Song of My Heart (32 page)

“Havin’ her as his intended would sure make it easy to pry information out of her. Somethin’ needs to be done about that man afore he up an’ arrests the whole lot of us.”

Sid shook loose of Asa’s grip. “What’re you sayin’?”

“I’m sayin’ we’re all in danger of bein’ thrown in the clink. You an’ me bein’ men, we’d probably come out of it unscathed, but what about Sadie? Little gal like her—bein’ all shut up behind iron bars would just about kill her, I’d think. Like cagin’ a wild bird.”

Fear created a foul flavor on Sid’s tongue.

“You wanna protect your cousin, don’t you?” Asa’s wheedling tone took on a hint of desperation that matched the feeling constricting Sid’s chest. Sid nodded, and Asa flicked a glance over his shoulder, then advanced at Sid again. His hot breath touched Sid’s face as he said, “Only one way to make sure we all stay safe. Gotta get rid of that sheriff.”

30 

T
had slid the crate holding his food stores from the shelf above his bed and peeked inside. A single can rolled around in the bottom of the crate. He plucked it out, grimaced, and threw it back in. No way could he make himself eat peaches right now. After jamming the crate into its spot on the shelf, he sank onto the lumpy mattress and let his head hang low.

The street was finally quiet. The echoing footsteps on the boardwalk—folks heading to the mercantile to attend the Friday night opera house performance—had nearly driven him to distraction earlier that evening. A part of him longed to join the townspeople, to listen to Sadie’s lilting voice bring the songs to life. He’d listened to other good singers in his lifetime, but not until Sadie had he heard the songs with his heart. She sang with her soul, not just her voice—a rare gift. And she’d squandered it on a bawdy tune. Then she’d spurned him.

Jolting to his feet, Thad stomped to the front window and looked out across the empty street. The lonely view became representative of the hole in the center of his being. Why had she turned him away? From their first moments together, he’d felt a kinship with Sadie. She made him laugh. Made him feel strong and important. She wanted the same things he wanted. Something had changed her, and Thad needed to know what. He needed to know, so he could understand.

Lord, let me understand, because until I understand, I can’t get her out of my heart.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. The mayor and the town council of Goldtree weren’t paying him to moon over Sadie. He’d best catch their bootlegger and bring the man to justice. His gun and holster hung on a peg in his living quarters. Thad retrieved them and fastened the wide leather belt around his hips, the weight of the pistol heavy against his thigh. The weight of responsibility lay just as heavily on his shoulders.

So far his daytime observations hadn’t turned up anyone traipsing out to the cave. Now he would watch the opening at night. He wouldn’t be needed in town, not with nearly everyone enjoying Sadie’s performance. Kimbrough had said he could borrow Thunder anytime, so he’d just saddle the horse, ride out, and camp at the cave. Maybe he’d finally catch whoever was responsible for those stills. And after he’d turned the perpetrator over to the mayor, he’d pack his bags and leave Goldtree. He didn’t know where he’d go, but somewhere. Away from Sadie and the frustration of her rejection.

He plopped his hat on his head, wrinkling his nose at the slight aroma of skunk caught in the hat’s fabric, and headed outside. He paused for a moment, angling his ear toward the mercantile. Sadie should be in the middle of her performance right now, but not a single note carried on the evening breeze. Asa had built those walls extra thick, making sure the sound stayed in the singing room. Nobody’d be able to steal a listen—you had to pay your fifty cents to enjoy the show.

His toes tried to inch in the direction of the mercantile, but he got firm with them and pointed his feet toward the livery stable instead.
You got a job to do, McKane, just like Roscoe Hanaman’s always telling you. So get to it.

He saddled Thunder, then started to lift his foot to the stirrup. But he spotted a lantern hanging from a nail on a nearby upright post. He might need it. He grabbed it, slipped the wire handle over the saddle’s horn, and then climbed aboard. “Let’s go, Thunder.” Minutes later, he and Thunder had left the town behind.

Two days of blazing sunshine had dried out the road after Wednesday’s rain shower, but wagon wheels had sunk when the ground was wet, leaving deep ruts just wide enough to trap a horse’s hoof. Thad didn’t push the horse into a gallop—as much as he wanted to reach the cave before the sun slunk below the horizon, he wouldn’t act rashly and injure a borrowed horse. Besides, the leisurely ride with the sky streaked a soft peachy-pink and a breeze carrying the scent of refreshed earth and budding plants did him some good. He felt the tension of the past days melt away the farther he got from town.

Thunder released a few snorts as they neared the spot where they’d encountered the skunk, but Thad bounced his heels on the horse’s side and encouraged him to continue onward. He angled the animal off the road and through a break in the thick, scrubby trees and bushes. The brush slowed their passage, and Thad had to duck to avoid losing his hat to low-slung branches. His trousers got snagged more than once on prickly brush, but he pushed Thunder onward until he was only a few feet from the cave’s opening.

“Whoa there, boy.” Thad swung down and, after a quick perusal of the area, led Thunder behind a cluster of pin oak saplings. He tied the reins tightly to the trunk of one small tree, tested them to make sure they’d hold in case the horse got another start, then grabbed the lantern. He gave the animal’s neck a pat before moving stealthily toward the cave.

Outside the black yawning mouth, he paused and lit the lantern. He’d extinguish it once he’d found a good hiding spot inside, but he needed to see to get in. He used his bootheel to strike a match, and the warm glow of the lantern promised Thad a well-lit path. Holding the lantern well away from his body, he ducked inside the cave.

He stifled a sneeze at the dank odor that greeted his nose. He moved past the first chamber and entered the second one, which was the largest of the three. Raising the lantern, he turned slowly, examining every detail of the space. On his last visit, he’d taken note of a stack of empty crates on the far wall and dozens of waiting jugs surrounding the still. Now the floor was empty of jugs, and the crates had been rearranged—lined up along the wall, two high. He peeked inside one crate and let out a whistle. Six jugs nestled inside the crate, each sealed with a fat tan cork.

Setting the lantern aside, Thad hooked his finger in a jug’s handle and pulled it out. He squeaked the cork from the mouth and stuck his nose over the opening. The scent of a stout beer assaulted him. Crunching his face in distaste, he slapped the cork in place and examined the jug. Someone had glued on a paper label that proclaimed “High-Quality Molasses.” Thad snorted.

He returned the jug to the crate, then moved back into the opening chamber of the cave. He stepped past the quiet still, its coiling tubes cool to the touch, and focused on a hulking shape covered by a canvas in the farthest corner of the misshapen room. A peek under the heavy cover revealed a tower of empty crates. Crates intended to carry liquor to buyers. Liquor that would change men from docile to angry, from sensible to foolish, from men dedicated to family to men bent only on satisfying self.

Hot anger filled Thad’s chest. It stung his pride to have this operation set up so close to the town where he served as lawman. He should batter the stills to bits. He snatched up one crate and held it over his head, ready to fling it at the still. His muscles straining to toss the crate with all his might, he paused. If he destroyed the stills, he wouldn’t have evidence to show to a judge. Besides, a verse in the seventh chapter of Ecclesiastes advised that patience is better than pride.

Slowly, he lowered the crate and put it back on the stack. Then he tucked the canvas over the pile just as he’d found it. Drawing in a calming breath, he slipped into the narrow gap between the tall stack of crates and the damp wall. He blew into the lantern’s globe, watching the flame flicker and die. Darkness surrounded him. He shivered as a feeling of aloneness fell over him. So many times as a boy, he’d huddled in his bed in a dark room, all alone, wishing his father would come home. And then, when Pa finally staggered into the room, he’d wished to be alone again.

He gave his head a shake, sending the memories far away. He wriggled into a more comfortable position. Black nothingness greeted his eyes. A muffled
brrrip-bip, brrrip-bip
—water droplets, probably from an underground stream—echoed from the deepest chamber. The wind whispered through the brush outside the cave’s opening. Gentle sounds. Comforting sounds.

Let him show
, his thoughts begged, reminding him of his oft-murmured boyhood prayer.
Let the bootlegger show,
he amended. Closing his hand over the gun’s handle, he rested his head on the cold, smooth cave wall and sighed. He allowed his eyes to slide shut. Now he’d practice patience and wait.

Thad awakened with a jolt. His head bounced against something hard and immovable, and pain exploded in his temple. Rubbing his head, he opened his eyes and blinked into murky gray, disoriented. Where was he? Then the dank odor brought recognition. He stifled a groan as he realized he’d fallen asleep in the cave.

Carefully, he slid his hand across the ground until he located the lantern. A small tin of matches waited in his shirt pocket. He withdrew one matchstick and flicked it against his bootheel. The flare of the match made him wince, but he squinted his eyes and touched the lantern’s wick. Golden light filled the chamber. Thad unfolded himself, his muscles stiff, and stepped around the pile of crates.

The first room appeared the same as it had when he’d entered earlier, but he sensed something was different. His hips complained as he picked up the lantern and aimed it at the second chamber’s jagged opening. A surprised exclamation left his lips. He stumbled forward, his gaze darting everywhere. At least a dozen of the crates containing jugs of beer were gone.

Thad stared, disgusted with himself. The bootlegger had come, and he’d slept right through it! He charged out of the cave and looked around, his eyes watering at the soft glow of early morning. Apparently, he’d slept all night. He rubbed his aching temple, chastising himself silently. Small wonder he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t rested for several nights. Not since Sadie had made clear she wouldn’t accept his courtship. But even so, how could he have been careless enough to allow the bootlegger to take the goods from right under his nose?

He extinguished the lantern and trotted to the spot where he’d left Thunder tied. To his relief, the horse remained firmly tethered, saddle in place. Thad rubbed the beast’s velvety nose. “I’m sorry, boy. Sure am glad no wildcat or bear came along. You’d have been helpless against an attack.”

Guilt over his irresponsible behavior bowed Thad’s shoulders. Some lawman he’d turned out to be, endangering a borrowed horse and sleeping on duty. Mayor Hanaman might take away his badge, and Thad wouldn’t blame him. He had no excuse for letting the bootlegger get the slip.

“Well, time to ’fess up,” he told Thunder. He started to heave himself into the saddle, but something caught his attention. The edge of a sheet of paper poked out from underneath the saddle’s seat. Thad pulled it loose and unfolded it. A scrawled message greeted his eyes.

Hey sheruff. Or are you Rip Van Winkel. Ha. Ha. Hope you had Plessant Dreams.

Thad wadded the note and crammed it into his trouser pocket.
Ha. Ha.
A sneering laugh rang in his imagination. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. With pounding steps, he marched to the cave and dragged the remaining jugs into the sunshine. One by one, he hefted the jugs over his head and flung them against a trio of boulders outside the cave entrance. His satisfaction grew along with the pile of shattered pottery. Pale golden liquid soaked into the ground, its stench permeating the entire area.

Only one jug remained, but instead of throwing it onto the ground with others, Thad tied it to the saddle horn. Then he marched inside the cave and yanked the tubing loose from all three stills. He kept one piece separate and twisted the remaining lengths of tubing into a snarl that would take years to unwind. He wrapped the remaining piece around the only undamaged jug. He’d give the items to the mayor when he returned to Goldtree.

Poking his boot toe into the stirrup, he pulled himself into the saddle and aimed Thunder for the road back to town. The lump of paper inside his pocket seemed to burn a hole through his pants. He pressed his palm to the offending note, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. The bootlegger probably thought he’d won. But he thought wrong.

It bruised Thad’s pride to be caught sleeping, but he wouldn’t slink away in shame. Not when somebody was breaking the law and making liquor available. And he knew what to look for now—jugs bearing a molasses label. He’d check every wagon coming into or leaving Goldtree. That bootlegger better not relax his guard. Thad wasn’t finished yet—not by a long shot.

“I might have to concede on this battle,” he said to the clear sky overhead, “but, God, as You are my witness, I will win the war.”

31 

Y
ou have yourself a good day with Sid.” Miss Melva stood on the boardwalk, grinning up at Sadie.

“I will.” Sadie forced a bright tone, determined to assure her employer she’d be just fine. The Baxter sisters had done too much worrying over Sadie already.

Sid settled himself on the springed wagon seat beside Sadie as Miss Shelva sidled up beside her sister. “Stop somewheres purty along the road an’ enjoy the things in that basket.” Miss Shelva’s lips curved into an exact replica of the smile gracing Miss Melva’s face.

“Oooh, a picnic.” Miss Melva hunched her skinny shoulders and giggled. “Just the thing to lift a gal’s spirits.”