Wild Dream

by Duncan, Alice

  “Long as we win, it ain’t bad.”

  Addie rolled her eyes even as she giggled.

  Just then the mayor of Rothwell, Cleveland Untermeyer, stepped onto the stage and ahemmed for attention. Nobody but those in the very first row heard him, so Charley blew a loud note on his cornet. The crowd silenced immediately and Cleveland gave Charley a “thank-you” smile.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Rothwell and Arleta Southern Methodist-Episcopal Ladies’ Charity Fair and Bake Sale. All profits from the bake sale go into the towns’ poor boxes, available to any needy Rothwell and Arleta citizens who need a helping hand.”

  Polite applause greeted the mayor’s speech from the sturdy citizens of the two towns, most of whom would rather be hanged than accept charity.

  “And now,” Mr. Untermeyer continued, “I’ll just ask our preacher, Thad Topping, to come on up here and lead us all in a little prayer.”

  Although New Mexico Territory was not generally noted for its piety, the audience bowed their heads politely. Mr. Topping proceeded to pray over the gathering and ask the Lord’s blessing on everybody in Rothwell and Arleta in such a stirring manner, Addie had to dab her eyes with her hankie.

  She was a little embarrassed when she opened her eyes after Mr. Topping’s final “Amen,” and found Sun and Cloud watching her curiously. Sniffling back her emotions, she made a fuss of putting her hankie back into her apron pocket.

  “Mr. Topping, he talk good, even if he don’t play poker.”

  “Yes.” Addie dared to raise her head and look at Sun. His hard, usually impassive face, bore all the earmarks of amused affection.

  After a discreet pause to allow time for Mr. Topping’s words to settle, Mr. Untermeyer took over the stage. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, the America City Brass Band!”

  Thanks to local gossip and the industrious correspondence Addie and Ivy carried out with friends in Arleta, there wasn’t a soul in either town who hadn’t heard of Charley Wilde and his magnificent band. A thunder of applause greeted Mr. Untermeyer’s announcement.

  The crowd’s enthusiasm took Charley by surprise. He looked out over a small sea of happy faces and felt a lump grow in his throat. Mercy, mercy; this is what he and the band used to live for: this applause, this perfect acceptance of them, of their music. His gaze swept the crowd, paused at Addie Blewitt, and he reckoned as to how he had something else to live for now.

  Although his heart gave a little tug for the bygone days of his carefree youth, Charley decided the exchange was a fair one. If he could have Addie for the rest of his days, he guessed he wouldn’t miss playing for an audience too much. Maybe the townsfolk would allow his band to play at this shindig every year.

  By accident, Charley saw Fermin Small, standing with a skinny, mean-looking woman beneath a tree at the edge of the creek and sighed. From time to time Fermin aimed a vicious scowl at him. The lady didn’t look as though she liked him much, either. Charley frowned. Uh-oh. Maybe his troubles weren’t quite over yet.

  Then, forsaking further thought, he gave the boys the beat, and the band roared into their premier opening piece: “The America City Quick Step,” composed by Charley himself a year before the war began.

  The crowd went wild. Cheers and stomps, whistles and claps sailed to the stage when the tune ended. The band members allowed themselves a small exchange of smiles before they swung into “Fireman’s Polka.” Pausing only to catch their breath after the two rousing tunes, they swept right into their always-appreciated Stephen Foster medley.

  Charley, watching the audience curiously, discovered more than one lady pulling out a handkerchief during “My Old Kentucky Home.” In order to keep the mood tender, the band immediately played “When This Cruel War is Over,” right after the last strains of “Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair” had faded. In an effort to emphasize the song’s message, they played “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” immediately afterwards.

  Although they’d been playing it this way for years, the transition was invariably a nerve-wracking one for Charley because Peachy Gilbert had to carry the first several bars of “Johnny,” and he was often in tears. Peachy came through like a trouper this time, though, and Charley’s heart surged with love. And not just for Peachy, but for all these men who relied on his leadership. They always came through. They’d never failed him. Not once.

  In a daring move suggested, to everyone’s intense surprise, by the phlegmatic Harlan Lewis, the band then played a medley Charley’d arranged of “Dixie’s Land” and “The Battle Cry of Freedom.” As Harlan had put it when the rest of the band expressed their shock, “Well, hell, the war’s been over fer three years, boys.”

  Charley noticed with interest that the audience seemed to share both the band’s initial astonishment and as Harlan’s philosophical reaction to the unusual medley. After their first burst of astonishment, several of them nodded as if they, too, realized it was time to put old animosities aside for the sake of their new home in the new territory.

  The band ripped through the “William Tell Overture,” “Woodsman, Spare That Tree,” “Garry Owen,” and “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Their last slow medley took the audience on an emotional journey through “Aura Lee,” “Lorena,” and “Long, Long Ago.”

  And now the time had come. Charley stepped in front of his men, turned to face the audience, and lifted his horn. With a significant look for his own beloved Addie, sitting just below him next to her dear aunt and—good grief. This was the first time Charley had noticed Sun in his Eyes and somebody who looked very much as though he must be Sun’s boy. At any rate, Charley put his cornet to his lips, took a deep breath, and began to play “Wood Up Quick Step.”

  When he finished, the audience sat as if stunned for a split-second, then set up a roar that could probably have been heard in Albuquerque. The lump came back to Charley’s throat with a vengeance. “Wood Up Quick Step” wasn’t the end of the program, though.

  Charley knew he’d never be able to tell anybody how much he appreciated the chance he’d been given in Rothwell, because to do so would be to admit having attempted criminal acts. He could, however, offer them the loveliest hymn he and the boys knew how to play.

  Before the applause had quieted, he raised his cornet again. It was the beautiful strains of “Amazing Grace” that ultimately brought the crowd to its figurative knees. Charley’s solo floated above them in the spring air like a prayer. Tears stung his own eyes at the beauty of the music. When the band joined in, he realized it wasn’t only Peachy Gilbert whose cheeks were damp.

  Charley believed it must be his finest hour as a musician when the Reverend Mr. Thaddeus Topping’s rich tenor voice lifted to accompany the band in singing the old song. It was a stirring thing to hear the whole audience join the preacher; it was purely stirring to his blood.

  He’d never felt prouder in his life than when the band stood to take their bow at the end of the program. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, and didn’t give a care.

  Whoops and whistles thundered through the little glen for at least five minutes. Sometime during that incredible few minutes, Charley caught Addie’s eye and opened his arms. She took his invitation proudly and, tears streaming down her face, ran up the front steps to the stage and into his embrace.

  The audience went wild with approval.

  Grinning from ear to ear, wiping his own tear-stained cheeks, Mr. Topping followed Addie up the steps and turned around to face the crowd. He held his arms up for silence.

  Several minutes passed before his request was granted. One by one, the citizens stopped cheering and listened.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I think I speak for all of us when I tell these fine gentlemen we’ve never heard such a stimulating performance.”

  Several moments of uproarious approval followed Mr. Topping’s words. Charley and Addie peered into each other’s eyes and laughed. Charley couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy.

  After Mr.
Topping calmed the crowd once more, he continued. “On behalf of the Southern Methodist-Episcopal Ladies’ Charitable Organization, I’d like to thank Mr. Charley Wilde and his wonderful band.”

  More cheers.

  “And before we all go back to our lunches and the bake sale, I have an announcement to make. It’s an announcement I’m sure we’ve all anticipated, and one it gives me the greatest of pleasure to make.”

  More cheers and several whoops.

  “It gives me extreme satisfaction, ladies and gentlemen, to announce the engagement and pending nuptials of Miss Adelaide—”

  “Just a dad-blasted minute, Preacher!”

  As one, the crowd gasped. All eyes turned to stare toward the location from whence the loud, twangy exclamation had come. When those eyes spotted Fermin Small—looking long, lean, and more than usually mean—again as one, those eyes narrowed ominously.

  Fermin didn’t seem to notice. With Pansy Blewitt trailing huffily in his wake, smirking as only Pansy Blewitt could smirk, Fermin stomped to the staging area. Charley watched them near with dread in his heart. His arm tightened around Addie’s shoulder.

  Stopping at the foot of the stage, Fermin said loudly, “I got me a lady with complaint here, and I aim to see her satisfied.”

  Although 184 ?both Rothwell and Arleta were very small communities, the residents knew one another well. A wag in the audience hollered, “Ain’t nobody never been able to satisfy that old bat, Fermin!”

  A chorus of giggles and tee-hees burst from the crowd. Fermin turned to glare at the assembly, which only seemed to intensify the general entertainment value of his appearance. Pansy harrumphed and muttered something under her breath.

  Charley felt Addie stiffen at his side and held his breath.

  Fermin marched up the steps and stood between Mr. Topping and Charley. Pansy scooted up after him and skirted over to the other side of Mr. Topping. It looked to Charley as though she was trying to get as far away from him and the band as possible.

  His insides began to ache. This must be Miss Ivy’s sister. The one who’d shot him. A glance at Pansy’s unforgiving face made him decide she’d be the type who’d shot a body if given the opportunity.

  Turning deliberately, folding his hands up into two long fists, Fermin cried, “These here varmints is criminals!” Then he stepped back a pace and made a dramatic sweep of a long arm. His intention undoubtedly was to indicate the band, but Mr. Topping’s body already occupied the space he needed to use, and the back of Fermin’s hand connected with the minister’s stomach.

  With a loud “Whuff,” Mr. Topping doubled over.

  Releasing Addie without thinking, Charley rushed to the minister’s side and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Topping?”

  Out of breath and still bent double, Mr. Topping could only nod.

  Addie gave Fermin Small a hot scowl for form’s sake. Her heart wasn’t in it, though, because her thought processes had just turned down a new, uncertain road. When she thought she’d punished the sheriff enough with her scowl, she glanced at her aunt Pansy. Her heart gave a crazy, painful twist at Pansy’s expression, which was fixed into an accusatory glare and aimed directly at Charley Wilde. Addie didn’t say anything.

  “Well—” Fermin cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner. “I reckon I’m right sorry about hittin’ ya, Mr. Topping, but these here varmints is criminals, and I aim to see ‘em face the music.”

  His phrasing was apt; Addie had to give him credit. Still silent, she turned to the band, paying close attention to each man’s face. The consternation she saw displayed did not ease her mind.

  George Alden and Francis Whatley stared at one another in horror. Peachy Gilbert looked as though he might burst into tears. Harlan Lewis stared at Fermin Small with glum resignation. Lester had begun shaking his head slowly back and forth. The activity didn’t look like denial so much as that he’d been expecting this sooner or later.

  A deep buzzing drew Addie’s attention, and she turned again to discover the audience had begun to mutter amongst themselves. They didn’t appear happy to have had their merriment interrupted.

  “These here so-called musicians tried to rob Miss Pansy Blewitt’s store five weeks ago come Tuesday, and I aim to see they pay fer it!” Fermin shouted.

  Pansy, always at her best when she was swimming against the popular tide—being perverse, Aunt Ivy called it—took a gander at the unhappy crowd below her in the glen and stepped forward.

  Pointing at the band, she cried shrilly, “Fermin’s right! I recognize these men! They tried to rob my mercantile. I shot this one!” Her finger swerved dramatically and stopped, quivering. It was pointed directly at Charley Wilde’s heart.

  Addie saw Charley glance nervously from Pansy to herself, and she knew. As plainly as words, Charley’s face confessed his guilt and pleaded for forgiveness. Addie’s heart fell like a stone. When she saw his expression change from one that begged grace to one of arid bleakness, she knew he knew she knew. She saw him swallow hard and drop his gaze.

  Then it seemed like the hand of an evil winter god touched her, turning her insides to ice. From her toes to her hair, her emotions froze solid. She didn’t even feel like crying.

  She watched her aunt Pansy give a satisfied sniff and stand back as if to ask the crowd what they thought of that.

  Feeling as though she were watching through a sheet of thin ice, Addie saw Fermin step forward again and frown at the crowd. For the first time, she realized the strange buzzing sound had intensified to an ominous rumble. She looked at the audience, friends from her childhood most of them, and perceived they looked mad. Really, really mad.

  They also looked very much as though their anger was directed not at Charley and his band, but at Fermin Small and Pansy Blewitt. Addie started in alarm when she heard a voice—to whom it belonged, she did not know—growl, “And just who the hell are you to be callin’ our band crooks, Pansy Blewitt?”

  The rumble surged angrily. It reminded Addie of the sound a swarm of riled yellow jackets will make right before it lands on the target that’s riled them and stings it to death.

  She heard a loud hawk and spit. Then another voice said, “Ain’t that the same sheriff what like to shoot us all t’other day?” She’d seldom heard such sarcasm in that voice, which she recognized as belonging to Mr. Woolrich, the blacksmith.

  Her astonishment could scarcely be measured when she distinctly heard Mr. Pinkley say, “I say we’d be better off hanging the sheriff than any one of those men. At least they’re good at their jobs.” She’d never heard the banker sound so blood-thirsty.

  The rumble gained in volume. Fermin Small began to look nervous. The smirk faded from Pansy’s face, and her features twisted into an angry frown. “Why, I’ve never heard such a vicious thing in my life. You fools. Don’t you see these men are criminals?”

  “Who asked you, you old cow?” a voice from the crowd called out.

  “How dare you!”

  “Oh, go soak your head, Pansy Blewitt!”

  Addie searched the audience, but couldn’t find the author of that particularly fine suggestion.

  “Why don’t you go to blazes, Fermin Small, and take that wrinkled-up old trout-faced troublemaker with you?”

  It was the voice of Sun in His Eyes that finally galvanized Addie into action. She’d been feeling too numb to react to the violence she could feel churning like a swollen river around her. But when Sun’s deep voice called out, “Miss Addie don’t like Fermin Small,” and the crowd responded with a horrible growl, she knew it was up to her to do something. Sure as the devil, nobody else would. And, although she wasn’t sure she much cared on a personal level, she didn’t particularly fancy watching a maddened crowd tear her aunt and Fermin Small into bloody strips.

  Addie strode to the front of the stage, threw her arms up in the air and hollered, “Everybody, be quiet!”

  The years of practice she’d had in communicating with
her aunt Ivy came to Addie’s aid. Her voice ripped through the crowd’s swelling anger and stunned every person present into silence. Planting her fists on her hips, she peered at everybody and nodded.

  In a voice as clear as the finest crystal and as solid as the earth, she said, “I’ll take care of this.” Then she turned to face her aunt.

  Pansy glared at her spitefully. “Addie Blewitt, just what in Hades do you think—”

  “Be quiet, Aunt Pansy!”

  Pansy’s words stopped as abruptly as if Addie’d cut Pansy’s sentence in half with a pair of scissors. Pansy stared at Addie in shock, her mouth hanging open.

  “Now,” Addie said carefully, “let’s just take a look at this situation.”

  “Miss Adelaide—”

  “Shut up right now, Fermin Small, or I’ll feed you to the wolves.”

  Addie didn’t turn her head to issue the warning; she only glared slanty-eyed at Fermin. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down a couple of times, saw him peek at the crowd down below, and made sure he knew she meant it before she returned her focus to her aunt.

  “Now,” she repeated, “let’s just take a look at this.”

  Pansy nodded. She was only just beginning to look scared.

  Fool, Addie thought with contempt. As little as anybody in either Rothwell or Arleta liked Pansy, Pansy at least ought to have worked out the odds before putting her big foot into a boiling kettle.

  “You say these men tried to rob you.”

  Pansy’s head bobbed up and down again. “Y-yes.”

  “When was this?”

  “When?” Pansy stared at Addie and swallowed hard.

  “Yes, Aunt Pansy. When? If you’re going to accuse people of robbing you, you’d best know when the event took place.”

  She heard a ripple of what might have been amusement or might have been murder pass through the crowd. Her aunt heard it, too. Addie could tell, because Pansy flinched visibly.

  “Ap-April sixth.”

  “So on April sixth some people tried to rob your mercantile in Arleta.”