“We need to get back on stage. It was very nice to meet you,” Mrs. Roselli ended their conversation.
But Buddy watched the smallest sister. She appeared to be the youngest. And when they were walking away, she chanced a glance over her shoulder at him.
Bingo.
There was hope for him yet.
SEVEN
The Powell sisters were phenomenal. No two ways about it. More talented than anyone Daniel had ever heard. When Granny had encouraged him to come to their concert, he’d agreed and looked forward to seeing Miss Madysen Powell again. But it was so much more than he’d expected.
Yep, he was amazed. Just like Granny said. Of course, she was always right. At least, that’s what she told him. Over and over. He chuckled.
The song ended, and he took a moment to study the men in the room. Chatter rolled through the large, open space now that the ladies weren’t playing. The camaraderie and jovial enthusiasm throughout the crowd made him feel at home.
Home.
The past few days had helped to lift the dark cloud that seemed imprinted on his heart. Once he let go of the negative thoughts and realized his family loved him no matter what, it really was nice to be back with Dad and Granny. Neither one of them had pushed him to talk about anything spiritual last night, despite reading the Scripture and praying together. Out of respect for his family, Daniel kept his mouth shut and endured. All those years in the Yukon alone finally made him appreciate his relationship with his family.
It just took a long time for his stubborn self to admit it. Maybe now he’d be able to let go of the past.
As the sisters began another piece with all three instruments, he turned his attention back to the stage. The crowd hushed.
The haunting melody that the violin played brought up a lot of memories. When life was simpler and without all the pain of loss. Mom had always loved the violin. Said her dad played it. He’d always wished he could’ve known his other grandpa.
Since he was about eight years old, Daniel had followed Mom around the kitchen and helped her make cheese. Every day. She had high standards and worked him hard, but also gave him lots of affirmation. Dad and Grandpa took care of the sheep, and he and Mom made the cheese. Granny always kept the house warm and cozy and cooked all the meals. It was the perfect arrangement.
Until the cholera epidemic.
Losing Mom at the time in his life when he’d needed her most wasn’t fair. Navigating those tough years into manhood without her had forced him into some dark places. Dad and Granny had been grieving as well and didn’t know what to do with his struggles.
But things were different now. That much was clear. The years had given him a bit of wisdom and appreciation for the family he had left. For a long time, he’d said he never wanted to have anything to do with farming or sheep again. It hurt too much. But the thought of helping out at the Powells’ farm was actually appealing. Funny how life came full circle like that.
Mr. Norris plopped a steaming plate of food in front of Daniel, and his mouth watered. He cut into the sourdough pancakes and took a bite. They practically melted in his mouth. The saltiness of the butter mixed with the tang of the sourdough and the sweetness of the syrup was a perfect combination. Now this was food he could eat again and again. Almost as good as Granny’s.
He’d had some so-called butter in the Yukon on rare occasions. They’d put so much salt into it to preserve it that he couldn’t tell if it had gone bad or not. Not like what he’d grown up with from his grandma’s kitchen. And to be honest, this butter at the Roadhouse was some of the creamiest and freshest he’d ever tasted. Better not tell Granny he liked it better than hers.
Looking back to the stage, he watched the performers as they moved around. The woman who’d come into the store with John Roselli the other day sat on a chair with a cello in front of her.
One of the men whistled, then stood and put his hand over his heart. “You’re my favorite, Madysen.”
She glanced up and looked at the older gentleman. “Well then, Tom, this song is for you.” A smile lit up her face.
She definitely knew how to handle a crowd.
Madysen Powell. What a charming lady.
In the next instant, her sister played a soaring introduction on the piano. Then Miss Madysen moved the bow furiously over the instrument’s strings.
Daniel had never heard anything like it.
He leaned onto the table and watched her head bob with the bow, her curls bouncing with the rhythm. The cello seemed massive in front of her tiny frame, but she mastered it. The intense look on her face captivated his attention as she appeared to play with every ounce of strength within her.
Incredible. There were no words to describe what the music did to his soul. Maybe he should spend a bit more time around these talented ladies. Especially Miss Madysen.
“She’s absolutely enchanting.” A man’s voice caught Daniel’s attention. A guest of Mr. Reynolds, obviously, as they came to sit at the table next to Daniel’s.
He wanted to shush them so he could listen, but the man continued. “I’m so glad you got me back there to meet them.”
“It was my pleasure.” Reynolds at least had the decency to keep his voice low. “I think you’ll find the second half of the show to be even more moving than the first. I mentioned that the girls are religious. You’ll find they’ll have most of the old-timers tearing up as they sing hymns that remind them of home and their mothers.”
The man chuckled. “We have a tenor who does that at the end of our shows. He sings folk songs rather than hymns, but he never leaves a dry eye in the audience.”
Daniel watched the newcomer from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like he was eavesdropping. No conversation could be quiet in a place like this. But he didn’t like the look on the man’s face. A look that said he was interested. Too interested.
It took everything in him not to tell the man that he saw her first, but that would be childish. Every man in the room was mesmerized by the Powell sisters at the moment. As they probably were every night the women performed. What if Miss Madysen already had a beau? His heart sank a bit.
But it made Daniel think. Nome’s appeal grew after he’d met Miss Powell. Perhaps he could settle down here. After all, his father and grandmother had no intention of leaving anytime soon. It would be nice to have them nearby, but he would have to find a place of his own to live.
His experience with sheep could get him a job on the Powell farm. Dad had even said that John Roselli just hired a new group of native men to help. Surely if Daniel approached him and offered to help with the cheese making, John would consider hiring him. Hadn’t Miss Madysen even said she preferred working with the sheep themselves? Excitement built as he thought of the possibilities. Excitement he hadn’t felt for anything for a very long time.
There was a commotion at the front of the room, but the girls never stopped playing. A man holding a large bouquet of hothouse flowers was trying to approach the stage.
“I love you, Whitney!” His shout rose above the music. “I brought you flowers.”
Three old men from the front tables stood in unison and escorted the man back to his table. One of them took the flowers and said something to the younger man. He looked upset, but nodded.
While the girls continued to play, Daniel made up his mind. He would approach John as soon as the show was over. Hopefully that would allow them time to discuss the ideas going through Daniel’s mind. Only one thing caused him hesitation—Mr. Reynolds had told the stranger the girls were religious.
He frowned and took a long drink of his now lukewarm coffee. Miss Madysen Powell was beautiful and talented, but he didn’t need anyone else nagging him about his spiritual life. He glanced up to watch her playing away at the cello. The music she brought out of that oversized fiddle was quite something. She was like one of the fine china dolls his father had carried in the Seattle store. Maybe her religious views weren’t as important as Reynolds thought. Maybe she
was just following after her sisters. They appeared to be older than she and seemed far less approachable.
He smiled. That was probably all it was. She was religious because her family was. Daniel could handle that well enough. After all, he was in the same boat.
The show concluded to thunderous applause, and without warning, the stage was inundated with members of the audience. The men produced gifts and even more bouquets of hothouse flowers. Where on earth had those come from?
Daniel watched the strange production as the men attempted to pay court, while the old patrons who sat near the front formed a barrier and held them back.
“As you can see for yourself”—Reynolds’s voice carried from the table next to Daniel—“these sad saps pay court to the girls every night. Even to Mrs. Roselli. They bring gifts, gold, and proposals.”
“It’s much the same for my leading lady and often for the chorus girls as well. Men are men. They are easily enthralled by the flash of a sweet smile and a hither-to look that promises more than they can even imagine. My ladies are quite adept at implying the possibilities. A few even carry through.”
Daniel frowned. Surely the man wasn’t implying that the Powell women did the same. It irked him more than he wanted to admit.
“Well,” Reynolds replied, “as you can see, these young ladies are far more innocent and still the men do what men do. These men need little prompting. Of course, the girls always refuse the presents and proposals—if someone manages to actually get through to them––but they do it with such kindness that the fools actually walk away feeling as if they’d won something after all.”
Daniel watched as John Roselli rounded up his musical family and exited the room, presumably for home. The other men went back to their tables and finished their meals.
Daniel paid for his food and made his way into the chilly night. The ladies had sung a mix of popular tunes, folk songs, and church hymns in addition to playing some lovely classical instrumental pieces. He could almost still hear their voices. It was said that music soothed the soul. At the moment, he agreed. It’d been a long time since he felt . . . peace.
Movement to the far right caught his attention. Madysen was hoisting her cello into the back of a wagon. How strange to find her alone. He made his way to her in six long strides and got there just in time to help her take her place beside the cello.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Beaufort.” She was out of breath and put a hand to her chest. “Sometimes it feels like my instrument weighs more than I do.”
He didn’t doubt that. “You were wonderful tonight. Granny told me I had to come hear you and your sisters. I’m glad I’m such an obedient grandson.” He sent her what he hoped was a friendly look.
Madysen laughed. “It generally benefits us to listen to our grandparents.” She settled her skirt and leaned back. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“You’re very talented. Where did you learn all of that?”
“Our mother. We’ve been singing or playing as far back as I have memory. Which is a great blessing because it connected me to my mother and sisters in a way nothing else could have ever done.” She took a long look into his eyes, and Daniel’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “It was just me. I guess that’s why I have always been so close to my granny and pa. My mother and grandpa too, but they’re gone.” He couldn’t hold her gaze, afraid that she’d see too much of his inner turmoil, so he looked at the corner of the wagon.
“It’s hard to lose people we hold so dear.”
Yes, she understood. All too well. He looked back to her brown eyes so full of compassion. “Granny said your mother just passed this summer. That couldn’t have been easy to go in there and entertain folks with her being such an important part of it all.”
Madysen’s expression softened. “It is bittersweet to be sure. A part of me feels her presence every time I play, but it’s like she’s hidden behind a veil. I can’t quite reach her, no matter how perfect I play or how much passion I put into it. It’s like I can almost touch her again, but . . .” Tears came to her eyes and dripped down her cheek.
“But then she fades away and all that you’re left with is the present and her very apparent absence.” Daniel felt her pain mingle with his own.
Madysen’s eyes widened. “Yes!” She nodded and wiped at her tears. “Exactly that.” She studied his face for a moment. “You understand.”
“I do.”
Daniel heard a commotion and turned. The others were coming from the Roadhouse. “I’d better go.” He headed off before the others could join them.
He’d talk to John at another time. He wasn’t at all sure he could manage a conversation with anyone else. Madysen’s memories and raw emotions had stirred up his own bitter sorrow. If he were a drinking man, he’d head to town and drink it dry. Since he wasn’t given to that habit, he’d just walk until he could numb those painful memories and force them back into their cages where they could neither be heard nor felt.
Rolling over for what must be the fiftieth time in the past half hour, Madysen gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed. She pulled on her sealskin pants to ward off the chill and a long kuspik that Amka had given her for her birthday. The hooded dress was part of the costume the native women wore. In summer it was lightweight, usually made from cotton cloth, but in winter it was heavier material—usually animal skins. Amka had managed to make this one from wool, dyed a dark burgundy, and Madysen loved it. Typical of the kuspik, it had large pockets and, just below the hip, a gathered ruffle of sorts that brought the length down to below her knees. Amka had trimmed it out in braided black cord. For a moment, Madysen studied the beautiful work. Maybe she could make something special for Amka. Not as fine as the kuspik, but something to show how much she cared—how much the whole family cared.
They’d relied so heavily on their native friends this summer.
As she walked to the back door, she brainstormed ideas to show their gratitude. But she was too tired, and her mind couldn’t stay focused. Pulling on her warm seal mukluks, she then crept outside to join her sheep.
The sun had finally set, and the ebony skies hovered overhead like a shroud. Madysen pulled up her hood and spoke into the night.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’” But she did want. She wanted so much, and everything she longed for seemed out of reach.
“‘He maketh me lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’” But He hadn’t. Her soul felt crushed and broken. Her mother was gone. Her grandfather wounded . . . broken. And her father . . . her father had come back into her life as if to prove his heartlessness and lies.
“‘He leadeth me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’” But lately those paths were unclear. Other paths were beckoning. Paths that would take her far away from her family and all that she knew.
She stopped, unwilling to go on with the psalm. She leaned against the fence. Why was everything at odds? Why did she feel torn apart?
Losing Mama had been so overwhelming, and yet they seldom spoke of it. It was almost as if there had been a silent agreement to say nothing—feel nothing. Mother was everywhere around them and yet gone.
“I’m not strong enough for this,” she whispered in the darkness. “I’m too weak.”
My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.
Madysen heard the Scripture as if it had been spoken aloud. She couldn’t recall where in the Bible those words were written, but at this moment they offered little comfort and no understanding.
Gazing heavenward, she tried to imagine her mother in heaven. Her pain gone. Her body whole. She tried to think of the wonder that Mama would experience being in God’s presence, but it was just too hard.
“You took her before I was ready, Lord.” She gave a heavy sigh. God didn’t make mistakes, so
the deficiency had to be on Madysen’s part. Tears blurred her vision. Would she ever feel whole again?
She had confided in Mama earlier in the spring that she might like to pursue a career playing her cello and singing. And not just at the Roadhouse. The idea wasn’t at all a new one, although she’d not talked about it with her family until mentioning it to her mom.
They had a music book titled The Songs of Jenny Lind. The Swedish Nightingale had once impressed the likes of Chopin and Mendelssohn. She lived and sang long before Madysen’s time, but she’d always stood as an inspiration for Madysen. Mama told them of a newspaper story that related how Miss Lind had performed before Queen Victoria, and the queen had been so moved by the singing that she threw a bouquet of flowers at Jenny Lind’s feet.
Oh! To have people throw flowers at her feet! She wanted to sing and play and move people to such rapture that they couldn’t keep themselves from adoring her. Maybe then she’d feel Mama’s closeness again.
Madysen loved it when the men in the Roadhouse audience tried to approach with flowers and gifts. She loved that they adored her and she could share her talent from God with them. And maybe, just maybe, point them to Him.
“Perhaps that’s why I’m so unhappy. So restless. Maybe it isn’t just missing Mama, but also missing out on what I’ve been created to do.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. It might be time to break out of her sorrow.
And embrace her true purpose.
EIGHT
Havyn straightened her husband’s necktie and shook her head. “It’s a shame you’re so handsome.”
John chuckled at her. “Oh, really. And why is that?”
“Because all the young women will be watching you rather than the show tonight.”
“Oh, good heavens. I think your imagination has taken off with you.” But he sent her a wink. “Let’s see what kind of show Mr. Merrick has put together.”
Havyn gripped John’s arm a little tighter as they approached the outdoor stage that Judas had set up for this new show of his. She’d never been to anything like this before and wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Lively music played, and the air was filled with the scent of something very sweet. As they moved a bit more into the crowd, she smelled popcorn, and it made her mouth water. She hadn’t had popcorn since she was a child when they’d gone to the circus in Colorado.
Endless Mercy Page 8
