HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado

by Lisa T. Bergren

  She rubbed her hands over her belly. There was no telltale curve there, no fluttering within. How had the doctor known? She pressed down, wondering if she could feel a small baby there, and discovered a hardening, the size of an apple. Her womb. Now carrying a child. “Oh, Mama, what have I done?”

  She looked to the empty chair beside the tub, wished her mother were perched there, ready to help her sort it out. Had her parents been alive back in Philadelphia, with her still at home, they would have sent her away to quietly have the baby. They would have helped her find a good home for it. She’d heard whispers … of how it was done. Then a match would have been made, to a less-than-desirable suitor, who would not hold it against her that she had been deflowered before their wedding night. It was the common penance for a fallen woman of society—life without love, now a life negotiated. But she was not a girl under her mother’s wing or her father’s roof. She was a woman grown. And she had to figure this out herself.

  She nervously glanced to the empty chair, her last question echoing in the air. Mama?

  You are well aware of what you have done, child. Now the question is, what will you do?

  Moira closed her eyes and listened to her mother’s reasonable, measured tone. There was no condemnation in it, only a demand for her to think responsibly now. What to do, what to do.… She knew she needed to, first, get through tonight. Salvage her reputation. Preserve it for the future. Then set it aside like lovely summer preserves on a basement shelf while she negotiated winter. And Daniel … Daniel had promised her she wouldn’t be alone. What had he meant by that? He would see through his obligations to protect her, watch over her as a hired guard? Or something more?

  Isn’t that enough to figure out, for today?

  You are dodging the baby.

  I know it. But, Mama, I can’t think about it right now. It’s too much, too overwhelming.

  Just remember, Moira, you were once as small as that child within your womb. She will one day reach for you and you will smile with gladness, happy she is yours.

  That isn’t helping, Mama. Please, stop …

  The only way through difficult times is to put one foot in front of the other. Lift that St. Clair chin. Throw your shoulders back. Move, and the rest will come.

  Moira shook her head and then went back underwater, as if she could muffle her mother’s voice in her ears. She knew it was all a figment of her imagination, but she felt powerless to stop it. A phrase kept ringing through her mind: “Happy she is yours.” Yours. Mine. Hers. She didn’t want a child. A child was the last thing she’d ever wanted. Odessa was the natural mother, the ideal mother, the meant-to-be mother. Not her.

  But you have been given a child. God does not make mistakes.

  “But people do,” she whispered back. She rose and reached for her towel.

  Two hours later, she was dressed in a fresh gown, her makeup reapplied. She pushed down another half cup of broth that Daniel had brought up. You can do this. You are Moira Colorado. Show them what that means.

  She moved to the door and found the hallway empty, then went down the stairs and finally spied Daniel, talking to the front-desk girl in hushed undertones. She wondered at the wave of irritation she felt, seeing the man pay attention to another, but then she shoved the feelings away.

  Daniel followed the desk clerk’s gaze to Moira, letting his sentence trail off. “Moira,” he said, moving over to her. “You look … fine.”

  “I’m much improved,” she lied. Hopefully, if he couldn’t see the fine sheen of sweat along her hairline, others wouldn’t either. “Are the girls over there? The pianist?”

  “Everyone,” he said, still studying her with eyes filled with concern.

  He really was handsome, a bit of a Greek god in his looks. He looked her over and lifted his chin. “Are you certain you’re up to tonight’s show, Moira?”

  “Absolutely,” she declared, doing as her mama suggested and lifting her chin in response.

  A tiny smile edged his lips at her answer. “Glad to hear it.”

  She took his offered arm and moved forward, concentrating on walking as if she were floating. “I thank you for sending the bath water up and for the broth. I believe both will help me see this through.” They moved past the mousy front-desk clerk who busied herself with the sheaf of papers before her.

  But by the time they reached the corner, Moira was shaking.

  “Moira?” Daniel asked in concern, pulling her to a stop.

  “Just get me to the theater, Daniel,” she said in a whisper, wiping her forehead with his handkerchief and praying she didn’t vomit right here on Main Street. “I’ll rest there, and discuss with the girls how to manage this, with me … in recovery.”

  Daniel’s eyes settled on Reid Bannock, who sat alone at another table, over to the left of the stage. Reid was staring at him, over a full glass of whiskey, and when their eyes met, he raised it, as if in salute. It was not odd for a well-to-do merchant to come to a well-known performer’s show, Daniel supposed. But he couldn’t shove away the shadow that he felt creep across him, especially after seeing the man out on Main today, staring at the hotel. He stifled a groan when Bannock rose and made his way over to him.

  “You’re Daniel Adams, aren’t you?” Reid said, reaching out a hand.

  “I am.”

  “I’m Reid Bannock. I think we’ve met before, over at your saloon. You work for the hotelier, tend the bar, right?”

  “On occasion,” Daniel replied slowly, as if just remembering their meeting. “But my time here has come to an end. I’ve given my notice and am on to new things.”

  “So, what brings you out tonight? I’ve never seen you at the opera house before.”

  Daniel studied him. Just what was he asking? Again, the cool shadow crossed over him. This man was dangerous. No need for him to know his role in Moira’s life at the moment. “Thought I needed a night out,” he said casually.

  “All men do,” Reid said with a wink. “Does the missus know you’re here?”

  “I don’t have a wife.”

  “Hmm,” Reid said, as if absorbing the information like it was some great secret. He raised an eyebrow. “Neither do I.” He gestured toward Daniel’s empty table. “Say, can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t partake.”

  Reid frowned, puzzled and took a chair across from him. “Now that’s a story I’d like to hear. How does a barkeep not partake?”

  Daniel smiled gently and put out his hands. “Maybe it’s a story I’ll tell you someday. When we’re better friends.” Blessedly, the music began then, indicating the show was about to start.

  “Fair enough,” Reid said, reaching out to shake his hand again. “Enjoy the show,” he whispered.

  He left, but there was something about his last words that troubled Daniel, as if he meant something more.

  The showgirls came out and did their opening act. Daniel crossed his arms and looked down at his table while they danced, judging from the hoots and hollers around him that those skirts were lifting far too high. Being a gentleman, he refused to look. In his opinion, women need not show their legs to garner attention. But as the women withdrew, blowing lanterns out as they went, and the music slowed in pace and tone, he looked up.

  Moira, at last. Could she make it through a whole song, let alone several, given her condition?

  But she entered, each step smooth, assured, looking hauntingly beautiful. His thoughts came to a standstill when she sang her opening note. It was almost immediately drowned out by the cheers of the people in the audience. Daniel fought the urge to rise and tell them all to be quiet. They remained in an opera house in a West barely settled, and the rowdy crowd in attendance was a prime example of it. He clamped his teeth together and forced himself to remain still, watching as Moira emerged from behind the curtain in her lovely deep russet gown. She sang with such clarity, such depth of emotion, that he doubted anyone knew she was suffering. She moved in time with her song, emphas
izing high and low notes with the lantern in her hand, and slowly, ever so slowly, she got up and made her way to the end of the stage, near him.

  He watched her make eye contact with every man in the room, beginning in back, drawing them in. He could see that she had made this an art, captivating everyone she sang for in some deep, visceral manner, but he couldn’t summon the will to be jealous. All he wanted was for her to sing, keep singing. Sing bar songs, sing children’s ditties, sing hymns, but just sing, because surely, this was a gift from God on high!

  She built into the crescendo of the song, then slowly wound toward the end. Her eyes were just behind him now, moving left to right, as she had that first night. The effect was mesmerizing. He finally saw what Gavin had immediately seen … Moira was a sensation with foundation. A legend about to be born.

  There. Her eyes reached him. He didn’t know whether to smile or nod. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably. Her blue-green eyes hovered upon him, made him feel seen, known, and then she moved on to the man at his left.

  Reid’s heart pounded with anticipation. In a moment, she would know her eyes had not deceived her, that he was really here, right before her. Tonight, Moira would again be in his arms, one way or another. And she would serve as the key to unlock the McAllan fortune. And as they made their way to the Circle M, she could find a way to make things right for him, pay him back for all the ways she had robbed him.

  Moira stopped singing, staring at Reid as if he were an apparition.

  Daniel came to his feet. The pianist started round again, urging her return to the song, but Moira appeared frozen, staring at Reid.

  And Reid stared, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Hello, Moira,” he said, so lowly that only a few around him could hear.

  Moira screamed and dropped the lantern. Oil spilled across the stage and the fire ran behind it, as if lapping it up. Some spilled on her dress, and it immediately was aflame. She ran, down the stage, backstage, as chaos erupted throughout the hall. Daniel ran after her. Men and women charged for the exits, panicked by the fire that spread impossibly fast. The front stage was a wall of flame in under a minute. Reid slowly rose and looked around. Only a few others remained, beating at the fire with their jackets. But with the base of oil, it was hopeless. The entire building would be engulfed in minutes.

  Backstage, he could hear women screaming.

  And Reid smiled.

  Chapter 22

  Daniel made his way around the side of the stage to the very back and climbed atop. At one side, the curtains were burning and reaching to the ceiling. The building was surely lost. Daniel hoped it wouldn’t take most of the city. Fires could devastate a town, take months if not years to recover from. “Moira!” he yelled. The fire was growing in noise, beginning to breathe, as if panting in anticipation of its next bite. Crackling wood, falling timber and objects added to the clamor amidst the screams of the fleeing crowd. “Moira!” he yelled.

  A man ran by, calling for another girl. “Moira!” Daniel yelled, grabbing the man’s arm. “Have you seen Moira?”

  “Back there,” he yelled, squinting against the smoke. “In her dressing room!”

  Daniel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth. It did little to help, but something was better than nothing. He opened one door after another. Two women ran by him, holding hands and crying. Daniel yelled Moira’s name over and over. Perhaps she’d gotten out. Escaped.

  But then he got to a door that was locked. “Moira!” he shouted, pushing at the door with his shoulder to no avail. “It’s Daniel! We must get out of here!”

  There was no answer. But he could hear crying. She was behind the door, he was sure of it. He looked left and saw the fire race up an arc of cloth as if it were paper dried in a kiln. The man he had seen before came running toward him, dragging a coughing woman by the hand. Both were soot black and had singed hair. “Get out, man!” he yelled to Daniel as they passed.

  “Moira, I’m coming in!” Daniel shouted. He backed up and rammed through the door with his shoulder, wincing at the pain of the breath-stealing blow.

  A man emerged through the smoke. Reid Bannock. “Get out, Adams!” He shouted. “This whole place is coming down!”

  Daniel hesitated. “She’s in there,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I have to get her out.”

  Reid’s eyes widened and he said, “We’ll do it together. On three.”

  After his count, they burst through, Daniel falling in front of Reid.

  Moira screamed. “Help!” she shouted. “Help!”

  Daniel frowned. “Moira,” he said, shaking her. The left shoulder of her dress had burned and was practically falling off. He winced to see that she had suffered burns to her skin there, up her neck. Half her hair was singed away. “Moira, it’s all right. We’re going to get you out.”

  “No!” she said, scrambling backward, as if she wished to sink into the corner of the room. “No!” It was then he noticed her eyes were not on him. They were hovering behind him.

  He turned slowly, the hair on his neck standing on end, and saw Reid Bannock, his pistol drawn and pointed at him. Behind the man, up higher, the room was billowing with dark, choking smoke. The roar and heat of the fire was very near.

  “What are you doing, Bannock?”

  “I’m rescuing Miss St. Clair,” he said. “You, sadly, must perish here.” He squeezed the trigger.

  “Wait—”

  The bullet pierced him and sent him whirling.

  Moira screamed.

  And Daniel blacked out.

  Daniel was coughing so hard he thought he’d never catch enough oxygen to gather another breath. He opened his eyes, but they immediately stung so much that he shut them. He winced and rocked his head back and forth, trying to make sense of the pain, pain like he hadn’t felt in years. A bullet. Panting, he reached toward his shoulder and felt the familiar ooze of a wound.

  His eyes opened again, wide. Moira.

  “Moira,” he said, rolling to his knees. Flames were licking inside the room, darting in and out like a dragon’s tongue. “Moira!” He gagged on the smoke and began coughing again.

  His only chance—and maybe hers—was for him to escape this inferno.

  And find Bannock.

  Moira awakened in excruciating pain. She opened her eyes and cried out in terror. It was almost completely dark.

  “Shh, you’ll wake the neighbors,” a man said, opening a wooden door. She could see a bright starry sky behind him.

  “D-Daniel?”

  “No, Moira, it’s me,” he said, moving to the center of the room.

  Moira held her breath, hoping she had misheard. He turned up the wick of a lantern and then bent to put wood into a stove. Then Reid turned to her. He paused a couple feet away, as if understanding her fear, confusion. “Do you remember what happened?”

  Moira lifted a shaking hand to her forehead and found it sticky and wet.

  “Don’t do that,” he said, raising a hand in her direction. “You’ll want to leave that be.”

  He moved to the stove, picked up a kettle, and poured a cup of tea. Then he brought it over to her. Peppermint, she decided, by the smell of it. It hurt to move her mouth to drink, but she was so thirsty, she had no choice. She lay back against the pillows and fought the desire to scream—both from the pain and from her fear. What was he doing out of prison? And here? What did he intend to do with her? Casually, she stole a glance beneath the covers. Still in her russet gown. He’d cut away the fabric over her burned shoulder and upper bodice but left her corset in place, keeping her modesty intact. The bottom of the dress was cut to her knees, and as the covers settled again, she winced at the pain, especially in her calf. “How bad are my burns?”

  “Your leg’s pretty bad,” he said evenly. “I’ve seen a man die of burns like that, and they weren’t much worse. Infection sets in. Your neck, face and scalp—” He shook his head. “I’d say your showgirl days are over, Moira.”

>   She sat up, unable to say anything before she vomited her tea on the blanket. She lay back, her stomach relieved, but her heart and mind in upheaval. She could not stop the tears, but as they flowed down her cheeks, she winced. The salt cut through whatever balm he had put on her face and irritated the burns, which only made her cry harder.

  Grimly, Reid gathered the blanket together and took it outside. Where were they? Where had he taken her? He returned after a moment.

  “Daniel, he—”

  “He’s dead. Left him behind in the opera house, and I doubt there’s much left of him but cinders now.”

  Moira moaned, feeling so ill she wished she could vomit again. Daniel. She remembered now. “Why, Reid? Why are you here? And why have you taken me?”

  He smiled. “You are the key in the lock of my treasure chest.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, wiping away her tears.

  He sat back down beside her and picked up her hand. On it was the wedding ring that Gavin had slipped on her finger. “Here’s the deal. Your husband is dead. And now your guardian is dead. I’m your only hope at survival, Moira. And I’m taking you home to Odessa, to the Circle M,” he said, as proudly as if he were escorting her to a county picnic.

  She shook her head. “There is no mine, Reid. Old Sam … it was all a ruse. They haven’t found anything.”

  “You’ve been gone a while, right, Moira?” Reid leaned closer to her. “So I’d wager I have newer information than you. I’m not after the mine, anyway. There’s something more, I think. Having you with me will force them to hand over what they’ve discovered.” He rose and placed a hand on either side of her and looked her over. She couldn’t bear to watch him. Did he intend to rape her now too? “Moira Colorado.” He shook his head. “You had to go and chase that dream of the stage, didn’t you? Where has it gotten you? Burned and scarred for life.” He rose and walked away, as if disgusted.

  Scarred. Again, she reached up and dabbed at her face and up into her scalp. Then down to her neck and shoulder. Was she burned everywhere? Or just one side? The only good thing about it was that it might keep Reid at bay. She glanced his way.