Redness rising in his fair skin, Flynn jumped to his feet and flung out a hand toward the pair. “How is that fair for those of us who have had to share the wagons?”
Cinnia couldn’t argue with that question. The Fosters had always had only two living in their wagon and obviously, they’d had previous discussion and agreed on their next step. The other wagons were occupied by either a pair of sisters with an additional female, or the one shared by the three men.
Gerda, a thin woman of about thirty years of age, raised her hand before speaking. “Should we wait a few days and see if Mr. Thomas returns?”
Nola stood and swiped a hand down the front of her pin-tucked blouse. “I like that idea. Thomas did commit us to do several more shows. I say we fulfill the contract.” She glanced around the circle then focused on the thin man with the slicked-back hair. “Wallace, you’ll need money for the trip to Denver. Do you have enough saved?”
“We have some put by.” Frowning, he again glanced at his sister who gave him an answering nod. “I think we can stretch it for the two weeks or so the trip will take.”
Flynn walked to stand opposite Nola and jammed his hands on his hips. “So we stay to the end of the contract or almost a week, and H.P. doesn’t return. Then what? Won’t we be right back in this same situation of having to decide what to do and where to go?” He paced to the farthest point in the circle and pivoted, swinging a hand toward the door. “This town probably can’t support many more performances. I don’t know what in the dickens Thomas was thinking when he brought us here. Last night, we were a novelty, but that drawing feature will wear off in a couple days.”
“Does anyone know exactly what arrangements Thomas made with the mayor?” Arney pocketed his coin and scooted the bench backwards. “What happened to the admissions that were collected last night?”
Giorgio snorted and propped his elbows on his knees. “Those must be long gone, tucked deep into Thomas’s pockets. Or distributed among the players at the poker game where he so obviously played.”
“No!” Josette stamped her foot. “I can’t believe that.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “He made promises, sincere promises…” Her eyes widened, and she spread her fleshy arms to encompass the group. “To us all, I mean.”
“Uh, huh.” Dorrie leaned forward. “Are you saying you and he had some type of romantic understanding?” Her blue eyes flashed. “Was he your fiancé?”
The singer ducked her head, making a curtain of her long blonde hair. “Well, not officially. But he cared, I know he did.” Her shoulders hitched, and she sank back onto the bench.
How sad. Just yesterday, Josette thought her life was headed in a certain direction, only to come up against a totally different circumstance. Cinnia tightened her hands in the folds of her skirt.
Was that what this opportunity presented? A chance for a change?
The arguments continued all around her as she closed her eyes and asked herself what she wanted to do. Nola would never come out and ask Cinnia for her opinion, or at least, she rarely had in the past.
The little seed of rebellion that had been growing for a while took root. Cinnia had skills, marketable ones, and her best ones didn’t involve standing in front of an audience. Her dream had always been to work as a seamstress. In that way, the vaudeville troupe had satisfied that goal so she hadn’t complained much about their situation. Creating the wide variety of costumes, often without the use of patterns, was challenging. The same could be said about sewing everyday items of clothing.
Most of all Cinnia wanted to stop traveling, to stay in one place and create a home. When she listened again to the continuing conversation, she heard the single men grumbling that the town didn’t have enough women, or enough saloons, so they saw no point in staying.
“I’ll make the same argument to you three men.” Nola stood opposite Flynn, Arney, and Giorgio. “If you’re leaving, you need traveling money.” She turned in a circle and included the others in her gaze. “And I agree with the Fosters’ notion that Denver might be a good place to connect with our next vaudeville team. The trip would be a shorter drive than the one to Omaha.”
“No!” That single word brought her plan to fruition. Not another vaudeville company. Cinnia stood, her hands clenched at her sides. Her stomach roiled like a windswept tumbleweed. “No more traveling. I want to stay right here. Morgan’s Crossing doesn’t have a dressmaker’s shop, and I will open one.” Squaring her shoulders, she summoned her courage at defying her older sister and faced Nola’s wide-eyed expression.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Did you just say no?” Nola planted both hands on her hips and glared, her cheeks turning ruddy. “Really, Cinnia, you want to stay? Here?” Her voice rose on a shrill note. “You think you can run a sewing business out of our showman’s wagon?” A soft tap-tap-tap of a boot against the flooring signaled her irritation.
“The term is dressmaker’s shop.” The surprise at being opposed still flared in her sister’s eyes. But Cinnia couldn’t stop herself. Now that she’d taken a stand, she wouldn’t back down. Even more exhilarating was the feeling that she didn’t want to. “I don’t see it as being much different than what I’ve been doing for the troupe for years. Just about every costume in the troupe’s inventory I either created or repaired, not to mention some of your everyday clothes. I did all that from our lavender wagon.”
“She is right about that.” Dorrie piped up. “No one ever complains about the garments she sews. Don’t you agree?” The outgoing woman looked around the group.
Cinnia silently thanked her friend for deflecting some of Nola’s ire. Even if she knew the matter was far from being decided. No discussion involving her sister was a short one.
Several people nodded and murmured their agreements.
“That’s not the point.” Nola shook her head. “Of course, her craftsmanship is good. Cinnia wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The unexpected vote of confidence rocked her for a moment. Had Nola always been proud of what she created? Mostly, she’d given Cinnia hints on how to improve her stage performances.
“How could a town this size support that type of business?” Nola crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her boot. “Have you counted how many houses are out there?”
“That’s precisely why Wallace and I want to leave now.” Helen Foster spoke for the first time. Blonde, petite, and blue eyed, Helen was the perfect partner to Wallace, who had no problem guiding and lifting her through intricate dance steps. “Wallace and I need the chance to develop our career. Hasn’t anyone else noticed the towns where Mr. Thomas has been booking us have been getting smaller and smaller?”
“I did.” Giorgio slapped a hand on his thigh. “I mentioned more than once that a magician needs a bigger audience.”
“Yep.” Flynn snapped open his jackknife and dug the tip in the heel of his boot. “Arney and I have always agreed with you about wanting more people filling the seats.”
Cinnia wished she had shared her concerns about this particular western location with the troupe members outside of her own wagon. Happy with having any performing opportunity, Nola and Dorrie hadn’t acted worried. But if Cinnia knew others had similar thoughts, she would have suggested taking their concerns as a group to the manager. Who knew, possibly a different route would have been taken.
The image of Mr. Andrews crossed her mind. Then the two of them wouldn’t have met. A notion that caused her chest to tighten, but that was an issue she didn’t want to contemplate right now.
“My sewing doesn’t take up much space.” In fact, her craft was highly portable since the actual stitching was either done by hand or on the Howe hand-crank lockstitch machine. “Or, I could turn Mr. Thomas’ wagon into a shop.” Using an area that wouldn’t be disturbed by daily living allowed for the finished items to be displayed.
Dorrie jerked around and made a chopping motion with her hand. “Nope, I want that wagon for myself.”
“Hey.” Scowling, Arney leaned forward and pointed at the strawberry-blonde. “How is that fair? Shouldn’t others have a chance at getting that wagon? I say we should draw straws or put names in a hat.”
Nola put two fingers in her mouth and blew a sharp whistle. “Talk about swapping wagons is getting ahead of the real matter we need to decide on. We’ll discuss wagon re-assignments when we know for sure what we’re doing next.” She paced a couple of steps and then held out a hand and touched her thumb with her forefinger. “What we know is this, Mr. Thomas’s plan was to take the troupe back to Omaha in about a week’s time. We were all present to hear his speech in Sheridan announcing Morgan’s Crossing as the last booking on this year’s route. Right?” She paused and looked around the group for affirming nods.
“Um, what if…” Milly shot a look toward Josette before continuing. “What if he meant this town was the very last booking? Ever? What if he never intended to return to the Nebraska theater?”
Eyes wide, Nola rocked back on her heels. “It’s what we’ve done for the winter season for the last five years.”
Since when was her sister a traditionalist? “But does that really matter? Thomas doesn’t own that building. I’ll bet every one of us has heard him boast about being the only one who negotiated with the theater owner. So far, we haven’t found a signed contract in his wagon.” Pressing her fists to her knees, Cinnia leaned her head forward enough so she could see everyone in the circle. “We all know another set of performers is working the Omaha theater right now. Without a manager, do we have a guarantee of having a place there? Where would our acts fit in?”
“Cinnia’s right.” Flynn closed his knife and slipped it into his front pocket. “You know shuffling always happened when we returned in the fall. Thomas said it was the natural order for some acts to die or move to other venues.” He nodded then brushed back a lock of reddish hair that fell over his forehead. “That’s how I got signed to the troupe three years ago. I came in when another comedian quit.”
“Wait.” Nola crossed her arms over her chest. “Before we go into a rundown of histories, we have to make a decision. I intend to put together a show for tonight. Who will join me?” She stared directly at her sister. “And what routine are you planning?”
Throw down the gauntlet, why don’t you? Cinnia straightened and stared right back. “I never said I’d stop performing immediately. The troupe owes the town whatever number of performances Mr. Thomas promised. But I think someone has to speak to the mayor and find out exactly what arrangements were made. Does anyone remember hearing how long the stay was booked for in Morgan’s Crossing?”
No one answered.
Helen slid her legs along the floor and flexed her ankles. “Maybe having the manager disappear invalidates the agreement. Anyone consider that?”
Nola waved a hand at the dancer. “Do you want to be known as a performer who walked out on a booking? Because I sure don’t. An action like that could kill a career.”
“Ha.” Wallace laughed. “This town has no train and no stagecoach service. Who would ever have the opportunity to tell anyone about such a breach? Or at least, anyone of consequence.” He lifted his hands above his head and shook them. “Do you think the word will just spread on the wind like seeds from a dandelion?”
“Now, you’re just being dramatic, Wallace.” Cinnia scoffed, although what he said did make sense. This town’s communication with the outside world must be very limited or, at least, sporadic.
Nola dropped onto the bench beside Cinnia, her brow wrinkled. “You’re serious about leaving the troupe, aren’t you? You want to open a shop?”
Cinnia winced at the disdain in her sister’s last words. “I want to try. Maybe just for six months.” Hope bubbled in her chest. Is Nola agreeing? “Would that be so bad? To make a home in this town and do something other than being on stage every night?”
A long sigh escaped Nola’s lips. “Tell me what you’re performing tonight. Then I’m nominating Cinnia to be the one who represents the troupe and talks with the mayor.” She turned and scanned the group. “Any objections?”
Me? Cinnia sucked in a surprised breath before narrowing her gaze on her sister’s smug expression. Nola thinks I can’t do this. Although she figured a couple of the more outgoing performers would be better representatives, she was the one with the most at stake. New-found confidence pushed Cinnia to her feet. “I accept. I’ll go talk to the mayor.”
Nola glanced upward and shook a finger. “Plus you have to make the necessary arrangements for your shop. All of them.”
“Oh, I’ll perform “Ode On A Grecian Urn” tonight. Wish me luck.” Cinnia crossed the floor, her boot heels snapping on the wooden planks. When she reached the street, she turned right. The house with the wide porch near the crossroads must belong to the mayor. The clapboard building with the weathered yellow paint she now approached was the largest one in town. Last night, she’d heard someone mention a boarding house, and this building had plenty of space, both upstairs and down. Benches sitting against the wall received shade from the porch overhang.
As she walked, she was aware of how she twisted her empty hands and dashed into the wagon to grab her reticule. Appearing on someone’s doorstep without one seemed wrong, although Cinnia had very little practice in the niceties of making a social call.
On her climb up the slight rise, she noticed the finer details of the two-story home. Painted gray with maroon trim and shutters, the house looked like it contained at least eight or ten rooms. So many windows. The farmhouse she was raised in—the last real home she remembered—had only five rooms.
After ascending the steps and crossing the white porch, she stood opposite double doors with glass in the upper portion. Which one should she knock on? Nervousness attacked her stomach, and she quailed at the prospect of carrying out her assignment. Which is exactly what Nola expects. Taking a deep breath helped bolster her confidence. She took another then quickly rapped on the wooden frame between the two window sections.
From inside came the sound of measured footsteps on wooden floors, followed by the click of a latch.
Cinnia opened her mouth to speak a greeting, but the door hadn’t moved, and she heard more footsteps.
A shadow passed behind the glass a moment before the door opened to a slender, brown-haired woman in a purple dress accented with lavender braid. She had a long face and a sharp chin. Light gray eyes narrowed on the occupant of the porch and moved over her shoulder then back. “Yes? May I help you?”
“Is this the mayor’s house?” Cinnia gulped back a groan at the too-obvious question. “Of course, such a fine house would belong to the man who controls the town. What I meant to ask, ma’am, is Mr. Morgan at home?”
The woman’s rigid stance softened an inch or two. “My husband is away at present. At the mine, I believe.”
Again, Cinnia was subjected to the lady’s gray gaze running over her length, but no welcoming smile crossed the plain woman’s face. Her day dress was in Cinnia’s favorite colors and was of a recent and stylish cut, including a prominent bustle. With an effort, Cinnia restrained herself from plucking at the lace edging on her cuffs or tucking her green calico blouse into the waistband of her serviceable twill skirt.
“Aren’t you one of those…performers?”
“Oh, were you in the audience last night?” She cringed, because not knowing this fact about the most important woman in the town was a social faux pas. “My name’s Cinnia York. The troupe is what I wanted to talk to the mayor about, but possibly you have the answers I seek.”
“Well, I suppose you should come inside. I’m not in the habit of allowing the neighbors to overhear my conversations.” Mrs. Morgan stepped back.
Did I miss something on my approach? Darting glances to both sides of the porch, Cinnia wondered which neighbors the woman spoke about. The next closest building toward the town was surely out of earshot. “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan.” Cinnia stepped over the threshold into a sma
ll space and was faced with another set of double doors. Should I open these?
Mrs. Morgan stepped forward and opened the second door. “The parlor is on the right. We’ll conduct our visit in there.”
Cinnia nodded and walked into a wide hallway. Light shining through all the windows infused the interior space. A stairway to the second floor had a spiral in the banister at the bottom. The door on the left side of the hall was closed, although she thought she heard shuffling noises and hushed whispers. Aiming for subtle looks at her surroundings, she soaked in all the details because she knew Nola and Dorrie would want to know everything. Then she moved into the pleasant-sized room holding a divan with blue-velvet cushions, a mixture of armchairs and small wooden tables. In one corner sat a small stove. “What a pleasant room.
“Thank you. Mr. Morgan and I have recently added a few items of furniture.” She gestured toward the divan. “Please, sit.”
“Oh, this is really nice.” Cinnia ran a hand over the smooth fabric, and then perched at the far end and tucked her reticule into her lap. “On behalf of the troupe, I’ve been sent to find out what arrangements were made about our performances.”
Gray eyes first widened and then narrowed. Mrs. Morgan’s posture straightened even more, and she looked down her nose. “I presume that gentlemen who made all the announcements at the program would be the one to ask. Is he not in charge of the people in your traveling group? Didn’t I hear his name was part of the title?”
The tone when Mrs. Morgan said “traveling group” held censure. Cinnia couldn’t help but sit a bit straighter and lift her chin a notch. “Seems Mr. Thomas left at some point during the night. His favorite horse is missing, too.” She pressed her lips tight before she revealed any more details about the circumstances. Admitting all the collected admission fares were gone as well would snuff out the last glimmer of hope Cinnia clung to that Mr. Thomas had a plan and would soon reappear.
Montana Sky_Laced By Love Page 6
