by Pamela Nowak
Still, fate was smiling on him. Donovan was a slick one, all right. He’d searched the logbook through and through and still couldn’t find the evidence Uncle Walter needed. She’d hid it that well. Her leaving for the school was the opening he needed to fix things up, help the evidence along. If she was so hell-bent on ruining his life, he figured it weren’t no sin to strike first. Not in his book.
Frank stood up, crossed the room, and peeked out at the ticket counter to make sure things were under control. Two old farts were waitin’ on the next train along with some old biddy in a lace bonnet. If none of ‘em died from old age, he reckoned they’d be all right a bit longer without his attention.
He rummaged around the small office, looking for the bag of peanuts he’d hidden day before yesterday.
The way he figured it, Sarah was fixing to ruin a whole lot of lives besides his. There was that undertaker. Sarah had been seen all over town with him. Not that such activities were bad in and of themselves, it was just that, well, they’d been seen doing things that were better done in private.
Frank found the peanuts behind the coal bucket, pulled out a handful and stuck one in his mouth. He paced the small room.
Now, from what he’d heard, Sarah and that undertaker were doin’ a whole lot more than just spooning. Folks, if you talked to the right folks, of course, were saying they’d been seen groping at each other right out there on the river on Sunday afternoon. And last night, they’d been drunk over at one of the beer halls, randy as all get out. And Lavinia herself had seen them half-naked in a butler’s pantry a couple months back.
Yessir, that little Sarah was nothin’ but a cockteaser, dragging a professional widower man down like that. ‘Course, most folks was too polite to talk about anything like that.
He spat the soggy peanut shell out onto the floor and stuck another one in his mouth.
Then, there were the telegrams he’d fished out of the waste barrel and Lavinia’s tip about old Jim Wilson, the stationmaster. Those wires just about proved Sarah was settin’ up illicit meetings. Offerin’ her wares to Wilson explained how she’d been hired on here in the first place and sure did account for Jim always speakin’ up on her behalf. All that was missing was the proof itself. Not that most folks would need any.
Just his Uncle Walter.
Frank fingered the logbook and thought about what Uncle Walter had said about the log entries reflecting only refusals on Sarah’s part. Hell, anybody with a lick of sense could have figured that out. She didn’t record anything that would give her away, and she’d told the boys on the other end to do the same. That’s why there weren’t no record of it.
He spat out a peanut shell and grinned.
Shit and hellfire. There weren’t no sense puttin’ it off, not when he had the perfect chance to protect himself. He was here covering her shift. Covering it without any official record he was doing so. There wasn’t an entry in the damn logbook under his name, not yet. It’d be her word against his. He’d go back, look up those nights she got the telegrams from her friends and ink a few things out, just to raise suspicions.
Just for good measure, he might send out a few more wires as Lark, like he did a few days ago. ‘Cept this time, he’d make the logbook entries under her name.
He guessed there’d be a record then, all right.
* * * * *
Sarah sat on her bed, a half-eaten box of fudge on her lap. Her cheeks were wet, her hands sticky, and her spirit sagging. Heavens, why couldn’t Daniel just let things be?
A quiet knock sounded on the door. “Sarah?” Elizabeth called. “Open up. I know you’re in there so there’s no sense pretending you’re not.”
Sarah sniffled. “I’m busy.”
“Busy, my foot,” Elizabeth said from the hallway. “I saw you storm out of Joslin’s. You open up this door and talk to me.” She paused, waiting, then continued. “I can always get a key from your landlady, but then she’d be in there, too.” Sarah sighed, knowing Elizabeth would make good on the threat. “Hold on.” She slid the candy onto the patchwork quilt and wiped her palms across her cheeks. She stood and crossed the room, turned the key, and opened the door just enough to talk. “What?”
“What? Isn’t that my question?” Elizabeth stared at her, frowning. “Gracious, girl, you don’t just march out of a store looking that way and not expect anyone to notice, do you? Get out of the way.” She pushed the door open and stepped forward.
Sarah took an inadvertent step back, then scowled.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Scowl all you want, dear. It doesn’t bother me.” She closed the door in one soft motion and shook her head. “Now, let’s sit down and eat some more of that chocolate you have smeared all over your face.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know you don’t. But you will.” Elizabeth crossed the room, tossed her wrap over the footboard, and plopped unto the bed.
Sarah followed behind. She tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and stood at the foot of the bed. “Look, I really don’t want to involve—”
“Sarah, I am your friend. I am involved.” She patted the bed. “Besides, Bill and I have been discussing you and Daniel all week. Did your little tiff today have anything to do with the kiss last night?”
Sarah shook her head. “No private life in Denver, I see.” She sat down beside her friend and reached for a chunk of fudge.
“Amazing how many people there are in public places. I figured Daniel would be the one fretting over this, not you.”
“Oh, twiddle. I couldn’t care less about being seen. I just …” she frowned, “I just don’t really care for the speculation.”
Elizabeth stopped chewing. “That’s unexpected from someone out to show the world who she is.”
“I don’t think anyone is talking about my accomplishments.” She pulled her legs onto the bed, tucking them under her skirt. Saying she was worried about what others thought wasn’t something she’d ever expected, either. Still, there it was. Folks were out there, talking about how foolish she was behaving.
Elizabeth considered the comment for a while, savoring a piece of candy. She glanced at Sarah and offered a benevolent smile. “So, you afraid the real Sarah is being exposed?”
Sarah’s skin prickled and she shifted on the bed. “I don’t really think we need to talk about—”
“How deeply do you hide yourself?”
Sarah glanced away. “I don’t hide.”
“Don’t you?” Elizabeth gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
Sarah turned and drew a deep breath. Daniel had said the same thing, and she’d shut him out, as if denying the truth would make it go away. Lord, how she hated feeling insecure. Yet, there it was. Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded. “Daniel said the same thing.”
“So you ran, sweetie?”
“I ran and I shoved a pound of chocolate fudge into my mouth and nothing got any better.”
“I figured as much.” She stroked Sarah’s arm and offered a quick hug. “Daniel hit a few nerves?”
“Hit them and then some.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, not really.”
Elizabeth pulled away and reached for more chocolate. She nibbled at it, then pinned her gaze on Sarah. “What was it Kate and Molly said the other night? Daniel must do things that aren’t stuffy and that stretch his code of conduct? Why?”
“Daniel hides behind his rules.” Sarah picked up a coconut bonbon and bit into it. “I think because he never made his own.”
“Makes sense, from what I know about him.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with delicate fingers, then turned to Sarah. “And what about you?”
Sarah swallowed. “Me?”
Her friend nodded. “Your challenge is to do things that are not related to causes, things that are simply fun?”
She shook her head and flopped back onto the bed. “Daniel says I use my causes so I can keep co
ntrol.”
“Is he right?”
Sarah stared at the ceiling, avoiding comment.
“Do you feel like you’re in control when you’re working toward some bigger cause?”
“Well, yes. Of course. I know what needs to be done, and I do it.”
“And nobody demands anything deeper of you, do they?”
She sat up. “Why would they?”
Elizabeth ignored the question. “You know what to do and how to act and even how to feel about causes, almost like your role is scripted. No one ever sees you might be afraid underneath?”
“I’m not afraid.” Sarah slid forward, slipping off the bed, and crossed to the dresser. From the pitcher in the washbasin, she poured a half glass of water.
From the bed, Elizabeth spoke softly. “You’re not afraid as long as you stick with the script, stay in control.”
Sarah’s hand stopped. When was the last time she’d allowed anyone to see how frightened she was underneath her composure? So long ago that she didn’t even see her fear herself anymore, it was so deeply hidden. She set the glass down. Daniel was right.
Elizabeth continued speaking. “And when you’re in an uncomfortable position? Ice skating, perhaps?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m horrid at it. I can’t do it.” She spoke into the mirror.
“And someone might see you be less than successful?”
She nodded.
Elizabeth rose from the bed and crossed to the dresser. She stood behind Sarah and hugged her shoulders. “And why is that such a bad thing, sweetie? What happens if someone sees the real Sarah? Is it necessarily a catastrophe?” She smiled and caught Sarah’s gaze in the mirror. “Honey, what happens if they don’t get the chance to see what’s inside?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice sounded small, distant.
Elizabeth smiled, hugged her again, and kissed her chocolate-covered cheek. “Well, I think I’ve poked and prodded more than my fair share here. I’m going to leave you to your chocolate and let you sort some things out.” She reached for her cloak, then crossed the room. At the door, she paused and turned to Sarah. “Being vulnerable takes a great deal of courage, sweetie, but it can be extremely satisfying. Just imagine what you’re missing.”
* * * * *
That evening, inside the Odd Fellows Hall, Sarah lit the last of the kerosene lamps she’d borrowed for footlights, fastened on a polished tin circle to reflect the light, and set the lamp on the edge of the stage with the others. The mingled voices of the children, sounding from backstage, created a comforting din, a vast improvement over the eerie quiet of her room at the boarding house where she’d spent the last several hours in miserable self-reflection.
Her head ached and her stomach was woozy from nervousness and too much chocolate.
She glanced around the makeshift auditorium. The chairs were arranged in tidy rows, and Miss Clay’s splendid dessert table beckoned from the back of the room. She groaned and clutched her abdomen, hoping she wouldn’t throw up.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and nodded to the little boy sitting next to the door. “We’re ready, Jimmy. Tell the stage manager we’re opening the house, then unlock the door.”
She slipped backstage for a last check, even though she knew it was unnecessary. Still, doing so gave her an excuse to avoid the crowd for a bit longer. And a little more time to wallow in her self-pity, perhaps?
Heaven help her, she was a complete idiot. She’d walked out on Daniel not once but twice. And what had he done, after all, except to think about his wife and point out a few truths? If he was as confused as she was at that beer hall, who could blame him for not being sure about that kiss. And as for this afternoon, well, Elizabeth’s gentle guidance and four hours of eating chocolate and mulling over his words had left only one truth at the bottom of it all. She was afraid of failing, of being completely herself. Failing hurt.
She was more than a bit chagrined that she’d spent so much time and energy avoiding that truth. Perhaps, there’d just been no point to confronting her fears before, no reason to think about it, and no reason to be anything other than the person she pretended to be. But avoiding everything uncertain in life, things like having fun and caring about others, didn’t make much sense either, and the thought of not having Daniel in her life was as painful as the possibility of failure.
She’d talk to Daniel, tell him she was sorry, and maybe they could talk about everything. Like he’d wanted her to this afternoon.
She passed a backstage mirror and grimaced. She looked wretched. It startled her that she cared one way or another. Or was it just that she’d never admitted it before?
“Miss Donovan?”
“Over here, Jimmy.”
“The place is crowding up fast and there’s a fancy lady out there wanting to talk with you.”
“Tell her I’ll be right out.”
Jimmy disappeared around the stage and Sarah gave a last look around. There was Molly, still running lines with one of the actors. Other prompters were doing the same, while a few of the children with major roles had isolated themselves into solitary corners, concentration filling their young faces. At the far end of the room, Kate paced, her lower lip between her teeth. There was nothing more Sarah needed to do, nothing she could do. It was their show, now.
She stepped around the stage and stopped. The hall was full. For a moment, she thought the whole town of Denver had turned out for the show. Her stomach knotted again.
“Miss Donovan?”
She turned. “Yes?”
An elegant young woman with striking black hair coifed high above her finely chiseled face, smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Amelie Parsons. I serve on the speakers committee for the Denver Suffrage Association.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, I think I recall Elizabeth Byers mentioning your name.”
“I’m terribly sorry to disrupt you at such a time.”
“Actually, distraction is good right now.”
“The Association would like you to speak at the rally next week, about your experiences as a female telegrapher.”
“Me?” Sarah knit her eyebrows together. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m a bit surprised. I’m not on particularly good terms with your president.”
Amelie Parsons crossed her arms and extended a knowing smile. “Still, the committee feels you’d be a tremendous asset to the orators.”
Sarah’s thoughts flew to Lavinia’s bitter threat. “Miss Morgan had no problem with this?”
“She said she had confidence in our selections. Please, Miss Donovan. There aren’t many women willing to take such risks, or even that many who pursue a career. Whatever the differences between you and Miss Morgan, it doesn’t diminish your example, and the committee felt it important to include you. It would be one small speech, next Saturday.”
“There were issues about gossip, some fears that the movement itself might be hurt by my involvement.”
“Sarah, look. We’re not asking you to take leadership, just to speak. Besides, more than half the women in the movement have been the target of gossip at some point or another, some of us more than others. What do you say?”
One speech, at the invitation of the association, hardly seemed enough to threaten Lavinia. It would be such a chance to share her accomplishments. Sarah closed her eyes and reminded herself to avoid haste, then smiled at Amelie. “I’d like to, but … could you give me until after the performance to commit?”
Amelie nodded and slid into one of the few remaining chairs.
Sarah scanned the room, seeking Daniel’s trim figure, and finally found him with the Byerses. His brown serge suit was all business, but her memories of his solid biceps, hidden under the fabric, brought a smile to her heart. She stepped forward, negotiating the crowd.
The sharp clang of a handbell rang through the room. Miss Clay stepped onto the stage and beamed at the audience.
Sarah groaned, realizing it was time, and turned toward the stage to join Miss Clay, as they’d rehearsed.
Daniel watched Sarah make her way to the front of the room. She looked tired, though he realized few other people would notice it. Puffy circles surrounded her eyes, and her forehead was knitted with worry lines. Her skin was paler than usual.
He wondered if her pallor was due to nerves or if she’d had a wretched afternoon, too.
He’d returned home and spent the day working on a coffin, sanding out his anger and remorse on a piece of cedar. The woman was so stubborn that she couldn’t see what was right in front of her. She had no problem hounding him, but she resisted like a wild animal when forced to look into herself.
Oh, it didn’t really matter whether she realized she was burying her beauty because she was afraid she wouldn’t be noticed for anything else. And it didn’t really matter if she wanted to take on every cause in the world. What really bothered him was that she was pushing him away.
Dammit, did she think it was easy for him to challenge his conventions, to let his heart out of the box he’d kept it in for so many years?
He sighed. Applause echoed through the audience and he realized he’d missed the introduction.
The curtain opened to reveal Kate and her classmates clustered around a makeshift fireplace, discussing Christmas and their lives as the March sisters. Within moments, he was stricken by his daughter’s self-confident defiance. In Kate’s performance, he saw the Kate she’d never revealed, but somehow she had always been.
The play unfolded with Jo’s constant questioning of life. Although Sarah had warned him, he hadn’t expected deeper meanings to emerge. Jo’s rebelliousness faded into the spirit of self-reliance that Sarah had told him about, the same confidence that Kate herself was beginning to display in her own behaviors.
He’d been wrong about so many things.
It wasn’t exactly a comfortable thought. He shifted in his chair and watched his Kate, the independent Jo, express her love to the young boy playing Professor Bhaer.
The play ended in rousing applause, which evolved into a standing ovation. Daniel leapt up with the others, pride surging through him like a wave. His eyes found Kate and caught her gaze. He blew her a kiss and her smile filled her face.