My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York

by Barratt, Amanda;

  If he ever became even moderately wealthy, he’d see to it that those beneath him were given enough salary to enjoy as good a life as he did. Not that he’d much of a chance at becoming more than middle class. Despite all the talk about America being a land of opportunity, he’d yet to meet a single street kid who’d become a millionaire. Still, a guy could hope. Even becoming moderately middle-class sounded like a life of ease.

  A figure emerged from the Osbourne doors, closing them behind him. Instead of heading off on some errand, the man crossed, heading in Drew’s direction.

  Since the last thing he needed was to be reported for loitering, Drew turned, as casually as if he hadn’t been keeping watch for over two hours, and sauntered in the opposite direction. He even added a jaunty whistle, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “What are you up to?” A voice behind him halted Drew as effectively as a hand to the scruff of his neck. The words were ones easily ignored, but the tone—rock-hard and with a distinctive twang, was definitely not.

  A half-turn revealed the owner of the voice. The Osbournes’ butler. Though his clothes were those of a decked-out lackey, the rest of him, from the sun-bleached hair to the wide shoulders and six-foot height, put Drew in mind of a Western gunslinger. Not that he’d ever come face-to-face with any of the real variety, but in the circus, there had been an act featuring a similar performance.

  “Why do you think I’m up to anything?” Western gunslingers were indomitable. Maybe. But so were kids who’d become men on Canal Street.

  “You’ve been standing here, staring. I’ve been watching you, waiting to see what your game was, but figured I’d best come and find out for myself.”

  “I wasn’t committing any crime that I’m aware of. Mr. Osbourne and Mr. Fargo haven’t put up any signs prohibiting who can take a walk here. And if they have, they haven’t done a good job posting them for ordinary people to clap eyes on.” Adventure hero look-alike or not, this man worked as a butler, doing almost effeminate tasks. And Drew wasn’t about to be hauled in or chewed out by him.

  “Easy there.” The man smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I’m not a constable. And I’m not going to turn you in, ‘less I see good reason to. You were up at the house once, weren’t you? Called on Miss Linley, if my memory serves me right.”

  “It does.” Drew stepped aside to allow a liveried servant with two squirming dogs on leashes to pass. Though the butler’s smile was amiable, his eyes still held that steely edge. Probably best if he just told the truth. “And it’s in regards to her that I’m out here.”

  The butler folded his arms, fabric straining over his shoulders. “I’d feel a sight safer, rest easier in myself, if you told me a mite more than that.”

  “I needed a word with her, is all.” Drew crossed his arms too.

  “Why don’t you just knock on the door and announce yourself like a normal person?” The man’s smile looked by turns befuddled, and by turns like he thought Drew an idiot.

  “Because I don’t think she’ll agree to see me.” Drew rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. A summer breeze carried the scent of fresh-cut grass onto the air. “Last time we spoke…things didn’t go well.”

  “You made the lady mad?” The butler’s grin revealed a line of straight white teeth.

  “An understatement.” Drew shifted, wishing the man hadn’t threatened him into revealing his reasons. He sure hadn’t done so to be grinned at in that high-handed way.

  “Did she have a right to get mad?” Hands behind his back, the butler took up a slow, even stride. Drew had no choice but to follow.

  “Why do you think I want to apologize?”

  “Look.” Stopping beside a lamppost, the man faced him straight on. “I don’t know Miss Linley very well, except that she’s been kinder and more polite than any lady I’ve served before. And I know you even less, except after you left that day, Miss Linley seemed to smile more. That’s not very much to go on. In Texas, where I come from, it takes a long time to trust other people. Especially newcomers.”

  Texas. Drew hadn’t made it that far south while traveling with the circus. But he’d heard other performers talk about it being a big, wide-open place with a lot of land and ranches and cattle. Back then it had sounded appealing, like a place where he could have made his fortune. Until Hope’s accident had checked any thought other than caring for her, making all notions of fortune seeking out of the question.

  “I’m no newcomer. Born and raised right here in Buffalo. Seems to me like you’re the newcomer, Mr. Texas.”

  The man only laughed, as if he considered Drew’s words a compliment. Then his eyes sharpened. “Tell me, Mr. Loitering Where He Don’t Belong, how do the two of you know each other?”

  Deeming it best to comply, Drew explained how they’d met, saying simply that Adele had wanted his advice on a personal matter. The butler put in a nod or two, nothing more. Except when Drew got to the part about his current employment.

  “You’re one of those high wire fellas?” He let out a low whistle.

  “Impressed?” Drew cocked a brow.

  “In Texas we’d call you plumb crazy. I’ve been to the Falls before, saw how strong the current is, how heavy the wind. Why are you doing it?”

  “Not for the reasons you’d expect.” Drew’s jaw hardened.

  For a long moment, the butler didn’t say anything. Just kept right on walking, as if he hadn’t a place to be or a worry in the world.

  “I don’t want to say who’s right or who’s wrong. But I will say a man has a right to speak his piece. And if Miss Linley won’t talk to you, that makes things a mite difficult. However, I happen to know that her, the Osbourne girls, and a bunch of other folks are taking a trip tomorrow to visit St. Joseph’s Cathedral. It’s a public place. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Thank you.” Drew had the urge to grasp the man’s hand.

  “Don’t thank me.” The butler nodded. Probably in Texas, a nod was as good as a handshake. Especially when quarter of an hour ago, he’d been ready to haul Drew in for disturbing the peace. “But if you’re a liar and so much as harm a hair on Miss Linley’s head, I’ll come after you. And I always find who I come after.”

  By the look in the man’s eyes, Drew had no doubt about it.

  “I only want to apologize. After that, I have no wish to bother Miss Linley, if she doesn’t desire it.” He hoped his tone matched the truth of his words.

  It must have, as the man issued another, less grudging, nod. “Jim Delany, in case you were wondering.”

  “Drew Dawson.”

  “I reckon it won’t be long before everyone knows your name, once all them posters go up.” If he’d been a woman, the expression on Delany’s face said he’d have shuddered right about now.

  Drew shrugged. “I’ve got a family. They need the money.”

  “Strange way to go about earning it,” replied Delany.

  “So’s polishing silver, serving wine, and trussing yourself up like an orchestra conductor.” Ire sparked in his words. He had other matters to attend to, ones that far outranked being insulted by this bear-sized butler.

  “There’s a reason for that, too.” Delany nodded slowly, turning in the direction of the Osbournes. “Every man, be they good or bad, can usually find a way to justify his actions.” He walked away without another word.

  Drew tended to agree. And insult notwithstanding, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d found a friend in Jim Delany.

  Even the droning monotone of their tour guide couldn’t eclipse the grandeur surrounding Adele. Vaulted ceilings soared skyward like a triumphant requiem. Elaborate panels of stained glass let in shafts of sunlight, casting dancing shadows onto the floor and across the pews. Though the tour guide informed them the cathedral was less than ten years old, the musky aroma of incense and solemn peal of bells in the overhead tower, seemed to echo ancient secrets.

  While the tour guide answered Mr. Conway’s questions, and Millie, Dorothea,
Gordon Kirby, and Dorothea’s friend Violet, listened with interest or whispered among themselves, Adele slipped away from the group and moved along the edge of the aisle, nearing the front. Hopefully, it would be some time before anyone noticed her absence, though probably that very thought was pressing her luck.

  Her gaze landed on one of the glass murals, depicting the Resurrection of Christ in vibrant swirls of color. Though she attended a Protestant church in England, and here with the Osbournes, the image was a familiar one. Far too high to look upon with comfort, an ethereal glow around His head, robes a perfect snowy white. It seemed accurate to the best of her knowledge. God was…up there, distant from the people in the world beneath. Like a child standing atop a rock, squinting down at a scurrying mound of ants.

  Before proceeding to jump down and squash them.

  She continued her stroll up the aisle, heels tapping on the floor. Though the voices of the guide and his group filled the air with a distant murmur, it was peaceful here. She’d grant it that. And because it would only be a moment or two before someone realized her absence, she let herself breathe in the peace, the mingling scents of musk and spice. Let herself wish that the God she’d prayed to once upon a time, might look down and see her as something other than an oft-disobedient subject.

  Her eyes slid closed, the coolness of the air soothing her warm cheeks.

  God, I—

  “We’re heading up to the bell tower, Adele.” Dorothea’s voice snapped her from her reverie. Adele opened her eyes.

  “Oh. Very well.” She smiled at her cousin and followed her back to the rest of their party.

  “Gave us the slip, did you?” Mr. Conway gave her a questioning look as they followed the guide across the sanctuary.

  “I never did care much for drawn-out monologues.” Focusing on the fringe of her sleeve proved easier than directing her attention toward him.

  “And with your fine English breeding, you already know more than the rest of us.” Usually, when he complimented her, his tone held nothing but admiration. Was it the echoing atmosphere of the church, or did that note of derision in his voice ring true?

  Like a soldier unable to conquer the enemy with bullets, she pulled out the best bayonet a woman had, one proven to drive straight into a man’s heart. Ladylike innocence and sweet flirtation. “Why, what a silly thought. Compared with an intelligent man like yourself, I’m hopelessly ignorant. I merely slipped away to study the stained glass. A whim of mine.” She gave him a perfectly constructed, half-embarrassed smile.

  “You should’ve told me, and we could have viewed them together. My greatest desire is to see your whims met.” Mr. Conway patted the hand she’d placed on his arm, assuring her that any rancor in his tone had been doused by her words.

  The guide opened a narrow door. The younger members of the group hurried through. Adele followed, Mr. Conway behind her.

  “The bells of the tower have only recently been installed…” Couldn’t they have chosen a tour guide with a more energetic interest in his task? The man seemed pulled from some nearby vault, skeletal frame and all.

  Their footsteps thumped on the narrow steps as they ascended higher—and higher. Where it was too far to fall. Where…

  “What are you doing, Father?” Skirts whipping about her legs like a flurry of raven’s wings, Adele craned her neck. Atop the balustrade, her father seemed asfar off as one of the birds that circled overhead.

  He did not heed her words.

  “Father! Come down. It’s dangerous up there.” The howl of the wind caught her words, made them small and soft. Stifling them, almost maliciously.

  A gust lashed the air. Her father wobbled.

  A bird soared. Airborne.

  The breath leeched from her lungs. The cramped walls closed in around her.

  She halted, causing Mr. Conway to stop too.

  “Great blazes, how pale you look!”

  Her face felt as if all blood had drained out of it, turning it numb and wooden. “I think I’ll go back down now, if you don’t mind. I’m feeling…rather dizzy all of a sudden.” It took every ounce of decorum she owned to resist shoving Mr. Conway aside and bolting down the stairs.

  Air. It wouldn’t come. The lacings of her corset choked it off, allowing only the barest morsel to reach her lungs.

  “Are you sure? It’s not much farther.” He laid his hand on her arm, as if to offer a steadying presence. The touch smothered.

  “Very sure. Don’t worry about me. Heights always have this effect on my nerves. I’ll go back down, and look around some more. You can tell me all about the tower afterward.” Giving him no time to interject, she squeezed past him and descended the steps, clutching the railing as if it were a life-saving rope.

  She shoved open the door and reentered the cathedral. On legs that shook like storm-tossed willows, she made her way to the nearest pew and collapsed upon the seat. Letting her face fall into her gloved hands, she absorbed the softness of the fabric, taking slow breaths.

  The memories not only haunted, but tormented. Why couldn’t she shake free of them? Why must every sensation remain so fresh, like the first second after a handprint is pressed onto clouded glass? Why wouldn’t they dissipate, as the handprint did?

  Because one couldn’t watch another die, and forget the experience. The starkness of life’s final moments, viewed by a girl not yet a woman, marred the pure linen of her mind with all the finality of a bloody gash.

  And they visited her, those memories, unwanted guests calling at inopportune times. Oh, how she wanted to lock the door and bar it so tight, they would never enter again.

  “Adele?” Only slightly louder than a breath, soft as a touch upon her cheek, came the voice. She lifted her face, an innate foreshadowing telling her who she would find.

  Drew. Though the sight of him should have brought a fresh wave of anger to the surface, none came. He stood there, dressed in another new suit, hat in his hands, vulnerability in his eyes. Though framed by the magnificent cathedral, he seemed anything but the dashing daredevil. Only a man who looked at her with raw regret etched upon his fine features.

  Still. The burn of their last exchange still smarted. Lingering between them with a cloying odor stronger than even the incense.

  Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to clear the stench away with the sweeter fragrance of reconciliation.

  “Why are you here?” She latched onto the folds of her skirt and twisted.

  “To make things right.” He rested one hand on the pew’s polished edge, the other still holding his hat. “Starting with an apology. There’s no other way to say it. I lied to you. I guess I did it because you talked of men who…do what I do, as if you hated them. I didn’t want you to hate me.” He smiled. And as it had on their first meeting, when he stood before her in the same manner, that smile broke down the last of her defenses. Half there, angling his stubble-framed lips, curving the faintest hint of a dimple into one crevice of his cheek. It did something to her insides, his smile.

  “I wouldn’t have hated you. Perhaps what you do, but not you. You’ve been so kind to me. I would have accepted the truth.”

  “Would you have?” He joined her on the pew. Reached across and slowly disentangled one of her hands from picking at her skirt. Slipped it into his, as if to soothe and still it. Melting away the remains of those dreadful memories, and pushing them back into the closets of her mind, a far preferable place than in the center of the drawing room to be looked upon constantly.

  Would she have continued their easy friendship had he told her of his employment that day when she’d questioned him? Probably not. She’d once read somewhere that it is up to each self to examine the deepest parts of their motives and pass judgment in truth. Knowing herself, Adele realized she would have pulled back the moment he uttered the first mention of “Gentleman Daredevil.”

  “No.” She smiled slowly. “I suppose I wouldn’t have.”

  “And now?” With his thumb, he traced a circle o
ver her gloved palm. Her heart beat in time to his touch.

  He’d lied to her, yes. He made an income out of courting danger, yes. But the man who’d advised her, caught her in the street, soothed away tension with his touch was the man she’d choose to look at. Though it might be a foolish notion, perhaps one could have a part of a person, instead of the whole. If she’d been in England, nine chances out of ten, she’d look at things with a clearer view. But she was here, in America.

  Though sense demanded she needed a suitor, the emptiness inside cried out for a friend.

  “And now, I want you to promise never to lie like that again. I’ll take the truth, even if I don’t always agree with it, and I’ll also take your friendship. If you’ll offer it again.” Her fingers closed around his, interlocking.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I honestly wasn’t sure how generous you’d be.” He looked down at their hands as if seeing a new bridge built between them.

  “Well, since I can’t afford to be generous financially, the least I can do is give you what I have.” Sunlight rained down upon them, as if in agreement with their pact. The light shining through the brilliant panes of glass warmed her body, the way this man did her heart.

  “And the least I can do is take what you give and offer the same in return.” He gave their joined hands a little shake, as if sealing the matter—and their friendship—once and for all.

  He should have been doing a thousand other things on a Saturday afternoon, just three weeks before his “do-or-die day.” Cleaning the apartment, playing a game with Hope. Practicing his tightrope skills at the abandoned warehouse Conway had set up for him. Searching out new employment and better apartments for the someday that would very soon be upon him, when he’d be able to move from Canal Street and give his sister the life of their dreams.

  Adele ought to be somewhere else too, doing a million other tasks, spending time with a worthier companion.

  But neither of them was where they should be. Instead Drew and Adele stood arm in arm, in a crowd of spectators that jostled and exclaimed. Standing in view of the very Falls that would make his destiny.