Under Starry Skies (16 page)

“I do.”

“Then we need another piano.”

“Now? Don’t be daft, Brett, where would I get another piano?”

Brett pursed his lips, looking skyward for a moment. His gaze fell and met hers. “There’s a blacksmith, Joe Sarowski, at the edge of town with a slew of daughters. All four of them played the piano as well as the accordion. They’re grown now and married. I can see if Joseph would be willing to lend his piano this evening. We would need six stout backs and a wagon, and we could bring it in around back, through the kitchen, to avoid the front steps.”

Abigail sighed. She hated being indebted to anyone. Now she’d be indebted to Brett as well as someone she’d never met. She looked up and found him still studying her. His nearness was overwhelming, and she could feel his energy and power. And did the man ever have charm! She’d bet a gold eagle he could lure the piano from poor Sarowski within five minutes. She waved her hand toward the office door. “Go! Go! See if you can weasel a piano off the poor, unsuspecting fellow.” Disconcerted, she shook her head, then called after him, “Please be sure to personally invite both Mr. Sarowski and his wife to dinner at the inn tonight. I’ll be sure a special table is reserved for them. Please tell them their meals and drinks are on the house. But hurry, we only have an hour before dinner guests start arriving.”

Three quarters of an hour later, Brett came whistling through the door followed by Amos, Charlie, Lang Redford, Will Singer, Big Jake, and Joseph Sarowski lugging a small upright piano. They placed it in the corner of the dining room.

“Your diners are just minutes behind us.” Brett grinned and straightened his black silk tie while the staff scurried back to their places and Joe Sarowski took his leave.

And come the townsfolk did.

Abigail was surprised to see all the people who flooded into the Mule Shed, including town councilmen, school board members, the sheriff, the banker, the undertaker and of course, the blacksmith and his wife. With Brett Trumble beside her, her nervousness began to wane as he introduced her to everyone who came through the door.

She was so caught up in the activities of meeting and welcoming her guests, she forgot about Maria and Tye until they were standing in front of her a half hour later. Maria was wearing the green silk dress and around her slim shoulders was a very expensive, black, Irish lace shawl.

“Look, Abby.” She rushed up to her sister. “Tye gave me a new shawl for my birthday to wear with my dress. Isn’t it beautiful?” She twirled, displaying the exquisite beadwork.

Abigail smiled. Maria looked like a princess. Her hair was caught up on her head in a mass of dark curls, and she wore their mother’s single pearl necklace at her throat.

“You look beautiful.” Abigail smiled. “Oh, Maria, everything is turning out better than I ever expected.” She paused a moment and surveyed the room. The barroom was jammed with people, and in the dining room, every table was taken except the one she had reserved for Aunt Emma, Maria, herself, and their escorts. The fragrant smell of beef, vegetables, and spices wafted from the kitchen along with the yeasty smell of ale from the taps in the barroom. Around her, the low murmur of pleasant conversation and laughter blended with the tinkling of glass and silverware.

“Where’s Aunt Emma?” Abigail looked behind them.

“Emma sent Millie Hanson down to the cottage to tell us she’d arranged to come by herself, and we were to leave without her.” Tye grinned. “It appears we are both fortunate and blessed.”

Behind her, Brett spoke. “Come, Abby, let’s sit with Tye and Maria.” He took her elbow and escorted her to their table near the kitchen. “From the turnout tonight, it appears your business may be very successful.”

“Oh, I hope so.” She spoke in a low voice as they wove their way among the tables. “This is either going to make or break me financially.” She said a silent prayer she would make enough money to allow her to pay off her bank loan and cover operating expenses for a few more weeks.

Once seated, the two Irish sisters, Peg and Polly, began their first number, a playful old ballad called, “Gently Down the Stream.” They weren’t two stanzas into the song when Emma McNeil, dressed in a fashionable, but low-cut, burgundy taffeta dress, sashayed into the dining room on the arm of Lang Redford. All heads turned to watch the widow. Her hair was piled on her head and pinned with elaborate combs. Her face was covered with layers of powder, rouge, and lip coloring so thick they looked like they had been shoveled on. Even the piano player and singers stopped to stare.

Tye Ashmore leaned in and met Brett Tumble’s befuddled green eyes with an equally baffled gaze. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

Abigail merely stared at her aunt, tongue-tied. If Aunt Emma had planned to attend in proper widow weeds as she had earlier suggested, she was wearing anything but discreet black. A huge diamond pendant encircled her neck and nestled itself between the two mounds of her bosom like a raindrop falling between two plump peaches. Lang Redford, lanky and clean-shaven, sauntered between the tables wearing a dark, worsted suit, a white shirt with a starched pointed collar, and a grin as wide as the Colorado River in flood season.

Both Tye Ashmore and Brett Trumble had the good sense and courtesy to stumble up and greet Emma as Abigail choked out, “Why, good evening, Aunt Emma and Mr. Redford.” She nodded to the singers to begin again as the couple slipped into their seats to the right of Maria and Tye.

Emma patted her hair, preening. “Why, my dear nieces, I’m impressed by the grand turnout. However did you manage to contact so many distinguished people so quickly?” She smiled and glanced about the room, aware everyone was observing them.

Across the table, Abigail looked at Maria who was wide-eyed and speechless. “Actually, Aunt Emma, it was Brett and Tye who helped us collect names for a guest list, and Maria and I wrote personal invitations to each.” She glanced at Brett who had leaned back in his chair and was now sipping on a glass of wine and enjoying the entire spectacle.

Emma wasted no time in scrutinizing both her nieces with open jealousy. She turned to Abby first. “Well, I see you’re looking like Cinderella at the ball, Abigail. I’d love to know who you use for your seamstress. Her work is exquisite even if it’s lost on your broomstick figure. No one would ever guess you’re wearing one of my old cast-offs.” She laughed lightly like a cackling hen. “If you should have need of any more hand-me-downs, I’ve several trunks in the attic you’re welcome to rummage through.”

“And you, my dear, Maria,” she continued, turning, “my, my, your shawl must have cost a fortune. I doubt a school teacher’s wages are hardly sufficient for such finery, or are those little confections on my account at the store?”

Maria’s face turned crimson with embarrassment, but it was not as livid with anger as Tye Ashmore’s was. Maria laid a hand on his forearm to try to quell his seething rage. “The shawl is a gift for my birthday from Tye,” she managed to say with a calmness she hardly felt, “but the dress—”

Tye cut her off sharply. “Quite frankly, Mrs. McNeil, I’m a bit confused why a relative who has so much would care so little about her nieces.”

Emma’s lips thinned with anger. She stared at him, then recovering, laughed a high-pitched haughty laugh. “I’m appalled by your words and bold behavior, sir.”

“As I am by yours,
ma’am
,” he said, his gaze steady, his face dangerously calm.

Across from him, Brett inhaled and held his breath. Lang Redford leaned forward about to intervene but thought otherwise when Tye glared at him, daring him to make a move. Lang eased his body back into his chair unsure of how to gauge the escalating ominous atmosphere.

A serving girl appeared, bringing bowls of steaming, rich soup to set before them. She was followed shortly after by another server bearing plates of beef, potatoes, and candied carrots. The rest of the meal was eaten without conversation, each person lost in his thoughts, and Abigail was glad she had commissioned the Irish sisters to perform and cover the awkwardness at the table.

“The kitchen staff has outdone themselves,” Emma finally said in a dramatic voice and clasped her hands to her bosom as the main course was finished. “I wonder what they will serve for dessert.”

“Apple pie, I imagine,” Brett said. Devilish humor flashed across his face. He swiveled and smiled. “Both Maria and Abigail have voracious cravings for apple dishes.” He openly winked at Abigail. “I saw a farmer unloading six dozen bushels of apples at the kitchen yesterday.”

“Yes, but it’s Swedish apple pie,” Maria corrected him. “Abby hired Anna Ashmore to come over and supervise the kitchen staff in making one of her famous desserts from her bakery. It was always a favorite of ours when my father owned apple orchards in New York.”

****

When the singers ended their repertoire of songs, Emma rose from the table and took a spoon, tapping loudly on her crystal water glass to get the attention of the diners. “I wish to say a few words to my guests,” she announced to everyone at the table and in the room.

Brett lightly poked Abigail with his elbow, then glanced at Tye, a smirk on his lips. He mouthed the words, “What the—”

Tye shook his head and glanced toward the ceiling. It was going to be a long night. Emma McNeil was about to steal the show.

The room grew quiet as Emma looked over the crowd, clasping her hands to her ample bosom in dramatic fashion and throwing them outward to the crowd. “Welcome! Welcome. I think it’s only proper I should say a few words as owner of the Mule Shed Inn. I’m so pleased to be here and so happy to see everyone turn out for the reopening of it, despite the recent and unfortunate death of my dear husband, Henry, God rest his soul. When I devised the idea of hiring Abigail to manage the inn, I had no idea she was so capable. Her uncle would be proud to see she’s now using her God-given talents, doing the same work he loved. I’m sure as you look around, you can see the many changes we’ve made.” She paused. “And, of course, I would like to thank the town council, school board, and everyone in the town for providing a teaching position for Maria as well. As you all know, my two nieces came here penniless, like paupers, looking for a better life than the one in Utah where their poor, destitute father died.”

In both shock and embarrassment, Abigail and Maria sat frozen to their chairs.

Tye rose to his feet as if someone ignited a bottle of nitroglycerin under his chair. He tapped his water glass so harshly with the first utensil he could find, a large serving spoon, and was amazed it didn’t shatter. He rounded the table and pushed Emma unceremoniously down into her seat.

“Just a second,” Emma sputtered, “I’m not finished—”

“Oh, yes. Yes, you are,” Tye whispered in a dangerously low voice. “Don’t test my patience, you old witch. It’s not beneath me to have you gagged, trussed up like a turkey, and carted out of here.”

He picked up his wine glass and took a deep breath. “As you know, I’m the Ashmore who’s not much of a talker.” The crowd chuckled. “But tonight we toast Miss Abigail O’Donnell for the wonderful evening and reopening of the Mule Shed Inn and its barroom. Lots of work went into the reopening, and she deserves everyone’s admiration. She and her staff have worked hard over the last few weeks.” He raised his glass to Abigail, still recovering from the sting of Emma. She forced out her brightest smile as the room filled with applause. “And tonight both Captain Brett Trumble and I wanted to do something very special for Abigail and her sister, Maria, our new teacher, who will be twenty-two next week.” He motioned to one of the serving girls standing in the kitchen doorway, then nodded to the piano player in the corner of the room.

As a lively Irish song was played, two of the kitchen help rolled out a wooden cart with two cakes, each splendidly done up with layers of gold frosting. Atop one, a replica of a book was fashioned in icing, and on the other was the outline of the inn, done by the artistic hand of someone in the kitchen.

Maria gasped, and Abigail leaned over, gave her a quick hug, and spoke over the din of the piano, “Happy Birthday! If Amos hadn’t reminded me, I might have forgotten. We’ve been so busy lately. You with your school and lessons, and me with the inn’s renovations. Let’s celebrate together.”

When the song ended, Brett rose and said to Abigail, “I’ll see to the clearing of a space for some dancing and have the kitchen staff serve the cake and apple pie.” They both glanced at Emma whose face was livid. It was taking every ounce of her willpower to remain seated and keep her temper in check. The tension at the table grew like a wild fire out of control.

“I see Dr. Wade is in town,” Brett said casually, once he was seated. “I haven’t seen him since we served in the war together.” He turned to Abigail, “You’ll have to excuse me for just a few minutes this evening while I buy him a shot of your good Canadian whisky in the barroom. I’m sure Tye would like to join me as well since Flint and Dr. Wade know each other.”

“Cullen Wade?” Emma asked, breaking her icy silence. “The doctor? What’s Dr. Wade doing in Golden?”

“Who’s Cullen Wade?” Abigail looked confused.

“He’s a doctor from Virginia who Flint knew from childhood.” Tye pushed away from the table and stood. “Even though he was wearing a different colored uniform during the war, he did a most remarkable job of helping wounded soldiers of both the North and South. I hear he’s looking to move west and find a small town where he can relocate and practice.”

“Wouldn’t it be grand if he chose to come here?” Maria asked. “Our town needs another doctor. Doc Silverstone is getting up there in years.”

Without warning, Emma rose suddenly, jostling the table. Silverware and dishes rattled. “I want to go home.” She held a handkerchief dramatically to her temple. “I feel a headache coming on.”

“But you haven’t even had an opportunity to dance or mingle with the guests.” Abigail stood. “Why don’t you sip some water or go outside and get some fresh air?”

“I want to go home
now
,” Emma whined in a shrill, waspish voice. “I don’t need to mingle with dirt farmers, annoying ranchers, and silly lumbermen. And I don’t need to mingle with odious young people who have no manners.” Her gaze swept the table and landed on Lang. “Get the carriage immediately!” She brushed past Abigail and stormed toward the entrance door. Behind her, Lang Redford scrambled to his feet and followed on her heels like a dog cowering to his master. Amos was standing just inside the entrance when she flounced by and snapped, “My shawl!” She ripped it from his grip as soon as he handed it to her. Within minutes, she was gone.