you said you had just turned . . . let’s see. How’d you say it? Oh yeah. You said you’d just turned, ‘fibe’.” He laughed hard at that. “I s’pose that makes you a lady, now. All growed up, proper.”
“A woman is never too old for chocolate, silly,” Eve sighed, as she took a bite of the heavenly chocolate confection. She closed her eyes, and with her arms extended outright, she twirled all around the room. She was bound to run into something, and sure enough, a large wall of masculine muscle stopped her abruptly in her tracks.
Looking up, she gazed directly into the dark eyes of the most handsome man she had ever seen. It was only after a few moments that she realized he was holding her closely, in his arms. She could have swooned right there.
“Oh, I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “Forgive me. I was just happy about my chocolates. W-would you like one?” She continued to stammer and talk nonsensically, until the stranger smiled.
“Think nothin’ of it, darlin’. I should be the one to apologize to you. You were so lovely, dancing around the room; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you. I hope you’re not injured.”
Blushing, Eve stepped back, and replied, dreamily, “No. I’m wonderful, thank you.”
You certainly are, he thought. The man chuckled and turned from the young girl to address the bartender. He held out his hand. “The name’s Sam Garrison and I play cards. You run tables, here?”
“You’re a gambler?” Whiskey did not shake the stranger’s hand, as he continued to wipe the bar. “Never had no use for ‘em, here. ‘Course, if you want the official answer, you’ll have to speak with the owner, Frieda Birdsong.”