"Ruby Leigh Diamond? That can't be the woman's real name," she said, trying hard not to laugh.
" Alice," Pickerman blurted out. "Her name's Alice O'Reilly."
"Then she's Irish."
"Yes, miss, she is," Steeple said.
Genevieve smiled. "I'm not Irish," she said quietly. "My ancestors came here from Africa. Surely you noticed. You cannot think anyone would think I'm Ruby Leigh Diamond, for heaven's sake. Have you lost your wits?"
"Begging your pardon, miss, but I don't think you grasp the seriousness of our predicament. We'll lose our necks if we don't find a pretty lady to go out on stage," Steeple whined. "You don't have to be Ruby if you don't want to. We can give you another stage name. How about Opal or Emerald?"
"My name is Genevieve. What exactly am I expected to do on stage?"
"Don't you see? We don't rightly care what you do. You're real pretty, and maybe if you twirl around a couple of times and sashay back and forth, folks will think they got their money's worth."
"Are you about ready to get going?" Adam asked.
She shook her head. "These gentlemen do seem to be in a bind. If I help them out, I could be saving their hides."
"Yes, miss, that's exactly right," Pickerman agreed.
She did feel sorry for them, but she was also intrigued by the possibility of replenishing her funds so quickly. It was an appealing proposition. There was a dilemma however.
"I do sing, but only in church," she explained.
"She sings, Pickerman," Steeple shouted. "It's a sign, I tell you. She was sent to us."
"There you have it," Steeple said. "You sing. That's what you'll do, then."
"Can you twirl?" Pickerman wanted to know.
Adam was shaking his head. She ignored him and asked, "Is twirling important?"
Steeple shrugged. "I expect so," he said. "Folks will want to see your ankles."
She glanced at Adam, saw his dark expression, and knew he'd reached his boiling point.
"I don't think I'll be doing any twirling or sashaying, but I would like to earn thirty dollars. I'll sing for that amount of money and not a dollar less."
The two men didn't need to discuss the matter. Steeple reached up and shook her hand. "You've got yourself a deal, little lady."
"May I have the money in advance?" she asked.
"As soon as you step out on stage, we'll give the money to your companion," Steeple told her with a nod toward Adam.
"He'll shoot you if you don't pay him," she said sweetly.
Pickerman turned to Adam. "You won't have to shoot anyone. He'll pay."
"Now all we have to do is sneak you in the back door of the saloon so folks won't know you only just got there."
"I've never been inside a saloon," she remarked.
"Well, now, this will be a treat for you," Pickerman said.
Adam's patience was all used up. "Genevieve, I'm putting my foot down. You aren't going to sing for a bunch of drunk men."
"There might be women there too," Steeple promised.
"Adam, have some compassion," Genevieve said. "These gentlemen need my help."
Both Pickerman and Steeple nodded in unison, their chins wobbling like a pair of turkeys pecking at the ground.
"People will understand if they tell them the truth," Adam said.
"We can't tell them Ruby didn't show. They'll hang us," Steeple insisted.
"Don't you have a sheriff in Gramby?" Genevieve asked.
"Yes, miss, we do," Pickerman answered. "But he isn't in Gramby today. He headed over to Middleton as soon as he heard their bank was robbed. Folks over there don't need his help though, because there are three U.S. marshals on their way to Middleton now. They'll catch the robbers quick enough."
"But Middleton's a couple of hours away, and by the time our sheriff comes back home, we'll be swingin' from the trees," Steeple said.
"You took money for tickets, didn't you?" Adam asked.
"We did," Steeple agreed.
"Then give them refunds."
The men looked horrified by the notion. "We couldn't do that," Pickerman said.
"It's bad business," Steeple interjected.
Adam gave up trying to make them be reasonable. Genevieve continued to look sympathetic.
"Miss Genevieve, do you happen to have a nice little something to wear on stage?"
She smiled. "I have just the thing."
Chapter Nine
She wore her favorite church dress. It was the color of freshly churned butter and had a matching wide-brimmed hat, wrist-length gloves, and shoes. The dress was long-sleeved and covered her ankles and her neck, and therefore met Adam's stipulations. Nevertheless, he still wasn't happy when he saw her all decked out in her Sunday finery. Neither were Steeple and Pickerman. They took turns begging her to find something else to put on.
Adam had insisted they stay at the boardinghouse outside of town, but there hadn't been time to go there to change her clothes, and so she'd ended up using Steeple's storage closet behind the stage. She made Pickerman guard the door, ignoring his protest that he was breaking a sacred vow by entering Steeple's den of iniquity. Adam and Steeple waited near the stage. When she stepped out and asked Adam if she looked all right, he shook his head and told her she would incite men's appetites wearing such a revealing garment. While Steeple pleaded with her to at least roll up her sleeves, Adam moved forward, nudged her chin up, and fastened her two top buttons.
She knew he was angry that he hadn't been able to change her mind. He knew she was nervous, because he could feel her trembling.
"It isn't too late to leave," he whispered.
She moved closer to him and tried to smile. "I am a little nervous," she admitted.
He put his arms around her, but resisted the urge to try to shake some sense into her.
"Then let's go. You don't have any business inside a saloon. You're too refined for such a place."
She thought that was a lovely thing for him to say. "I am?" she asked.
"Let's go."
She shook her head. "It's thirty whole dollars," she reminded him once again. "I could pay you back what I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything."
"I made you give your money to the Meadows family, remember?"
His head dropped down toward hers so that he could hear her whispers over the crowd's shouts coming from the other side of the stage.
"You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do."
"For the love of God, now isn't the time to be whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. We got a situation here," Steeple cried out.
"The audience sounds… restless," she said.
"It isn't an audience, it's a mob," Adam snapped.
Steeple latched onto Genevieve's arm. "If he'll unhand you, I'll show you where you should wait."
He tugged her away from Adam and then guided her over to the left side of the stage behind the red velvet drape. She had grabbed hold of Adam's hand and wouldn't let go. He kept trying to get her to change her mind, but she was in such a panic now, she could barely hear a word he said.
The noise of the crowd was deafening. Pride kept her from picking up her skirts and running for safety. She had given her word, and she meant to keep it.
She tried to look out at the audience, but Steeple saw what she was about to do and rushed forward to put himself in front of her.
The crowd was getting restless. As one, they began to chant Ruby Leigh Diamond's name and pound their fists on the tables. They hurled their empty whiskey bottles at the walls and the stage.
The noise was frightful. "They sound… impatient," Genevieve said when she heard a loud crash.
"Ruby… Ruby… Ruby…" the crowd chanted.
"You still haven't told them Ruby isn't here?" Adam demanded.
"I'm going out there now to tell them," Steeple promised. He turned to Genevieve. "After I introduce you, the band will start playing, and you come on out."
"Wait," she cried wh
en he turned to leave. "What will they be playing?"
Steeple smiled. "Well, now, no one rightly knows. Elvin will be pounding a tune on his piano, and the two fiddlers I hired will figure it out and catch up in no time."
"But what is the song?"
"Is that important?"
"Yes," she stammered.
He patted her arm. "It'll be fine. Just fine," he promised.
Her stomach was doing flips. She thought she might be turning green too. She dared a peek out at the audience and was immediately sorry. There were two men hanging down from the balcony above, and both were pouring bottles of liquor on the cantankerous crowd below.
She jumped back and sagged against Adam's chest. "Oh, dear," she whispered.
Adam had never felt such acute frustration in his entire life. Why must Genevieve be so stubborn? Didn't she know that as soon as the crowd heard that Ruby wouldn't be performing, they would tear the place apart?
"Are you still hell-bent on this foolishness?"
Before she could answer, Pickerman came running. "You'd best get on out there," he told Steeple. "Fargus is swinging from your chandelier and cross-eyed Harry is trying to lasso him with his rope. They're both drunk as skunks."
Adam reached over Genevieve's shoulder and grabbed Steeple by his collar. "If anyone gets near her while she's out there, I'm going to shoot him. Got that?"
Steeple vigorously nodded and then scurried out on stage. She held her breath in anticipation of the crowd's reaction when they heard Ruby wasn't there.
Steeple had both his hands up with the palms out and was waving to the audience to be quiet. An expectant hush followed. Fargus let go of the chandelier and landed on top of the table to take his seat. Cross-eyed Harry dropped his rope and sat down next to his friend. He let out a loud, low belch. The crowd erupted in laughter, but quieted down again as soon as Steeple motioned to them.
"Now, men, I told you Miss Ruby Leigh Diamond would be performing tonight-"
He abruptly stopped. The crowd leaned forward and waited expectantly for him to continue. Steeple didn't say another word for a full minute. He simply stood in the center of the stage, shifting back and forth from one foot to the other, smiling at his audience as he squinted out at them. They squinted back. The seconds ticked by, and the only sound that could be heard was the squeak of Steeple's brand-new, two-toned shoes.
The audience soon grew impatient. A murmur of dissent began in the back of the saloon, and like a wave, it gathered momentum as it worked its way forward.
Just as Fargus was turning to the chandelier and his companion was reaching for his rope, a slow, sly smile came over Steeple's face.
"I promised you Ruby Leigh Diamond," he bellowed. "And here she is."
With a flourish, he bowed low to Genevieve, straightened back up, and gave Elvin the signal to start pounding on his piano. Then he ran as though lightning were chasing him to the opposite side of the stage. He ducked behind the curtain, but peeked out to see how the audience was reacting.
Pickerman slapped thirty dollars into the palm of Adam's hand, gave Genevieve a pitying glance and a quick shove toward the stage, and then ran to find a place to hide.
Adam was glaring at Steeple. "I'm going to kill that son of a-"
She interrupted him. "This is going to be an adventure," she whispered.
She straightened her shoulders, forced a smile, and inched her way onto the stage.
Adam went with her. He moved out just far enough to be seen by everyone. He slowly lifted his rifle, slipped his finger through the trigger ring, and pointed the barrel at the center of the crowd. His message wasn't subtle. The first man who dared to utter a single word of disappointment over the obvious fact that Genevieve wasn't Ruby was going to get shot. If the weapon wasn't a sufficient deterrent, the expression on his face was. He looked bad-tempered and trigger-happy.
As it turned out, none of his precautions were the least bit necessary.
She took their breath away. The sight of her dressed so primly in her Sunday best stunned them speechless. They stared and they gaped. Elvin stopped playing the piano; the fiddlers dropped their bows, and like everyone else in the saloon, they too stared up in openmouthed stupefaction at the woman on the stage.
She was a nervous wreck. Some adventures were better left unpursued, she thought frantically. She had to be crazy to be doing this. Adam was right. It was foolishness.
She turned to leave and saw him standing there on stage with her, with his rifle up and ready to fire and an expression on his face that would have made the fainthearted shriek.
He wasn't going to let any harm come to her. Her smile widened as she turned back to her audience. Her knees were knocking, her stomach was flipping, and her throat was closing, but all she could think about was that Adam was protecting her.
Was it any wonder why she loved this man?
Something smelled vile. It was the sinful stench of whiskey surrounding her. She looked from side to side and saw all the empty bottles littering the tables and the floor.
Her audience was drunk, shame on them, and she was suddenly too disgusted to be nervous.
The crowd was finally getting over their initial surprise. Some of the men smiled at her; others frowned. She wasn't at all what they had expected, but before any of them could get riled up about Steeple's trickery in substituting one woman for another, Genevieve began to sing.
From that moment on, she held them in the palm of her hand. Adam wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Within minutes, she had turned drunken louts into simpering crybabies.
She chose to sing one of her church songs, "Come Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy." The lyrics aptly fit the audience. Her voice was so rich and vibrant it caressed the crowd and soothed the beast within them. One by one the men began to listen to the words and bow their heads. Several pushed their glasses of whiskey aside. Others took out their handkerchiefs and wiped the tears from their eyes.
By the time the song ended, everyone was weeping. Adam moved back into the shadows and lowered his rifle. He wanted to laugh, so bizarre did he find their reaction, but he didn't dare for fear the sound would break the collective mood in the saloon. He knew why she had chosen the song, of course. She wanted to shame the men, and from the way their shoulders were shaking and their heads were bobbing, it was apparent she had succeeded.
The second song was called "My Sainted Mother, Your Hopes for Me" and struck an even greater emotional chord with the crowd. By the time she was finished with the third verse, one man was bawling so loudly his friends had to hush him.
Steeple went into a panic as soon as he noticed no one was buying or drinking his high-priced liquor. He moved forward to get Genevieve's attention, and when she glanced over at him, he started seesawing his arm back and forth and snapping his fingers to let her know he wanted her to pick up the beat.
Adam did laugh then. He simply couldn't contain his amusement any longer. Genevieve smiled at Steeple and then proceeded to sing yet another song about death and redemption and sinners who finally saw the light and changed their sorry ways. Adam suspected she was making up the lyrics as she went along, because none of the words rhymed, but he seemed to be the only one who noticed.
Steeple was tearing his hair out in despair over the amount of money he was losing because she wasn't cooperating. He was doing the two-step on the side of the stage in yet another attempt to get her to sing something a bit more snappy.
She ignored him and continued to work the crowd into a frenzy of regret. One man called out in a weepy shout to please sing that pretty song about his mama once again. Steeple frantically shook his head at Genevieve, but she simply couldn't refuse the request and launched into the heart-wrenching song one more time.
When she finished, they clapped and they wept, and Harry Steeple burst into tears.
Her throat was getting parched, and she decided to sing one last song and then take her leave. She poured her heart and her soul into the
sweet, uplifting spiritual. It had always been a favorite of her father's, and her audience responded to the melody and the lyrics in much the same way he had. They stomped their feet and clapped their hands to the beat.
She was just reaching the high note in the last verse when she happened to notice the doors of the saloon open. Three men squeezed their way inside.
One of them was Ezekiel Jones.
She froze. She stopped singing so abruptly it was as though her voice had been cut off in mid-note by a blade. She jerked back, her gaze locked on Ezekiel, and she went completely rigid. She was staring into the glowing eyes of the devil himself, but she couldn't turn away, couldn't move, for what seemed an eternity. Fear immobilized her. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and she could only stand there and watch as Ezekiel slowly threaded his way through the crowd. She kept telling herself to run, run, and finally the frantic thought penetrated her stupor and she turned to Adam and started to run to him, but just as suddenly she stopped.
He saw the panic in her eyes, took a step toward her, and at the same time swung his rifle up and scanned the audience looking for the threat.
She shook her head. No, she couldn't go to him. She wouldn't put him in such jeopardy. The jackals were closing in on her, and he would try to protect her. She couldn't risk Adam getting hurt, and she knew without a doubt that Ezekiel was capable of killing him.
Shuddering heavily, she turned toward Steeple and ran. Her hat flew down to the stage behind her. Steeple tried to grab her as she passed him, but she was too quick and he was too surprised by her abrupt departure.
Her satchel was on the chair next to the storage closet. She scooped it up in her arms as she raced by. She went out the back door into the alley, turned one way and then the other as she tried to remember which direction to take to the livery stable.
Adam was tearing the door open when she made up her mind and ran. He shouted her name and knew she heard him because she hesitated before she turned and disappeared around the corner. She was headed for the main street, and he was pretty certain she was going to the livery stable to get her horse and leave town.
One Pink Rose, One White Rose, One Red Rose Page 31
