Song of My Heart Read online

  Stacking the carpetbag on top of his wooden trunk, he grabbed the trunk’s leather handles and braced himself to heft his belongings.

  “Young man!” A strident voice intruded.

  Thad peeked over the carpetbag and spotted a tall, reed-thin woman on the porch of the mercantile. The porch’s roof shadowed her from the waist up, but even in the shade, her hair glowed as white as snow on a sunny afternoon. She wore her gleaming hair slicked back so tight it raised her bushy eyebrows a notch. He bolted upright and snatched off his hat. “Yes, ma’am?”

  She frowned at his trunk and bag as if they were litter cluttering her street. “Was you fixin’ to cart them things somewhere?”

  Thad scratched his head. Did she think he ought to leave them in the middle of the road? “Why, yes, ma’am.”

  The woman rolled her eyes heavenward. “Youngsters. Why’re they never endowed with good sense?”

  A grin twitched at Thad’s cheek. It’d been a long while since anyone referred to him as a youngster. Despite the woman’s grumbling, Thad took an instant liking to her. She had spunk.

  Fixing her frown on him again, she shook her head. “Good way to strain your back, carryin’ boxes to an’ fro.” She jabbed a bony finger toward the corner of the building. “Got a wheelbarrow around back. Ain’t mine, mind you now—belongs to Asa. But you’re free to use it. Oughtta make things a mite easier for you.”

  Thad smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Just make sure you bring it right back when you’re done.” She tapped her forehead above her right eye. “I never forget a face, an’ I’ll know just who to send Asa after if it don’t come back.”

  Thad had no idea who Asa was, but based on the way the woman drew his name like a gun, Thad decided it would be best not to annoy the man. “You can assure Asa I’ll bring it right back, ma’am. I promise.”

  She balled her hands on her hips. “I’ll be countin’ on that.” She spun, her gray skirts swirling, and headed for the door. Her muttered voice trailed behind her. “Youngsters . . . need a heap more sense, to my way o’ thinkin’ . . .”

  Chuckling, Thad jogged through the narrow gap between the mercantile and what had to be a restaurant judging by the good smells drifting from the open door. A wooden wheelbarrow rested upside down beside the mercantile’s back stoop. He whistled as he easily toted his trunk and bag to the bank, a stately brick building located on the corner of Goldtree Avenue and Main Street. After a moment’s thought, he left the wheelbarrow, with his belongings in the bed, parked right outside the carved wood double doors. The empty streets—was every Wednesday afternoon this quiet in Goldtree?—offered no hint of trouble.

  He took a moment to brush as much travel dust from his trousers as possible, then closed the top button of his best shirt. The tight neckband made drawing a deep breath uncomfortable, but he could manage for a short meeting. He removed his hat and ran his hand through his dark hair, smoothing it into place as best he could without the use of a comb or mirror. Then, satisfied he’d done all he could to make himself presentable, he stepped over the entryway that proclaimed the date “1874” in six-sided blue tiles on a background of yellow and white.

  A neatly dressed man peered out at Thad from behind a row of four iron bars. He straightened the ribbon tie beneath his chin and said, “Good afternoon.” His voice came out croaky, as if he hadn’t used it for a while. “May I help you?”

  Thad clomped to the narrow counter and angled his head to peek between bars. “Yes, sir. I was told to meet—”

  “McKane!”

  A portly gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick gray mustache strode toward Thad, his hand extended. The fruity essence of pomade traveled with him. His three-piece suit and black silk tie left Thad feeling more than a mite underdressed, but he reached to shake hands. “Mr. Hanaman?”

  The man nodded, his broad smile nearly buried beneath the mustache. Thad kept his own mustache neatly trimmed above his lip, but he let the thick dark side whiskers grow a bit wider on his cheek. He had his reasons.

  The banker beamed at Thad. “That’s right—I’m Roscoe Hanaman. Glad you’ve finally arrived in our fair town.” He released Thad’s hand and stepped back, giving Thad a head-to-toes look-over. “You appear to be just as strong and able as your uncle promised me.”

  Thad felt like a horse on an auction block. He tried not to squirm.

  Curling one hand over Thad’s shoulder, Hanaman swung his smile on the teller, who continued to stare from behind the bars like a monkey Thad had once seen in a circus cage. “Rupert Waller, meet Thaddeus McKane, newest resident of Goldtree. I hope to talk him into serving as foreman on my ranch.”

  Thad sent the man a startled glance. “I thought—”

  Hanaman’s jovial chuckle covered Thad’s protest. “Well, come along now, McKane, to my office”—he propelled Thad across the gleaming marble floor—“and let’s get better acquainted.” He ushered Thad into his wood-paneled office and closed the door with a crisp snap. His shoulders seemed to collapse for a moment, but then he drew a breath and they squared again. He gestured with his thumb toward the bank’s lobby. “You’re no doubt wondering about my comment to Waller about you being my foreman.”

  Thad nodded. “Sure am.” He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and rested his weight on one hip. If Hanaman had something unethical in mind, he’d turn tail and head right back to Kansas City, even if the man and his uncle were longtime friends.

  “Have a seat there,” Hanaman said, flapping his palm at a wooden chair facing his massive desk. He settled his bulk in a leather-upholstered, wheeled chair on the far side of the desk and waited until Thad eased into the smooth wood seat. Then he propped his elbows on the desk and gave Thad a serious look. “I apologize for my little falsehood—”

  Thad frowned. Was there such a thing as a little falsehood? According to the Bible, lying was just plain wrong.

  “—but we need to have a certain level of secrecy as to your true purpose for being here.”

  Thad’s frown deepened. “My uncle told me you wanted law enforcement. Since I worked for a while as a deputy in Clay County, he thought I’d be qualified to help. But I have to be honest, Mr. Hanaman—you’re starting to make me wonder if I shouldn’t have come. I’m not one to involve myself in underhanded dealings.”

  Hanaman waved both hands, his expression frantic. “No, no, what your uncle told you is right! We do need law enforcement. But . . .” He glanced toward the door, as if ascertaining no one held an ear on the other side. In a much softer tone, he continued. “The town can’t know why we need it.”

  Thad shook his head, thoroughly confused.

  “Hear me out.” Linking his hands together, Hanaman leaned forward and held Thad captive with his serious tone. “Goldtree is a fine little town, filled with God-fearing, honest folk. With the verdant grasslands covering rolling hills, ample water supply, and temperate seasons, it has all the right qualities to grow into a successful city.”

  Thad covered his lips with one finger to hide a smile. He’d never heard a more convincing sales pitch.

  “As serving mayor of Goldtree, I want to see my town achieve its full potential.”

  Thad surmised an influx of folks to Goldtree wouldn’t hurt Mr. Hanaman the banker, either.

  “It is imperative no negative dealings mar the town’s stellar reputation. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. McKane?”

  “Thad, please,” Thad said automatically. Then he released a rueful chuckle. “No, sir. To be honest, I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Hanaman’s brows pulled into a fierce V. “You mentioned underhanded dealings. . . . I suspect, Thad, that someone might be making and distributing liquor.”

  Thad slumped in the chair. When his uncle had indicated the town wanted to hire a lawman, he’d never expected he’d be called on to handle something so immoral—and personal. “But liquor’s been outlawed in Kansas—we’re a dry state.”

  “A law
is only as good as the men who abide by it.”

  Thad recognized the sad truth of the man’s statement. He flung his arms outward. “So why bring in an outsider? You’re the mayor. If you suspect this’s going on, why not call a town meeting an’—”

  Hanaman came half out of his chair. “We can’t tell the town! Oh my, no, the worst thing would be to tell the town!”

  Thad crunched his brow.

  Blowing out a huge breath, Hanaman flopped back into his seat. The chair springs twanged in protest. “Please, you must understand, this is a very sensitive situation. I have printed handbills ready to send to every city of importance in the eastern states, inviting hardworking, moral people to consider making Goldtree their new home. If word of this spreads . . . why, I’ll be doomed!”

  The man smoothed his hand over his heavily greased hair and angled his body toward Thad again. “I have high hopes that Goldtree might replace Clay Centre as the county seat.”

  Thad raised one eyebrow. “Without it being a railroad town?”

  Hanaman waved his hand, dismissing Thad’s comment. “But why would our fellow Kansans look upon Five Creeks Township with favor if illegal dealings took place in one of its communities? No, no, your true purpose here in Goldtree must be kept between you, me, and the four other men serving on our town council.”

  Thad chewed the inside of his lip and considered this information. Could he knowingly take part in a deception? God, help me out here. Give me some of that sense the lady on the mercantile porch said I needed.

  Hanaman sighed, rubbing his thumb on a dark blob of ink marring the desk’s polished top. “Your uncle assured me you were an upstanding man who followed the Good Book and was willing to fight on the side of right. I thought you’d see the importance of breaking up this ring before it does real harm to the citizens of Goldtree and our surrounding communities. But if you’re—”

  Before it does real harm . . . Hanaman’s words echoed in Thad’s head. He leaped to his feet. “I’ll do it.”

  Hanaman’s jaw dropped. He staggered upright. “Yes? You’ll take the job?”

  “I’ll take the job.”

  The man let out an undignified whoop. Then he blustered and regained control of himself. “And you’ll uphold the vow of secrecy?”

  Thad folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel good about letting people think I’m just a worker on your ranch. They’ll need to be told up front I’m here to maintain order. They don’t need to know the particulars—I’m fine with trying to sneak up on the lawbreakers an’ bring ’em to justice—but I’m not willing to outright lie to the citizens of Goldtree.”

  Hanaman worked his lips back and forth, making his thick mustache twitch. Thad waited, letting the man make up his mind. Finally Hanaman stuck out his hand, and Thad gave it a firm shake of agreement.

  “Very well, Thaddeus McKane. Or rather, Sheriff McKane.” A smile crept up the man’s jowled cheek. “With the town growing, and the frequent visits by cowboys moving cattle to market, it only makes sense we’d benefit from a full-time lawman. The townspeople shouldn’t question it.”

  He strode from behind his desk with deliberate steps. “I’ll call a meeting of the entire town council this evening. You’re invited, too, of course. It will give us a chance to discuss all of the particulars of your new job. There’s a private room on the second floor of the bank—use the outside stairwell since the bank itself shall be locked. We’ll meet at, let’s say, eight o’clock. That should provide you sufficient time to get settled and”—his gaze flicked over Thad again—“cleaned up. Do you have any questions?”

  “Just one.” Thad rocked on his worn bootheels. “Where am I to settle myself?”

  “I suppose that’s a necessary detail, isn’t it, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff. The title would take some getting used to, but Thad kind of liked the sound of it. For now. Until he had the chance to swap it for Preacher. His stomach knotted.

  “I’d originally envisioned you calling the bunkhouse at my ranch home for the duration of your service here, but now . . .” He pinched his chin, his eyes narrowing. Then he snapped his fingers. “I own the building next to the mercantile. A druggist rents the entire upper story for his living quarters as well as half of the main floor, which serves as his business. The other half of the main floor is currently unoccupied, so it could serve as your office. As for living accommodations—”

  “If I can lay my hands on some lumber, I can portion off some of the space for a sleeping room. I’m handy with a hammer an’ nails.” Thad shrugged. “I won’t need anything fancy—just a bunk for sleeping and a dry sink for washing. I’m not much of a cook, so I’ll take my meals at the local café . . . that is, if you’ve got one.”

  “Oh, we’ve got one!” Hanaman patted his ample stomach. “And it’s a fine one, too. You plan on taking your meals there and charging them to your expense account. The councilmen and I will see that Cora’s paid.” The man’s face puckered, his brows low. “But I think we might be wise to find you a little house to rent. A sleeping room in the back of the store hardly seems—”

  Thad didn’t want to get too comfortable. He had plans beyond Goldtree. “Most likely, I’ll spend a goodly part of the day wandering the streets, getting to know folks, sniffing things out. So I can make do with little.” He scratched his head. “But I might have need of some sort of jail cell.”

  Hanaman formed a fist and bounced it off the corner of his desk. “There’s a cellar underneath the building—nothing much, just a storm shelter in case a twister comes in our direction. But it could be used as a holding cell.”

  “That’ll do,” Thad said.

  “Fine! Fine! Everything is falling into place splendidly.” Hanaman dug a key out of his desk drawer and pressed it into Thad’s hand. Then he slung his arm around Thad’s shoulders and escorted him to the lobby. “The building is catty-corner across the street from the bank. As I recall, the previous tenant left a few items behind. Feel free to make use of anything you find, or toss them out in the back and I’ll have someone haul them away. There’s a pump in the yard behind the building, as well as an—harrumph—outhouse. Anything else you need, just go into Baxters’ Mercantile and charge it to my account.”

  The man’s generosity knew no bounds. He must really want these criminals caught. Thad slapped his hat on his head. “Thank you very much, Mr. Hanaman.”

  “Roscoe,” the man corrected, his booming voice jovial. “We’ll be working closely together, so we might as well be on a first-name basis.” He ambled alongside Thad as they stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. “Get settled in your new office, grab some supper at Cora’s”—he pointed to the white building with red trim down the street that Thad had guessed was a restaurant—“and be back here at eight o’clock. I’m sure the other councilmen will be proud to make your acquaintance.”

  Then, without warning, his friendly expression faded to a look of worry. “Thank you again, Thad. I know I’m throwing quite a burden at your feet, but after your uncle told me”—his face shifted sideways, as if he was ashamed to meet Thad’s eyes—“about your father, I felt certain you were the man we needed to set things to right in Goldtree.”

  Thad’s chest grew so tight it hurt to draw a breath. The mayor knew about his father? Did the rest of the town know, too?

  As quickly as he’d sobered, Hanaman brightened again. He gave Thad’s shoulder a clap. “Go on now. Make yourself at home. And let me be the first to say, welcome to Goldtree.”

  3

  Thad pushed the wheelbarrow across the street to the building he’d call home for the next few weeks. Or months, depending on how things went. False-fronted, painted white with yellow trim, the building was long and narrow. Two doors with see-through squares on the upper half faced the street. The door on the right sported an arc of gold-painted letters on its window: Spencer Thornton, Druggist. So Thad put his key into the lock on the left-hand door. The wood had swelled, and he had to plant his sho
ulder on the door to force it open, but that didn’t bother him. A few swipes with a planer would fix it.

  Dust rose when Thad dropped the trunk and bag on the wide-planked floor. He sneezed twice, then squinted around the shadowy room. A pile of mouse-eaten blankets filled one corner, and a metal bed frame leaned against the far wall. He spotted a few gray shapes lurking in the far end, but he couldn’t determine what they were in the meager light. But once he opened the shutters on the north side of the building and gave the front window a good scrubbing, it’d be a heap brighter.

  He wanted to explore his new room, but the mercantile lady had told him to bring the wheelbarrow right back. Asa might need it. So he locked the door behind him and wheeled the empty wooden cart next door to the mercantile. Before he could take it around back and return it to its spot by the back door, the same woman who’d spoken to him earlier dashed out on the wooden walkway and waved her bony hands over her head.

  “You there! You!”

  Thad came to a startled halt. “Me?”

  “Yes, you! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Baffled by her accusatory tone, he pointed to the wheelbarrow. “I’m putting this back.”

  She planted her fists on her skinny hips and glared at him with enough ferocity to drill a hole through his head. “And just what’re you doin’ with Asa’s wheelbarrow?”

  Was the woman senile? Thad yanked off his hat and scratched his head. “Well, ma’am, you told me to use it.”

  “I . . . what?” She jolted upright. “So! Not only are you a thief, you’re a liar, as well.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  “Thief! Thief!” The woman’s shrill voice filled the street. “I’m tellin’ you, he’s a thief!”

  Folks stuck their heads out of the nearby places of business and stared at Thad in disapproval. His face felt scorched. “Ma’am, don’t you remember? Just a little while ago, I—”