Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5)

by Caroline Fyffe

  Hey, Marlene, don’t you look purty tonight. Come on over and give me some sugar.

  “The Lings don’t know her history, but of course, Beth Fairington does, being she’s from Valley Springs as well. I’d prepare yourself that others are going to hear the story once the ol’ gossip starts nattering. Violet had her promise to keep quiet, but you know as well as I do that the temptation will be too great.”

  Jake nodded, not caring who else found out. He’d never tried to hide his history. A part of him wondered what his mother looked like now. The woman who’d been dead to him had just been resurrected.

  “I’ll go,” he said, looking Chase in the eyes. “Tonight.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  At a round table by the back door of the Bright Nugget, Hunter plopped into a chair next to Kendall, who was counting the money they’d taken in last night.

  The bartender turned to him, a look of annoyance in his eyes.

  “Just taking a short break.” To watch you count the earnings. He’d offered to do it—amid repairing the damaged tables and chairs, as well as patching the ceiling and walls of the dilapidated room upstairs—but this was one job Kendall wasn’t turning over. Today was the first time Kendall had brought out the ledger, and Hunter pulled the volume close. The columns were a mess. Black smudges marred the pages where Kendall had made mistakes and started over. One half of a column was completely crossed out. How Kendall kept anything straight was a mystery.

  “Give me that.” Kendall snatched the accounting book back to his side of the table.

  Hunter shrugged and picked up a deck of cards left over from last night. He shuffled and dealt out a hand of solitaire. Made four moves, counted through the deck. Once, twice, three times, moving cards to the top four places.

  Kendall organized the money in piles, counted it three or four times, and then, with head bent over the ledger, entered his sums. He pressed the pencil so hard Hunter expected the lead to snap.

  Finished, Kendall pushed back from the cigarette-burned tabletop, a good-sized grin splitting his face. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I’d say we’ll end even with what I did last October.” He ran his finger down a crumpled sheet of paper, one corner at the top burned away. He jotted down the amount, two hundred ninety dollars, next to the date. “Fall’s when business starts to dwindle. Weather gets nasty. Men stay home by their own stoves instead of venturing out.”

  “Just even? Shouldn’t we be making more? I thought the idea was to grow business every month.”

  The obvious hung over them like a dark cloud. The profits would be split between the two owners now that he had arrived.

  “Can’t always grow, Wade. Sometimes nights are slower than others. Wives get cranky and keep their men at home. Salooning is give and take.” He rubbed his belly and glanced to the woodstove where a pot of beans was heating, and then back at him. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

  The older man’s biting tone rankled, but Hunter shrugged it off. Kendall was getting tired of his many questions, and had said so on numerous occasions. He once again counted out his three cards, and then stilled. “Maybe, but I’ve been thinking.”

  Kendall scowled. With both hands, he scooped the coins and paper money into the cash bag to take down to the bank. They’d do that together. “You’re always thinking about something. What is it now?”

  “I know a pretty little singer in Soda Springs. Sounds like an angel.”

  Kendall swiveled and looked him in the eye. “Go on.”

  “Since the room upstairs will soon be repaired and livable, why don’t I send her a telegram? Maybe she’ll come to Logan Meadows.”

  “We got Philomena.”

  “Miss Dichelle’s not a working girl, she’s a performer. She draws a large crowd at Ned’s every Friday and Saturday night. Just like clockwork. She’s looking to be discovered. She may be the goose that lays our golden eggs.”

  A look of skepticism crossed Kendall’s face. “Women round here won’t like that. You know, their men going off to ogle another woman flaunting her wares, even if they can’t touch.”

  Hunter felt his eyes go wide. “When have the rules of a saloon been dictated by the female element of a town?”

  Kendall rubbed the black stubble on his chin, knocking off a few dried crumbs in the process. “You haven’t gone up against the likes of Mrs. Logan, Mrs. Donovan, Mrs. Hutton. Or the sheriff’s new wife, Mrs. Preston. They can be a handful, to say the least. If I keep a low profile, they pretty much leave me alone.”

  Suddenly, Kendall’s eyes grew as wide as a barn door.

  Hunter couldn’t stop his curiosity. “What?”

  “Or Miss Canterbury. She’s the worst of ’em all. Ever since she built that dollhouse out of a fairytale two doors down, my life has been a living hell. She won’t like more men crowding in, taking up hitching rail space, creating more manure that’ll bring more flies. She’s talked to the town council three times.” His hand dropped to the table like a stone. “I’ve even tried sweet-talking her. Nothin’ seems to work. Once that spinster gets a bone in her craw, there’s no yanking it out.”

  At the mention of Miss Canterbury—Miss Hoity-Toity as Hunter started thinking of her in light of Kendall’s comments—he couldn’t stop a grin of his own. He’d not call her a spinster—not just yet. She was a shrewd but pretty businesswoman. One that wasn’t frightened to speak her mind. One with a very good head on her perfectly straight shoulders. “That might be so,” Hunter said, all the while thinking out his plan. “But Dichelle Bastianelli would be worth the fight.”

  Kendall cocked his head. “What kind of a name is Bastianelli?”

  “Italian, my dear man. And she’s as pretty as she sounds.”

  Kendall’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She your girl? That won’t sit well with the men. There’s only so much you can keep under wraps. And a relationship ain’t one of ’em.”

  “Nope, she’s young enough to be my daughter. I may be coarse and a bit uneducated, but I’m no lecher. I’d be a liar, though, if I said I don’t appreciate her attention. We’re good friends is all. I like her singing and she likes my stories. If I ask nicely, she just might come. If that happens, you leave Miss Hoity-Toity to me.”

  Jake stood at the hitching rail of the Red Rooster Inn a good five minutes, stalling. Going inside was a double-edged sword. Once he opened the door to that woman, he’d not be able to close it again. But, he was curious and excited to find out about his pa.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he rapped on the thick wood.

  Violet opened the door, causing a rush of emotion. This was the person who’d raised him. Made him hot chocolate on Christmas day, washed behind his ears, scolded him for cussing. She’d stood him in the corner when needed, or switched his behind when he got out of hand. Her care and love were the only constant in his life.

  “Mrs. Hollyhock,” he said, feeling shy. He took his hat from his head and smiled.

  She searched his eyes, keeping the door closed enough to keep their meeting private from snooping glances.

  “Jake, boy,” she said for only his ears, her gravelly voice a soothing medicine to his heart.

  As was his habit, he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek.

  “I know this won’t be easy on ya, but I feel ya just might benefit. Iffin I didn’t think so, I’d’ve sent her packin’ just as soon as she stepped off that stage.”

  “Thanks for puttin’ her up.” He hated that his ma would inconvenience Mrs. Hollyhock. His mother was a thorn in his old friend’s side that just wouldn’t go away. Even after all these years. It wasn’t only a few times that he’d found Violet smoldering over something his ma had said or done. And now, here she was again . . .

  “Come in outta the chilly air.” She took his arm and pulled him inside. “May as well find out what this is all about. Things that don’t kill ya will make ya stronger.”

  Just inside the door, he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it and his hat alongside a few
others on the rack on the wall by the door.

  Feeling someone’s gaze, he turned. Standing in the alcove between the living room and kitchen was the woman he remembered. She was older. Thicker. More lines marked her face. But the eyes were the same. Blue as a field of bluebonnets, but missing the hot resentfulness. He’d been an inconvenience to her all those years. And perhaps, he still was.

  “Jake,” she uttered, blinking several times in quick succession. Her face, void of the rouge he remembered so vividly, changed to a deep ruddy pink. “Look at you! You’re a man!”

  He squelched the shiver her smoke-tainted voice produced. He pushed away the memories of her drunken rages, and quick hands eager to slap.

  Not wanting to call her Marlene or mother, he just nodded. He stepped toward her as stiff as a dummy set out to ward off the crows.

  “You look good. You’ve grown tall.” She reached out for a moment, but let her hand fall back to her side. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity to see you. I realize you could have said no.”

  What did she expect him to say? Even if he had any words, they’d not be able to get past the boulder wedged in his windpipe.

  At his silence, she turned and looked at the table set behind her. “Violet’s made all your favorites. Let’s eat before the meal gets cold, and then I’ll have answers for all your questions. Does that sound good?”

  Shocked that she’d asked, instead of demanded, he felt himself nod. It wasn’t going to matter what was on his plate. He doubted he’d be able to eat even a bite.

  The meal passed with barely a spoken word. When they were finished, Violet insisted they go into the living room and sit by the fire while she cleaned up. She’d sent Beth to stay over at Maude’s house tonight so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Jake felt five again, as he fiddled with a piece of string in his fingers, waiting for her to make the first move.

  “As you know, I got a letter from your father. He’s dying. He wants to see you if you’re willing.”

  He looked up into her eyes. “You said you didn’t know who my pa was.”

  The sounds of Mrs. Hollyhock banging around in the kitchen kept their conversation private. Any other time, Jake would have insisted on helping, but tonight he’d let her drag him into the living room, the wiry old woman adamant on doing the dishes herself. After they’d cleared the table, his mother had gone into her room, returning with the envelope she held in her hands. He’d not beg.

  “I knew. I knew very well.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? At least when I’d grown older?”

  “I had my reasons, Jake, ones I’ll not share with you. You can hate me if you want. I’m sure you already do.” She held the letter out to him.

  His name was right here in this letter. How many years had he pondered on who he was? He swallowed and took the missive. “I’ll just step outside.”

  Marlene nodded. “I’d do the same. I’ll be here when you have questions.”

  Jake retrieved his jacket, and picked up a lantern set on the small table by the door. He stepped outside and put the lantern on the wide porch rail. Drawing the note from the envelope, he opened the paper, thankful that Gabe had insisted on teaching him to read.

  Marlene, I hope you will indulge a dying fool. I’d like to meet the boy you claim is mine. If you still know where he is, ask him to come quickly. I have a longing to see if what you said is true before I die. I hope it is. You know where to send him.

  —James Costner

  Jake stared at the signature. So many emotions swirled inside he couldn’t make out one from the other.

  Costner. His name was Costner. Jake Costner, son of James Costner.

  The door creaked open.

  He looked around.

  “You all right, Jake boy?” Mrs. Hollyhock asked, her face looking fifty years older than when he’d arrived. “Yer ma said you was out here.”

  He held up the letter. “My pa’s name is James Costner.”

  She gave a wink. “Imagine that,” she said in a whispery-soft voice, one he remembered from the times she’d tenderly tucked him in.

  Exactly. Imagine that. The backs of his eyes pricked painfully, so he dropped his gaze to the flickering flame of the lantern.

  Costner.

  His mother knew where to go to meet his father. When his heart tried to soften toward the woman waiting inside, he purposely brought to mind how his fingers and toes had felt in the shivering cold every time she’d forgotten to fetch him into the saloon to the small area she’d arranged for him under the staircase. She’d not be let off the hook just because she offered up something that she should have done years ago. Not with how many times he’d begged her for the information. No one deserved absolution so quickly.

  “You going ta see yer pa?”

  He nodded, folded the missive, and put it back where it belonged. “Just as soon as I get a few things arranged. I can’t do anything until I speak with Daisy.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tabitha was a flurry of nerves. She’d spent all day yesterday preparing Storybook Lodge for tonight’s event, baking, and making sure the dress she intended to wear was perfectly ironed. She’d read and reread aloud chapters one and two of Great Expectations, going so far as to practice how she held the volume in her hands, how Pip would sound, at what part of the story she’d pause or add inflection, who she’d look at, and whose gaze she might avoid.

  Mr. Wade? Will he be interested in a public reading?

  Surely not. The wagon-train guide turned saloon owner had been the talk of the town since last week. Half the townsfolk backed Kendall, thinking the newcomer was stealing a man’s property right out from under his nose, while the other half understood that he was collecting on a debt owed him, but still gave him a wide berth because of his gun. The rumors of his background had some people scared. He’d yet to return for the book he’d said he was interested in acquiring, which disappointed her more than she wanted to admit.

  Stop thinking about him.

  She needed to forget about Mr. Wade altogether and concentrate on a performance that would bring everyone to their feet. This was her big chance. She had to make the night entertaining enough for the partakers to return next week for chapters three and four. And the week after that as well. And maybe even buy a book! Or two, or three . . .

  Susanna Preston stepped into the shop with a tray of cookies in her hands. Her friend’s shiny black hair was pulled back in a messy bun as if she’d fashioned it in haste. A clean, pressed apron was folded over one arm. She must be on her way to the restaurant.

  “Bless you!” Tabitha cried, rushing forward. “These will help immensely. I wish I knew how many people to expect. I certainly don’t want to run out of goodies and set the old men to grumbling on my very first night.” She lifted the tray to her nose. “These smell delicious. Pumpkin?”

  Susanna smiled and nodded. “Yes, Nate helped me bake them. That child is such a delight. I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  “Or Albert?”

  “Or Albert.” A shy twinkle danced around in Susanna’s eyes. “Especially Albert. I’ve married the most thoughtful man. He spends hours a day thinking of ways to make me happy. I had no idea married life would be like this.”

  Still a newlywed of only a couple of months, Susanna was living on cloud nine. Anyone with two eyes in their head could see her match with the sheriff was one of true love. Albert had been rambling around town with a smile on his face ever since they’d tied the knot. Heard tell he even went softer on the petty offenders now, which Tabitha found difficult to believe. He was a lawman through and through and wouldn’t let outside influence cloud his judgment.

  “I’m sure you keep him just as happy, Susanna. The three of you make a darling family.” Tabitha walked the cookies over to a shelf she’d cleared to hold the treats for tonight; she set them next to a cake Brenna had dropped by and a pie made by Hannah. Along with the three dozen walnut cookies she’d baked at five o’clock this morn
ing, she felt sure she had plenty of refreshments to serve at intermission. “Thank you so much for making these. I can now rest easy.”

  “You shouldn’t be nervous. We’re all your friends.” With her hands now free, Susanna picked up a cookbook, turned it over, and looked at the back. “By the way, Mr. Wade came in for supper again last night.” She glanced up at Tabitha and smiled. “I’d guess he’s about the same age as your aunt, wouldn’t you? I like him. I think he’s interesting.”

  Tabitha straightened. Mr. Wade and Aunt Roberta? That thought had never entered her mind. “I suppose he is,” she answered, not wanting her friend to know she found him not only interesting, but fascinating. “I still can’t believe he’s half owner of the Bright Nugget and has taken Albert’s old apartment. Living next door, he walks by my front window at least several times a day.” But hasn’t stopped in. “You’ve heard the rumors about his past.”

  “And that’s exactly what they are.”

  She shrugged. “I feel kind of duped that he came into town under a different pretense than he let on. He never said anything about the Bright Nugget.”

  Susanna gently closed the cookbook and set it back on the shelf. “Oh? What did he tell you when he arrived?”

  Tabitha thought on that for a moment, realizing that he really hadn’t said much of anything. She’d filled in the blanks on her own. “Well, I got the distinct impression that he was just passing through. Here to buy a few supplies and then would be gone.” She felt a bit silly for having brought up the subject in the first place. “Actually, I asked him just that, and he said he was camping in the meadow, which was a totally ambiguous answer if I do say so myself.”

  “I wouldn’t say that at all. I said I was camping, and I was.”

  Both Tabitha and Susanna swung around at the deep voice of the man standing in the open doorway. His hat was tipped back and perspiration ringed the armpits of his cotton shirt.

  “I’m not totally sure what ambiguous means, but I can tell you I wasn’t trying to mislead anyone! Not on purpose. Not by a long shot.”