Weeping Angel (37 page)

Anxiety singed the corners of his control, and he poured another drink. Rubbing his fingertips over the rough abrasion of his beard, Frank wondered when he'd last truly enjoyed himself with a woman without romping in some sheets with her. To his recollection, he hadn't.

Unbidden, he pictured Amelia in his bed with white flowers between her toes and her hair spread across his pillow in shimmering waves of brown. He heard her laughter; he saw her smile. She opened her arms for him. . . . The image left a burning imprint on his mind and made him more troubled than ever.

He needed an element of danger to combat his restlessness, an outlet in which to vent his frustration. Since there was no one around to get into a fight with, he did the next best thing.

He got drunk.

*  *  *

Frank didn't wake until late the following afternoon, and when he did, he had a blinding headache. He brewed an extra strong pot of coffee, and after a half dozen cups, he decided he couldn't talk to Pap while he was in dull pain. He needed to take the edge off his throbbing temples by putting his mind on other things besides too much cognac and the probability of Pap hitting him. He figured his bedroom was due a
cleaning since he'd scrubbed the saloon already. In between sips of coffee, he made his bed, pitched his dirty clothes into a laundry bag, and stacked the various dishes he found into a dishpan.

He'd just stepped onto the rear boardwalk off his apartment to wring his wet floor rag over the railing when Mayor Dodge approached him.

“Mr. Brody,” Cincinatus greeted with a fair amount of soberness to his tone. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a fine coat and shirt, his hair parted to perfection and oiled.

Frank paused after squeezing the cloth. He leaned into the rail. “Dodge.”

“I hope you have a minute to talk.” Cincinatus took the few steps, clearly not wanting to be put off.

“What's on your mind, Dodge?” Frank asked, shifting so that his hip rested on the post of the boardwalk. “You look like you just lost an election.”

“I feel like I did.”

Frank slung the damp cloth over the rail. “Sounds serious. You need a drink?”

“No.” The mayor frowned, his gaze troubled. “I was just at my residence for lunch. I do that these days. Take my lunch at home with Narcissa, that is. Ever since we found out she was expecting, I don't allow her to tax herself and come to the city offices with my lunch box.”

Frank guessed there was a point to Dodge's rambling and gave the man room to speak.

“I came through the kitchen, as I normally do. No sense in wearing out the carpet in the foyer when I'm going directly to eat. When I entered my house, I heard female voices coming from the parlor.” The mayor grimaced, his disdain evident. “This isn't unusual. Narcissa's friends have been coming over more frequently these days to inquire about her health. I'm not opposed to her socializing, but I've made it clear to her, I don't necessarily like all that
cackling going on in the house when I'm there. You know, a man's home is his castle.”

Frank crossed his arms over his chest, wishing Dodge would come out with it.

“I was just getting ready to push on the door to the parlor and clear the house, when one of their voices stopped me cold. It was that Spivey woman. She said something that made me stop”—his eyes narrowed—“and listen.”

From the mayor's emphasized pause, Frank felt as if he were under attack.

“She claimed her son saw something untoward by the river yesterday when he was calling for General Custer. As soon as she mentioned the word ‘untoward,' it was as if someone let a canary out of a cage. They all began to chirp at the same time, saying their sons were with him and saw the same thing.”

The mayor gave Frank a condescending glare. It didn't sit well with him, and he tried to depict a natural ease he didn't feel. “Go on.”

“The boys were witness to what you and Amelia were doing at the river. These women claim their sons saw some hanky-panky.”

Frank shoved his hands in his pockets, and as casually as he could manage, asked, “What exactly did they see?”

“I don't even like to talk secondhand about it. A woman's reputation is on the line here.”

“I didn't do anything to Amelia to damage her reputation.”

“Then how do you explain why you were helping Miss Marshall take her clothes off?”

“Ah, hell,” Frank mumbled, his wall of controlled nonchalance crashing down. “I wasn't helping her take them off.”

“What, then, were you doing?”

“What Amelia and I were doing is nobody's business.”

Cincinatus's face went a shade of red. “I ought to whup you for that remark. You're implying something I don't like.”

“I'm not implying anything. I'm merely saying what she and I do in private is our own business.”

The mayor ran his fingers over his lips, then pursed them. “I suppose what you do in private with a woman is.
If
you're dallying with that kind of woman. But Amelia is not. I think of her as a daughter, and my wife is quite taken with her. She's been through some trying times, and I do not want to see her being made fodder for gossip again.”

Frank slipped his hands from his pockets and grabbed his rag. “Neither do I.”

“Then you better set the record straight. Those ladies are in my parlor this very minute, thinking the worst. The last time something like this happened to Amelia, she almost didn't live it down. She's just started to get on with her life this past year.” The mayor's brows pulled into a frown. “I trust you'll not make any false implications to the contrary of what transpired between you two. You can be smart with me and try and get me to think the worst, but I don't believe it of Amelia. She's not a loose woman. And I'll admit it, I'm glad Jonas Pray ran off. He didn't deserve her and—” He sliced his words short.

Frank finished Dodge's thought with a question to his tone. “And neither do I?”

The mayor stepped down. “I don't know, Mr. Brody. You tell me. Are you worthy of a woman good to the bone? Would you do the honorable thing to protect her? If not, then you're not the right man for her. If so, then I suggest you act quickly. Once this gets around—and you can count on it—Amelia is not going to be able to hold her head high. The rumors will send her running. Think about that,” Cincinatus said, then walked away with a brisk gait.

Exhaling, Frank grabbed the railing with both
hands. The muscles of his forearms hardened beneath his sleeves from his tense grip. His heartbeat sped through him; his breath burned in his throat.
The rumors will send her running.
The thought froze in his brain. He didn't want to be the cause of Amelia hiding behind her door. Though he couldn't imagine her cowering. But he hadn't been here before when Pray had walked out on her; he hadn't been here to see her shamed and jilted. And he knew how biting the tongues of those gossiping women could be.

Frank pushed away from the rail and straightened. He went inside and threw his rag on the bar as he passed by. Dammit, he should have known if there was a dog around, the boys weren't far behind. Stupid! He'd been stupid to let things go too far yesterday.

He stopped at the end of the bar, hooked his boot heel over the brass railing, and hung his head. A wedge of sunlight lit the floorboards. He'd opened the front doors to air the place out. “Dammit,” he whispered in a dull and troubled voice. He had a lot to figure out in a brief amount of time. A painful knot twisted his gut. He wasn't keen on rushed decisions, but he had some heavy trouble. The kind of trouble he couldn't just ride away from or pay cash to get out of. The kind of trouble he wasn't good at figuring out and usually had Pap think it through for him. Only this time, he couldn't talk to Pap.

He had to keep in mind that Amelia's integrity was what counted. If he came to her defense, his strong testimony opposing what the boys thought had happened might work to his disadvantage. Firm denial of the incident could possibly make things more suspicious and make the boys' story look all the more convincing.

Ideally, if he said nothing at all and made no comment to the contrary, there could only be speculation. But those boys did see Amelia and knew Frank
had seen her in her corset. Just that fact alone was scandal enough for their meddling mothers.

“Mr. Brody?”

Frank lifted his head and turned around. Daniel Beamguard stood behind him, his hands stuffed into the hip pockets of his overalls.

“Not now, kid. I'm busy.”

The boy hung his head low. “Oh . . . It's just that me and the boys . . . we were wanting to play some ball . . . I was hoping I could, that is, well . . .”

Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What? You want to borrow my bat?”

“Yes, sir. Seeing how that bat's lucky for you, and all.”

“I wish I could make it lucky for me, but the lady's not on my side.” Frank looked into Daniel's expectant face, seeing a bit of Harry in the boy's expression. “Yeah, sure. You can borrow it,” he said, then strode to his bedroom.

Daniel followed him and Frank crouched down to rummage through his leather-bound, brass-trimmed trunk. Finding the Spalding, he handed it to the boy. Daniel touched the smooth wood grip, but Frank didn't let the bat go. “Sit down, kid.”

Daniel slumped onto the bed, his expression riddled with guilt. “I . . . Are you mad at me, Mr. Brody?”

Frank straightened his legs and scratched the back of his head before shaking the hair from his brows. He absently put the bat over his right shoulder and began to pace the short length of the room.

“You are mad at me, I know it.”

Frank stopped in front of Daniel, lowered the end of the bat, and dropped the top in between the spread of his legs. Leaning on the handle, he asked, “Why do you think that?”

“Because of yesterday . . .” he mumbled. “I didn't tell my mother anything, I swear. But Jakey, Coney
Island, and Walter and Warren did. I said we ought to keep it to ourselves. I mean . . . we didn't really see nothing. We didn't mean to . . . I mean we were just looking for General Custer.” He lowered his gaze.

Laying the bat on the bed next to Daniel, Frank sat down and put his forearms on his knees. He drew in his breath and looked at the tips of his boots.

“I'm not allowed to come here anymore for piano lessons,” Daniel confessed dejectedly. “I don't mind the not-having-lessons part, but I'd miss coming to the saloon to belly up to the bar and have you horse around with me and the boys.”

Frank made no reply.

“My ma told my pa if she ever caught him in the Moon Rock again, she'd go live with my grandmother.” He cocked his head. “And she said she'd make sure none of the other fathers could come here anymore either.”

Right now Frank didn't care if he lost the business. But the scandal would cost Amelia hers. He could still see the look of devastation on her face in the church when she lost the piano. Word of their so-called indiscretion was going to ruin her unless he did something to halt the rumors before they started.

Daniel glanced at Frank. “What are you going to do, Mr. Brody?”

Frank turned his head to gaze at the boy. “I'm going to marry Miss Marshall.”

Daniel swallowed, his tiny Adam's apple bobbing. “Gosh, you are? Do you like her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?”

Frank inhaled slowly. “I think so.”

Daniel meshed his fingers together, the nails soiled. “Then I guess you could marry her. You'd have to kiss her though, but I don't think she's ugly.”

“Me neither.”

They were quiet a moment before Frank asked, “Have you ever taken anything from your father's store without him knowing about it?”

“I've never stole from him,” Daniel defended in a rush, then hastened to add, “Well, at least not
real
merchandise. Lickerish shoestrings and bellyburners don't count. Do they?”

“I reckon they wouldn't to a boy.”

“Why do you ask, Mr. Brody? Do you want me to get you some candy?”

“No.” Frank sat up. “But I would appreciate it if you could buy me something without your parents knowing about it.”

“Why can't you come in and buy it?”

“I'd rather no one know about the purchase just yet.”

Frank rose, went to the low bureau, and retrieved his wallet. He counted off some bills. “I want you to pick out the best ladies' ring in the store and pay for it with this. Put the money in your father's cash box. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.” Daniel took the money and stuffed it into his pocket. “What kind do you like?”

Frank thought a moment. “I've always fancied opals.”

“My father has a real nice opal ring with diamonds around it.”

“That'll do.”

The boy nodded. “When do you want me to bring it back?”

“Give me thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

Frank picked up the bat from the bed and handed it to Daniel. “I'd appreciate it if you kept this between me and you. Man to man.”

The boy stood. “I will.”

“Good.” Frank put his hand on the boy's shoulder. “And no surprise frog this time. You do this favor for me, and you can keep the bat.”

“W-What did you say?” he stammered.

“You can keep the bat.”

“Holy smoke . . .” Daniel breathed. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. I mean it.”

Grasping the Spalding in his hand, Daniel put the bulk of the wood in the crook of his arm. “I don't care what my mother says. I don't think you'd ever do anything bad.” He gave Frank a sheepish gaze from underneath the locks of sandy brown hair. “You're my hero, Mr. Brody.”

Then he ran out of the bedroom, the heels of his plow shoes clopping over the floorboards.