Wild Dream

by Duncan, Alice

  “Oh, Mister! Thank you!”

  Charley could hardly believe his ears. Thank you? Ripping his hat from his head, he murmured, “It was nothing, ma’am.”

  “Nothing? Why, you saved my baby’s life!” She began to sob, clutching her child convulsively while the little girl wriggled. “You saved her life!”

  “Mrs. Chavez.”

  The woman and Charley turned to see who was speaking. The voice was unfamiliar to Charley. When he saw a priest walking towards them, he hoped he and the band wouldn’t get a lecture about improper use of church property.

  “Oh, Father Bernardo, this man saved my baby’s life!”

  Shoot. Charley shrugged uncomfortably. “It was really nothing, ma’am. I just picked her up so she wouldn’t fall in the crick.”

  She whirled around. “You ran over and saved her. I saw you! You’re a hero. You saved her life.”

  Charley glanced at the heavens. He was no more comfortable being thought a hero than a crook.

  “That was a fine thing to do, senor” The priest held out a hand and Charley shook it.

  “It was nothing,” he mumbled again, although he guessed it wouldn’t do any more good this time than it had before.

  “My name is Father Bernardo, Mister. This is my church. I was enjoying listening to you play. It’s not often I get to pray to the strains of beautiful music.”

  “Thank you, Father Bernardo. My name is Charley Wilde, and this is the America City, Georgia, Brass Band.”

  The priest had the kindest eyes Charley’d ever seen.

  “You’re a long way from Georgia, Mr. Wilde.”

  “I reckon we are at that, Father,” Charley said with a sigh.

  The woman grabbed Charley’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Mr. Wilde. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome ma’am.” Charley was glad as all get-out when she let his hand go. He felt like hiding it behind his back in case the priest got any ideas.

  The woman still hugged her squiggling daughter when she walked away.

  “You know, Mr. Wilde, I don’t know how long you plan to stay in town, but I think I can offer your band a job, if you’re willing to take it,” the priest said.

  “A job?”

  “Si. A job of playing music.”

  “Really?”

  Apparently the rest of the band had been listening, because suddenly Charley found himself surrounded by a gaggle of eager musicians.

  “A job playin’?” Harlan Lewis said breathlessly.

  “Hot damn,” said George Alden. Charley looked at him reprovingly, and George blushed.

  Father Bernardo only laughed. “The Catholic church in Rothwell celebrates this season of renewal each year with our annual Fiesta. We’ve never had more than one or two musicians play for us before, but it would be a wonderful addition to the festivities if you could find it in your hearts to play for the celebration. We couldn’t pay you much.”

  A glance at his men found them all staring at the priest as if they were dying of thirst and he’d just offered them unlimited water. “When’s the fiesta, Father?”

  “Next month. The second Saturday in May. It’s a big event. The whole town and folks from Arleta and beyond come, not just the Catholics. We all get along pretty well here in Rothwell.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  Well, shoot. Charley didn’t want to stick around until May. On the other hand, he guessed he pretty much had to, unless he planned on going away without robbing the bank. And the only reason he wanted to forego robbing the bank was because he didn’t trust himself around Addie Blewitt. Lack of self-control was a mighty poor reason to depart early, Charley knew, and it was also unfair to his men.

  Another look at his band member’s avid faces decided him. “We’d be happy to play at your fiesta, Father Bernardo.” He took another assessing glance at his men and added, “You don’t have to pay us anything. It will feel good to play for an audience again.”

  “Yes!” Harlan Lewis’s whiskers split into a gigantic grin.

  Peachy Gilbert threw his ragged butternut Confederate cap into the air. Francis Whatley and George Alden exchanged shoulder whacks. Even Lester almost smiled. Charley guessed he’d done the right thing.

  He saw Fermin Small’s glittery gaze follow Lester and himself out of town when they left Rothwell to return to the Blewitts. The sheriff’s face seemed even longer than usual, his mustache drooping almost to his collar under the influence of his huge frown. Charley glared at Fermin as they passed his office, just to let him know he wasn’t forgiven for thinking Charley was a thief.

  Even if it was true.

  # # #

  “Oh, Charley. The Fiesta! Why, that’s the biggest celebration all year long.” Addie served him up an extra spoonful of bread pudding with raisins and poured thick cream over it. “You’ll be just wonderful. I know it. Just wonderful.”

  A full day away from Addie—one filled with a variety of other perils—had almost firmed up Charley’s self-control. He felt barely a quiver of desire when she gave him one of her wonderful smiles. He guessed he was up to this trial, after all.

  “We’re all looking forward to it,” he told her.

  Lester said, “Two jobs.”

  Hearing Lester speak at a meal was an event of such rarity, everybody turned to look at him. He colored up and mumbled, “Ladies’ Literary League and the Fiesta.”

  “That’s right!” Addie bestowed a smile upon Lester, whose color deepened to a rich burgundy. “You’ll be playing right here next Wednesday at Aunt Ivy’s Literary League Meeting.” She clasped her hands to her breasts and Charley looked away quickly.

  “Oh, won’t the ladies be thrilled. We’ll be reading Dickens, you know. A Tale of Two Cities. Your music will go so well with Dickens.”

  “It will?”

  Ivy had finally consented to use her hearing horn, much to Addie’s relief. Addie had taken Charley’s suggestion and decorated it with colorful ribbons. She’d even fashioned ribbon florets from a pattern she’d discovered in an old issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book.

  Ivy said, “It certainly will, Charley. Why everybody knows Dickens should be read to a musical accompaniment.”

  “Oh.” Charley guessed he wouldn’t argue.

  “I’ve already written to Pansy, telling her about the band playing at the Literary League meeting. She’ll be green. She’ll be plumb green.” Ivy laughed merrily.

  Addie sighed and said, “Now, Aunt Ivy, you know it’s unchristian to take such pleasure in the misfortunes of another.”

  Ivy slapped a hand to her breast and managed to look perfectly aghast. Charley guessed he knew where Addie’d inherited her dramatic streak.

  “It’s not her misfortune, Addie, it’s only our good fortune.” Ivy’s smile glinted wickedly in the candle-lit dining room. “It’s not our fault Charley and Lester’s brass band got attacked by a gang of ruffians and ended up here. And it’s not our fault they’re the best musicians in the countryside.”

  Addie caught Charley’s eye and winked. Her knowing wink startled him, but he smiled back. Mention of Pansy Blewitt had, however, made his innards cramp painfully, and he hoped his smile didn’t look as sick as it felt.

  “Will your aunt be coming to the Literary meeting, Miss Adelaide?”

  Addie giggled. “Good heavens, no! Aunt Pansy has no use for the Rothwell Ladies Literary League. Or anything else in Rothwell, for that matter.”

  Relieved, Charley sighed, “Good.” Noting the look of surprise Addie shot him, he scrambled to recover. “I mean, it’s good you have a relative so close by.”

  “It’s not good that she’s close by,” Ivy grumbled.

  Addie tutted at her aunt. “Aunt Ivy, I know good and well you and Aunt Pansy are always trying to out-do each other, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be kind.”

  She leaned over and spoke softly to Charley. “Aunt Ivy and Aunt Pansy are only ten months apart, Charley. They vie with each other about everythi
ng. I’ll bet Aunt Ivy’s right. Aunt Pansy will be green with envy when she hears about your band bein’ here and all.” Addie sat back and smiled with satisfaction.

  With a chuckle, Charley said, “‘Pears to me you’re on your aunt Ivy’s side in this little war of theirs, Miss Adelaide.”

  Addie looked stricken for a minute. Then, with a sigh, she admitted, “Well, I expect I am for the most part. I love Aunt Pansy because I know I should, bein’ related by blood and all, but I don’t reckon she’s as nice and kind-hearted as Aunt Ivy.”

  She put a hand on Charley’s arm. “Pansy’s older than Ivy, Charley, and Ivy always thought Pansy resented it when Ivy was born and has never forgiven her for it.”

  “I guess being born’s not your aunt Ivy’s fault, though, Miss Adelaide.”

  “Well, of course it isn’t. But you know, when you’re a baby, you’re not able to reason things out. All you know is you aren’t getting the attention you used to get. Then, by the time you’re old enough to think things through, your heart’s already hardened.”

  Charley stared at her, taken aback by Addie’s insightful words, however dramatically expressed. She had a head on her shoulders. And she used it, too, even if it had been stuffed so full of romantic illusions Charley wasn’t sure how there could be room inside for insight.

  “It’s a shame, too,” Addie continued. “Bein’ out here in the territory and all, a body needs all the good friends and relatives she can get.”

  Charley cocked his head and eyed her thoughtfully. “You have many friends your own age out here, Miss Adelaide?”

  “No. There aren’t many families here. Not white families, at any rate. Papa said they’d come, but they sure aren’t coming very fast. Carolina Montez is about the only female my age around, and she doesn’t speak much English. I speak a little Spanish, but not enough to make talkin’ easy. She’s real nice and all, but it’s not the same thing as having a real friend who can share my own—oh—history, if you know what I mean. You know, about the South and all.”

  “Yes. Yes, I believe I do know.” He did, too, and wasn’t sure it was a good thing.

  “Of course, there’s Homer Paul, but he’s younger than I am. Most of the new settlers’ children are even younger than Homer.”

  “Homer Paul?” Charley’s recollection of Homer Paul made him grin.

  “And about the only other people my age are the boys who come out West lookin’ for excitement. They generally end up in the gangs, like the kind that attacked you.”

  “I see.”

  She gave him a shy little smile. “But you’re here now, Charley.”

  He drew back, misliking the direction of the conversation. “I reckon I’m pretty much older than you, Miss Adelaide,” he said more stiffly than before.

  Giving his arm a playful little pat, Addie said, “Oh, you’re not so old, Charley.”

  “No?”

  She giggled, and Charley knew he was going to be in trouble again soon. “Of course, you’re not, you old silly.” She stood and included Lester in her smile. “Now the two of you just go on out to the porch and sit yourselves down. We have us a special treat this evening.” She bustled away from the table and headed for the kitchen.

  Charley and Lester obeyed Addie’s gentle command. Charley sat with a sigh, glad at least to be spared time alone with Addie for a while. He’d recovered from the most acute symptoms of his overpowering lust, but he didn’t trust himself to withstand another session under the apple tree without those symptoms recurring.

  He looked off into the sunset and saw the same pinks, reds, and yellows decorating the sky tonight as yesterday, and sighed deeply in appreciation. Just as happened yesterday, also, lightning forked through the colors, as though it resented the attention the sunset was getting and decided to claim some for itself. Charley grinned at his silly, whimsical thought. Maybe Miss Adelaide’s romantical notions were catching.

  “Pretty out tonight, isn’t it, Lester?”

  Charley didn’t expect an answer and was surprised by Lester’s leisurely, “Mm-hm.” Charley shot him a look, but Lester appeared much the same as ever, his setter’s nose pointed at the landscape, his chin receding into his collar. The evening sun had almost set by this time, so Charley couldn’t tell if Lester was still blushing.

  After a moment or two, Charley observed, “You and Miss Ivy seem to be getting along fine, Lester.” He was unsure whether his friend’s chatty mood could endure a direct observation, but figured it was worth a stab.

  Except for his chin, which practically disappeared when he lowered his head further, Lester seemed unaffected by Charley’s question. He offered up another mumbly, “Mm-hm,” and Charley felt encouraged to continue the conversation.

  “She seems to be a fine lady.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  After a pause required for him to think of a tactful way to phrase his next question, Charley asked, “You thinking of getting lovey-dovey with her, Lester?”

  Lester tucked his head so far down Charley couldn’t even see his face anymore. His “Mm-hm” barely made it out through his shirt front.

  The door opened just then and he didn’t get to question Lester further. It was just as well.

  He almost fell out of his chair when Addie traipsed out onto the porch, bearing a tray full of mint juleps in a big pitcher. He jumped up to help Addie carry the heavy tray.

  “You just sit yourself back down this minute, Charley Wilde. It’s a lady’s business to feed the gentlemen. You did your job today when you cleaned the barn so fine and went to town for us.”

  “But, Miss Adelaide, that tray’s heavy.”

  “Nonsense, Charley.”

  Charley had to admit she seemed pretty adept at carting it around. She didn’t spill a thing. Ivy trailed along behind her, bearing a kerosene lantern. It lit the scene just enough, Charley thought; not enough to vanquish the mystery of the night, but enough to paint Addie’s piquant face with intriguing shadows and lights.

  “This looks mighty special, ladies.”

  “Oh, it is, Charley. We’re celebrating your success with the band.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake. That’s very kind of you.”

  Addie handed him his mint julep. “It was a happy day for us, Charley Wilde, when you rode into our yard. I know you were wounded and all, but still, it’s a pleasure having you and Lester stay with us.”

  Charley glanced at Lester and reckoned they were equally embarrassed. He wondered how the Blewitt ladies would feel when he and Lester took off with their rubies, then decided not to think about it.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, Addie,” Ivy hollered, “I forgot the gingerbread.”

  With a thought for the bread pudding he’d just consumed, Charley murmured, “Gingerbread?”

  “I’ll fetch it, Aunt Ivy.”

  “All right. Let me get Pansy’s letter, too, Addie. I’ll read it to you. She tells all about those men trying to rob her mercantile the other day.”

  “Oh, my goodness, how exciting!”

  Addie sounded intrigued, but Charley was fairly certain she was no more fascinated than he. He watched in dismay as Addie and Ivy entered the house, then whispered harshly to Lester, “Lester, do you suppose that lady’ll describe people in her letter?”

  Lester lifted his chin enough so that Charley saw his mouth move when he said, “I reckon”

  “Aha!”

  Fermin Small’s gratified bellow made both men jump. Fermin rose from beneath the porch like a creature of the night. Charley was forcibly reminded of an eerie book he’d read once, written by some dead poet’s wife.

  “Good grief.” He glared at Fermin. “What in the name of heaven did you go and do that for, Sheriff? You make a habit of scaring the stuffing out of people?”

  “I caught ya, though, didn’t I?” Fermin’s little eyes shone with triumph. His long body dripped dust. He’d apparently been hiding under the porch for some time.

  Fermin’
s gun was drawn, of course, and he had it pointed at Charley’s middle, as was his wont. Charley was getting mighty tired of it, too.

  “Caught us doing what?” Charley hoped the sheriff was smart enough to hear the disgust in his voice.

  “Ha! I ain’t no fool, Wilde.”

  “Really.”

  Fermin’s long face lengthened further with his scowl. He shook his pistol at Charley. “Don’t you go sassin’ me, you varmint. I caught ya!”

  “For God’s sake, be careful with that gun.”

  “What are you doing here at this hour, Fermin Small?”

  Addie’s voice held utter contempt. Charley turned to see her standing at the door, perfectly glorious in her rage, her cheeks pink and her gray eyes snapping.

  “The hour don’t matter none, Miss Addie. I caught ‘em.”

  “Doing what?” Addie sounded every bit as disgusted as Charley had when he’d asked the same question.

  Fermin’s grin shortened his long face somewhat. “I caught ‘em conspirin’.”

  “What?” Addie stomped to the edge of the porch, shoved her body in front of Charley’s, and gazed with distaste at Fermin Small. “Were you hiding under the porch, Fermin?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Were you? You tell me the truth now, Fermin Small.”

  “Yes.”

  “Honestly, Fermin. You always were a bothersome man. Ever since you got elected sheriff, though, you’re absolutely impossible.”

  She glowered at the sheriff as though she were a queen chastising a peasant who’d just trod on her royal toes. Charley watched, impressed.

  “They was conspirin’, Miss Addie,” Fermin sulked. “They was.”

  “Oh, nonsense!”

  “They was talkin’ about that mercantile what got robbed in Arleta.”

  “Well, so what? Aunt Ivy and I were talking about it, too, just before we went inside. Are you going to arrest Aunt Ivy and me for conspiring? For heaven’s sake, it was my aunt Pansy’s mercantile that got robbed, you idiot. Why shouldn’t we talk about it?”

  “They was conspirin’,” the beleaguered lawman insisted, although he sounded more pouty than sure of himself.