Gertie had spent the night with Katrina supposedly to help finish a dress. It seemed they’d had time to do other things. Exactly what, Mary didn’t know. But whatever those things were, they’d put a determined gleam in Gertie’s eyes.
Mary beat the eggs harder but she kept her voice casual. “What did you and Katrina do last night?”
“We…” Gertie fumbled with the apron strings. “It’s a long story. Could we talk later?”
Mary would be taking lunch to the workers at the church, and J.T. was coming for supper. The thought made her nervous enough without having to contend with Gertie. Neither did she want to give her sister time to scheme. “Now is fine.”
Gertie pulled the apron strings tight. “You’re going to be mad, but I’m not sorry. Katrina and I went to the Newcastle last night.”
“You what?” Mary stopped beating the eggs.
“I knew you’d be upset,” Gertie said. “But I had to go! Oh, Mary. It was wonderful. The music—”
“I know about the music.” She dumped the eggs in a pan. “Gertie, we’ve talked about this. You’re too young. You promised—”
“I know, but—”
Enid steamed through the doorway with an armload of dirty dishes. “There you are!” she said to Gertie. “Get movin’, girl! We’ve got a trainload of hungry people out there. They’re going to eat me if we don’t get ’em fed.”
“I’m sorry, Enid.” Gertie gave Mary a defiant look, then lifted a notepad and pencil from a standing desk. “I’ll get busy right now.”
Mary watched as her sister paced into the dining room. They had a plan, the best one Mary could imagine. But Gertie had no patience. Mary needed to know what had happened last night, but first she had to finish serving breakfast.
Sighing, she added a rasher of bacon to the frying pan. Gertie had as much sense as Mary had had at that age, but she also had an older sister who’d protect her. That meant keeping Gertie at home until she was eighteen, then sending her to study acting with Maude. They’d had this argument before. This morning they’d have it again.
When the breakfast crowd thinned, Mary told Enid to write Closed on the chalkboard in the window. As the last customer paid Gertie, Mary took off her apron and looked at Enid carrying an armload of dirty dishes. Gus usually helped with the washing, but Mary had kept him in bed. He’d improved and wanted to get up, but she figured he needed the rest.
“I hate to ask,” she said to the waitress. “But could you finish the dishes? I’ll pay you extra, or course.” She needed to hire a dishwasher, but she was reluctant to pay another salary when she needed money for Gertie.
Enid looked peeved. “I’ll do it for you, Mary. But that sister of yours—”
“I know.”
“One waitress can’t handle the train crowd.” Enid rubbed her back. “Especially this waitress. If it happens again, you’ll have to find two new waitresses, because I’ll quit.”
“I’ll speak to Gertie,” Mary promised.
“It’s not just my achin’ back.” Enid made no effort to lower her voice. “I don’t like getting the evil eye from people we’ve kept waitin’. Word’ll get out that you’re slow, and folks will go somewhere else.”
“I understand.”
“That sister of yours—”
“Yes, Enid.” Mary had heard enough. She respected Enid for her age and her hard work, but she didn’t need a lecture about Gertie. Nor did she want Enid listening when she spoke to her sister. “Why don’t you go on home? I’ll do the dishes myself.” She’d do them after she’d made sandwiches for the men at the church.
“Don’t mind if I do, miss.”
The older woman took off her apron and waddled out of the restaurant. When the door clicked shut, Mary went into the dining room where Gertie was placing fresh napkins on a table she’d wiped clean. The girl usually balked at helping in the café, but today she’d done a good job.
“We need to talk,” Mary said.
Gertie straightened the last napkin, then looked up with rebellion burning in her eyes. “I know I should have asked for permission to go to the show at the Newcastle, but you’d have said no.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t understand.” Gertie’s voice trembled. “We live in a city with a dozen theaters. I could—”
“You’re too young,” Mary answered. “Maude Atkins can teach you things.”
Gertie put her hands on her hips. “I know someone who can help me right now.”
“Who?”
“You know him, too.”
Mary hated it when her sister played coy. Instead of seeming sophisticated, she sounded like a brat. “And just who is this man?”
“Roy Desmond.”
She should have guessed. Gertie usually waited on his table, and he enjoyed telling her stories about his acting days. Mary liked Roy and didn’t mind the distraction, but she’d begun to worry about Gertie thinking too highly of the man. She needed to choose her words carefully to keep her sister from defending him. “I like Roy, too. But New York has far more opportunity.”
“But I don’t want to wait,” Gertie protested. “I know what you’ve done for me, Mary. I love you for it, but I don’t want to wait a whole year!”
“It’s not forever…just until your birthday.’
“That’s eleven months!”
Gertie marched into the kitchen with the empty nap kin tray. Mary heard the clang of the wash basin, then the splash of water from the pump. Enamel plates slammed together as Gertie scraped the remnants into a slop bucket.
Mary didn’t blame Gertie for being upset. Who wouldn’t choose singing on stage over running a restaurant? If she could have taken the role of Arline for herself, she’d have done it. But performing in Denver was out of the question, both for herself and Gertie. She went into the kitchen where the girl was scrubbing dishes with a vengeance. Mary stepped to her side, lifted a towel and dried a plate. “I know how much you want to audition. Really, I do.”
The dish in Gertie’s hand sank to the bottom of the murky water. She wiped her teary eyes with her sleeve, then looked at Mary. “Have you seen the Newcastle on the inside?”
“No.” She avoided the building.
Gertie stepped back from the basin. “It’s beautiful. The chandeliers are like diamonds floating in the sky, and the seats are so velvety it’s like sitting on a throne. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Neither had Mary. She’d performed in theaters all over the West, but nothing could compare to the opera houses in Colorado. Denver didn’t even wear the crowning jewel. Some of the best theaters were in Crescent City and Leadville, mining towns with gold and silver pouring out of the ground. Mary didn’t want to think about the luxury right now, not with a dish towel in her calloused hands.
“I’m sure the theater’s lovely,” she replied “It is.” Gertie bit her lip. She’d had that habit since she was small, and Mary knew what it meant. Her sister wanted something she shouldn’t have. The girl looked at her with owlish eyes. “I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?”
“Katrina and I spoke with Mr. Desmond last night. We talked about Bohemian Girl.”
Mary imagined herself as Arline and swatted the picture away. “What did he say?”
“You know he wants you to play the lead.” Gertie let the temptation tangle. “He’d give me a part, too.”
Mary wiped the plate more vigorously. “Gertie, no.”
“He just wants to talk to you.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Mary stopped wiping the plate. “I said no.”
“I don’t understand!” Gertie flung the dishrag into the water. “I know you think I’m too young, but you’d be with me.”
“Gertie—”
“Do you know what I think?” The girl turned from the basin. “I think you’re afraid of something!”
“That’s not it!”
“Then what is it?”
You don’t know the risk. Mary s
ealed her lips, but she couldn’t stop a sudden grimace.
Her sister’s eyes widened. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
Mary shook her head. “My concern is for you, Gertie. I know what theater life is like.”
“What does that mean?”
Gertie had hit a nerve, and she knew it. She’d push until she got an answer. Mary had to confide in her sister or make a concession. The thought of Gertie at the Newcastle filled her with dread. The theater world was small. Someone was sure to know about Abilene. They might connect her and Gertie. They might think Gertie was like Mary had been. The men might try to take advantage. As long as Gertie’s last name was Larue…but Gertie didn’t have to be Gertrude Larue. She could take a stage name. She could be Gertrude Jones or Penelope Smith.
Mary didn’t want Gertie acting at such a young age, but neither did she want her sister asking questions. Mary had to guard her secret, and that meant giving in—just a little—to Gertie. She’d have to convince the girl to use a stage name, but she suspected Gertie would agree to anything.
Even with her sister using a different name, Mary had to be cautious. She’d agree to meet with Roy to pacify Gertie, but she wanted to see the posters outside the Newcastle. If she recognized the names of the actors, she’d have to back out of the meeting no matter how hard Gertie pushed. Until now, Mary had avoided the theater as much as possible. Today, when she took the lunches to the church with Gus, she’d scan the posters for familiar names.
Pulling herself together, she faced Gertie. “I’m not saying I’ve changed my mind, but we can meet with Mr. Desmond.”
Gertie bounced on her toes. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Why?”
“I told him we’d meet him at two o’clock.”
“Gertie!” Mary didn’t like being pushed. “I bring lunch to the church today. Besides that, Mr. Quinn’s coming to supper.” And Gus had been nagging her for two days to bake a chocolate cake.
“I know,” Gertie said quickly. “I’ll help with everything. I’ll clean the apartment, whatever you need. Just name it.”
Mary raised one brow. “How about being on time for work in the morning?”
“I will,” she promised. “I’ll do anything. Roy said—”
“Roy?” Mary’s brows snapped together. Since when did her seventeen-year-old sister get to use the man’s given name?
Gertie blushed. “He said all the actresses call him Roy, and that I should, too.”
Mary didn’t like Roy’s familiarity at all. Not only had he overstepped a polite boundary, but he’d put a wedge between Gertie and herself. She felt manipulated and didn’t like it. “What time will he be here?”
“He won’t.” She grinned. “We’re going to the Newcastle. Isn’t that grand?”
Mary’s stomach flipped. While looking at the posters put her at risk, going inside the theater meant entering a lion’s den. “He should come here.”
“But it’s all arranged.”
Mary thought for a minute. If she protested going to the theater, Gertie would ask why. It was the middle of the week and the middle of the day. The theater was dark on Wednesday, so the chances were good the actors wouldn’t be around. She also saw a chance to bargain with Gertie.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll meet you at two o’clock, but there’s something I want from you.”
“What is it?”
“Until I say so, you’ll address Roy as Mr. Desmond. Do you understand?”
“No,” she said with a saucy look. “But I’ll do it.”
Gertie would have agreed to anything at the moment. She needed to understand why Mary had to insist on proper conduct. “It’s more than manners, Gertie. Roy is older. He’s experienced in ways you’re not.”
The girl huffed. “I know that.”
Mary held in a sigh. “I don’t think you do.”
“You worry too much.”
When it came to Gertie, Mary didn’t think she could worry enough. Wanting to keep peace between them, she faked a scowl. Gertie laughed and they hugged. With her eyes closed, Mary remembered being seventeen and unafraid. She’d never have that innocence again, but she could protect Gertie. Mary knew all about the temptations of theater life. If her sister was as ambitious as Mary had been, Gertie would do anything to win the best roles. She’d flirt with theater managers and flatter them. She’d taste her first drops of liquor, and she’d wear clothing that revealed too much. More than anything, Mary wanted to protect her sister from going down that empty road. She thought of J.T. coming for supper and shuddered. Looking at him, she’d remember the compromises she’d made, then she’d think of the baby and wonder…. Would the child have been a boy or a girl? Would it have had his eyes or hers?
J.T. had promised to mind his manners, but the sparks between them had always been obvious. If Gertie sensed more than an old friendship, Mary would have some explaining to do. She hoped J.T. would be on his best behavior. As for herself, she’d play the role of “old friend” perfectly. It would be the performance of her life, but she had to protect her brother and sister from any threat of the old scandal, and that meant protecting her reputation.
Four hours later, Mary and Gus were walking down Sixteenth Street with a handcart full of sandwiches and cobbler for the workers at the church. The sun couldn’t have been brighter, but she couldn’t stop worrying about what she’d see on the posters. To build her confidence, she’d worn the blue suit and lace jabot she saved for special occasions. Her best hat was pinned at a fashionable angle, but she felt none of its boldness.
When she and Gus reached the front of the theater, she indicated a spot of shade. “Wait here,” she said to him. “I’ll be right back.”
“S-sure.”
She walked alone to a glass case displaying the poster for the current show. Five performers were listed, and she didn’t recognize a single name. Allowing Gertie to take a small part, if Roy agreed and she used a stage name, seemed like a reasonable compromise. Turning, she spotted the poster for The Bohemian Girl. The drawing of Arline shot her back to the day she’d left Frog’s Landing with a satchel full of dreams.
In St. Louis she’d met Maude and joined a traveling theater troupe. While touring the West by train, Mary had done everything from selling tickets to mending costumes. The shows ranged from burlesque to Shakespeare, and she’d loved every minute. Her big break had come on a humid night in Dodge City. When the star of the show fell ill, she’d filled in. In a theater full of cowhands and ruffians, she’d closed the show with “Home Sweet Home.” There had been no applause, not even the squeak of a chair, and she’d thought she had flopped.
Then a man sniffed.
Someone murmured, “Amen.”
A cowpoke jumped to his feet and broke into applause. The crowd rose in a wave, clapping and stamping their feet until she thought the walls would tumble to the ground.
She’d loved every minute of the applause.
She’d basked in the compliments.
When a reviewer called her a sensation, she’d read the newspaper story a hundred times. She’d gained a name for herself that day, and later she’d signed a contract to star at the Abilene Theater. There she’d met J.T., and there her career had ended.
Feeling melancholy, she walked back to Gus. The boy was standing by the cart, nervously looking up and down the street. After speaking with him, she was certain Todd Roman was among the boys who’d bullied him. Yesterday she’d visited Deputy Beau Morgan. He’d promised to keep an eye on the streets near the café, but as J.T. had predicted, the law couldn’t do much else. She walked to Gus’s side. “How are you doing?”
“G-good.”
“I’m glad.” She tousled his head. “You should lie down after lunch.”
“I d-don’t want to l-l-lie down.”
Mary liked her brother’s spunk, but she worried about his tone. He needed to be strong, but she didn’t want to lose the sweet boy he’d always been. “Ju
st don’t overdo it,” she said mildly.
Frowning, he shoved the handcart down the boardwalk. As they passed the corner of the theater, he pointed to the top of the unfinished church. “L-l-look!”
Near the peak of the roof she saw a man darkened by shadow, balanced on scaffolding as he hammered wooden planks onto the rafters. He had long legs, broad shoulders and a fringe of brown hair sticking out from his hat. Lean and muscular, he looked as comfortable as a mountain lion lazing on a tree branch. When he reached into the nail bucket, the light shifted and she recognized J.T.
She forgot about the sandwiches in the cart.
She forgot about the jugs of tea and the cobbler she’d brought.
She forgot everything except the man on the scaffolding thirty feet above the ground, out of reach but in the middle of her life. How had someone like J.T. ended up on the roof of a church with a hammer in his hand? It made no sense…none at all. What had he told Josh? If he’d revealed any of the details from the past, she’d be furious.
She turned to Gus. “Set up the cart. I have to speak with Pastor Josh.”
As her brother headed for a patch of shade, Mary went into the unfinished building. She spotted Josh standing at a table, making notes on the building plans with a stubby pencil. Sunlight filtered through the rafters, then turned to full shadow as she stepped under the planking. Aware of J.T. working above them, she walked quietly to Josh’s side. He looked up and smiled. “Must be time for lunch.”
“It is.”
“Good, I’m starved.”
She wanted to ask him about J.T., but the hammering would force her to shout. Frustrated, she glanced up. J.T. had moved a few steps, giving her a view of his legs through the rafters as he pounded nails in a steady rhythm. Before she could look away, he shifted his feet to the right where the boards had yet to be placed. His upper body came fully into her view. So did the gun belt hanging from his trim waist.
The Outlaw's Return Page 8
