Chances (24 page)

A frazzled waitress cleared luncheon dishes from a nearby table. She cast a furtive glance toward the manager’s desk in the lobby, then scraped breadcrumbs from the wrinkled red and white checked table cloth with careless disregard. The crumbs landed on the floor and she kicked at them with a worn shoe until they scattered.

Frank shook his head. She was courting bad luck, that one. One day, someone was going to see to it that the manager looked her way at the wrong time and she’d be out on the street. He ought to know. Seemed like he’d been dodging bad luck and folks who wanted to ruin things for him all his life. He figured it was time he took charge and made own luck.

Frank picked at his slice of gingerbread cake and watched the waitress cart her tray of dirty dishes past him and into the kitchen. A soiled cloth napkin leapt from the overloaded heap and perched on the floor in her wake. Filled with droplets of gravy, it stared up at him. Frank wrinkled his nose in distaste and stretched out a too-short leg to kick it from his sight.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask someone to pick it up?”  Walter Bates’s refined baritone asked from behind Frank.

Frank cringed and looked up at his uncle’s imposing figure. Shit and hellfire. It was like he’d been caught by his father. “Weren’t nobody around,” he explained.

Walter shrugged. “It’s a hotel restaurant. I’m sure someone will be along to pick it up before long. You’re making more work for the waitress.” He frowned and sat down opposite of Frank. “But, then, foresight isn’t your strong suit.”

Frank’s skin prickled. It wasn’t his fault the waitress was inept. “Is this going to be a lecture?”

“Should it be? Your father lectured for years and it didn’t do a bit of good.”

Frank shifted with the memory. “Look, Uncle Walter—”

“What is it this time, Frank? What is so urgent that you wire me with a cryptic summons?” Walter leaned back in his chair and pulled a pipe from his jacket pocket, kindling it with piercing arrogance.

Frank sat up straighter. “I think there’s more problems at the station.”

“You made me travel all the way out here so I could listen to you sputter about the station? You’ve complained ever since I got you the job.” He sighed. “What is it you’re going to whine about this time? Somebody picking on you? More Sarah Donovan trouble?”

A knot of apprehension formed in Frank’s stomach. “She
is
trouble.”

“You put me in a very embarrassing situation last time, Frank.” Walter drew on his pipe then leaned forward. “I took your ramblings about her poor job performance to heart, called in some favors, and ended up looking like a fool. Not only did Jim Wilson file an official protest, but that undertaker Petterman revoked the complaint you claimed he made. Then I find out
your
job performance is miserable, after I backed your promotion.”

“There’s more goin’ on, here. There’s reasons Wilson and Petterman are defendin’ her.”

Walter waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t waste my time, Frank, or my position. I’m not finding you another job. You fail again and I’m washing my hands of you.”

A bead of sweat trickled down Frank’s forehead. He was not going to fail, not this time. He wasn’t gonna let nobody ruin things for him anymore. This time, the luck was his. He centered his thoughts on Lavinia, then plunged ahead. “She’s sellin’ her favors. I got the wires to prove it.”

Walter raised an eyebrow. “Proving she’s been solicited or that she’s soliciting others?”

“Well …”

“You want me to go to the other directors and tell them what? That my nephew has telegraphs that offer nasty invitations to Miss Donovan? And just what does that prove?”

“She’s whorin’ on the telegraph.”

“I know all about the wires, Frank. Jim Wilson reported on it the day after it happened and sent in a copy of the logbook. Those wires were incoming. All recorded outgoing messages are requests for such comments to stop.” Walter tamped his pipe and waited with an expectant gaze.

Frank shifted in his chair, trying to recall everything Lavinia had revealed to him. “What if she sent some invites and Wilson’s coverin’ for her?”

“You have evidence of that?”

“I might,” Frank stalled, “I’m tryin’ to find it.”

Walter set the pipe down and leaned across the table. “Are you saying the logbook has been doctored?” he asked, his voice low in the empty room.

Frank nodded. He hadn’t thought about the logbook when he’d sent the fake messages, but he reckoned it wouldn’t take much to ink out a few of the real entries, make it look like something was being hidden. “That’s what I think, yes.”

“Well, that would make this a whole different situation. The last thing I need is trouble bringing down the value of my stock.” A worried frown formed on his face. “You sure this isn’t just you being jealous of Miss Donovan? Word is she’s doing a fine job of it.”

“I ain’t jealous.” Frank heard the sharpness in his voice and collected himself. “But I ain’t going to just sit around and have her make her way, ruining everything, just because she’s willing to sleep around to do it.”

“Lay it out, Frank. What are we looking at?”

Lavinia’s revelations filled his head and his chest puffed with hopeful pride. This time, she’d realize how much spine he really had, how much he loved her. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trouser legs and leaned in toward his uncle. “Petterman withdrew his complaint because Donovan’s offering up her attentions. Folks have seen ‘em together in whatcha might call ‘compromising situations.’ As for Wilson, word is that he’s gettin’ some, too. He not only hired her, he does her job and covers up her mistakes. It’s all set up to make her look good.”

Walter sank back, his mouth slightly open. “Dear God. Decent folks would boycott us for the Union Pacific.”

Frank nodded. “That’s why I figured you’d want to know.”

“Frank, I’m not taking this up without proof. Not after last time.” He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“If I can prove it?”

“You get me the proof, boy, and I’ll see to it Wilson and Donovan never work in the telegraph business again."

* * * * *

In the darkened main theater of Occidental Hall, Daniel exhaled with the last strains of “Professor” Wilson’s brass band music machine and watched Miss Evie, the featured entertainer, take a final bow. He should never have agreed to come to the variety hall. Having done so, he needed to get through the evening and rethink this week of challenges. He shifted in his chair while Miss Evie exited the cramped stage, applause lingering in her wake. The Tuesday evening crowd was small but raucous, and several catcalls begged for an encore. Miss Evie reappeared, blew a kiss to her adoring fans, and began to climb back up the ladder to the tiny trapeze platform teetering high above.

Across from him, Sarah shifted her attention to Daniel, a smirk tugging at her perky mouth. “You don’t look very comfortable.”

He offered a wry smile. “I’m not.” He picked up the pint tumbler of beer Sarah had coaxed him into ordering and drained it.

“It’s quite a bit different from
Little Women,
but you have to admit, she’s very good.” Sarah waved an arm dramatically. “The audience loves her.”

Daniel tipped his head at the obvious truth of it. “The audience would love her if she fell flat on her face. She’s half dressed.” He shrugged. Miss Evie’s antics on the trapeze had been less than sensational, but her curves were a whole different matter.

“So enjoy the show.” Sarah raised her arm, two fingers lifted in silent request for more beer. The movement stretched the fabric of her pale green bodice, pulling it tight across her breast.

An image of Sarah, clad in revealing pale green attire skittered through his mind. Bare arms, a short, torso-hugging costume, shapely legs in clinging tights. He sighed. “It’s not—”

“Not what?” Sarah prodded. “Not right?”

Feeling sheepish, Daniel shrugged. Miss Evie and Occidental Hall’s Variety Extravaganza hadn’t put the images in his head, after all. Of late, there had been far too many images of Sarah lingering in the corners of his mind, all of them waiting for opportunities to express themselves. All of them prickling at the ghosts of his conscience. “Point taken,” he said, ignoring the path of his thought. “I guess I just didn’t know what to expect.”

Sarah’s violet eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “You truly have never been to a variety show?”

The din of the crowd rose as busy waitresses moved to refill beer glasses before the intermission ended. A pale blonde in worn clothing plunked two more pints on their table and picked up the correct change from the collection Sarah had advised Daniel to leave on the tablecloth.

“Obviously, you have.”

“I attended a few shows with Miriam and Lise, at the academy, back in Saint Louis. Heavens, I haven’t done much of anything like that since I got to Denver.”

“You haven’t said much about them. Were you close?”

“Lise and I started there at the same time. She’s part Indian and her desire for justice fell right in with my crusading. Miriam’s younger, the daughter of a military family. She’s back with them now, far more independent and outspoken than a few years ago.” A smile lit her face. “I think I dragged both of them more places than they truly wanted to go.”

“A woman on a mission, no doubt.”

She frowned briefly, then nodded. “I didn’t see it that way, but it’s likely true.” She reached for her glass of beer and took a sip.

Daniel smiled at her effort to avoid the issue and lifted his own glass. The beer was warm and slightly bitter, reminding him why he seldom imbibed. “What took you from Pennsylvania to Saint Louis?”

“Adventure, independence, a boarding school with an open-minded headmistress.” She grinned.

“I should have known. Did you always want to telegraph?”

Delicate laughter filled the air. “My only goal was to make my mark on the world. When I discovered the wire, it seemed a logical choice. Passing next week’s primary op test ought to prove it.”

Daniel sensed a larger story behind her words. Her history beckoned him, urging him to probe further but her sidestepping of personal issues last night weighed on his mind. Like him, she preferred to avoid discussion of the past. And like him, she was just itching to put an end to any exploration of it. They were two of a kind, all right.

He sipped again at his beer, a mockery of his father’s temperance that probably had Sarah wondering quite a bit. Probably enough to start digging at it. And if she didn’t fire any pointed questions, his past would pick at him anyway. Damn it, he couldn’t even ignore things anymore.

He took a breath and plunged ahead. “My father considered alcohol and variety shows among the major evils of the world.”

“And here you are, defying him on both counts.” Her voice was soft, cautious.

“He never liked it that I had an occasional drink.” He drained the glass and set it back on the table.

“Why did you?”

Daniel mulled it in his head, unsure of whether or nor he wanted to explore the issue. He could detour around the subject, as she had. Hell, they could dance around their pasts forever. He caught her waiting gaze and held it. “Rebellion.”

“Excuse me, did I hear you correctly?”

“Rebellion. Pure rebellion.”

She grinned. “I never would have thought it.”

He nodded, a memory picking at him. “Mary hated it.”

Sarah’s grin faded. “You’ve never talked about Mary.”

He nodded, waiting for a wave of guilt to surface. The deep loss he’d felt when she died had long since dissipated but she lurked in the recesses of his mind, offering memories whenever he focused too much on Sarah and the turmoil she was stirring in his soul. He closed his eyes briefly, shooing the tightness away from his heart.

“Daniel?”

He looked into Sarah’s gentle violet eyes, stilled his heart, and took a breath. “Mary embodied every virtue I’d been raised to honor. She sanctioned every rule, rewarded every principle and somehow made it all a matter of integrity rather than the self-righteous blather my father preached. We grew up together, our parents grooming us for marriage. I never considered any other option. When my father had a stroke, just after we were married, she cared for him without complaint until the day he died. I don’t think she ever complained about anything, not even when she was ill and dying herself.”

Sarah’s breath was audible, and disappointment pooled in her eyes.

Daniel reached for her hand, grasping it amid the yeasty beer spills on the table. “I never questioned the lack of passion in our lives, not ever.” His thumb circled her delicate skin. “Maybe I should have.”

“She wouldn’t have liked you being here.”

“No, she wouldn’t. But, then, being here wouldn’t have occurred to Mary. Or to me.”

“And she wouldn’t like me.”

“She’s not here.”

She squeezed his hand and offered a wavering smile. “Isn’t she? Daniel, don’t you see? Both of them are here. The question is, are you going to let them stay?”

Chapter Fifteen

Daniel’s jaw clenched and Sarah regretted her words. She’d pushed too far, again. Next to Mary, she was nothing but an oddity. No wonder he was put off by her. Amid the clatter of the variety hall, they sat in silence while her heart pattered.

“Daniel?”

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. His eyes were full of distant thought but void of anger.

Sarah breathed easier.

The next act began, a melancholy ballad in sultry tones by songstress Lola Ferrangetti. She crossed the stage with languid movement, her heavily darkened eyes emphasizing the sad song. A hush fell across the room as she cast her spell on the audience.

Daniel’s eyes closed and his shoulder rose and fell with each weighty breath.

Sarah squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed it back. “Don’t be,” he said, his voice thick. “I have a couple of ghosts living inside my head.”

“I never meant—”

“I know. But they’re here and they don’t want to leave. I need to decide whether or not to banish them for good.” He exhaled and offered a tentative smile.