Endless Mercy

by Tracie Peterson

  In that moment, she’d wanted her sheep to know her voice more than anything. And she’d done it too. Even the little lambs came when she called. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  As she leaned on the fence and watched the sheep come close and lie down in a giant mass of wool near where she stood, she smiled at how that made her heart do a little flip. How could she leave them?

  For the first time, her two worlds seemed to collide. The world where she lived and breathed, and the world of her dreams. She couldn’t have both. She couldn’t stay here with her family and sheep and go travel and perform.

  Life didn’t work that way.

  But if she left for a little while . . . she could at least escape all the turmoil with Dad. Experience living out her dreams just a little.

  Common sense took over, and she giggled into the night air. There weren’t any prospects for her to follow her crazy dreams anyway. Maybe dreams were supposed to be just that—dreams. Something fun and exciting to think about when life got dreary.

  Tomorrow night when they performed at the Roadhouse again, she could just envision it was a fancy concert hall and sing and play her heart out to the masses.

  It would just have to be enough.

  SIX

  Buddy Merrick sauntered into Reynolds’s Shipping and Freight. He tipped his hat to the receptionist and put on his most flirtatious smile. “Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting? Be still my heart, it’s the prettiest lady in Nome.”

  The woman lifted one eyebrow at him. “You must be Mr. Merrick.”

  “Indeed, I am.” He bowed deeply and then winked at her as he came up.

  “Definitely a performer if I ever saw one.” The woman shook her head. “I’ll let Mr. Reynolds know that you are here.”

  As she marched off, Buddy laughed. She’d seen right through him. Plenty of people did. Especially stodgy, older people––and the receptionist was definitely one of those. But it was still fun to try to flirt his way into their good graces. He was a con man after all. And a good one.

  He took off his hat and gazed around the room. Reynolds had good taste. Obviously the man had money, so how could Merrick’s Follies and Frolics benefit most from him?

  “Mr. Merrick.” Reynolds’s deep voice grabbed his attention. “Thank you for coming.”

  “It’s my greatest privilege, sir.”

  Reynolds raised an eyebrow almost exactly like his receptionist. Tough crowd. “Please. Join me in my office for a moment?” The man waved him over.

  “Of course.” Buddy entered and took a seat across from a large, impressive desk.

  “Let me get right to it.” Reynolds leaned back in his chair. “We’ll have dinner at the Roadhouse in a few minutes, but I wanted to discuss a few things privately.”

  As if on cue, the receptionist closed the door.

  “Certainly.” Buddy shifted in his seat. Normally he took control of these conversations, but Reynolds didn’t even give him a chance.

  “I brought you here to make money. Plain and simple. Tonight you will see that there are plenty of people in this town willing to pay a good deal for clean entertainment in dry establishments. And since, sad to say, I didn’t think of it first, Herb Norris has had the corner on that market. Oh, there are the occasional saloon performers, but nothing merits the attention and money of the Powell sisters.”

  Who were these sisters? Spinsters, no doubt. But it was worth investigating the competition. “I see. Well, as long as I make plenty of money, I don’t mind that you do either.” Hopefully the man got his hint. His show was his show.

  “I’ve ensured that you will make plenty, Mr. Merrick. But this is my town. I brought you here. So you work for me.” The tone was sharp, like the blade of a knife.

  Ah, so the man thought himself to be in charge of all of Nome. That could work to Buddy’s advantage. “Of course, Mr. Reynolds. I’m sure we will make excellent partners.”

  There went that eyebrow again. “I’ve had an outdoor stage built, just north of Main Street, for your use until the new building is finished. Which should take a couple weeks more. The issue we have right now is that even though the sun doesn’t go down until about nine, the temperature has dropped quite a bit. It will probably warm back up, but this might affect our crowds.”

  “I highly doubt that, sir. We are known for bringing people from hundreds of miles around to see one of our shows.”

  “We’re not in the city up here, Merrick. This is the Alaska Territory. We don’t have people stretched far and wide. They’d die. But we do have twenty thousand or so people in Nome.”

  Obviously, this man was used to no one arguing with him. Buddy could play along.

  Reynolds leaned over his desk, his dark eyes narrowed. “In addition to the stage, I’ve done a good deal of advertising with flyers all over town. None of which I did from the goodness of my heart—I expect my take of the show’s profits, just as we agreed. Is everything still set for you to start tomorrow evening?”

  “Yes, sir.” Buddy kept his smile in place. No point in letting the man know he already despised him.

  “And the accommodations for your troupe?” Reynolds shuffled through some papers on his desk.

  He might look as if his attention were elsewhere, but Buddy knew better. “They are excellent. By the way, thank you for my room at the hotel. I don’t stay with the performers.”

  “I know.” The tone in which he said it made Buddy examine his new partner even harder.

  Reynolds’s impeccable reputation in town had caused Buddy to believe that the man who’d brought him up here was a goody-goody. Someone he could push over. Possibly swindle out of some gold. But now? He was in the presence of a master. Probably even another con man like himself.

  “Why don’t we head on over for dinner?” Reynolds stood and ushered him out the door. “A picture is worth a thousand words. Or in this case, a performance is worth even more.”

  Before they reached the establishment, Buddy could smell the food and hear glorious voices. Where on earth had the owner found such talent all the way up here?

  When the door opened, the music that washed over him was far from amateur. Not only were three young ladies—beautiful red-haired ladies at that—singing with some of the best voices and harmonies he’d ever heard, but they were playing instruments too! Piano, cello, and violin, all played without flaw.

  He blinked several times. Was this some sort of apparition? What had he walked into?

  “They’re pretty impressive, are they not?” Reynolds flashed a smile at him as a portly gentleman in an apron led them to a table.

  “The special tonight is sourdough hots and reindeer sausage.” An unlit pipe hung between the man’s lips.

  “We’ll take two plates, please.” Reynolds didn’t even look at the man. “With butter.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  “Was that the owner?” Buddy couldn’t help but watch the crowd. They were completely entranced. He took a cigar from his pocket and reached for a match.

  “Yes. Herb Norris.”

  Reynolds reached over and pulled the cigar from Buddy’s mouth. “They don’t allow smoking here. It affects the girl’s voices, or so they say. But their mother died of whooping cough made worse by a severe case of asthma. Since then the girls have insisted no smoking or they won’t perform. Didn’t you see? Even Herb just had it in his mouth—it wasn’t lit.” Reynolds smirked. “No smoking or drinking, and yet the man makes money hand over fist and pulls men in from far and wide.”

  “Where did he find such talent?” It was hard to keep the shock out of his voice.

  “He’s a friend of their family.” Reynolds pointed to the stage. “Those are the Powell sisters. Well, I guess, one of them is married now and is a Roselli. But they are all the granddaughters of Chuck Bundrant. He owns a dairy and poultry yard outside of town.”

  For once, Buddy didn’t want to fill the time with conversation. All he wanted to do was listen. There wasn�
�t much conversation going on anywhere in the Roadhouse. The ladies on the stage had the entire room mesmerized.

  Including him.

  The song finished and the performers bowed. As the applause roared around him, he studied them. Two of the sisters seemed strong and sturdy. The one who played the piano had curly hair that escaped her long braid—curls sprang out at her temples and her neck. The one with the violin had straighter hair, neatly coifed into a beautiful design off to the right side of her neck. Probably because the violin had to be tucked under her chin on the left. But the one on the cello . . . she was tinier than her sisters. Dainty. Almost fragile. With that same dark red hair that spilled down her shoulders and back in a plethora of curls. Two combs held her hair off her face.

  All three wore matching emerald green gowns. Nothing like the fashion of the city that he had to supply for the girls he hired. These were simple in their fashion with rounded but modest necklines, short puffed sleeves, and basque waists that dropped to a point just below their natural waistlines. The gowns had no fancy trim of any kind. No doubt they were handmade. And yet, these girls pulled it off as if they were adorned in the latest fashion from Paris. In fact, he’d bet the crowds wouldn’t notice if the ladies wore potato sacks.

  As the women started into a soft and slow ballad, their voices intertwining and floating around the others, he studied each of them. Only the cello accompanied, and it was probably the most beautiful thing Buddy had ever heard. No denying they were sisters. Perhaps since they dressed alike, they wore their hair in different styles so the audiences would know who was who? Clever really. But in reality, their instruments set them apart. When they sang, he couldn’t pick their voices apart, their sound was so tightly woven.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off of them. “How often do they perform?”

  The food arrived, and Reynolds didn’t hesitate to pick up his fork and knife. “Thursday through Saturday evening. Earlier this summer they performed every night but Sunday, and while there was a large crowd each night, it took its toll on the girls. I think they cut back so that they could keep up with their chores at home.”

  “No Sundays?”

  “No. They are religious.” The man shoved a large bite of the sourdough pancakes into his mouth.

  It made Buddy’s mouth water. He took some of the butter from in front of him and slathered the cakes. Then poured a generous portion of syrup on top.

  Reynolds pointed with his knife. “That butter is from the Bundrant farm. It costs extra, so enjoy it.”

  All Buddy could do was nod. Who knew that pancakes and sausage could be so satisfying?

  “As I was saying, it was hard for them to perform every night, but they needed the money. Their mother fell ill, and their grandfather had a stroke.”

  “Did he die too?”

  “No. Surprisingly enough, the old man is still going. Tough old coot. Their mother was a beautiful woman and as talented as her girls. She didn’t perform for the public anymore. I’m not sure why. She was the most talented person I’ve ever met. I heard her play the piano once at the house. Amazing. She taught the girls. They had no other formal training.”

  “That’s hard to believe.” Buddy shook his head. “Yet talent like that must surely be a gift—something one is born with.”

  “Call it what you will. Norris is just pleased to have them coming as often as they do because his crowds triple whenever the sisters are here.”

  “I can see why.” Buddy wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So tell me, you said these girls work for tips? Their talent is wasted for that.” He leaned back in his chair. Time to find out the whole story. The man beside him obviously had ulterior motives—a plan. Something long term, no doubt. “Why did you bring my troupe all the way up here when you could have just booked these ladies and demanded a small fortune for each performance? The crowds obviously love them.”

  Reynolds finished off his plate of food and wiped his hands on the napkin. “Because I am also a friend of the family. They started off performing a couple years ago to help out Norris—to bring more people into his establishment. The girls are very particular about who they do business with, and being the good friend that I am, I couldn’t steal them from Norris. No matter how much money I could make. That wouldn’t be appropriate, now would it?”

  Did he detect a hint of sarcasm? Buddy squinted just a bit and studied Judas Reynolds. “I’m sure you chose the right thing. An upstanding gentleman like yourself.”

  Reynolds’s smile told him more than he needed to know. It would be good to have this man as a friend and ally . . . and dangerous. Buddy would have to keep his eyes wide open. “Could you possibly introduce me to these fine musicians?”

  “Certainly. They should be taking a break soon, and I’ll arrange it.” The gentleman rose from his chair and gave a tiny bow. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. I’ll see to your request, Mr. Merrick.” He gave an odd chuckle. “But watch out for the old guard.”

  “What?” Buddy shook his head. “Old guard?”

  “Yes. Do you see the first two rows of old men—the ones who have made a half circle around the girls with their tables?”

  He hadn’t noticed it before, but he did now. “Yes. Who are they?”

  “Friends of their grandfather. They watch over the girls when he can’t be here. Guard them like banks guard their gold.” Judas broke into a grin. “If any particularly rowdy young man should approach, the old guard will take care of the situation. Those girls have better protection than the president of the United States.”

  Buddy could only imagine. “Then how are you going to get me an audience with them?”

  Judas shrugged. “I’m practically family.”

  Buddy watched the man work his way through the room. It was quite apparent that everyone here had a lot of respect for him. Even the old guard welcomed him.

  After several minutes, the girls exited the stage, and Reynolds waved to him from the front of the room.

  The crowd turned boisterous when the entertainment was gone, and Buddy had a hard time moving through the mass of people. But when he reached Reynolds, Mr. Norris was there with him.

  “Ah, so you are Mr. Merrick of the new show that’s come to town.” The man stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you in Nome.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Norris. Your establishment is wonderful, and the food scrumptious. I find myself completely entranced with your performers and simply must meet them.”

  Norris beamed a smile at him. “Thank you for the compliments. Can’t say I’ve been told my food was scrumptious before, but you city folk have all your fancy words. I’ll give you a moment to meet them.”

  As Reynolds ushered him toward the back, a tall, dark-haired gentleman stood outside the door. Was he the bodyguard?

  “John.” Reynolds nodded to the man.

  “Judas.” The man nodded back.

  “Ladies”—his host held out his arms—“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Buddy Merrick of the famed Merrick’s Follies and Frolics. He heard you perform tonight and insisted that I introduce you.”

  The ladies looked up and met Buddy’s gaze. They were even more beautiful up close.

  “Good evening, Mr. Merrick, I’m very pleased you’ve enjoyed our performance.” The first woman studied him with eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. She offered a slight smile, but not a genuine one. “I’m Miss Whitney Powell.”

  “You were the one on the piano, were you not?”

  “Yes. That was me.”

  The next sister approached. “I’m Mrs. Havyn Roselli. It’s a privilege to have you here.” Her smile was brighter than that of her sister, but she too eyed him with an intense stare.

  Then the cellist approached. A smile stretched across her face. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you, Mr. Merrick! I’m Madysen Powell.” Now this was the greeting he was used to. She put a hand to her chest. “And how thrilling that you loved our show.”

  “I could take yo
u three all over the world and make you stars. That’s how talented you are.”

  The married one waved a hand at him. “You’re being far too generous, Mr. Merrick, but we appreciate the compliment.” She turned toward the back of the room and took a sip of water.

  “Do you really think so?” Miss Madysen approached him, her eyes wide and dreamy.

  Exactly what he was hoping for. “Heavens, yes. I haven’t heard talent like the three of you in years. Years!” He tried to get the other sisters’ attention, but they were glancing over music sheets. “Where did you study? Europe? New York?”

  Miss Madysen laughed at that. “Our mother taught us.”

  So Reynolds was telling the truth. Even better. “I forgot that Mr. Reynolds said as much. I would have thought that you trained at the highest level of conservatory.”

  “Gracious. Thank you for such a wonderful compliment.” Pink rose up in Miss Madysen’s cheeks. Ah, she was an innocent. The possibilities could be endless with this one.

  The other two ladies approached. Apprehension in their eyes. They looked at their sister. And then back to him.

  The married one spoke up. “Our mother was a talented musician. She could play any instrument. A true virtuoso.”

  “I’m sure she was—just by the testimony of watching you three. And I was very serious in my statement. I could have you booked in concerts around the world, demanding the highest of fees from the most prestigious of audiences. You are that talented.”

  Mrs. Roselli wrapped an arm around each of her sisters. “Thank you, again. That is quite the compliment, but I don’t think my husband and I would ever dream of leaving our family and Alaska.”

  The less congenial sister seemed a tad colder now. “Neither would I. This is home. But thank you.”

  Miss Madysen bit her lip but didn’t respond. Just stood there within her sister’s embrace.