“Well…” Her pause was long as she mentally crossed her fingers. “I was thinking. Maybe when they send a man to tune it, I could talk Jake into being there. I’d really like for both of us to be there for that, if they’ll let us in.”
“They hafta have a special fella to tune the thing?” Cord’s frown doubted the notion.
“Hauling it all the way from New York, it’ll be out of tune for sure.” She chewed at her lip for a moment and then turned her head, meeting Cord’s gaze. “I was thinking that maybe, as long as the tuner was here, we could ask him to come out to the ranch and work on the one in the parlor. It’s been a long time since it was set to rights, Cord. The top two octaves and most of the bottom one are way off.”
He shrugged. “Sounds pretty good to me.”
“Well, if it costs a lot, I could pay the fee,” she said, her cheeks warming with the boldness of her request.
“If you want it tuned, we’ll see to it,” he told her.
“I mean it, Cord. I wouldn’t mind paying the fee.”
He shot her an impatient glance. “I pay for whatever you need, Rachel. You just keep your money tied up in a hankie in your drawer. You might need it for something important someday.”
She thought of the meager hoard she’d gained by working for him before their wedding. He’d only allowed her to spend a small amount at the store. The rest she’d squirreled away, a nest egg for the future.
“You seem to buy me everything I need, Cord. Even things I could do without, sometimes.”
“When you run my bank account dry I’ll let you know, ma’am.” He leaned closer, his glance darting from one side of the platform to the other as he bent over her.
“So far, you’ve been worth the investment,” he whispered. His head dipped and he snatched a kiss, his mouth full against her lips.
It was quick, but potent. A meeting and melding of their flesh that brought high color to her cheeks once more. His eyes flashed with humor, tinged by a dark flavor of desire as he straightened, moving to stand before her.
“No one’s watching, honey. I checked first.” He brushed at her cheek, a gentle caress that only served to heighten her blush.
“You’re a rascal, Cord McPherson,” she told him sharply, casting her own glances past him. “You’ll make me the talk of the town.”
He shook his head and turned, offering his arm. “Naw, you did that the night of the dance. I’d warrant they were takin’ bets down at the barber shop, tryin’ to figure how long it would take for me to get a ring on your finger.”
“Cord!” She was agape at his words.
He shrugged. “True as the good book, honey. Conrad did me a favor with his braggin’ about you and him gettin’ married. It just pushed things along a little, and I ended up with the prize.”
He tugged her along the dusty road, heading for the emporium where his wagon waited. His smile teased her and his hand held hers with a possessive grip. She stepped quicker, matching her pace to his, aware of watching eyes and envious glances.
“Are we leaving now?”
He nodded. “We’ll give the boys a few more minutes and then head for home. Unless there’s someone over at the theater building we can talk to about the piano tuning.”
“I doubt anyone will know anything until the instrument gets here,” she told him, peering toward the other end of town where the rough lumber structure towered over the other buildings.
“They’re havin’ a paintin’ bee come Saturday,” Cord said. “Everybody and his brother is comin’ to town. I heard tell the New York people bought three steers from Howie Peters to roast out beyond the theater. They’re sendin’ a chef from St. Louis and eight bushel of potatoes to bake in the coals.”
Rachel grabbed his arm in both hands and stood stockstill on the wooden sidewalk. “That’s the best news yet, and you waited till now to tell me?”
He grinned. “I knew we’d be coming. Wasn’t any big thing, I figured. All the women are s’posed to bring a covered dish or pie or something.”
Rachel felt like dancing in the street. A picnic for the whole countryside, right in the middle of town.
“Cord? Do you think…”
His hand was gentle as he spread his fingers over her lips, and he shook his head, as if he read her mind. “Don’t count on it, sweetheart. He’s not about to let the whole county see him in that chair.”
A bubble of frustration built within her, and Rachel’s mouth tightened lest it burst forth in a spurt of anger.
Maybe it was about time everyone quit mollycoddling Jake.
Chapter Fifteen
“I don’t see why you think I need to be included in your picnic plans, Rachel.” Jake’s jaw was set, his eyes hard with restrained anger as he faced the young woman in the doorway.
The wheels of his chair were spun with abrupt movements of his agile hands as he neared her. “Just leave me alone, and go about your party planning.”
To her credit, Rachel held her position, aware that Jake’s maneuvering would not endanger her one mite. He could sashay that chair all over the place, but not for one second did she fear he would bruise her with its wheels or frame.
“Cord wants the whole family to attend. It’s the biggest thing that’s ever happened to Green Rapids, Jake. The theater is already causing folks to rally round, getting involved with the building of it. Everyone’s excited about the cast of the first production coming to town next month.”
“Everyone does not include me, Rachel.” He turned from her, his words ringing with a finality she could not dispute.
And yet she must give it one more try. “Jay and Henry want you to come along,” she said quietly.
He turned his head to glare at her over his shoulder. “Don’t turn your brothers loose on me. I’m not fond of children, and there’s no point in drawing them into this discussion.”
“Did you ever think that they might be fond of you?”
“They barely know me.” His hand lifted in a gesture of dismissal. “Forget it, Rachel.”
“I told you he wouldn’t go.” The words were a barely audible whisper from the hallway, but Jake’s shoulders hunched as his sensitive hearing came into play.
“I don’t think he likes us.” It was a solemn statement, one that would brook no discussion, and even in the youthful tones of a child, it held a sadness that was unmistakable.
Rachel winced at the dejected tone of Jay’s voice. She turned to where the two boys waited in the hall, unseen from the library. Her mouth opened to speak, her mind searching for words that would heal the hurt of rejection.
“Wait…hold on.” Behind her, Jake’s harshly spoken command silenced her and she bit at her lip, awaiting his approach.
The wheels on his chair turned slowly as he neared the doorway. “Jay…Henry…come here for a moment.” His hand lifted, bidding them near, and after a quick look at their sister, they obeyed.
“Yessir?” Henry’s response was quick. Beside him, Jay watched hopefully.
“Why do you want me to go on this picnic with you?” His hands rigid on the wheels, Jake leaned forward in his chair.
“Rachel said you were our uncle now, and we never had an uncle before.” Jay’s thin voice spoke with solemn fervor. “We didn’t have no family when we came here, Mr. Jake. Now we got you and Cord and even Rena.”
“He don’t have to go if he don’t want to, Jay,” Henry put in, his arm circling his younger brother’s shoulder in a protective gesture.
Jake’s gaze flickered over the older boy, but his attention focused on Jay. “If you want me to be your uncle, you’d better learn how to say the words, young man. Try it on for size, why don’t you. Uncle Jake.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to infringe when I told the boys…”
The imperious wave of his hand halted her explanation. “It’s a shirttail relationship, but it’ll do.”
“Will you really be our uncle…Uncle Jake?” Jay asked.
“I’ve never been an
uncle before. I’m not sure I know how,” Jake said gruffly.
He was a good man. Beneath the bluster and the frowns, Jake McPherson had a kind heart, and never was Rachel more pleased to see evidence of it than right this minute.
“You just hafta do stuff with the family, I guess,” Henry said, breaking his silence.
“Like going on a picnic.” Less a question than a statement of fact, Jake’s voice intoned the words.
“Yeah.” Henry uttered the word of agreement and then met Jake’s gaze with a sober look. “I told Rachel you probably wouldn’t go.”
“This was Rachel’s idea?” Jake asked, slanting a look in her direction.
“No, it was mine,” Jay piped up. “It’s gonna be fun—and I told Rae you don’t ever have any fun—and I wanted you to go along.”
“Oh, I have fun every once in a while,” Jake told them agreeably. “Just getting your sister riled up provides me with a lot of enjoyment.”
“She gets mad at us when we do that,” Henry said.
“Yeah, me too.” Jake’s smile was rare and its effect on the two boys was immediate.
Dissolving in giggles, Jay punched Henry on the arm. “He was just funnin’ us. He really wants to go along, Henry. He was just gettin’ at Rachel, makin’ her mad.”
“Jake?” She spoke his name, the warning implicit.
“I’ll go along.” His glance in her direction held an element of pain. That being viewed by the whole community would be difficult for him was an understatement, she knew. Yet, to please two small boys, he was willing to face curious eyes and expose himself to their scrutiny.
The wagon bed was full to overflowing. Jake’s chair, surrounded by picnic baskets and a low bench for Lorena to perch on took up the front half of the bed. The back portion was piled with planks to make up tables for serving food, and a washtub filled with watermelons sent along by Mr. Claypool, his wagon already being overloaded.
Cord and Rachel sat on the seat, his new shirt still bearing pressing marks from the iron she’d wielded early this morning. “I don’t want you painting in this shirt,” she told him for the second time.
“I brought along an old one.” His smile was warm as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “I don’t know how you did it, honey.”
She reached up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering to thread through the heavy strands. “I didn’t. The boys did.”
A huge maple tree spread its branches widely just beyond the area where the painters assembled to receive their directions. There, beneath the shade that would remain constant throughout the day, Rachel spread quilts and deposited their belongings.
Jake’s chair was rolled to sit next to the enormous trunk and he shifted himself to the ground, where Lorena had arranged a thick padding of quilts for him to sit on. He leaned back against the tree trunk, his chair moved aside.
It was a vantage point for the whole proceedings and he held court there throughout the day. Townsfolk approached, at first with a diffident air, then as the parade of well-wishers continued, they became more friendly.
Those who had been at Cord’s wedding passed the time of day recalling that event. Others came by to be introduced, or to renew old acquaintance, some recalling the days of Jake’s youth in the town of Green Rapids.
The new theater was the topic of conversation, the men working on the high walls with scaffolding and paintbrushes. By late afternoon, the job was done. Rising tall at one end of town, the building gleamed in the sunlight with a double coat of white paint. An air of camaraderie embraced the workers and their families. Among them, three men from New York City supervised the enormous task of feeding the crowd. With jovial goodwill, they wholeheartedly joined in the celebration.
The piano had arrived on Friday, and just before sundown it was rolled on a makeshift platform to the door of the building to be seen by the assembled townsfolk.
“We have a young lady here who I understand is quite a gifted musician,” Cecil Hampton bellowed from his post next to the instrument. Shielding his eyes from the rays of the setting sun, he searched the crowd before him. And then he waved vigorously, catching sight of Rachel beneath the tree.
“Mrs. McPherson! Come on over here and give us a small rendition. Just so’s we can see if this here piano is fit for our fine building.” His wide smile belied the words he spoke, one hand caressing the gleaming surface of the instrument.
“Me?” Rachel almost choked on the word, her eyes meeting Cord’s with a frantic plea in their depths.
He urged her with a firm hand on her back. “Go on, honey. Play that song I like so well. The one we waltzed to that night at the dance…Blue something or other.”
“‘The Blue Danube,’ he means,” Jake said with a trace of humor. Seated once more in his chair, he shook his head, as if mortified by his brother’s ignorance, and Cord responded with a quick swat against Jake’s shoulder.
Jake nodded at Rachel. “Go on, sister-in-law. I heard you playing it just the other day.”
“In front of all these people?” She was flushed with excitement, trembling with the fear of performing before so many eyes.
“For me?” Cord asked quietly, his hands holding her in a grip that granted her the strength of his confidence in her.
She played, and played well. The enthusiastic crowd surrounded her and she responded to their encouragement. The waltz was followed by another, then a voice called for a tender, romantic ballad. It was one she was familiar with and she chorded it nicely.
The darkness surrounded them before the men pushed the piano back inside the building, torches lighting their way to the doorway. Buggies and wagons rolled down the main street and headed in four directions from town, their occupants weary but filled with good food and memories of the day.
“You all right?” Cord asked quietly as Rachel snuggled next to him on the wide seat of the wagon.
“Did you know they were going to ask me to play?” she asked, peering up at him in the starlight.
“Cecil asked me if I thought you would.”
Her sigh was one of happiness. “It was fun, wasn’t it? Not just the music, but the whole day.”
“Thank you, Rae.” His mouth touched her ear as he said the words. “I never thought I’d see such a thing come to pass.”
“Jake?” she asked, the single word barely uttered.
He nodded.
The piano tuner was a blind man. Past middle age, accompanied by a male companion, he was not an imposing figure. Rachel stood at the back of the theater, the scent of fresh paint in her nostrils, and watched as the stooped frame of David Solomon crossed the stage.
The young man with him guided him toward the new piano, bending to speak in low tones as they walked from the wings. His voice carried to where Rachel watched from the shadows, and she smiled with benign pride at his remarks.
“Looks pretty spiffy, Mr. Solomon. Walls are all painted already and the curtain’s hung.”
“I have a nose to smell with,” the older man said, his voice sharp with impatience. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
They reached the piano and any reticence the piano tuner had heretofore displayed disappeared, once his hands touched the wooden surface of the upright model. He eased his way to the keyboard, lifting the lid with reverent hands, then positioning the bench.
As if he knew his presence was no longer required, the younger man stepped back, searching the stage with a sweeping glance. A chair, far to the left, caught his eye and he stepped quickly to move it closer to the piano.
“Go on! Take care of the hotel and the bags,” David Solomon told him with an impatient wave of his hand. “I have work to do.”
Rachel smiled in private amusement at the imperious directions. The piano tuner back home had been such a man, a gifted pianist in his own right, but without the funds for a career. To her childish notions, he had been fit for the concert stage. She’d been abashed at her father’s opinion of the man’s talent.
Second-rate, he’d said.
David Solomon’s long fingers spread to cover three octaves and a little more, the tones almost liquid in their purity. And then he moved up the keyboard and Rachel heard the disparity in sound. The trip from New York City, no matter how delicately the crate had been handled, had disturbed the stretch of the strings.
Rachel moved from the back wall, her feet silent on the carpet runner that had been laid only yesterday on the center aisle of the theater. Smaller than those she’d attended in the city, yet splendid when seen through the eyes of Green Rapids, the structure held seating for more than two hundred.
She’d reached the center of the building when David Solomon lifted his head, tilting it to one side. His hands hovered over the keyboard and he turned on the piano bench toward where Rachel stood, frozen in place.
“Who’s there?” His voice was curt. “Horace? I thought I sent you to see to things.”
Rachel moved forward, no longer attempting to muffle her steps. “Mr. Solomon? It’s not Horace. My name is Rachel McPherson.”
“I asked that this building be empty,” he said abruptly. “What do you want, young woman?”
She walked quickly to where a set of steps gave access to the stage at the far left, holding her skirts high to climb. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir,” she said, her words wispy as she caught her breath.
His sigh was one of patience stretched to its limit. “I have work to do here, and you have disturbed me already.”
His small bag of tools lay beside him on the bench and he placed a protective hand on the black leather satchel as she neared.
“I only wanted to watch and listen as you worked,” Rachel said quickly. And then her innate honesty compelled her to continue. “Actually, I also wanted to beg a favor of you.”
His brow furrowed and his heavily lidded eyes opened a bit. “I can do nothing for you, young lady. I have other places to travel to when I leave here, eight pianos to tune in the next three weeks.”
“I…rather, my family, has a piano that needs your skills, sir.” She spoke humbly, aware that she might not gain access to another man of David Solomon’s talent for more years than she wanted to count.
The Wedding Promise Page 20