Sid clenched his jaw. His eyes turned steely. “No, you can’t.”
Hope ignited in her chest. “So you’ll talk to him? You’ll fix things?”
“Don’t worry, Sadie.” Sid transferred the reins to one hand and placed his free hand over hers, which she clutched together in her lap. “I’ll fix things.”
Sid drew Hec and Rudy to a halt outside the barn. He wished he’d left Sadie in town, where she’d be safe from any fracas that might erupt between himself and his boss. Anger burned deep within his soul. He’d battled bullies for Sadie in the past, and even if Asa Baxter was his employer, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch the man right in the nose if everything Sadie said was true. How could Asa have allowed her to be mistreated? Paying her five dollars for a few hours of work didn’t earn him the right to let men abuse her.
He hopped down and held out his hands to Sadie. He assisted her to the ground, then pointed to a low bench tucked in the slanting shade of the tool shed. “Have a seat. I’ll find Asa an’ we’ll get this Tuesday night show figured out.”
“Thank you, Sid.”
The relief shining in her blue eyes refueled Sid’s determination to rescue her. “Don’t worry,” he said, offering a wobbly smile. “Everything’ll be all right.” He watched her scurry to the bench and seat herself. Then he lifted his hand in a wave and stalked into the barn. Even though Asa was a man of wealth, he seemed to spend more time in his barn than in his house. More often than not, Sid found him puttering around in the huge wooden structure when he returned the freight wagon after a delivery.
He entered the barn, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lack of sunlight. Asa had closed all the shutters, shrouding the building in deep shadow. Squinting through the murky gloom, Sid called out, “Asa? You in here?”
A scraping sound reached Sid’s ears, and he looked up to the loft. But no wisps of hay flitted down, alerting him to someone’s presence. The muffled scrrrape came again, and Sid looked around in confusion. “Asa?”
Like a badger emerging from a hole, Asa’s head popped up from the hay-strewn floor. “Sid, that you?”
Sid strode forward, his brow furrowed. Up close, he noted steps carved of dirt leading downward. A wooden door folded back against the barn wall. Asa came all the way up, his feet scuffing on the dirt and creating the noise Sid had heard. He pointed to the hole. “You got a cellar in the barn?”
Asa smacked the door into place and kicked hay over the planked wood, effectively hiding it from sight. Then, swishing his hands together, he faced Sid. “You’re back early. Everything go all right in Beloit?”
Sid shook his head as if to clear it. Was the man deaf? Or had he just chosen to ignore Sid’s question? Well, two could play the change-the-subject game. Planting his fists on his hips, he shot Asa a challenging look. “Sadie told me about the Tuesday night show. Said half the fellas who came were drunk. You the one supplyin’ ’em with liquor?”
To Sid’s aggravation, Asa released a chortle. He pushed past Sid, crossing to disappear behind a stall wall. “So what if I am?”
Sid followed. He watched Asa wrestle a canvas sheet over a stack of crates. “Liquor’s been outlawed in Kansas. You could get yourself in a heap o’ trouble sellin’ it. An’ you’re puttin’ Sadie in harm’s way, stickin’ her in a room with a bunch of liquored-up men bent on a good time.” When he considered what might have happened, indignation filled him. He marched forward and caught Asa’s shoulder, spinning the man around. “You can’t be expectin’ her to stand on that stage an’ entertain men who aren’t in full control o’ themselves.”
Asa’s beady eyes narrowed. He brushed his shoulder with pudgy fingers, as if removing Sid’s touch from the black broadcloth. “Gettin’ a mite pushy there, boy.” His voice held a warning note. “You might wanna remember you work for me. As does your cousin. An’ if you wanna get paid, you—an’ she—will do as you’re told.” He started for the center of the barn, but Sid stepped into his pathway.
“Ain’t right.” Sid forced the words past clenched teeth. “You can’t be—”
“Can’t?” Asa screeched louder than Sid had ever heard him. “You are tellin’ me I can’t run my business the way I see fit?” He threw back his head and laughed—a guttural sound.
“Yes,” Sid said, “an’ you best pay heed. ’Cause I won’t let you do anything that’d hurt Sadie.”
Still chuckling, Asa said, “That so? An’ just how you think you’re gonna stop me?”
Sid ground his teeth, battling the urge to plant his fist in Asa’s beefy face. Before he could form a reply, Asa chuckled again.
“Boy, you got nerve, I’ll say that for you. But you oughtta take a step back an’ do some deep thinkin’ before you say another word.” Folding his arms over his chest, Asa smirked at Sid. “Way I see it, we’re in this business together—you, me, an’ your sweet little cousin.”
Asa’s conniving tone sent chills up Sid’s spine. He frowned, his fists twitching. “How so?”
“Well, now, it’s true I been makin’ liquor. Beer an’ wine—quality brew, both of ’em. Folks’d be hard pressed to find anything better. An’ I got customers lined up from here to the borders of Nebraska an’ Oklahoma, just waitin’ to buy.” Asa propped his elbow on the top rail of the stall. “Those Tuesday night shows? They’re more for the men puttin’ their hands to a deck of cards or bettin’ on a roulette wheel than actually drinkin’.”
Gambling? Sid gaped at Asa, uncertain he’d heard correctly. The man was breaking the law in every direction!
Asa continued calmly. “ ’Course, havin’ the liquor in their bellies does seem to loosen their purse strings. So plyin’ ’em with drinks adds to my coffers quite nicely.”
Sid shook his head. “But why involve Sadie?”
Asa snorted. “Pretty little gal like her is as much a draw as the beer, my boy. An’ if somebody should come down the mercantile stairs, all they’ll see is a bunch of men enjoyin’ a special performance. She’s my distraction, so to speak.”
Sid quivered with the force of his fury. “Well, she ain’t gonna be your distraction anymore. She won’t be doin’ those Tuesday shows.”
Asa didn’t even blink. “Oh yes, she will.” He lowered his arm slowly, his knowing leer fixed on Sid’s face. “You know good as me how much she wants to sing. How much she needs to sing to provide for her poor widowed mama an’ all those fatherless tykes at home.” Asa tsked, shaking his head. “Why, what’ll her family do if she stops? Starve, most likely. She don’t want that on her head.”
Sid reached out and grabbed Asa’s coat front, wadding the fabric in his hands. Nose to nose with Asa, he growled, “She ain’t gonna sing on Tuesdays no more. An’ I’m gonna tell Sheriff McKane what you’re doin’ down in that singin’ room.”
“You watch yourself, boy.” Asa planted his hands on Sid’s chest and pushed. Sid stumbled backward, and Asa straightened his coat. “She is gonna sing, an’ that’s final.” Then he replaced his scowl with a knowing grin, folding his arms over his chest. “As for tattlin’ to our fine sheriff . . . you ain’t gonna do it. You’re in just as deep as I am.”
“Me? How so?”
“Makin’ an’ distributin’ liquor’s against the law, right? Well, I might be the one makin’ it, but you been the one distributin’ it.”
Sid’s heart kaboomed in his chest. “What?”
“Them crates you been takin’ to Abilene an’ Beloit? Wine. All wine.” Asa ambled toward the barn’s wide opening. “If you turn me in, I’ll just name you as my partner. You’ll go down as quick as me. An’ your dear little cousin’ll come tumblin’, too.”
Sid pounded after Asa and blocked him from leaving the barn. “The sheriff won’t believe I’m involved.”
“You don’t think so?” Asa stared at Sid as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Who brought Sadie to town to perform in the opera house? Who’s the one deliverin’ crates of liquor to men across the state? The sheriff’s gonna look at what y
ou’ve done an’ hang a guilty sign around your neck just as quick as a wink.” He shook his head, cackling. “Boy, you ain’t got a chance.”
Sid’s mind raced. As much as he hated to admit it, his actions could be read as helping Asa establish a gambling and drinking hall. He gritted his teeth, stifling a groan at his own ignorance. How could he have gotten Sadie into such a mess?
“Another thing . . .” Asa grabbed Sid’s arm and dragged him into the bowels of the barn, well away from the sunlight-splashed opening. “That sheriff’s gotten mighty snoopy. I think he might be spyin’ on Sadie. He tried to court her.”
Sid’s heart caught. What all had gone on while he was on the road, unknowingly delivering Asa’s home-brewed liquor?
“Havin’ her as his intended would sure make it easy to pry information out of her. Somethin’ needs to be done about that man afore he up an’ arrests the whole lot of us.”
Sid shook loose of Asa’s grip. “What’re you sayin’?”
“I’m sayin’ we’re all in danger of bein’ thrown in the clink. You an’ me bein’ men, we’d probably come out of it unscathed, but what about Sadie? Little gal like her—bein’ all shut up behind iron bars would just about kill her, I’d think. Like cagin’ a wild bird.”
Fear created a foul flavor on Sid’s tongue.
“You wanna protect your cousin, don’t you?” Asa’s wheedling tone took on a hint of desperation that matched the feeling constricting Sid’s chest. Sid nodded, and Asa flicked a glance over his shoulder, then advanced at Sid again. His hot breath touched Sid’s face as he said, “Only one way to make sure we all stay safe. Gotta get rid of that sheriff.”
30
Thad slid the crate holding his food stores from the shelf above his bed and peeked inside. A single can rolled around in the bottom of the crate. He plucked it out, grimaced, and threw it back in. No way could he make himself eat peaches right now. After jamming the crate into its spot on the shelf, he sank onto the lumpy mattress and let his head hang low.
The street was finally quiet. The echoing footsteps on the boardwalk—folks heading to the mercantile to attend the Friday night opera house performance—had nearly driven him to distraction earlier that evening. A part of him longed to join the townspeople, to listen to Sadie’s lilting voice bring the songs to life. He’d listened to other good singers in his lifetime, but not until Sadie had he heard the songs with his heart. She sang with her soul, not just her voice—a rare gift. And she’d squandered it on a bawdy tune. Then she’d spurned him.
Jolting to his feet, Thad stomped to the front window and looked out across the empty street. The lonely view became representative of the hole in the center of his being. Why had she turned him away? From their first moments together, he’d felt a kinship with Sadie. She made him laugh. Made him feel strong and important. She wanted the same things he wanted. Something had changed her, and Thad needed to know what. He needed to know, so he could understand.
Lord, let me understand, because until I understand, I can’t get her out of my heart.
In the meantime, he had a job to do. The mayor and the town council of Goldtree weren’t paying him to moon over Sadie. He’d best catch their bootlegger and bring the man to justice. His gun and holster hung on a peg in his living quarters. Thad retrieved them and fastened the wide leather belt around his hips, the weight of the pistol heavy against his thigh. The weight of responsibility lay just as heavily on his shoulders.
So far his daytime observations hadn’t turned up anyone traipsing out to the cave. Now he would watch the opening at night. He wouldn’t be needed in town, not with nearly everyone enjoying Sadie’s performance. Kimbrough had said he could borrow Thunder anytime, so he’d just saddle the horse, ride out, and camp at the cave. Maybe he’d finally catch whoever was responsible for those stills. And after he’d turned the perpetrator over to the mayor, he’d pack his bags and leave Goldtree. He didn’t know where he’d go, but somewhere. Away from Sadie and the frustration of her rejection.
He plopped his hat on his head, wrinkling his nose at the slight aroma of skunk caught in the hat’s fabric, and headed outside. He paused for a moment, angling his ear toward the mercantile. Sadie should be in the middle of her performance right now, but not a single note carried on the evening breeze. Asa had built those walls extra thick, making sure the sound stayed in the singing room. Nobody’d be able to steal a listen—you had to pay your fifty cents to enjoy the show.
His toes tried to inch in the direction of the mercantile, but he got firm with them and pointed his feet toward the livery stable instead. You got a job to do, McKane, just like Roscoe Hanaman’s always telling you. So get to it.
He saddled Thunder, then started to lift his foot to the stirrup. But he spotted a lantern hanging from a nail on a nearby upright post. He might need it. He grabbed it, slipped the wire handle over the saddle’s horn, and then climbed aboard. “Let’s go, Thunder.” Minutes later, he and Thunder had left the town behind.
Two days of blazing sunshine had dried out the road after Wednesday’s rain shower, but wagon wheels had sunk when the ground was wet, leaving deep ruts just wide enough to trap a horse’s hoof. Thad didn’t push the horse into a gallop—as much as he wanted to reach the cave before the sun slunk below the horizon, he wouldn’t act rashly and injure a borrowed horse. Besides, the leisurely ride with the sky streaked a soft peachy-pink and a breeze carrying the scent of refreshed earth and budding plants did him some good. He felt the tension of the past days melt away the farther he got from town.
Thunder released a few snorts as they neared the spot where they’d encountered the skunk, but Thad bounced his heels on the horse’s side and encouraged him to continue onward. He angled the animal off the road and through a break in the thick, scrubby trees and bushes. The brush slowed their passage, and Thad had to duck to avoid losing his hat to low-slung branches. His trousers got snagged more than once on prickly brush, but he pushed Thunder onward until he was only a few feet from the cave’s opening.
“Whoa there, boy.” Thad swung down and, after a quick perusal of the area, led Thunder behind a cluster of pin oak saplings. He tied the reins tightly to the trunk of one small tree, tested them to make sure they’d hold in case the horse got another start, then grabbed the lantern. He gave the animal’s neck a pat before moving stealthily toward the cave.
Outside the black yawning mouth, he paused and lit the lantern. He’d extinguish it once he’d found a good hiding spot inside, but he needed to see to get in. He used his bootheel to strike a match, and the warm glow of the lantern promised Thad a well-lit path. Holding the lantern well away from his body, he ducked inside the cave.
He stifled a sneeze at the dank odor that greeted his nose. He moved past the first chamber and entered the second one, which was the largest of the three. Raising the lantern, he turned slowly, examining every detail of the space. On his last visit, he’d taken note of a stack of empty crates on the far wall and dozens of waiting jugs surrounding the still. Now the floor was empty of jugs, and the crates had been rearranged—lined up along the wall, two high. He peeked inside one crate and let out a whistle. Six jugs nestled inside the crate, each sealed with a fat tan cork.
Setting the lantern aside, Thad hooked his finger in a jug’s handle and pulled it out. He squeaked the cork from the mouth and stuck his nose over the opening. The scent of a stout beer assaulted him. Crunching his face in distaste, he slapped the cork in place and examined the jug. Someone had glued on a paper label that proclaimed “High-Quality Molasses.” Thad snorted.
He returned the jug to the crate, then moved back into the opening chamber of the cave. He stepped past the quiet still, its coiling tubes cool to the touch, and focused on a hulking shape covered by a canvas in the farthest corner of the misshapen room. A peek under the heavy cover revealed a tower of empty crates. Crates intended to carry liquor to buyers. Liquor that would change men from docile to angry, from sensible to foolish, from men dedicated
to family to men bent only on satisfying self.
Hot anger filled Thad’s chest. It stung his pride to have this operation set up so close to the town where he served as lawman. He should batter the stills to bits. He snatched up one crate and held it over his head, ready to fling it at the still. His muscles straining to toss the crate with all his might, he paused. If he destroyed the stills, he wouldn’t have evidence to show to a judge. Besides, a verse in the seventh chapter of Ecclesiastes advised that patience is better than pride.
Slowly, he lowered the crate and put it back on the stack. Then he tucked the canvas over the pile just as he’d found it. Drawing in a calming breath, he slipped into the narrow gap between the tall stack of crates and the damp wall. He blew into the lantern’s globe, watching the flame flicker and die. Darkness surrounded him. He shivered as a feeling of aloneness fell over him. So many times as a boy, he’d huddled in his bed in a dark room, all alone, wishing his father would come home. And then, when Pa finally staggered into the room, he’d wished to be alone again.
He gave his head a shake, sending the memories far away. He wriggled into a more comfortable position. Black nothingness greeted his eyes. A muffled brrrip-bip, brrrip-bip—water droplets, probably from an underground stream—echoed from the deepest chamber. The wind whispered through the brush outside the cave’s opening. Gentle sounds. Comforting sounds.
Let him show, his thoughts begged, reminding him of his oft-murmured boyhood prayer. Let the bootlegger show, he amended. Closing his hand over the gun’s handle, he rested his head on the cold, smooth cave wall and sighed. He allowed his eyes to slide shut. Now he’d practice patience and wait.
Thad awakened with a jolt. His head bounced against something hard and immovable, and pain exploded in his temple. Rubbing his head, he opened his eyes and blinked into murky gray, disoriented. Where was he? Then the dank odor brought recognition. He stifled a groan as he realized he’d fallen asleep in the cave.
Song of My Heart Page 24