When the clerk left, Wes ran his fingers across the keys, hearing the melody he had composed in his head the night before. On the music paper, he drew the G clef and added two sharps, in three-four timing. As he hummed the melody he wrote down, Millie sang along with him, until he finished.
Other customers stopped to listen, and she stopped singing, embarrassed. Wes scooted over on the bench and motioned for her to sit down. She appreciated the offer. “That’s a beautiful melody. And you wrote it. Oh my. Are there any words?”
“I don’t have any lyrics yet. I haven’t even written the accompaniment yet.”
“It’s so lovely—is there any chance you will complete it before the dance? I would love to sing it.”
Wes smiled as if she had offered him the greatest gift, something as special as the Sarah Orne Jewett book. “I would be honored to.”
The store clock clanged the half hour. Wes packed his music away. “We have to leave so I won’t get into trouble with your mother for bringing you home late.”
On the way home, Wes asked, “Do you know any cowboy songs?”
The question startled her. It shouldn’t; he had told her about songs around the campfire. “No, I don’t. But I’d love to hear one.”
“I know a song by a man from Kansas. ‘Oh, give me a home where the Buffalo roam…’” Through the lyricist’s words, she saw the beauty of the West in a new way. Although where mountains could be found anywhere in Kansas, she couldn’t guess. She joined him in singing the chorus. As they climbed the steps to her house, she repeated, “‘Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the sky is not cloudy all day.’ That sounds better than a castle.”
“Especially since I never expect to sleep in a castle.” Wes grinned. “So, tell me, Miss Cain, do I take the inside of the step and assist you, or how does that etiquette book dictate?”
His question yanked Millie’s mind from the Kansas plains. “Yes, you assist me up the steps. Much of etiquette is common sense and courtesy. Assist the elderly or disabled first, for instance. Walk on the opposite side of the staircase if someone is coming down the stairs.”
She stood at the door, debating about whether to invite him in, when Father opened the door. “Come in, Millie. Mr. Wesley, join us for a few minutes.”
The two men sat with a few feet between them. Father was in what Millie called his ruffled gamecock mode, ready to peck at any imagined misbehavior by Wes. That attitude of fathers seemed universal; Ellen’s father treated potential suitors in much the same way.
Is that how she saw Wes? A potential suitor?
Millie cast about for a subject the three of them could discuss together. “Father, do you remember the party where we met Sarah Orne Jewett, the author?”
His forehead furrowed, and then he nodded. “You were so excited, since you had read every one of her books.”
“Mr. Wesley discovered she has written a new book. He bought me a copy. Take a look.” She handed him the book.
Wes started forward, as if wanting to stop Father from looking at the book, then settled back. Father opened the book to where Millie had slipped the bookmark. “This sounds like her other writing. Thank you, Mr. Wesley, for discovering one of my daughter’s interests.”
When Millie handed the book to her father, Wes wished himself on the far side of town. His final surprise for Millie lay inside the book, for her alone. He should have known better than to take such a risk. When Mrs. Cain entered the room, Wes took his leave. He stopped in front of Millie. “Thank you for such a delightful afternoon, Miss Cain. Mr. and Mrs. Cain, my appreciation again for allowing me to take your daughter with me this afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Cain.”
As Wes took the buggy back to the livery, he started whistling his new song as well as “Home on the Range,” phrases and verses from hymns. He couldn’t wait to start writing the song for Millie. The one he intended to reveal the truth and to win her heart.
Tex and T-Bone waited for him on the front porch. Wes groaned. His friends would demand an accounting of the afternoon, while he wanted to hug the memories to his heart while he struggled with the song.
Even so, a smile popped on his face as he approached. Tex whooped and T-Bone clapped his hands. “I knew it.”
Wes just smiled, not saying a word as he walked by.
“Come back here!” Tex called.
“Later.” Wes hoped they would take the hint. He ran upstairs and took out the melody, ready to work on the four-part harmony. He started humming “Amazing Grace,” another song using the same meter, and the first line to his song jumped into his mind: “Millicent Cain, how sweet the name.” He had finished the first phrase before Mrs. Babcock rang the dinner bell.
Her method of seating guests didn’t follow Millicent’s, but it worked. Newcomers who wanted to make new friends found other friendly souls. Those who preferred privacy were left to themselves. Mrs. Babcock talked to anyone who seemed hesitant.
Tonight the three friends huddled together at the end of the table. Tex demanded every detail of the visit. Wes shared about hunting down the book, leaving out a detail or two, and mentioned the stop at the music store.
“I wouldn’t know how to put a song on paper. Didn’t know you had to write out the music,” T-Bone said. “Didn’t she think it was strange, that you could?”
Wes shrugged. He’d hoped she might guess, or at least ask him more questions than she had. “Maybe she’s learning that not all cowboys are illiterate bags of dirt.” He grinned. “I told her a few campfire stories that made her laugh. Anyone can enjoy good stories and music, not just gentlemen.”
“That’s good. I’ve learned some good things from this class, but some of it makes me want to howl like a hyena.”
After that, the conversation turned to other matters. Tex had invited Miss Ruthie Hasselblad to the dance, and T-Bone had talked Wes’s cousin Ellen into attending. “If you want to accompany Miss Cain, you’d better ask quick,” T-Bone said.
“I doubt it.” Tex winked. “I passed words among the guys that she’s yours. Besides, everybody knows you like each other.”
Wes wanted to slap Tex. “I doubt it.”
“You’d better tell her the truth soon,” Tex said. “Before someone else does.”
The light banter of the evening drained out of Wes. “I’m trying. If she doesn’t know yet, she will before morning.”
Tex and T-Bone shook their heads. “We’ll leave you be, but we’ll expect a report tomorrow,” T-Bone said.
“I’m meeting with her early, to go over the music,” Wes said. If she hadn’t figured out his clues by then, he’d have to tell her outright.
Wes turned on the kerosene lamp and hunched over the table with a large cup of coffee to keep him focused. After he finished the harmony, he worked on the lyrics. Since he already had the first line, the first stanza wasn’t hard to write:
Millicent Cain, how sweet the name
Our letters made a start
Her grace and faith soon fanned the flames
Until she stole my heart.
The second stanza came painfully, since he admitted his failure to speak the truth. Eventually he penned:
We wrote our thoughts, and feelings stirred
One secret never shared
A cowboy didn’t deserve her
The truth remained unbared.
Tex and T-Bone left him alone, making it to bed before Wes started the third stanza. Should he make a plea for her hand part of the song or not? Yes.
When he arrived, a hope appeared—
A chance to learn her ways
Would studious charm help bring them near?
Would she tell Wesley yea?
Chapter 9
Questions about the afternoon ruined Millie’s appetite for supper. She forced herself to eat enough to avoid a reprimand by her mother. When Father threatened to question Wes’s intentions the next time he appeared in their home, Millie’s biscuit turned to dust in her mouth.
When she turned the page to the second chapter, a calling card fell out. She instantly recognized Mr. Wesley’s spiky handwriting. On the side opposite his name, he had written a quote Millie recognized immediately. “The growth of true friendship may be a lifelong affair.”
Sarah Orne Jewett had written those words—and Millie had shared them in one of her letters to Wesley Harper.
Wesley Harper knew of Millie’s interest in Sarah Orne Jewett. So did Mr. H. J. Wesley Jr.
Wesley Harper had learned piano from his mother. So had Mr. H. J. Wesley Jr.
Wesley Harper was a poet. Mr. H. J. Wesley Jr. wrote songs.
The pieces fell into place, and she couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Wesley Harper and Mr. H. J. Wesley Jr. were one and the same man. He had deceived her. Furious, she clamped her lips together.
Before she confronted Wes, she should confirm her suspicions. Her supposed friend Ellen must know, as well as his coworkers, Mr. Brown and Mr. Robinson. How many more? She wanted to cancel tomorrow’s class out of embarrassment.
Drawing a dark cape over her head, Millie slipped down the back stairs and raced across the backyards to Ellen’s house. She clapped a hand over Ellen’s mouth before she could scream. “Shh.” Once the fright left Ellen’s face, Millie removed her hand.
Ellen gestured for Millie to sit down. “I bet you’re here about Wes.”
Indignation swept over Millie again. “Whatever his name is.” She took a seat on the bed.
Tears came into Ellen’s eyes. “I didn’t think he would let it go on this long.”
“Is H. J. Wesley Jr. your cousin, Wesley Harper?”
“Yes. He didn’t really change his name, he just rearranged the order—Wesley John Harper Jr.” Ellen’s voice trailed away when she saw Millie’s glare.
“How could you?” Grief choked Millie’s throat. Ellen’s friendship was Millie’s greatest treasure in Wichita, and now this….
“It’s partly your fault, if you must know.” Ellen lifted her chin. “Wes arrived in Wichita ready to get cleaned up, show up at our house, and visit you, as promised.”
“Why didn’t he?” The words ground out through Millie’s teeth.
“Remember the day we ran into that horrible cowboy by the stockyards, the one who wanted a smile and wouldn’t leave you alone?”
The memory flooded back. That man had been so despicable, he frightened her.
“Do you remember what you said to him?”
The question made Millie squirm. “I don’t remember, exactly.” Something along the lines that she was too good for white trash like him.
“I’ll tell you what you said. ‘I’m a proper lady, and I refuse to entertain a swarm of filthy white trash.’ You didn’t know Wes and Tex were in a doorway nearby, and they heard every word. Straight from the trail, they looked as bad as that brute. You scared him and insulted him at the same time.”
Millie covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I’m as bad as my mother, thinking they all were the same.”
“I knew you’d change your mind once you got to know them in person. All our students are decent, hardworking men, even if not all of them are believers and some of them aren’t the handsomest fish in the pond.”
Millie giggled, and Ellen pulled her hands away, handing her a handkerchief. “We’d better keep things quiet before Mama comes upstairs to check out the noise.”
Millie hiccuped and cleaned her face. “Now I understand his hesitation, but he’s had plenty of opportunities to tell me. Like yesterday.”
“Oh, Millie.” Ellen took her hands. “All week long you’ve been worrying you were forgetting my cousin because you like Mr. H. J. Wesley so much. I couldn’t tell you they were the same person. But yesterday he tried to tell you. You figured it out, didn’t you? He’s waiting to see how you respond.”
“I don’t know what I should do. What I want to do.” Millie removed her hands from Ellen’s and wrapped them around her waist. He was writing her a song. How many suitors wrote songs for their sweethearts? She wouldn’t hurt so much if she didn’t care. Even Mother liked Wes, the way she had suggested Millie should look at the good man beneath the cowboy. “I’ll give him a chance to explain himself. He deserves it.”
Ellen clapped in delight.
“But not before I get a little revenge.” When Millie explained her plan, Ellen couldn’t find fault with it.
Music was her weapon of choice.
“You’ve got to let us hear the song,” Tex demanded. “We can find a place to build a campfire and you can sing it to us where no one else can hear.”
Wes snorted a laugh as he imagined them building a campfire in Mrs. Babcock’s backyard. “It doesn’t matter. Millie will be the first one to hear this song. Some things a man keeps private.”
They upped their teasing, adding an offer of T-Bone’s grilled steak dinners. Wes finally had enough. “I said no. You want steaks, T-Bone, maybe we can buy the meat and you can teach Mrs. Babcock how to cook it proper, Texas style. But you can’t bribe the song out of me.”
At the appointed time, Wes hurried to the church to practice the music with Millie and Ruthie. He hadn’t figured out what to do about Ruthie, or what he was going to do with Millie. It depended on whether she had found his card—if she understood what it meant.
If she even showed up.
She would be there. He’d stake his life on it. With the music folder under his arm, he headed for the door. Although he expected to arrive early, Millie was already singing songs at the piano. He took a deep breath of relief.
Millie ignored his arrival. As soon as she finished “Barney, Take Me Home Again,” Ruthie played the introduction to “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.” Her voice was even lovelier than he expected, neither too high nor too low, but just right. Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, with hair to match.
When they finished the two songs, Millie talked quietly to Ruthie. Now they were choosing hymns, strange choices for a party and dance, about half a dozen in all, ending with “Amazing Grace.”
Millie flashed a mischievous smile at Wes. “Go ahead and take a seat so you can tell us if you approve of the songs.” She spread several sheets on the podium and nodded to Ruthie to begin.
Her joke revealed itself in stages. Midway through “O for a Thousand Tongues.” At the end of the first stanza, she changed the lyrics from “the honors of thy name” to “the honors of Wesley.” She changed the lyrics of the following stanza to one of Wesley’s poems written in praise of God. Throughout all the hymns, she used phrases, lines, and stanzas from his poetry. Except for the first song, she wove the words so naturally that her trick wasn’t obvious except to people who knew the hymns well.
When they finished the medley, Millie said, “Ruthie, why don’t you take a break? Wes and I need to speak privately.”
Ruthie winked at Wes as she left, while his heartbeat was the only sound he heard until the pianist shut the door. Millie left the podium and stood in front of Wes. “What did you think of my song selection?”
He didn’t answer, and she took two steps forward. “Did you bring your new song, Mr. Wesley?” She stopped less than a foot in front of him. “Or should I say Mr. Harper?” She handed him a calling card. “This is for you. ‘True friendship,’ indeed. You should be ashamed of yourself. True friends don’t pretend to be someone else.”
“I didn’t know if you would care for an ordinary cowboy—”
“Oh, but you’re not an ordinary cowboy. You’re the boss. You even want to own a ranch one day. The other men talk, you know. They didn’t give away your secret, but they did tell me a lot about you.”
When she made his desire to improve his lot in life sound like
a crime, he’d had enough. “Before we went any further with our friendship, especially when I heard how poorly you thought of cowboys, I wanted you to know me better, both as a cowboy and as a man.” His face roared with heat like a campfire.
Her face remained cold, as cold as only a face as pale as hers could be. His breath slowed, squeezing the air from his lungs. He had taken a risk, and lost.
“And you convinced your cousin to join you in your deception. Her willingness to go along with you makes it ten times worse. And the men in your group? You’ve all spent the past week making fun of me.” Her voice faltered, and tears appeared.
“Aw, shucks, Millie.” Without thought, Wes stood and put his arms around her. When she didn’t pull away, his breath warmed as he released it. “Nobody’s laughed at you. Seeing those rowdy roughnecks made me realize why your class was so important. We all wanted the class, and we’ve all learned a lot.” He realized he really did feel that way. “Even if a few things seem strange. They make more sense in the city than on the trail.”
She nodded against his chest.
“And the way you received Hank, Mr. White, made a good impression on me. Some people, especially Yankees, don’t know how to act the first time they meet a Negro.”
She lifted her head. “I’ve enjoyed what little I’ve come to know about him. He doesn’t talk much about his past.” Her lips managed a smile. “Etiquette dictates that I not ask him about it.”
“Wise, in his case. He’ll share more when he gets to know you better.”
Millie lifted her head and freshened her face with her handkerchief. “Tell me, have you finished your music for tomorrow? We’re counting on it.”
“I have the accompaniment with me today. I want to work on the lyrics more before I bring them tomorrow.” He bent his head over hers, trying to read her face. “Millie, I wanted to know if you were the same in person as the woman I met in her letters. You are the same, and yet you are more—someone I admire, and I’m not ashamed to tell you, I love you.”
The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Page 30
