Weeping Angel (49 page)

But in all probability, she wouldn't speak to him.

And the way he was feeling, he wasn't sure she'd be wrong.

*  *  *

The next afternoon when Amelia and Narcissa sat at the kitchen table sipping tea, the doorbell rang. They'd been discussing the four girls, trying to think of other places for them to work. So far, a cook to improve the menu at the Chuckwagon was about the only thing they'd come up with.

Amelia set her cup on the saucer. “Excuse me, Narcissa.”

She walked out of the kitchen to see who was at the door. Frank had gone to the saloon an hour ago to give Cobb some practice time on the piano. She'd been surprised earlier in the day, just before he'd left for the Moon Rock, when he'd told her Cobb was playing the New American for him. Cobb had offered and, from what he'd retained in his head, had produced mixed-up tunes that were a combination of the classical composers she taught and the barroom ditties Pap pounded out.

As Amelia left the parlor, she smoothed her apron over her skirt feeling emotionally drained and not knowing how much longer she and Frank could go on the way they were. They'd spent the night apart; she in her Aunt Clara's room, he in hers. Because of his late hours, they had no time to talk in the evening. And in the morning, she was up long before he was. That only left lunchtime. They'd shared a noon meal, spent in near quiet, when he relayed the news about Cobb. He spoke nothing about the temperance scene yesterday nor did she. She was still trying to deal with hearing
that Daniel Beamguard had picked out her wedding ring, not Frank.

The bell rang again. Swinging the door open, Amelia arrested her movement as soon as she saw them on the stoop.

The dancing girls were collectively on the porch, donned in their usual attire. Up this close, Amelia could see they used cosmetics, and she could smell their perfume—a mixture of four different types in variances of floral to woody.

There was no reason Amelia could think that they would come visit her. Surely they wanted to speak with the other occupant of the house. At length, she said, “Frank isn't home.”

“We know that,” Jill supplied.

Amelia had to tilt her head a bit to meet her eyes. Diamond Jill was taller than the others. Taller than Amelia herself.

Society Patricia wore a polite smile with her pearl choker. “We want to speak with you.”

“There's something that we have to do.” Sweet Sue fingered the button on her right glove.

Four-Ace Arnette inquired, “May we come in?”

Amelia was so taken aback, she could barely think. She shifted her stance, and they took it as a sign they could enter her home. Each one filed in on her right, filling the foyer and directing themselves into the parlor. Helpless, Amelia closed the front door.

They took over the demure room with their presence. Sue, Patricia, and Jill admired the furnishings. Arnette stood before the oriel, gazing at the multitude of plants.

“These are phalaenopsis orchids, aren't they?” she queried, taking Amelia by surprise with her knowledge.

Her reply was soft as the flower petals. “Yes, they are.”

“I used to grow them myself.” Arnette admired the foliage and pottery. “Ming pots. Very nice.”

Amelia kept her hands at her waist, fidgeting with the band of her apron. She felt obligated to respond. “Thank you.”

Narcissa entered the room, her expression just as marked with surprise as Amelia's had been. After exchanging glances with Amelia, she walked toward her and took up her side. “Um, this is Mrs. Dodge,” Amelia finally said. The ladies all nodded courteously to her, and Narcissa, in turn, nodded back slightly.

Neither Amelia nor Narcissa sat. Amelia didn't want the four girls to settle in and stay, expecting her to offer them refreshments. She gathered her wits and asked, “What is it you wanted?”

“We've come to apologize,” Jill said.

Astonished, Amelia's gaze darted to each of the women.

Arnette spoke as she stood next to Patricia. “We just wanted you to know, we don't want to cause any trouble.”

“We didn't know you were Frank's wife,” Sue chimed in.

“Frank never mentioned he was married,” Jill admitted. “Not that he was hiding anything, mind you.”

“Of course he wasn't,” Patricia said.

Jill smoothed her skirt. “We won't take any more of your time, Mrs. Brody. We just wanted to set the story straight. Come on, girls. The saloon will be opening soon. Honest to goodness, I hope that grinning cowboy doesn't hit me up for another dance. He was way too cocky. I should have slapped him with my knee when I had the chance.”

“You can say that again,” Sue mumbled. “Give me a man who likes children and animals, and I'll show you a man I could love.”

Patricia sighed. “That tall one who sports real fancy duds and wears his hair parted directly at the equator—he isn't too bad. In fact, he's pretty interesting to talk to. He told me he was building a house with a wraparound porch above some road named after a rodent. Do you know what his name is, Mrs. Brody?”

“Ah, Ed Vining. He's employed by the public works.”

“Is he interested in monogamy?”

Sue cut in with, “Why in the hell would you want to marry him if he's married to someone else?”

Patricia gave Sue an exasperated stare. “That's bigamy you're thinking of. The practice of marrying only once is monogamy.”

“Well, shit. I told you to quit using those big dictionary words. You mix me up.”

“Is Mr. Vining available?” Patricia asked, brushing off Sue's reprimand.

“He's not married,” Amelia answered.

Patricia's eyes grew thoughtful.

As the four girls made their way to the door, Amelia and Narcissa drawing up the rear, Arnette made the observation, “Since we're on the subject, any man can spark my interest. But most especially, ones that irritate me. Why, I don't know. Maybe it's because I want to show them a thing or two.”

While the heels of her shoes tapped over the floorboard, Jill noted, “All I ask is that he's taller than me and can make me laugh. Humor is the harmony of the heart. Without it, our souls rust.”

They stepped over the threshold and bid Amelia good-bye. She and Narcissa watched as they sashayed through her gate, their camaraderie continuing through their voices and giggles.

Closing the door, Amelia kept her hand on the knob, her subconscious thoughts surfacing. She looked at Narcissa, who might have been having the
very same thought, judging by the sparkle in her eyes, but Amelia spoke first. “There is something the girls could do in Weeping Angel.”

Narcissa nodded, and both of them said, “Be wives.”

*  *  *

Two weeks later, the bed Frank ordered arrived.

If mattresses were hats, the Dream-Tide was the ten-gallon size. The bulk of the two pieces was more than Frank could handle, so he'd enlisted Cobb's help dragging the pair upstairs to Amelia's room after he'd assembled the birch frame.

Halfway up the flight, Cobb said, “I reckon I'll have to sleep in a bed soon myself.”

“You trying to tell me something, Cobb?” Frank asked, easing his end over the top riser.

“Miz Shelby and me have been sparking. I can't understand it. One day she wouldn't look twice at me. And now that I shave the bristles off my face and cut my hair, she likes me just fine.”

“Goes to show you how fickle women are.”

“I reckon.”

Walking backward, Frank guided Cobb to the room. “Turn right.”

Cobb maneuvered the springy mattress around the corner and down the hall. “I'll be asking her to marry me, you know.”

“I figured you would.”

“I hope she's half as nice a wife as Miz Brody.”

“You never can tell.” Frank slid his corner onto the frame, butting the edge against the headboard. “The funny thing about rings—when they're on a woman's finger, it changes things.”

The observation weighed on Frank. Things between him and Amelia should have been better, but the distance seemed to be growing. He'd been able to talk to Lloyd, and they'd worked out a deal that was
acceptable to the girls, though the duration of their stay at the Palace was questionable—they all seemed destined for the altar.

Sweet Sue and Rupert Teats had been spending time together at the livery. He'd shown her the stockyard, let her feed the chickens, and given her a ride on his big palomino. Ed Vining had taken Society Patricia to see his house under construction, and they'd had a picnic on the second-story framework.

Four-Ace Arnette and One-Eye Otis squabbled in public more than anything. She called his restaurant a beanery and said if there was any other place in town to eat, he could bet she'd be picking up her fork there instead of dining off his sad menu every night. For all Arnette's grumbling, and Otis's snapping back, Frank had found the couple kissing behind the Chuckwagon yesterday afternoon.

That left only Diamond Jill without a prospective beau. But lately, she and Pap O'Cleary had been appreciating each other's humor.

Pap had come to the Moon Rock last week hauling Lloyd Fairplay's wheel of fortune game with him. Frank had traded Lloyd the girls for it. The bat-wing doors had squeaked open and Pap shoved the game inside, his stance hesitant. The black derby on his head put his eyes in a vague shadow. “Howdy, Frank.”

“Pap.” Frank had left the bar while Pap strode toward it, rolling the monstrous wheel on its rollers. The two met in the middle of the floor. “I'm glad you were the one to bring it over.”

“Yeah . . . well, Lloyd asked me to.”

An awkward silence passed between them.

Frank shifted his weight. “You like playing the organ at Lloyd's?”

“Do you like me there?”

“No, Pap, I don't. I liked it better when you were here.”

Pap stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Me, too.”

“You want to come back?”

“You asking?”

“Yes.”

Pap gazed at his boot tips, then back at Frank. “I reckon I could.”

“Start tonight?”

“I suppose.”

“You know,” Frank said, “you really beat the crap out of me.”

Pap gave him a lopsided grin. “Never hit you in all the time I've known you.”

“Hope to God you don't ever have to again.”

Shrugging, Pap said, “I still feel a stirring in my heart for Amelia, but I know any chance for us is gone. Guess there never really was a chance for us to begin with. Just promise me you'll do right by her.”

“I will, Pap. I swear.”

So Pap had come back to the Moon Rock, bringing with him a new clientele—the gambler who liked to try his luck at the wheel. The girls were doing Lloyd's place a good turn; his business picked up, but the excitement sent the temperance league out in full force. Their mission had lasted all of fifteen minutes before their husbands disbanded them, threatening to cut off their expense accounts if they continued to publicly display themselves in such a fashion.

It seemed everyone had been able to sort through their affairs and put them in order. Everyone, that is, except Frank and Amelia. Though they lived in the same house, they were almost strangers. They saw each other only for lunch and a brief amount of time after. She'd thanked him for finding other employment for the girls, but that hadn't put the bloom back in their marriage. The late hour he closed up didn't help matters either. Amelia was already sleeping in her aunt's room when he came home. No more nights spent in each other's arms.

If he thought she was using sex against him, he wouldn't have allowed her to choose other quarters. But he sensed she was still hurt by the circumstances of their impetuous wedding and still having doubts about his feelings for her.

“You need me to help you bring this old one to the attic, Frank?” Cobb motioned to the narrow bed that used to be Amelia's before they were married.

“No. I can manage it myself.”

“Awright. Then I'll be going now. Me and Miz Shelby are renting us a buggy for a ride. She don't know it yet, but I don't know how to drive a rig. Do you suppose she will? I'd hate to have to cancel a vittles picnic.”

“I believe she does know how to handle reins, Cobb.”

“Well, that's a load off'n my mind.”

Showing himself out, Cobb left the bedroom, and Frank wrestled with the old mattress. He hoisted the edge on his shoulder and climbed up the third-floor stairs to the attic.

He'd only been in the room once—to store his box of sporting gear—and he'd been in too much of a hurry to take a good look at anything. The walls were stunted in the corners, and he had to duck his head if he didn't want to hit the top beam above the door as he entered.

A musty smell of old wood and the faint odor of spice invaded the space. He found several oranges with clove spikes stuck in them hanging from the rafters.

Navigating a path through the trunks and crates, as well as furniture relics such as mirrors, lamp stands, and an easy chair with the stuffing popping out, he headed for the northern wall. Halfway there, he almost killed himself by tripping over a crate that protruded from underneath a fire screen. He let out an oath and dropped the mattress where he stood.

Giving the crate a stiff kick, the lid jumped off under the aggression of his boot heel. An eddy of wood shavings flew over the sides onto the dusty floor.

Frank wouldn't have paid the books inside any attention if they hadn't looked expensive as sin. Bending down on one knee, he extracted a volume. It was bound in English red silk cloth and stamped with genuine gold lettering. Tilting the book toward the tiny window, he read the inscription on the cover:
The Legacy Collection.

Thumbing through the marble-edged pages, he deduced the tome to be a large-printed edition of the Bible. With a glance at the crate, he estimated there were twenty-five blessed volumes.