Siren's Song

by D. L. Snow

  Despite how good it felt to wear fine clothes again, her attention made me nervous…and suspicious. From what I knew of Kitty, she did not spend money frivolously.

  After the woman finished adjusting the sleeves with a few more pins she said, “The gauze dress will be ready in a few hours.”

  “Good. Just in time for her to wear this evening.”

  “Shall I drop it off? I could bring by some apple tart, I made some fresh yesterday and I know Mr. Sullivan used to love a good tart.”

  “Oh how very kind. But I’ll send Cap’n to collect it. Mr. Sullivan is on a downturn. He made the mistake of going out fishing the other morning and he’s been abed ever since.” She made a tut-tut sound with her tongue.

  “Give him my regards.”

  Out on the street, Kitty linked her arm through mine. “You, my dear, are a vision,” she whispered, a hint of giddiness in her high pitched voice. “Chin up, now, Doll. Chin up.”

  It had been like this every day of the week. Kitty and I spent a good hour or two walking up and down the boardwalk of Main Street, pretending to look in shops, drawing as much attention to ourselves as possible and inevitably ending up at Eaton’s Drugstore and Confectionary Shop for a soda. I used that time to scan the streets of town, looking for what? I didn’t know. I guess I was hoping I’d recognize it when I saw it. In the end, I figured getting the lay of the land was never a bad idea.

  After the hours standing at the dressmaker’s, it was a relief to finally sit down at the counter at the drug store and sip the bubbly cool soda water from a straw. I’d only taken a sip when the bell over the door sounded and in walked Kyle Copeland. Or rather, Morgan Hawes. I nearly jumped out of my seat, but Kitty placed a firm hand on my wrist.

  “Mr. Hawes,” she drawled as he passed by. “What a pleasure to see you.”

  He removed his hat and nodded at her. “Mrs. Sullivan. You’re looking well.”

  “Why thank-you.” She turned to me and winked but the sparkle was gone from her eyes as if she was telling me to behave myself. For all her recent kindness, I’m sure she had not forgotten my antics from that first day. “I don’t believe you’ve met my niece, Jo-Jo Sullivan. She has recently arrived by train from Missoula. She has come to help me care for Mr. Sullivan, who has lately taken ill again.”

  My hand shook and my throat went dry when Kyle reached to take my hand in his. “Miss Sullivan.” The sound of his rumbling voice struck a chord within me and I blinked in surprise at the visceral response of his skin against mine.

  His velvet eyes bore into me and I sucked in a hasty breath. He recognized me, I was sure of it. Unfortunately, it was not the woman from the future that he’d brought back to the past that he saw. Rather, I fear he recognized the half-drowned, barely clothed girl from the pond.

  I pulled my hand away and whispered softly, “Nice to meet you.” Then I looked away.

  Morgan cleared his throat. “The pleasure is mine.”

  I glanced back in time to see his little bow before he turned away.

  “Oh, Mr. Hawes?”

  “Yes?”

  “My niece is something of a songstress. She’s giving a performance tonight at the Opera Hall.”

  “Is she now?”

  “Yes. She’s offered to provide entertainment at the Saloon, as a means to help out her old auntie. But her voice is too dear to be bandied about in a tavern. I’ve arranged a one-time concert at the Opera Hall and I hope you will endeavor to attend her performance. She has the voice of an angel. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

  “It sounds delightful.” He smiled, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes. For only a second he met my gaze and his eyes narrowed slightly before he took his purchases up to the counter, paid for them and exited the shop.

  “My,” whispered Kitty. “You, my dear, are a natural. That coy glance of yours was played superbly. You could do worse than to have a man like Morgan Hawes as your patron.”

  “As my patron?”

  “Of course, dear. Don’t look so incredulous. If you ever expect to pay me back for my kindness, you’ll need a patron. Besides,” she winked, “how do you think I met Mr. Sullivan?”

  Oh no! Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the impact of Kitty’s words sunk in. The raised eyebrow of the dressmaker had not been my imagination. Apparently there was no difference between an entertainer and a prostitute in 1899 and apparently Kitty Sullivan was counting on that fact.

  *****

  Just before going on stage that night, Kitty had me sit in front of a mirror that had been put up for my benefit and she placed a strand of pearls around my neck.

  “These were a wedding gift from Mr. Sullivan,” she said rubbing the pearls between her fingers. “They’re the real thing, too.” She patted my neck. “For good luck.” Her thick lips quivered and she blew her nose into a hanky before she hurried off to take her seat in the front row.

  Kitty had decided that with the voice of an angel I should not only look like one – dressed in the pure white gauze gown – but that every song I should sing should be religiously affiliated, however loosely. So I began with Ave Maria and from the moment I opened my mouth the highest form of me took over – making me forget everything else. Everything. I didn’t care what year it was, I didn’t care that I owed Kitty, I didn’t care that she expected me to find some man in order for me to pay her back. I didn’t even care whether I was home or not.

  While I stood on stage singing in front of a mere crowd of three hundred miners and townsfolk, I felt happier than I’d felt in five years. Joy washed over me and by the time I sang the last few bars of the last verse, tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

  Then hear, o maiden, simple maiden,

  And for a father hear a child!

  Ave Maria.

  Silence rang through the opera house for a second or two after I was done and then all hell broke loose. The applause was deafening. Men whooped, whistled and threw their hats. And there in the front row, I could see Kitty Sullivan, grinning from one protruding ear to the other. Her jowls shook while her tiny eyes flashed, perhaps with the image of all the golden coins she was envisioning.

  The night ended with two encores. I sang Amazing Grace for the first and for the second I sat at the piano and played the song I’d been working on the day I disappeared. It was so different from the others, a modern ballad, that I didn’t know how it’d go over with the crowd.

  They loved it. Even before I sang the last chorus, Meet me in the Promised Land, where all our dreams come true, Meet me in the Promised Land, I’ll go first and wait for you…people were on their feet cheering. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I finished and I was astonished to see tears – albeit probably for very different reasons – streaming down Kitty’s cheeks.

  That night the Powder Horn Saloon was the place to be. It was full to overflowing and Kitty was the happiest I’d ever seen her. She kept me perched on a chair atop a platform beside the bar. Men from young to old, with their scrubbed faces and rock stained hands, came by to say hello or to ask for another song. “Do you know Clementine? That’s my favorite, Miss. I’d sure love to hear it from your lips.”

  “Yellow Rose of Texas,” a table called from the back of the room.

  Kitty had made me promise not to sing anymore and I didn’t plan on it. Besides, I didn’t know any of the songs the men requested, anyway. So I simply flashed my Joss Jones smile at each and every one of them, doing my best to engage them in conversation. I was shocked by the age of the men. There was hardly a man present over thirty and they’d come from all over in search of gold – in search of a better life.

  There were women in the tavern that night too. They looked like normal, proper ladies, dressed in high collared blouses and full skirts. But, by the way they drank, smoked, played poker and sat on men’s laps, I soon realized that these were ladies of the evening, however much they didn’t fit my image of a prostitute from gold rush days.

  “Who are
they?” I’d asked Cap’n when he came to bring me a whiskey for my nerves.

  “They’re Martha Sweet’s girls. Kitty’s got an arrangement with her. Liquor and gambling only satisfy half the cravings of these men.”

  I must have given him a look because he chuckled and said, “Don’t go getting all self-righteous on me, Little Miss. Most of these fellas just want a pretty face to talk to, to woo, maybe steal a kiss from. It ain’t so bad, you should know that by now.”

  I rolled my eyes. Even Cap’n assumed I was a prostitute. I spent the rest of the night watching the women as they made their rounds of the saloon. Occasionally one of them would disappear upstairs or out back with one of the men, but for the most part, they seemed to be laughing and drinking and having a good time. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t one of them and there was no way in hell that Joss Jones was going to resort to prostitution, no matter what the year.

  My train of thought ended the moment I saw Morgan Hawes sitting at the back of the room, watching me. What did he mean to convey by looking at me like that, with his eyes narrowed and his face stern?

  “Jo-Jo, dear? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Kitty stood off to one side as a man dressed all in black bowed before me. His jacket and vest were well cut. He wore a shiny black top hat, black leather gloves and had a small black cane tucked beneath one arm. He removed his hat, showing off his slicked black oily hair. The same sort of oil slicked his mustache into wide curls on his cheeks.

  “This is James Ellis.”

  Ellis. Half the town of Bandit Creek, the modern one that is, was named after the Ellis family, not to mention James Ellis School. Oh God.

  “My dear.” He took my hand and kissed the back of my knuckles. “With a voice and presence like yours …” he looked me up and down, “…surely you are an angel sent from above to save us mere mortals here on earth.” His voice was as smooth and slick as his hair.

  I pulled my hand from his. “Thank you.” For all my smiles that night, I had no smile for him.

  “Let me get you some refreshment. What are you having?”

  Kitty answered for me. “Sherry. Only the finest sherry for my niece. I’ll go fetch it while you two get acquainted.”

  There was no mistaking the gleam in her eye. This Mr. James Ellis was another potential patron, no doubt. A horrible knot formed in my stomach and a shiver ran down the length of my spine. Perhaps someone somewhere had walked over my grave. I shivered again. I’d never really understood that saying until now.

  “How is it possible for you to have been in Bandit Creek for a whole two weeks without me knowing about it?” he asked as he smoothed one side of his moustache.

  “I’ve been kept busy. In between caring for my uncle and rehearsing for tonight…” I trailed off. Mr. Ellis’s eyes were not on my face. They had dropped exactly six inches. He no longer even gave the appearance of listening to me as he stroked his moustache while openly ogling my cleavage.

  Eww.

  “Mr. Ellis?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Mr. Ellis, if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a little…um…faint. I believe I should go lie down.”

  “Oh.” He smiled. “Of course. Let me help you down.”

  Before I could protest, he reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet, then helped me off the platform. For just a second, his left hand dropped to my ass, squeezing just a smidge of skirt and flesh before falling away. Then he pressed my hand to his lips. “I look forward to our next encounter.”

  I tore my hand away. Moving awkwardly in the tight fitting dress, I moved past the bar, down the hall and slipped out the maid’s door at the back of the hotel. Just before I shut the door quietly behind me, I heard Kitty’s shrill voice, “Where has she gone? You’d better find her Cap’n.”

  Once outside, I tiptoed to the back of the yard where I leaned up against a tree, breathing as deeply of the cool mountain air as my corset would allow. What would I do if Kitty arranged for James Ellis to be my patron? The mere thought of his maggoty touch made me shudder.

  No. It would never happen, I wouldn’t allow it. I’d leave before it came to that.

  But where would I go? What was there for a young, single woman to do in 1899? And how would I ever get back to my own time if I left?

  A lone tear crept down my cheek as I thought of my life back home. My real life. The one I’d abandoned five years ago. Tonight had reminded me exactly what I’d given up and reminded me of my mother and how much I missed her. I was so preoccupied with missing home that I didn’t hear the crunch of gravel behind me. In fact it was not until a strong arm circled my waist that I jumped, letting out a little yelp of surprise. A gloved hand covered my mouth before I could make another sound.

  “What are you doing out here, all on your own?” a familiar voice whispered in my ear. “Don’t you know you make easy pickings for scoundrels?”

  Chapter 8

  I tried to twist away but the arm that held me was too strong.

  “Shh, stop struggling.”

  That only made me struggle more.

  “Calm down. I only want to talk.”

  Yeah right. I wasn’t born yesterday…oh God. No kidding I wasn’t born yesterday. I was born almost a hundred years in the future. I must have stopped thrashing around enough for the man behind me to believe I was acquiescing and therefore loosened his grip on me.

  Big mistake.

  I turned around and clocked him right in the jaw. I’d never punched anyone before in my life and it hurt like hell.

  “Ouch!” we said in unison.

  Opening and closing my aching fist, I muttered, “It’s your own fault for grabbing me in the dark.”

  Morgan Hawes held a hand to his face as he looked down at me in the moonlight. He was taller than I remembered and his dark hair was no longer combed back but was wavy and thick as if he’d worked his fingers through it. I suddenly wondered how that might feel, to run my fingers through his thick hair, to trail my fingers down the back of his neck…

  “We need to talk.”

  I cleared my throat. “So talk.”

  He stared at me for a few minutes, scrutinizing me like he couldn’t quite figure me out. “I know you,” he finally said. “I don’t know how I know you, but I do. That song you sang tonight? It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before and yet somehow…I know it.”

  “Which song?”

  Softly he sang the chorus to Promised Land and I was surprised, not only by the fact that he remembered the lyrics, but by the richness of his baritone. He had a beautiful voice and it reverberated in my chest like the bass of a subwoofer, taking my breath away. He leaned toward me and said, “How do I know this song? How do I know you?”

  He was standing so close I could smell him. I’d smelled his scent first on the jacket he placed around my shoulders by the pond; a mixture of leather, tobacco and sandalwood. It was a pleasing scent, a masculine scent. I breathed in deeply and then said, “I’ll tell you how you know me. But you won’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  I weighed what to say in my mind and then decided that there was no easy way to say it, so I just blurted it out. “Your name is Kyle Copeland and you’re from the future. So am I. You brought me here. Or your ghost did, anyway. I don’t know why. All I know is that we don’t belong here and we have to go back.”

  His face was only a couple inches from mine yet his features were cast in shadow making it impossible to read the expression in his eyes. After a few moments of silence, he chuckled.

  “I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Your claims are so outlandish, yet you speak with such conviction.” I caught the gleam of teeth as he smiled. “Surely you’re a changeling. First you’re a young scallywag who accosts me on the street.” He looked me up and down. “Then you’re Ophelia drowning yourself in a mountain pond.”

  My face flushed at the memory of him seeing me practically naked.

  “And to
night, you are a siren playing the heartstrings of every man in Bandit Creek.” He moved closer and his breath fanned my cheeks. “Tell me, Miss Sullivan.” His voice was soft and low with an undercurrent of something darker. “Who are you now?”

  My breath hitched in my throat as he took my chin and turned my face this way and that, studying me from every angle. “By the way you throw a punch, you certainly aren’t some damsel in distress.” He ran a thumb across my lips and my body shuddered in response. “The way you’re dressed-”

  “I’m just a woman,” I whispered against his thumb.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “A desirable woman.” His other arm circled my waist. “Tell me, Jo-Jo, or is it Joss? What is it that you want from me?”

  I swallowed and licked my lips. “I already told you,” I said breathlessly. “I want you to take me home.”

  Morgan’s eyelids grew heavy as he watched me wet my lips. Then I shut my eyes because he was going to kiss me and –holy Hannah – I was going to let him.

  “So this is what you want?” His lips barely touched my cheek.

  A moan slid from my throat.

  His mouth grazed my jaw. “You want me to take you home? You want to share my bed?” He trailed a finger down my throat until my head lolled back.

  Did I want that? It’d been a while since I’d been with a man and at the mere suggestion of sex, my body thrummed under Morgan’s touch. However, I barely knew the man and, despite the reaction of a restless body, I wasn’t about to sleep with him. The things he was doing to me right now, though? Whispering in my ear, caressing my jaw and neck – oh God – I did want those things. I wanted them very much.

  “What I want to know is,” he caressed the exposed flesh above my corset, “will it be worth it?”

  “Hmm?” All of my focus was on the movement of his hand and how I ached for him to move lower.