Autumn's Angel (5 page)

Chapter Eight

A few days later Luvena sat at the desk in Clay's office, reading through the various letters, playbills, and advertisements he'd collected. Clay had set a date toward the end of October for the opening production of the Grand Coeur Opera House. Luvena's task was to bring in a professional opera company or a soloist who would impress the audience and make them want to continue to patronize the theater from then on.

Perhaps it was an impossible undertaking. It surely felt impossible as she looked at the papers spread before her. What did she know about hiring a troupe of seasoned performers? What had made her think she could handle this job? She was no expert. She'd attended theater and opera with her parents, and she'd taken lessons and appeared in one small production years ago. That was all. She didn't know enough. She was certain to fail.

But she had to try. She had to do her very best. Her nieces and nephew were depending on her.

Clay's depending on me too
.

A pleasant shudder moved through her as she pictured him in her mind. Since Saturday, when he'd come looking for her and the children in the mountains above Grand Coeur, Clay hadn't spent a great deal of time with any of them. So she'd found herself listening for his footsteps, looking up at the slightest noise.

Waiting for . . . something.

Hoping for . . . something.

In the night, when she lay awake in bed, hearing the children's steady breathing, she could admit her disappointment. She was disappointed because Clay wouldn't marry her. Disappointed because she wasn't enough, because she couldn't make him want her
despite
the children. Maybe she would feel better if she disliked him. If he was cruel to her or mean-tempered with Ethan and Elsie or dismissive of Merry. If he had horrible table manners. If he was weak of mind or body. But he wasn't any of those things. He was good and kind and handsome. He was a man of true faith. He believed in what he was doing and was willing to work hard to make it succeed.

Releasing a sigh, Luvena forced her eyes to focus on the papers before her once again, silently ticking off what had to be accomplished—find the right singer or troupe; put together a stunning opening production; help the opera house turn a profit; earn a bonus; leave Grand Coeur; find a man who would marry her and care for the children.

Help
me, Lord!

As if in answer to that pitiful but heartfelt prayer, her gaze fell upon a familiar name. Ada May Innsbruck. Her pulse quickened as she took up the handbill and moved it closer to the light. Ada May Innsbruck, a star of the stage, first in New York and now in San Francisco, was currently scheduling a tour of western theaters. At one time, Ada May had been a dear friend of Luvena's sister. As far as she knew, that hadn't changed when scandal struck the Abbott family. Perhaps Ada May didn't even know about their tragedy. Was it possible Ada May might consider coming to Grand Coeur as one of the stops on her tour?

Her heart continuing to race with excitement, she rose from the chair, the slip of paper still in her hand, and went looking for Clay. She found him in the lobby, overseeing the hanging of a large mirror.

“Mr. Birch?”

He turned.

“I think I've found someone for the opening.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Ada May Innsbruck. She sings beautifully and is a gifted actress. Best of all, she is presently booking appearances in towns between San Francisco and Denver.” Luvena held out the handbill for him to take. “I know Ada May. I feel certain she would come if she hasn't already filled her tour dates.”

He read the advertisement. “Is she as good as this says?”

“Better.” Luvena grinned. “We should telegraph her husband in San Francisco immediately. Mr. Innsbruck is Ada May's manager.”

“How well do you know her?”

“Well enough. She was a good friend of my sister.”

“Can I afford her?”

“You won't know unless you ask.”

At last, Clay returned her smile. “Then let's go send that telegram.”

•••

As Clay and Luvena walked toward the Wells, Fargo office, a weight seemed to fall from Clay's shoulders. Remodeling the old Grand Theater into the new Grand Coeur Opera House had been the easy part of this endeavor. In his mind, finding the right artist to perform for the reopening was the hard part. If this Ada May Innsbruck was as good as Luvena said . . .

He glanced to his left. And, as if sensing his look, Luvena turned her head. A smile instantly curved the corners of her mouth.

It was going to work out. They were going to pull this off. He felt it deep in his bones. He might have told her such if they hadn't arrived at the Wells, Fargo office just then. He opened the door, motioning for her to step inside ahead of him.

Matthew Dubois greeted them from the other side of the counter.

“I didn't know you were back, Matthew,” Clay said.

“We returned yesterday.”

“How was the trip to Virginia?”

“Good. Shannon enjoyed showing me where she grew up and introducing me to old friends. She loved showing off the children too. But sometimes it was difficult for her. Reminders of the war are everywhere, and many people she knew are now gone.” Matthew's gaze shifted over Clay's shoulder.

“Sorry.” He turned to look at Luvena. “Miss Abbott, this is Matthew Dubois. He's Reverend Adair's son-in-law. Shannon's husband. Matthew, this is Luvena Abbott.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Abbott.”

“And you, Mr. Dubois.”

“Delaney tells us you won't be staying in Grand Coeur as expected. Shannon is disappointed. She remembers all too well how difficult it was for her when she came to Idaho Territory. She didn't like Grand Coeur much at first, but she's grown to love it. You would too.”

“Matthew,” Clay interrupted before Luvena could respond, “we need to send a telegram.”

“Of course.” Matthew placed paper and pencil on the counter in front of Clay.

He, in turn, slid the items to Luvena. She hesitated a moment before taking up the pencil. Then, looking between the handbill and the telegram form, she crafted the request to Ada May Innsbruck. When finished she handed the message to Matthew. He looked it over, nodded, and moved to the desk that held the telegraph equipment.

Clay sent up a silent prayer for a positive response from Mrs. Innsbruck. Not simply her availability and willingness to come to Grand Coeur but also that she would charge a reasonable fee.

Matthew returned to the counter. “It's sent. I'll let you know when we get a reply.”

“Thanks.” Clay paid for the telegram.

“I hope it turns out.” Matthew's gaze shifted to Luvena. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Abbott.”

She nodded to him.

“My wife will want you and Clay and your family to join us for dinner sometime soon. You can expect an invitation before long.”

“That's very kind, Mr. Dubois. I'll look forward to it.”

“. . . you and Clay and your family . . .”
Matthew's words echoed in Clay's thoughts as he and Luvena walked back to the opera house.
“. . . you and Clay and your family . . .”
There was something right about the sound of it.

But how could it sound right when he knew just how wrong it would be?

Chapter Nine

24 September 1870

Mr. Melvin Hitchcock

Proprietor, Hitching Post Mail-Order Bride Catalogue

Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

I am writing to advise you that someone employed by your catalogue company revised the letters I exchanged with Mr. Clay Birch of Grand Coeur, Idaho Territory. I now find that he and I are not to be married as expected because he had expressed his unwillingness to become a stepfather to any children. A crucial fact that was removed from his correspondence to me. Now, because of this, my sister's children and I find ourselves without the home and means of support we thought were secured when we left Massachusetts.

While Mr. Birch has not cast us out, we cannot continue to accept his charity. Therefore, I must ask that an advertisement of my own be included in your catalogue, free of charge given the circumstances. Please be certain it includes the information that I am the guardian of three children (ages eight to fourteen). I do not wish for there to be any further misunderstandings. I am writing a few other particulars regarding myself on the back of this letter and trust you will use them for an appropriate listing.

I also trust that whoever was responsible for this interference with our letters will be summarily dismissed from your employment. That is the very least that should happen to the individual.

Sincerely,

Miss Luvena Abbott

Grand Coeur, Idaho Territory

The letter finished, Luvena blotted the ink, folded the paper, and slipped it into an envelope.

There. Done. She should have written to the
Hitching
Post
the very day she arrived in Grand Coeur. She should have expressed her shock and dismay over the cruel joke perpetrated upon her and Clay. Whoever was responsible, she hoped they received their just desserts.

And now the search for a husband would begin again. It shouldn't feel any worse than it had before, the idea of moving to a new place and marrying a stranger for the support a husband could provide. But it did feel worse.

When she'd first considered the listings in that catalogue, she hadn't known any unmarried men who would overlook the tragedy in her family. Nor had she known any men who made her feel the way Clay Birch made her—

No, she wouldn't think that. Clay had made up his mind the moment she'd stepped out of the stagecoach and identified Merry, Ethan, and Elsie as belonging with her. He hadn't changed his opinion in the past nine days, nor was he likely to.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Clay appeared in the doorway of the office, grinning broadly. “You've done it, Luvena!” He waved a slip of paper in the air.

Luvena
. Her name thrummed in her ears as she rose and moved to the side of the desk. “Done what?”

“Mrs. Innsbruck has agreed to come to Grand Coeur.”

“I'm delighted for you, Mr. Birch.” She couldn't help but return his smile.

“We might even draw folks up from Boise.” He closed the distance between them. “It wouldn't have happened without your help.”

“You would have found someone, I'm sure.”

“Perhaps. But not someone as well known. Besides, she's coming because of you.” He spoke the words softly, his gaze holding hers.

Luvena's heart leapt, and it took great resolve not to reach up and caress his cheek. Something she had no right to do. She was not his fiancée. She would never be his bride.

The smile faded from her lips as she took a step backward and reached for the envelope on the desk. “Please excuse me. I have a letter I must post, and I'm hoping it will make today's stage. Then I must see to the children's lunch.”

“Of course.” He also took a step backward. He also lost his smile.

Good. He'd understood her subtle reminder of why he should not stand so close and why he should not call her by her Christian name. At most he was her landlord and employer. By his choice. A choice they both must live with.

“I suggest you send it by Wells, Fargo,” he added. “They're generally more reliable than the postal service.”

With a nod of acknowledgement in Clay's direction, Luvena left the theater and hurried along Main Street toward the express company's office. Feeling close to tears—and hating herself for it—she kept her gaze fastened on the boardwalk a few steps in front of her.

Mr. Birch isn't anything to me. He isn't. I shall find another man to marry
.

Luvena was so deep in thought she almost walked into another woman outside the Wells, Fargo office. The woman gasped, and it was that sound that brought Luvena to a sudden halt.

The heat of embarrassment rose in her cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I wasn't watching where I was going.”

“It's all right.” The woman—striking looking, with fiery-red hair and cat-green eyes—laughed softly. “Neither of us was harmed.” She looked as if she would turn and continue on her way, but then she stilled again. “You must be Miss Abbott.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm Shannon Dubois. My husband and I were traveling with our children when you arrived in Grand Coeur. I would so have liked to have been here to welcome you, but here we are now. So, welcome!”

“That's very kind, Mrs. Dubois.”

“Please, won't you call me Shannon?”

“If you wish.”

Shannon reached out and squeezed Luvena's upper arm, the gesture warm and genuine. “I have a feeling we shall become great friends.”

Luvena felt a catch in her chest, as if she'd lost something dear to her. If she could stay in Grand Coeur, they might have been friends. But now—

“Matthew and I would like you to come to dinner after church tomorrow. And your nieces and nephew, of course. Do I have that right? Two girls and a boy? Or is it the other way around?”

There was something about Shannon Dubois's smile that refused to let Luvena feel sorry for herself. She returned it. “You have it right.”

“Good. I thought so. Just the opposite of us. We have two boys and a girl in our home. But I mustn't detain you from your errand any longer. You will meet the children tomorrow.” She started away, then tossed back over her shoulder, “Oh, tell Clay he is invited to dinner too.”

•••

Well after Luvena left the office, the soft scent of her cologne lingered. Clay found it an oddly disturbing fragrance. Earthy. Sensual. Unforgettable. At last it drove him out the back door of the theater where he stopped and filled his lungs with fresh autumn air.

“Ethan, keep your eye on the ball.”

Clay turned in the direction of Merry Browne's voice. On the vacant land south of the house, Merry prepared to throw a ball toward her brother who held a bat high and behind his head. Some distance in back of Ethan, Elsie waited to chase the ball if he missed it.

Baseball. A sport that had grown in popularity from coast to coast. During the war, he'd participated in many friendly games with other Union soldiers. Those games had helped keep boredom at bay and his mind off of blood and death and the acrid smell of smoke that could linger in a man's nostrils long after battles were over.

He walked toward the Browne children.

Merry threw the ball. Ethan swung at it and missed. Elsie chased after it.

“You need to widen your stance,” Clay called to the boy.

Ethan straightened and looked Clay's way, suspicion in his eyes. “You ever played baseball?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I have.”

“When?”

Clay took Ethan by the upper arms and angled the boy's shoulder toward Merry. “Back when you were still in diapers.” He couldn't see Ethan's frown, but he knew it was there all the same. “I've even seen the Chicago White Stockings play.”

Ethan looked up and behind, skepticism giving over to excitement. “You have?”

“Yep.” Clay turned the boy's head forward. “Your feet need to be a few inches wider than your shoulders. There. That's good. Keep a bit more weight on your right foot. Bend your knees a little. A little more. Now hold the bat about here. That's right. Keep your head steady.” He backed away from Ethan and stepped off to the side. “Okay, Merry. Throw him a good one. Ethan, be ready for it. Don't try to hit it too hard. That'll come later.”

The boy missed Merry's first pitch, but he connected with the ball the next time, surprising his older sister as well as himself.

“That's it!” Clay shouted. “You did it!”

Looking as proud as if he'd hit the ball over the roof of the theater, Ethan held the bat toward Clay. “You do it, Mr. Birch.”

“Maybe later. Right now I'm hungry. I thought I'd fix something for lunch.” He turned on his heel and started toward the house. To his surprise, the three Browne children left their game and followed him inside.

Merry said, “Aunt Vena was going to make lunch after she finished writing to the
Hitching
Post
catalogue.”

Clay stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “The
Hitching
Post
? Why was she writing to them?”

“Same reason as before.” Merry shrugged. “To find herself a husband.”

“To find herself a husband
.”

The words reverberated through Clay.

“To find herself a husband
.”

So what had he thought she would do? He'd offered her and the children this house to live in temporarily. He was paying her a modest salary, one he could ill afford to pay. And he'd promised her a bonus if the opera house turned a good enough profit after its opening—which would take a miracle. Short-term fixes, all of them.

“To find herself a husband
.”

When he'd burst into the office a short while ago, proclaiming the good news about Ada May Innsbruck, he'd wanted nothing more than to pick Luvena up and spin her around in celebration. Well, maybe he'd wanted one thing more than to spin her around. He'd wanted to kiss her. Truth was, whenever he was with Luvena, he wanted to kiss her. Sometimes when he wasn't with her, he still thought about kissing her.

“To find herself a husband
.”

It wouldn't be hard for Luvena to find a man willing to marry her. She was beautiful and intelligent. Despite her being only twenty-three, she was a capable and caring mother to her wards. She wasn't afraid of hard work. A man would be a fool not to—

“My goodness.” Luvena's voice rescued him from his thoughts. “I didn't expect to find all of you in the kitchen.”

Clay turned toward the parlor. Luvena stood framed in the doorway, looking even lovelier than she had in the thea­ter office. How was that possible? She wore the same dress and her hair was unchanged. Perhaps it was the way the light fell through the parlor window. Or perhaps—

“We're helpin' Mr. Birch make lunch,” Elsie said.

A quick glance told him the kids had, indeed, started while he'd stood there lost in thought.

“Sandwiches,” Ethan added, slapping a slice of cold roast beef onto bread.

Luvena took a step into the kitchen. “I hope they weren't in your way, Mr. Birch.”

“No. Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I guess you got your letter posted in time.”

“Yes.”

For some reason he didn't understand, he wished she would tell him what she'd written to the catalogue. He didn't want secrets between them.

“And I met Shannon Dubois,” she continued. “She invited all of us to dinner after church service tomorrow.”

“Guess what, Aunt Vena?”

“What, Ethan?” She looked toward her nephew.

“Mr. Birch taught me how to swing my bat better. And I hit the ball Merry threw!”

Luvena's eyes widened as they shifted back to Clay.

He shrugged. “I learned a little about the game during the war. Just shared it with the kid.”

There was a warmth permeating the kitchen. Not one caused by the sun overhead or the stove against the opposite wall. No, it was a warmth created by the people in the room. All of them. The Browne children too. It came from their hearts and their laughter and their smiles. It made the small house feel like . . . like a home. It made all of them feel like a family. Clay hadn't felt that way in many, many years. Maybe never.

A gentle smile played around the corners of Luvena's mouth. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Birch.”

She couldn't be any more surprised than he was himself.