Sam shook his head. “It’s just the way it’s done here. I don’t rightly know.”
“Hm.” His mother eventually turned forward and they found the theater they had tickets for, a poster of Eddie Foy pasted to the wall outside.
Eddie Foy,
Favorite of Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp
Here, Monday, 7:00 p.m.
“It seems there is more than one type of vaudeville in town,” Mrs. Allen said as she handed their tickets to the man in costume waiting at the door.
“It’s the same in New York, as you know. They’re just not so close together, usually.” Sam removed his hat as they entered, taking their coats to the cloakroom and ushering them to their seats.
Meg’s nerves jangled as the theater filled. “I’ve never been to one of these shows before,” she said, and both Mrs. Allen and Sam turned to her, their eyebrows raised.
“How can that be, dear? Sam would have lived in a vaudeville theater had we consented.”
“Not exactly lived there, but I did enjoy it. I’m surprised you’ve never been, Meg.”
“Papa is a bit old fashioned—you’ll see, Mrs. Allen—and we were always busy at the ranch. If we weren’t busy he said we were too young.”
Mrs. Allen shook her head. “Clearly not a fan, then.”
“You weren’t exactly a fan either, Mother.” Sam looked intently at her as he spoke.
“That’s not fair, Sam. I was looking out for your best interests.”
“Father’s, you mean?” Meg leaned forward and peered at Mrs. Allen, who sat on the opposite side of Sam. She wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about, but was grateful when the lanterns were dimmed and the show began.
The singing and dancing was magnificent, Meg thought, and several times she glanced at Sam, who was rapt with attention as his toe tapped along with the music.
It seemed as if it stopped as soon as it started, and shortly the theatergoers were standing, applause surrounding her.
The walk home floated by as well, as Sam hummed some of the tunes they’d heard and they laughed, recounting some of the funniest parts of the show.
“I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s sure different than the music at church,” Meg said.
Mrs. Allen laughed. “It certainly is different, but there is a place for everything. I like both, I must say, but this is fun for a night out.”
Meg clapped her hands together to ward off the chill as they walked, and Sam put his arm around her. “Are you cold? Shall I make a fire?”
Just his arm around her had warmed her up a bit, but she smiled up at him. “Thank you, that would be nice. Are you chilly, Mrs. Allen?”
She pulled her wrap around her, up around her ears. “It’s not as cold as New York, but it is a bit chilly. A fire would be nice, Sam.”
Meg made tea when they got home and brought it into the parlor. Handing Mrs. Allen a mug, she said, “Those are the kinds of shows you frequented before?”
Sam and his mother exchanged a glance, and she thought she saw Sam shake his head slightly as his mother raised her eyebrows at him, her head cocked to one side.
“Sometimes,” Mrs. Allen said, turning to Meg. “Sam, one song, maybe, before bed? I would love that.”
Meg nodded at Sam, hoping that he would play. She still hadn’t forgotten how she’d felt when she’d heard him for the first time the night before. She felt as though she could listen to him forever and never tire of it.
Sam slowly uncovered the piano and gently placed the sheet on the settee. He pulled the bench back and opened the wooden cover, exposing the ivory keys. Stretching his arms a bit, he asked, “What would you like to hear, Mother?”
“We should ask Meg, don’t you think? What is your favorite song that Sam plays?”
“Oh, I’ve only heard one—I mean, one that is my favorite.” She cringed—she’d done it again.
“I know this is one of your favorites, Meg,” Sam said with a smile, and he played the most lively tune that Meg believed she’d ever heard, rivaling those they’d just listened to in the vaudeville show.
She found herself tapping her toe in time, and when he finished, she couldn’t help but clap. Mrs. Allen clapped, too, and said, “Isn’t that one of the songs you used to play at the theater?”
“Yes, it is. I don’t play much anymore, but those are still the songs I like to play best. The one I played last night was more for Father, his memory.” He turned back to the piano, and started into another lilting, classical piece, similar to the one he’d played the night before. Meg felt herself sink into the melancholy notes, and noticed that by the end, Mrs. Allen was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Thank you for that, Sam. That was one of your father’s favorites. I haven’t heard it since—”
“I know, Mother. Neither have I.”
Mrs. Allen sighed and stood, setting her teacup on the tray. “Would you two mind greatly if I retired? I’m suddenly feeling quite sleepy.”
Meg stood and picked up the tray. “No, not at all, Mrs. Allen. It’s been a long day. And thank you for the lovely evening.”
Mrs. Allen patted Meg’s hand and smiled. “It was a lovely day, dear. Thank you for sharing your life with me.”
“Shall I escort you?” Sam lit a lantern to take upstairs, but his mother held out her hand for it.
“I can manage. You two could probably use some time alone. Having a houseguest can be a challenge. I’ll see you in the morning, and Meg, I promise I won’t try to cook.” She smiled at Meg as she turned and headed up the stairs.
Meg took the tray into the kitchen and returned to the parlor, ready to say good night to Sam and retire herself, but she stopped as she entered and he sat on the piano bench, staring at the keys.
“What is it, Sam?” she asked, sitting on the settee. She hoped he’d open up to her, tell her why he had left New York and his wonderful mother. She couldn’t even imagine a reason, and her curiosity grew by the hour.
Sam sighed and spun around on the bench, his elbows falling forward onto his knees.
“I believe it’s likely time that I tell you some things. If you’re interested.”
“Indeed, I am. I’ve been wondering when you might tell me, as it seems there’s a large portion of your life that you missed in outlining your history.”
He looked up at her and smiled. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
“Something of that magnitude is hard to miss, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
He stood and moved to the chair near the fire. Meg’s heart tugged, sorry that he hadn’t chosen to sit by her.
Sam rubbed his eyes, his legs crossed. “I spent my youth almost entirely playing the piano. It was my love, my passion, my fun. I played almost to the exclusion of everything else. My parents had to practically drag me to school.”
“Oh, goodness. We have that in common. I wasn’t much interested in school, either. I’d rather read on my own or be out on the ranch.”
Sam looked up and smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“That I didn’t like school?”
“No, that you chose your own path to learn, and spent time with things you were passionate about.”
Meg blushed and looked at her hands. “Go on.”
“My father was a concert pianist, Ray Allen. He traveled all over the world, but he was based mainly in New York. I learned to play the music he loved, and I was quite good at it. Not as good as he was, of course.”
“The Ray Allen? My parents spoke of seeing him play when they went to San Francisco.”
“Yes, that would be him. He was quite famous. And had very strong views about what music both was and wasn’t.”
“What do you mean? He played classical music, didn’t he?
“Yes, and anything else was—to his mind—rubbish. I tried to play what he loved, but while he was traveling—and I was neglecting school—I began playing for fun in establishments that played differe
nt types of music.”
Meg’s eyes lit up as she remembered his face as he watched the vaudeville show. “Vaudeville? You played for the shows?”
Sam smiled and rubbed his chin. “I did, yes, and I loved it. The fun I had, playing for the people at the shows, and in the bar afterward is difficult to explain. The happiness I saw on the people’s faces made me happy, too.”
“That’s lovely, Sam. Not everyone finds what they are truly gifted at. You’re fortunate.”
“You’re not embarrassed? That your husband wanted to be a common saloon player?”
Meg laughed. “No, not at all. Why would I be embarrassed? I love all kinds of music.”
“Not everyone shares your open-mindedness, I’m afraid. Including my father.”
“Oh. And your mother, too?”
“When he came home from a world tour and found out where I was playing, he was furious. He forbade me from returning. Said he’d support a musical career for me only if I played as he did. And I couldn’t.”
“And your mother? How did she feel about it?”
Sam sighed and sat back in his chair. “She did what she could to change his mind, but he was a fairly determined individual. It didn’t work, and I had no interest following in his footsteps.”
Meg shook her head slowly. “So you left? That’s why you came West?”
“Yes. It is.” Sam stood and walked to the piano, rubbing his hand along the shiny wood on the top. “I couldn’t face that as a future, and decided to make my own way.”
“Why do you then not play here? In Tombstone?”
He picked the sheet up from the settee and draped it over the piano. “It wasn’t long after I’d arrived that my father was killed. It had been my intention that I would play here, with all the theaters and opportunities, but I found that I couldn’t. I just couldn’t play anything at all, and I haven’t since.”
“Not at all? Not once?”
“No. Not once. Shortly after I arrived, I found a job as a bartender in town, and it was a similar atmosphere. I found I could still make people happy, just in a different way. I enjoy making people happy, talking. I like my job.”
“I know you do, but I also know that you are much more passionate about music than tending bar. Sam, that’s quite a loss for people who could be hearing you play. Sharing your joy.”
Sam lit another lantern and held his arm out for Meg. “You flatter me, to think that anyone would love to listen. I’ve given that up as a dream, and as soon as Mother leaves, I’ll stop playing again. There’s no good in it.”
Meg couldn’t think of anything to say as they climbed the stairs. When they reached the top, Sam whispered, “The light is off in her room. You can sleep in your room safely, I’m sure.”
As she closed the door behind her, she couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful music she’d heard Sam produce, the way it made her heart soar, and she knew that Mrs. Allen felt the same way. Whatever had happened between him and his father was over now, and she vowed to find a way to keep him playing. It was too great a gift to hide.
Chapter 26
“I sure hope this doesn’t come back on us,” Sam said. He’d closed the door behind them and his mother was already waiting at the buggy.
“I’m a little nervous, too, but we’ve just got to go ahead with this. It wouldn’t do for her not to see the ranch and meet my family after meeting Rosemary and Maria yesterday.”
“I know. But this just keeps getting harder and harder. Is everyone over there prepared?”
“Hank was over at the Occidental when I popped over to get lunch for us, and I brought him up to date with what’s been going on. He said he’d do his best to let everybody know.”
Sam rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got the whole town of Tombstone scurrying around on my behalf. I feel awful.”
Meg patted his shoulder. “Hardly the whole town. But honestly, I bet it’s fairly amusing at this point for everyone to watch us squirm, if nothing else.”
“Yes, we’re putting on quite the show, aren’t we?” He laughed as they arrived at the buggy where Mrs. Allen waited.
“Meg, I’m very much looking forward to meeting your family. And to see an actual cow and chicken,” she said as she clapped her hands.
Meg couldn’t help but smile at Mrs. Allen’s enthusiasm—even though she had yet to enjoy what cows and chickens actually smelled like—and felt a tug of happiness herself that she was going to go home for a bit and see her family. Or what used to be home.
Meg watched Mrs. Allen take in all of the scenery as they followed the lane away from the town and further on into the hills toward the ranch.
“This is much greener than I anticipated. Actually quite lovely.” She breathed deeply, her eyebrows raised. “What is that heavenly scent?”
“Sage,” Sam said. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Especially nice after a rain,” Meg added.
Mrs. Allen turned around to look back at the town. “This is a much larger town than I anticipated, also. Two newspapers, theaters, lovely restaurants.”
“Finding the silver veins has really changed things for us. The town has swelled to over fourteen thousand in just a few years. Almost double the population in Tucson right now,” Sam said as he turned up the drive toward the big, iron sign announcing Archer Ranch.
“Oh, is this it?”
Meg watched Mrs. Allen’s eyes flit from tree to trail as they passed the stables, Hank and Clara’s white casita and pulled up in front of the sprawling ranch house that she’d grown up in.
Mrs. Allen’s hand flew to her chest as she gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said, her eyes roaming over every part of the building, coming to rest on the gardens in front and the herb garden at Clara and Hank’s house.
As the buggy came to a stop and Sam jumped down to tie the reins to the hitching post for a moment, Beau Archer stepped onto the porch, followed by what seemed to Meg to be a very large number of people. But as she looked them over, she realized it was just her family—her five sisters, her father, her brother and his wife. It hadn’t taken her long to get used to a little bit more peace and quiet.
Meg introduced each member of her family to Mrs. Allen, who shook the hand of each and every one of them. Meg felt a spark of happiness that all she got from her sisters—including Pepper, the youngest and most outspoken—was a, “Nice to meet you.” She hoped her luck would hold through dinner and they could get out as quickly as possible. Meg breathed a sigh of relief as her father bowed his head slightly at Mrs. Allen and winked at Meg and Sam as she turned toward Hank and Clara.
Maria stepped out from behind the others wearing a very colorful apron that Meg had seen her wear before on special occasions. She felt honored that Maria felt this occasion was special enough to bring it out for.
“I have lemonade on the back patio for you all. Supper won’t be too long but it’s not quite ready.” Maria smiled and waved her hand toward the front door, encouraging everyone to pass on to the back.
Meg wasn’t quite sure what to expect when they all sat down, Clara pouring lemonade and Hank helping to pass it around.
“So, Mrs. Allen, you’re from New York,” her father began and she was thankful for his help. She hoped that none of her sisters—especially Pepper or one of the twins—would saying anything at all. Perfect silence would be preferable, and Meg laughed a little knowing that it wouldn’t be possible for that to happen.
Mrs. Allen chatted lightly as the conversation turned to New York. Her father had been there, but no one else had, so they all sat rapt with attention as Mrs. Allen and her father laughed about the sights and how different it was from Tombstone.
“Are you enjoying Tombstone, Mrs. Allen?” Meg took the initiative and frowned at Pepper as she asked the question, just for good measure. Pepper looked as if she’d like to stick her tongue out at her sister, but mercifully refrained.
Meg shot a worried glance at Sam, and grew even more worried
that he was rubbing his forehead, looking at Hank. Hank, however, had a big grin on his face, clearly enjoying what transpired before him.
“Oh—Pepper, is it?—I’m enjoying it very much. Meg and Sam have been the picture of hospitality and it’s so nice to spend time with young people in love.”
Meg didn’t turn her head to see which people had coughed at that last statement. She didn’t want to know.
Meg decided that maybe even a sensitive topic might be a better one than her and Sam’s relationship. “Yes, we’ve been having a grand time. Mrs. Allen took us to the theater last night, a vaudeville show, and it was outstanding.”
“Vaudeville?” Meg’s father said, his eyes wide.
“Yes, Papa, and it was wonderful. Sam plays the piano and has an interest in and appreciation for music, and I do, too. We really enjoyed it.”
“Is that so, Sam? I didn’t know that about you.”
Meg took a quick glance at Mrs. Allen, who was glancing around at the people in the room, her eyebrows raised. Meg realized that information was likely something her family would have known if they’d been married for a while, but it was too late now.
“As we have time before supper, why don’t you play for us? The piano is right inside, in the parlor.” Mr. Archer stood and gestured at the piano, and Sam turned his head quickly, turning a little pale, Meg thought.
“Oh, sir, no, I couldn’t. I haven’t played in a very long time.”
Mrs. Allen laughed and said, “That isn’t true. You played just last night, Sam. It would be lovely to hear. Could you play something from the show last night? It appears that it would be a new experience for the Archers and they would enjoy it, I’m sure.”
Meg watched as Sam made his decision after looking at all the hopeful eyes staring at him and turned toward the piano. Her heart swelled that her family would get to hear what she had, and would understand yet one more thing about him that was so special.
They all crowded into the parlor, finding seats at various places, with some leaning against the wall. As Sam began the lively tune, Meg looked around and saw delight on everyone’s faces—including her father. Music was music in her family, and good music was just that—good music.
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