Across from the bed, the wardrobe doors stood open, displaying her dresses—including the new fashionable cinnamon twill with leg-o’-mutton sleeves and a creamy lace jabot, a dress Papa had insisted she purchase for singing on the opera-house stage. She crossed to the wardrobe and fingered one sleeve, running her thumb over the braid trim that graced the wrist. She wished Papa could be in the audience the first time she performed in Goldtree.
Determined not to descend into melancholy, she turned her attention to her small selection of hats on the upper shelf of the wardrobe. She shifted the position of the velvet sage so it aligned perfectly with the ones sitting on either side of it. The straw hat with its ring of silk daisies had gotten squashed during its ride in the trunk, but Sadie had stuffed three rolled pairs of stockings into the crown in hopes that it would regain its former shape.
Snapping shut the wardrobe doors, she turned, and her gaze fell upon the small framed prints of each of her siblings that clustered on the corner of the writing table beneath the north window. Her supply of writing paper, pen, and an inkpot rested on the opposite corner, ready for her use. She pinched her lower lip between her teeth. She’d been so tired last night she hadn’t penned a letter to her family. But—she whisked a glance at the little brass clock on top of the bureau—lunch was still an hour away. She could do it now.
Humming, she seated herself, took up the pen and a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write. She filled the first page front and back with the details of her travels. On the second page, she shared her impressions of her new employers. She giggled a time or two as she related her first evening with the twins, finding humor in the way they’d insisted they help Sadie with her bath and then screeched instructions to one another over her head as if she weren’t there. She described her room, adding, It’s rather strange, having a room all to myself, but it’s kind of nice, too. No Effie shoes lying at the foot of the bed to trip me on my way to the outhouse. She smiled, imagining Effie’s indignant response to her statement.
Midway through the third page, footsteps alerted her to someone’s approach, and she braced herself for the—
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Setting the pen aside, she scurried to the door. One of the Miss Baxters stood in the hallway. “Sister said one of us’d check on you at dinnertime, so here I am.”
Sadie wished the woman would introduce herself. She supposed she could follow Sid’s lead and simply address each as Miss Baxter, but it would be nice to know who was who.
The woman fiddled with the strap of her full-fronted apron and peeked past Sadie. “Got yerself all settled?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed past Sadie and charged to the desk. Sadie followed her, watching as the woman touched each photograph, moving them from the careful positioning Sadie had created so she could see each face. “These your brothers an’ sisters?”
Sadie nodded, a lump filling her throat again. “Yes, ma’am. This is Effie, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.” She pointed to each by turn, her heart wrenching with longing to be with them in person.
“Fine-lookin’ youngsters.” Miss Baxter tapped the top edge of Luke’s frame with one spindly finger. “Neither me nor Sister married. Nor Asa. So there haven’t been young’uns in our family for a heap o’ years.” She sent a pooched-lip squint in Sadie’s direction. “Miss ’em?”
Sadie swallowed the lump. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
Unexpectedly, the woman threw her arm across Sadie’s shoulders and gave her several solid whacks. “Well, Sister an’ me’ll pray for you. Good Lord gives us comfort for any hurt, y’know.” Abruptly, she dropped her arm and marched to the door. “I’m fixin’ some lunch while Sister minds the store. Bean soup an’ biscuits fine with you?”
Sadie nodded.
“We mostly eat simple ’round here,” the woman said, folding her arms over her chest and staring sternly at Sadie as if daring her to complain.
“Simple is fine. May I help you?”
Miss Baxter shook her head. “Room an’ board come with your pay. That don’t include cookin’ or cleanin’.” She released a soft snort. “Leastways, no cleanin’ except in the store. So you just finish your letter over there—”
Sadie’s face filled with heat. Had Miss Baxter seen what she’d written about her first evening and the bath-assisting incident?
“—an’ I’ll holler when lunch is ready.” She stormed off with her arms pumping.
Sadie closed the door, relieved. Miss Baxter was far from shy—if she’d seen her name in print, she surely would have said something. But Sadie needed to finish the letter and get it posted. She sat back at the table and completed the letter, signing it with a series of Xs and Os, wishing she could bestow those hugs and kisses in person. She folded the pages and slipped them in an envelope, which she addressed in her flowing script. After lunch, she’d find the post office. And when Sid returned, she’d explore the whole town and sneak a peek inside the opera house.
Her heart fluttered. She hugged the letter to her chest. “I’ll make the most of my time here, Papa and Mama. I’ll make you proud of me—I promise.”
6
Thad stepped out of the café and released a satisfied sigh. Roscoe Hanaman had proclaimed Cora was a fine cook, and Thad couldn’t argue. Every meal so far at the homey little restaurant had pleased Thad’s taste buds and sufficiently filled his belly. He gave his midsection a contemplative pat. No difference yet, but he’d best watch himself. If he kept indulging in Miss Cora’s pies both noon and evening, he’d outgrow his britches.
At that moment, two men ambled out of the café, each grunting a little as they gave their waistbands a tug. Thad offered a nod of greeting, hiding his smile. They shuffled down the boardwalk, their swaying gait indicating discomfort. Thad chuckled. Yep, that pie would certainly add girth. But he couldn’t afford girth. It would slow him down, and a slowed-down lawman was a useless lawman.
Tugging the brim of his Stetson a titch lower on his forehead, he turned and began moseying up the boardwalk. He’d walk to the far end of Main Street and then come back on the other side—the midday routine he’d established to make himself seen and available. Over the past week, folks had gotten friendly, lifting their heads from work to wave as he passed by. Sometimes they even came out and chatted for a minute or two.
Their acceptance increased Thad’s confidence that he could be of service in the town. Of course, so far his services had been more on the handyman side, but he didn’t mind. Every time he lent a helping hand, he built relationships. If folks trusted him, they’d open up to him, which made it more likely he’d eventually stumble upon that liquor-making operation the mayor suspected operated somewhere in Goldtree.
Without warning, a voice blasted in Thad’s memory. “Thad? You best answer me, boy! Where’d you hide my bottle? When I find you, I’m gonna—” He winced.
“Afternoon, Sheriff.”
Thad gave a start, realizing two women stood on the boardwalk in front of him. He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ladies.”
They smiled and entered the mercantile. The women’s warm smiles and words of greeting erased the remaining vestiges of the unpleasant memory. Thank You, Lord. He started to move on, but a young woman shot out of the mercantile’s door. “Whoa, there!” he cried, taking a stumbling backward step to avoid being run over.
She came to a halt and slapped her hand over her mouth. Wide, blue eyes stared at him in horror beneath the brim of a lopsided straw hat all decorated with daisies. Despite the start he’d been given, Thad couldn’t hold back a laugh. When he’d met the young lady—she’d said her name was Sadie Wagner—after helping deliver her trunks last night, he’d viewed her as pretty but bashful. He wouldn’t have imagined her being bold enough to dash around like an angry cat released from a crate.
She dropped her hand and pressed it to the unadorned bodice of her yellow floral dress. “P-please excuse me, Sheriff. I didn’t see you.” She held up an envelope. “I wanted to post my letter before th
e mail coach arrives. Miss Baxter and . . . Miss Baxter said the coach generally arrives at the postal office by one-thirty, so . . .” Her voice faded away as if she’d run out of steam.
“No harm done.” Thad tried to keep his gaze on her face, but the little wisps of hair lifting in the spring-scented breeze and dancing across her shoulders distracted him. He’d never seen such yellow hair. It almost matched the centers on the hat’s daisies. With effort, he pulled his attention away from the delightful coils. “You being new in town, do you know where the postal office is located?”
“Miss Baxter and . . . and Miss Baxter . . .” Miss Wagner gave her head a shake and pinched her brow. “I feel as though I’m stuttering every time I say their names.”
“Then call ’em Miss Melva and Miss Shelva, the way I do,” Thad suggested.
Her brow remained set in a perturbed crease. “I would if I could fathom which was Melva and which was Shelva.” She sent a quick glance over her shoulder, then sighed. “They look so very much alike. . . .”
Thad smoothed his mustache, hoping she wouldn’t see his amused grin. Did she have any idea how charming she appeared in her misshapen hat with sunshine-colored strands of hair spiraling along her slender neck? “Yes, they do look alike.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. “But would you like to know how to tell them apart?”
She nodded, making the petals of the daisies flutter.
“They each have a mole at the outer corner of their mouths. But Miss Melva’s is on the left and Miss Shelva’s is on the right.”
Miss Wagner’s blue eyes lit. “Truly?”
Thad chuckled. “Yep. It’s how I tell them apart.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “ ’Course, looking at ’em face-on, you’ve got to reverse it, which takes a little thinking, but it’ll solve your wondering who’s who if you can remember it.”
“Why, I’d noticed the mole, of course—it’s quite obvious—but not the reverse locations.” She closed her eyes and tapped her upper lip, first on the right and then on the left, nodding to herself.
Thad watched, transfixed.
Her eyes popped open, and she gifted him with a beautiful smile. “Thank you! I won’t need to trip over ‘Miss Baxter and Miss Baxter’ anymore.”
“You’re welcome.” He needed to move on, but he didn’t want to leave her presence just yet. She was a pleasure to look upon. He stuck out his elbow. “Let me escort you over to the postal office. Then you can get back to work.”
She took his arm. He walked her across the street—slowly, prolonging the too-short journey. Her flowered skirts swirled, brushing his pant leg. He made no effort to distance himself.
“Thank you for your assistance, but I don’t need to go back to work. At least not today.” She had a lilting voice, musical in quality. “Miss Shelva and Miss Melva said I’ll start working tomorrow. Today I’m to get acquainted with the town.”
Thad’s heart gave a happy flip as an idea formed. “Well, then, how about this? You post your letter, and then you can join me on my rounds. I’ll point out everything I’ve discovered so far in Goldtree. In no time at all, you’ll feel right at home.”
Her face lifted to his, her expression surprised. “You have time to show me the town?”
He coughed to cover his chortle. Being new, she didn’t realize how little time it would take. “I have time, and it’ll be my pleasure.” He opened the screened door and gestured for her to enter the post office. “Post your letter. I’ll wait out here.”
Thad paced back and forth, peering up and down the street. He slipped his hands in his pockets. Pretended to admire the clouds. Nodded at male passersby and tipped his hat to the ladies. Whistled a tuneless melody. Dropped his gaze and tapped his toe on a knothole in one of the boardwalk’s planks.
A sweet trickle of laughter carried from inside the post office. Thad flicked a glance at the gingerbread-bedecked screen door. Jealousy tightened his chest. What had the postmaster said to make Miss Wagner laugh? And how long did it take to buy a two-cent stamp and affix it to an envelope, anyway?
Finally Miss Wagner emerged, empty-handed and smiling. “Mr. Rahn assigned me the use of a postal box—box number one forty-three. He’s a very kind man with a delightful sense of humor.”
Thad had met Mr. Rahn—at his meeting with the town council on his first evening in Goldtree. But the man hadn’t cracked a smile the whole evening, let alone said anything funny.
She released an airy sigh. “With my own postal box, I feel as though I’m truly a citizen of Goldtree.” For a moment, her smile dimmed, but then she clasped her hands together and aimed a sweet look in his direction. “I’m ready to see the town now.” She glanced around, seeming to drink in her surroundings. “It is a lovely day for a walk.”
The loveliest ever, Thad thought, but he kept the words inside. Had he ever felt so drawn to a woman?
Her gaze settled on him again. “Are you sure I’m not keeping you from your duties?”
“My only duty right now,” he said, offering his arm again and wishing he could think of something humorous to say so he’d be treated to her trickling laughter, “is to help you feel at ease in Goldtree. So come along, Miss Wagner.” He set a much slower pace than usual for his rounds. The white-painted Congregationalist church sat next to the post office, facing Main Street. Thad nodded toward it. “I attended there last Sunday. But I’ll go to one of the other churches day after tomorrow.”
“You didn’t enjoy the service?” Her hands linked lightly over the bend of his arm, her steps matching his perfectly.
“Oh no, I enjoyed it very much. Reverend Wise is a fine preacher. But I figure, as sheriff, I oughtta spread myself out a bit—be seen in all the churches.”
They turned west at the corner and headed for Washington Street. Miss Wagner asked, “How many churches are there in Goldtree?”
“Three. Congregationalist, Methodist, and Episcopalian.” He slowed his steps, pointing to a large, iron-fence-enclosed area that stretched over half a block behind the Congregationalist church. “But all three bury their dead in one common cemetery.”
Miss Wagner shivered, and her fingers tightened. “It’s nice, I suppose, that they don’t feel the need to separate themselves in death, but . . .” She sped her steps, and Thad had no choice but to follow suit. “Cemeteries are cheerless places to me.”
He heard the sadness in her voice, and he wished he’d chosen a different route. But it was too late now. He tucked her hand against his ribs and ushered her as quickly as possible past the large cemetery. Still, he couldn’t resist posing a question. “You do know, don’tcha, that a cemetery’s just a resting place for a person’s shell? That the soul’s not there?”
“Of course I do.” She sounded a bit tart, surprising him. She blinked several times, making him wonder if the sharp tone was meant to cover another emotion. “But the headstone is a reminder that the person is no longer here . . . on earth. And that makes me sad.”
Thad considered her reply. He’d never spent much time at his mother’s graveside, and he realized it was for the same reason she’d stated. They reached the far edge of the cemetery, and he deliberately slowed his steps until he drew her to a stop in front of the Episcopal church. She might consider him forward, seeing as how they’d just met, but curiosity overcame propriety. With a little jiggle of his elbow, he asked, “Who’s no longer with you?”
Miss Wagner ducked her head, showing him the lopsided top of her straw hat. “My father.” Her face lifted, both sadness and a strange defiance showing in her eyes. “I hardly knew him. He died when I was four. But I still miss him.”
“Why, sure you do.” Thad missed his mother, even though she’d died birthing him. He missed knowing how it felt to have a ma. But he didn’t miss Pa. He hoped God would forgive his dark thoughts, but he figured it was better to be honest than lie about it. His pa had never given Thad any reason to miss him. “Did your father know the Lord?” His gut twisted, knowing the answer where Pa was
concerned.
Miss Wagner nodded, the little daisies waving their petals in agreement. “Yes. Mama said he knew Jesus.”
“Then he’s in Heaven.” Thad tipped his head. “And will you be goin’ there one day, too?”
A soft smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Jesus is my Savior, so I’ll go to Heaven one day. And Mama says my father will be part of my welcome-home party.”
Thad imagined his mother waiting at the pearly gates for him. He liked the idea. Just as soon as he’d thanked his Savior for erasing all his sins, he’d get acquainted with her at last. “Well, you just think of your pa living joyous an’ at peace in Heaven instead of underneath an old gray tombstone, and it ought to perk you right up.” Her smile broadened, warming him even more than the sun beaming overhead. He put his feet in motion. “Let’s get goin’,” he suggested, “before the day gets away from us.”
He took her all the way to the edge of town, where the red schoolhouse with its bell tower marked the town line for Goldtree. School had let out the week before, and the place seemed lonely without children, so they didn’t linger. They worked their way south on Main Street, where Thad pointed out the feed and seed, the blacksmith shop, the bank, and the Methodist church—“The only church in town with a steeple,” she observed. They reached the corner where his office sat, butted up next to the druggist’s shop, and Thad paused.
“This here is my office.” He chuckled. “An’ my home.”
She cupped her hands and peered through the window. “You live here, too? It’s very small.” Dropping her hands, she faced him. “But I suppose, since you live alone, it’s adequate.”
Her comment, although empty of criticism, left Thad wishing he had a grand house instead of one small room at the back of a store. What woman would consider sharing such a cramped space? And just what was he doing, thinking about sharing the space anyway? He gave himself a shake. “Let’s see the rest of the town.”
Song of My Heart Page 5