Song of My Heart (2 page)

“The idea of lettin’ you go so far away is a mighty tough thing.” Papa heaved a huge sigh. Mama dabbed at her eyes, and Papa took her hand before continuing. “But after reading the letter an’ praying together, we think—”

Sadie held her breath.

“—this job is a true answer to prayer.”

“Y-you mean, you’re giving me permission to go?” Sadie hardly dared believe it.

Papa closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the love shining in the velvety depths sent Sadie scuttling around the iron footboard to perch at his hip, where she could clasp his hand. He said, “We’re giving permission . . . an’ thanking you for being so willing to help your family.” He grimaced. “I hate being so beholden . . .”

Sadie lifted Papa’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “It’s not your fault, Papa. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Man oughtta provide for his own.” He sucked in a big breath and blew it out. “Soon as I’m up again, we won’t need you working to support us. You’ll be able to keep your earnings. But for now, we’re thankful you’re willing to help, an’ thankful there’s a job available.”

Sadie shook her head, still reeling. She was going to Kansas! She’d earn a wage that would help her family. And—her heart tried to wing its way right out of her chest—she’d finally be able to satisfy her desire to sing on a stage. Caught up in her thoughts, she almost missed Mama’s quiet voice.

“You’re a woman now—time to be stepping into your own life.”

Sadie met Mama’s gaze. Tears glittered in her mother’s eyes, and even though her lips quivered, she offered a tender smile.

“You’ve got a gift, Sadie. It’s time to share it.” Mama lifted the letter and pointed to the final paragraph—the one Sadie had tried to ignore to protect herself in case they said no. “When your papa and I saw this . . .” She read Sid’s message aloud. “ ‘There’s a new opera house opening right here in Goldtree. Man in charge is looking for a singer. I told him about you and how good you are. He wants to talk to you about performing.’ ”

Sadie thrilled at Sid’s confidence in her abilities. Hadn’t Mama and Papa always told her she had the voice of a songbird? They’d encouraged her to use her talent, too, claiming God never wanted any of His children to waste their gifts.

Mama lowered the letter. “We can’t be selfish with you, holding you here just because it makes us sad to be apart. A job
and
the chance to sing. God’s opening a door, and we want you to march right on through it.”

Sadie bustled around the bed and launched herself into Mama’s arms. Clinging to her mother’s neck, she whispered, “I’ll make you proud, Mama.” Shifting her face, she beamed at Papa. “You too.” Memories welled up and spilled over—of this man welcoming her into his heart, always treating her as his own child even after he and Mama had a brood of their own. “I’ll remember everything you taught me, Papa. I’ll work hard for my employer. I’ll read my Bible every day and pray.” She swallowed the lump that filled her throat. “And I’ll do my best to reflect Jesus, the same way you always do.”

Papa stretched out his hand, and Sadie clasped it. She kept her other arm wrapped around Mama, joining the three of them. Papa smiled—a sad, wistful smile. “You’ve always made me proud, Sadie-girl.” He squeezed her hand. “Now close your eyes. I want to pray.”

Sadie bowed her head and closed her eyes for prayer, just as she’d done thousands of times before. She listened while Papa thanked God for His provision and asked Him to keep Sadie safe from harm during travel. While he prayed, warmth surrounded Sadie, a feeling of security and peace. How she’d miss her papa when she went away.

Tears stung behind her nose, and she sniffed. The opportunities waiting in Goldtree were an answer to prayer, but for the first time Sadie considered how hard it would be to walk away from her little house in Dalton and the dear ones residing beneath its cedar-shake roof.

2 

G
OLDTREE,
K
ANSAS
L
ATE
M
AY 1895

T
haddeus McKane slipped the latch into place, securing the wagon hatch, and then gave the wood a solid whack. “That’s it, Sid. Thanks.”

The young man on the wagon’s high seat touched the brim of his hat in reply and then slapped down the reins onto the horses’ tawny rumps. With a creaking of wheels, the wagon rolled away, leaving Thad in the middle of the dusty street beside his pile of belongings. A meager pile, he noted. For a man of twenty-eight years, he sure didn’t have much to call his own. But it did make moving from place to place a heap easier.
But I wouldn’t be upset, God, if You finally saw fit to let me settle somewhere.

He squinted up and down the street, taking in his new place of residence. Businesses were scarce, especially when compared to Kansas City, but he couldn’t help but admire the neat appearance of every building. Whitewashed clapboard siding beamed in the afternoon sun, with splashes of green, yellow, red, and blue gingerbread trim giving the buildings a festive appearance. Folks obviously took pride in their town. Thad liked that.

A tired old nag clopped toward him, pulling a ramshackle buckboard. Thad grabbed the handle of his threadbare carpet bag and swung it out of the way of the buckboard’s wheels. The man on the seat stared at Thad, his somber expression curious but not unfriendly. Thad tipped his brand-new Stetson. The man gave a hesitant nod, then turned his focus forward.

Thad chuckled. Mr. Hanaman had warned him folks might take their time warming up to him, and it appeared he’d been right. But Thad wouldn’t complain. He’d just do what his Bible instructed—treat them the way he wanted to be treated—and they’d come around.

He returned his attention to the town, seeking the bank building. The letter from the town’s mayor had instructed him to go directly to the bank upon his arrival in Goldtree—but not be too obvious about it. Thad had puzzled over the strange warning, but never one to disregard a direction, he’d instructed the young man who’d delivered him to town to let him off near the mercantile rather than the bank. He’d understand Hanaman’s reasons soon enough.

Stacking the carpetbag on top of his wooden trunk, he grabbed the trunk’s leather handles and braced himself to heft his belongings.

“Young man!” A strident voice intruded.

Thad peeked over the carpetbag and spotted a tall, reed-thin woman on the porch of the mercantile. The porch’s roof shadowed her from the waist up, but even in the shade, her hair glowed as white as snow on a sunny afternoon. She wore her gleaming hair slicked back so tight it raised her bushy eyebrows a notch. He bolted upright and snatched off his hat. “Yes, ma’am?”

She frowned at his trunk and bag as if they were litter cluttering her street. “Was you fixin’ to cart them things somewhere?”

Thad scratched his head. Did she think he ought to leave them in the middle of the road? “Why, yes, ma’am.”

The woman rolled her eyes heavenward. “Youngsters. Why’re they never endowed with good sense?”

A grin twitched at Thad’s cheek. It’d been a long while since anyone referred to him as a youngster. Despite the woman’s grumbling, Thad took an instant liking to her. She had spunk.

Fixing her frown on him again, she shook her head. “Good way to strain your back, carryin’ boxes to an’ fro.” She jabbed a bony finger toward the corner of the building. “Got a wheelbarrow around back. Ain’t mine, mind you now—belongs to Asa. But you’re free to use it. Oughtta make things a mite easier for you.”

Thad smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Just make sure you bring it right back when you’re done.” She tapped her forehead above her right eye. “I never forget a face, an’ I’ll know just who to send Asa after if it don’t come back.”

Thad had no idea who Asa was, but based on the way the woman drew his name like a gun, Thad decided it would be best not to annoy the man. “You can assure Asa I’ll bring it right back, ma’am. I promise.”

She balled her hands on her hips. “I’ll be countin’ on that.” She spun, her gray skirts swirling, and headed for the door. Her muttered voice trailed behind her. “Youngsters . . . need a heap more sense, to my way o’ thinkin’ . . .”

Chuckling, Thad jogged through the narrow gap between the mercantile and what had to be a restaurant judging by the good smells drifting from the open door. A wooden wheelbarrow rested upside down beside the mercantile’s back stoop. He whistled as he easily toted his trunk and bag to the bank, a stately brick building located on the corner of Goldtree Avenue and Main Street. After a moment’s thought, he left the wheelbarrow, with his belongings in the bed, parked right outside the carved wood double doors. The empty streets—was every Wednesday afternoon this quiet in Goldtree?—offered no hint of trouble.

He took a moment to brush as much travel dust from his trousers as possible, then closed the top button of his best shirt. The tight neckband made drawing a deep breath uncomfortable, but he could manage for a short meeting. He removed his hat and ran his hand through his dark hair, smoothing it into place as best he could without the use of a comb or mirror. Then, satisfied he’d done all he could to make himself presentable, he stepped over the entryway that proclaimed the date “1874” in six-sided blue tiles on a background of yellow and white.

A neatly dressed man peered out at Thad from behind a row of four iron bars. He straightened the ribbon tie beneath his chin and said, “Good afternoon.” His voice came out croaky, as if he hadn’t used it for a while. “May I help you?”

Thad clomped to the narrow counter and angled his head to peek between bars. “Yes, sir. I was told to meet—”

“McKane!”

A portly gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick gray mustache strode toward Thad, his hand extended. The fruity essence of pomade traveled with him. His three-piece suit and black silk tie left Thad feeling more than a mite underdressed, but he reached to shake hands. “Mr. Hanaman?”

The man nodded, his broad smile nearly buried beneath the mustache. Thad kept his own mustache neatly trimmed above his lip, but he let the thick dark side whiskers grow a bit wider on his cheek. He had his reasons.

The banker beamed at Thad. “That’s right—I’m Roscoe Hanaman. Glad you’ve finally arrived in our fair town.” He released Thad’s hand and stepped back, giving Thad a head-to-toes look-over. “You appear to be just as strong and able as your uncle promised me.”

Thad felt like a horse on an auction block. He tried not to squirm.

Curling one hand over Thad’s shoulder, Hanaman swung his smile on the teller, who continued to stare from behind the bars like a monkey Thad had once seen in a circus cage. “Rupert Waller, meet Thaddeus McKane, newest resident of Goldtree. I hope to talk him into serving as foreman on my ranch.”

Thad sent the man a startled glance. “I thought—”

Hanaman’s jovial chuckle covered Thad’s protest. “Well, come along now, McKane, to my office”—he propelled Thad across the gleaming marble floor—“and let’s get better acquainted.” He ushered Thad into his wood-paneled office and closed the door with a crisp snap. His shoulders seemed to collapse for a moment, but then he drew a breath and they squared again. He gestured with his thumb toward the bank’s lobby. “You’re no doubt wondering about my comment to Waller about you being my foreman.”

Thad nodded. “Sure am.” He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and rested his weight on one hip. If Hanaman had something unethical in mind, he’d turn tail and head right back to Kansas City, even if the man and his uncle were longtime friends.

“Have a seat there,” Hanaman said, flapping his palm at a wooden chair facing his massive desk. He settled his bulk in a leather-upholstered, wheeled chair on the far side of the desk and waited until Thad eased into the smooth wood seat. Then he propped his elbows on the desk and gave Thad a serious look. “I apologize for my little falsehood—”

Thad frowned. Was there such a thing as a
little
falsehood? According to the Bible, lying was just plain wrong.

“—but we need to have a certain level of secrecy as to your true purpose for being here.”

Thad’s frown deepened. “My uncle told me you wanted law enforcement. Since I worked for a while as a deputy in Clay County, he thought I’d be qualified to help. But I have to be honest, Mr. Hanaman—you’re starting to make me wonder if I shouldn’t have come. I’m not one to involve myself in underhanded dealings.”

Hanaman waved both hands, his expression frantic. “No, no, what your uncle told you is right! We do need law enforcement. But . . .” He glanced toward the door, as if ascertaining no one held an ear on the other side. In a much softer tone, he continued. “The town can’t know
why
we need it.”

Thad shook his head, thoroughly confused.

“Hear me out.” Linking his hands together, Hanaman leaned forward and held Thad captive with his serious tone. “Goldtree is a fine little town, filled with God-fearing, honest folk. With the verdant grasslands covering rolling hills, ample water supply, and temperate seasons, it has all the right qualities to grow into a successful city.”

Thad covered his lips with one finger to hide a smile. He’d never heard a more convincing sales pitch.

“As serving mayor of Goldtree, I want to see my town achieve its full potential.”

Thad surmised an influx of folks to Goldtree wouldn’t hurt Mr. Hanaman the banker, either.

“It is imperative no negative dealings mar the town’s stellar reputation. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. McKane?”

“Thad, please,” Thad said automatically. Then he released a rueful chuckle. “No, sir. To be honest, I’m not sure I follow you.”

Hanaman’s brows pulled into a fierce V. “You mentioned underhanded dealings. . . . I suspect, Thad, that someone might be making and distributing liquor.”

Thad slumped in the chair. When his uncle had indicated the town wanted to hire a lawman, he’d never expected he’d be called on to handle something so immoral—and personal. “But liquor’s been outlawed in Kansas—we’re a dry state.”