Song of My Heart (34 page)

Very slowly, she nodded. She held her lower lip between her teeth and didn’t make a sound, but tears ran down her pale cheeks. Sid stifled a groan. How he hated hurting her, but what choice did he have? Asa had made a mess, and Sid was wallowing in the midst of it. He refused to get Sadie in any deeper than she already was.

Pulling back on the reins slightly, he drew the horses from an all-out gallop to a gentle trot. The deafening rumble of pounding hooves and wheels on hard ground quieted. Sid pulled in a long breath and held it, then released it bit by bit. With the last little expulsion, he shifted the reins to one hand and reached for Sadie with the other. He found her hand and squeezed. Her fingers lay limp and unresponsive within his grip. “Sadie?”

She looked straight ahead, her chin quivering and her cheeks moist with endlessly trailing tears. Had she even heard him? He squeezed her hand again, hoping his touch offered some reassurance. “We’ll be in Macyville in about an hour. They got a nice little park area with a pergola. We can have us our picnic there.”

Her head jerked so quickly, he wondered how her neck managed to stay connected to her shoulders. She fixed a disbelieving stare on him. “W-what?”

“Picnic,” he repeated, his gaze whisking back and forth from Sadie’s stunned face to the road. “I reckon you’ll be hungry by the time we get there, so—”

“I can’t eat!” Her voice sounded shrill. She yanked her hand from his and stacked her palms over her chest. “How can you act so . . . so normal? Sid, you—”

He shook his head hard. “Don’t say nothin’.” With a firm pull on the reins, he brought the team to a stop. Sid tipped his head for a moment, listening. Wind whistled across the rolling grassland that stretched in both directions. Somewhere in the scrubby brush, a bird chirped a cheerful song. The horses bobbed their heads, releasing soft snorts. All of the sounds were good sounds—comforting sounds. No hoofbeats pounded in pursuit. They were safe.

Slipping his arm behind Sadie, he curled his hand over her shoulder. Her muscles tightened at his touch, but he didn’t release his grip. “I gotta act normal. You do, too. When we get to Macyville an’ leave off these jugs, nobody can suspect we know what’s really inside ’em. We gotta act like it’s any other delivery.”

He looked into Sadie’s tortured face, and his heart banged against the walls of his chest. She’d ruin everything if she wasn’t careful. He wished he’d left her at the mercantile, but wishing wouldn’t change things now. She was on the wagon seat with him, caught up in Asa’s crimes, and she’d have to play it through. He curved his hand around the back of her neck—a gentle touch. “Sadie, I know this is hard, but you gotta relax. Just trust me.”

She didn’t respond, and Sid let out a heavy sigh. He repeated, “Just trust me.” Then he shifted to take hold of the reins again. His boot sole scuffed on something, and he glanced at the floorboard. Sadie’s little glass bird lay crushed beneath his feet. Deep regret smacked him. “I’m sorry, Sadie.” And he was. Sorry for so many things. “First chance I get, I’ll go back to Beloit an’ get you another bluebird.”

She shook her head wildly. “No. I don’t want another one. It will remind me of—” She turned her face away from him, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Sid hung his head. Leaning forward, he picked up the larger pieces of colored glass and tossed them over the edge of the wagon. Then he gave the reins a little flick that put the horses in motion again. The wagon rolled on, leaving behind the evidence of the broken figurine, but it would take a heap more effort to fix what had broken in his relationship with Sadie. He could only pray she’d one day understand. And forgive him.

Thad wished he’d stopped to pack a sack of grub before setting out for Clay Centre. But he’d wanted to get to the county marshal’s office as quickly as possible. If the liquor-making and gambling operation was as big as Sid Wagner had described it, he’d need more guns than his own to bring it all down. He hoped the marshal had a passel of deputies he’d be willing to loan out. Sid had promised not to let Asa know the law was on to him, so Asa’d be home, smug and unmindful, when Thad and the deputies returned to Goldtree.

He patted Thunder’s thick neck, grateful the horse hadn’t bolted when he’d fired that shot at a badger growling from the bushes. If he’d had to chase down his mount, it would have delayed his leave-taking. “Soon as we get to Clay Centre, I’ll find a livery stable an’ set you up with some oats, big fella. Who knows how long it’ll take to get things organized?”

The hunger surprised him. After Sadie had jilted him, he hadn’t felt much like eating. Maybe knowing the end of the conflict was near helped drive out the heaviness weighing in his middle. He hoped so. He was ready to move on from Goldtree and pursue his dreams of becoming a preacher.

“Lord, go ahead of me an’ prepare the marshal’s ears for what I have to say,” he prayed aloud. “And if there’s any way to keep Sadie from facin’ a jail cell, I’d like to do it.”

Was it wrong to want Sadie to escape punishment? Even though Sid said she was an innocent party, Thad suspected Sid would say just about anything—even an untruth—to protect his cousin. It only made sense that she knew what was going on in the cellar room. Besides, he’d heard her practicing that song—a song she hadn’t shared with the Friday or Saturday night audiences. So if she had a special program planned for the gambling nights, she had to know about the illegal activities.

His heart caught. If the marshal ordered it, Thad would arrest her along with Asa Baxter and Sid Wagner. He’d have to—he was paid to enforce the law. A person couldn’t pick and choose where to apply justice.

Then again, every man stood before God as a sinner, but God chose grace. Might a judge look at Sadie and choose grace rather than condemnation? Even though she’d done wrong—and even though she’d hurt him—prayers for grace rang through Thad’s heart the remainder of his ride to Clay Centre.

He reached the town as the sun slunk toward the horizon. He aimed Thunder for the marshal’s office, determined to speak with the man before turning in. But when he entered the office, he found only a deputy marshal on duty.

“Marshal Abbott’s gone into Glasco to pick up a horse thief,” the deputy said, looking Thad up and down. “Can I help you?”

The deputy didn’t have the authority Thad needed, so he shook his head. “When will he be back?”

“He left Thursday, so I figure he’ll be back tomorrow. ’Less he decides not to travel on Sunday. Then it’ll be Monday.”

Thad stifled a groan. Now more than ever he wished he’d packed some clean clothes, his razor, and a few food stores. He hadn’t intended to be gone so long. “All right, then. I’ll check by tomorrow,” Thad said. “Where’s the nearest livery? I need a place to bed my horse.”

The deputy wordlessly pointed north before closing himself back in the marshal’s office. Thad heaved his weary body into the saddle. He hoped the livery stable wasn’t too far outside of town. He and Thunder were ready for a rest.

Thad reined in beneath an arched sign bearing the name Hines Livery & Feed Stable. The green paint on the sign was peeling, and the livery building, with its weatherworn timber construction and plain square front, wasn’t nearly as nice as some he’d seen in other cities, but he didn’t need anything fancy. It would do.

He swung down, his muscles complaining. A man wasn’t meant to straddle a saddle for the better part of a day. The wide doors stood open, and lanterns glowed from within the large barn. Somebody must be at work. Thad caught Thunder’s reins and guided the horse inside, his stiff hips giving him an awkward gait. “Hello? Anybody here?”

A tall, wiry man with sparse gray hair sticking up in wispy tufts on his age-spotted head emerged from a small room at the back. “Howdy. Need to board your horse?” He gave Thunder’s nose a friendly rub.

“Both of us need boarding,” Thad said, stifling a yawn. “Can I bed down somewhere, too?” He’d spotted a fine-looking hotel as he’d entered town, but he suspected he wouldn’t have enough money in his pocket to afford a night at the Dispatch. Besides, the hay in the stalls smelled fresh—he’d slept in worse places.

The man laughed. “Well, now, mister, a barn’s suitable for critters, but I’d never expect one of our state’s lawmen to sleep in the hay. You can bunk at my place tonight, if you’ve a mind to. Got an extra room behind the kitchen—nothin’ fancy, but from the looks of ya you’re tuckered enough to sleep on a pile of rocks.”

Despite the tension-filled day, Thad released a chuckle. The man’s open affability put him at ease. “Reckon you’re right there. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. My Faye’s used to me bringin’ folks home. Got some good hotels in town, but even so, our back room does a boomin’ business.” The man took the reins and drew Thunder into a nearby stall strewn with clean hay. “I’ll unsaddle your mount an’ get him settled in. There’s a trough out back if you’d like to splash a little water on your face—chase off some of that trail dust.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Thad left Thunder to the livery owner’s care and made his way out a side door to a cleared space behind the barn. He located the trough set beside a tall pump. A few thrusts of the handle resulted in a rush of fresh water. He tossed his hat aside and leaned into the stream, dousing his head and neck. His shirt got splattered, too, but he didn’t mind. Maybe it would serve as a wash of sorts.

He stood upright and ran his hands down his cheeks, removing the last droplets. His face was already prickly from the day’s growth of whiskers. By morning they’d be even thicker, and he didn’t have a razor. He preferred to be clean-shaven when he faced the marshal, but there wasn’t any fix for that now. The local merchants were all closed down for the night. Besides, he didn’t want to spend his limited funds. He might need to pay for another night’s lodging and feed for Thunder if the marshal didn’t return until Monday.

He snatched up his hat and plopped it over his damp hair. From now on, he’d make sure he had a saddlebag of necessities packed before he set off for a day’s work. A lawman ought to be better prepared. Of course, he reminded himself as he turned toward the barn to check on Thunder, once he brought Asa Baxter and his cohorts to justice, he intended to turn in his badge and take up his Bible instead.

His feet slowed as an odd feeling crept over him. After Thad reflected for a moment, he identified the feeling as regret. Almost against his will, his hand rose and touched one point on the silver star pinned to his chest. It wouldn’t be as easy to let loose of his title of sheriff as he’d once thought. He glanced quickly upward, taking in the flickering stars appearing across the dusky sky. “But you know I’m meant to be a preacher, God . . .” Before he had a chance to fully examine the odd feelings, the livery owner stumped out into the yard and shot Thad a grin.

“Your horse’s all settled in. Let’s you an’ me head to my place now.” He pointed to a small square house on the opposite side of the narrow corral next to the barn. “Faye’ll have supper warm on the stove. After you’ve et, I’ll show you the sleepin’ room.”

Thad ambled alongside the older man. He slipped his hand in his pocket and fingered his meager supply of coins. “I appreciate your hospitality. What do I owe you?” He prayed he’d have sufficient funds.

With a deep chuckle, the man shook his gray head. “No charge, mister. Faye’d have my hide if I took your money.” Another grin creased his thin, tanned cheek. “You know what the Good Book says—‘whatsoever ye do for the least of these.’ Let me an’ Faye add a couple of jewels to our crowns. It’s more’n enough pay.” He opened the planked door to the house and ushered Thad inside. “Faye! Got some company!”

A sweet-faced woman with a white braid coiled around her head turned from the stove. A swirl of steam lifted from a large black pot, carrying with it a wonderful aroma. She set aside the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the pot’s contents, wiped her hands on her apron, and reached toward a shelf on the wall. “Well, then, seems I better put another plate on the table.”

A scarred table and four chairs sat on a braided rug in the middle of the room—the only place to sit. The livery owner gave Thad a little push toward the closest chair. “Have a seat there, mister.” He scowled. “I ain’t even asked your name.”

“McKane,” Thad provided, removing his hat and sliding into the offered chair. “Thad McKane.”

The older man held out his hand. “An’ I’m Estel Hines. Good to meet’cha.”

As Thad shook the man’s hand, Faye bustled over and plopped a plate, cup, and silverware in front of Thad. “Welcome, Mr. McKane.” Her tone, soft and kind, let Thad know he wasn’t an intrusion. She took his hat and hung it on a peg by the door, then hurried back to the stove. “You look like a man in need of a cup of coffee.” She used her apron to protect her hand from the pot’s hot handle and poured dark brew into Thad’s waiting cup. “Don’t have cream, but can I fetch ya some sugar?”

Looking at the humble dwelling, Thad surmised sugar was an extravagance—one he could easily forego. “No, ma’am. This is fine.” He took a sip, allowing the strong coffee to revive him. “Mmm, good.”

Faye bestowed a crinkling smile of thanks on Thad, then aimed a teasing look at her husband. “Soon as Estel washes the barn from his hands, we’ll have our supper.”