Page 2 of West Wind

Shelley grimaced. He’d heard some godawful singers in saloons attempting to provide entertainment other than whiskey, women, and cards. “The last singer you hired brought tears to my eyes, and I don’t mean that kindly.”

Oscar laughed. “Hiring that woman who claimed to be an entertainer from New Orleans was one of my worst mistakes. Her voice grated on one’s nerves even as she danced half naked on the stage. But this one’s got the voice of an angel.” He gestured to the crowded room. “See all these customers? Most of them are here to see her.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Well...” Oscar screwed up his face, thinking hard. “Her face is kinda peculiar.”

“Peculiar?” That couldn’t be good.

“I don’t know what kinda figure she’s got, because she’s always wearing this black dress that would probably fit you, it’s so big. It hangs on her, and there’s black silk everywhere. I tried to get her to wear one of Iris’s old costumes, but she wouldn’t have none of it. She’s a widow, see, from St. Louis. Still mourning, I reckon.” Oscar looked pensive. “Every now and then I look at her close and I think she’d clean up real nice.”

“Why don’t you threaten to fire her if she don’t wear what you tell her to? You’re the boss.” Shelley glanced around the crowded room.

“Tried that. She said she’d go, and I believe her.” He shook his head. “Stubborn woman. I can’t afford to lose her, and she knows it.”

“What’s her name?”

Oscar laughed. “Ann Brown, and I swear I didn’t name this one.”

At that moment the woman they’d been speaking of walked into the saloon through a side door and headed for the stage. The crowd broke into thunderous applause to which she gave a brief nod and an even briefer smile. Alfred, the aged black man who’d been playing the piano at the Silver Palace for eight years, was already seated at the piano as Ann Brown climbed the steps to the stage.

Oscar’s description had been accurate. Her black dress was volumes too big, and buttoned from just beneath her chin to the floor. He’d used the word peculiar to describe her face. Shelley thought it merely tired and colorless, though the dark circles under her eyes were odd. Her sable brown hair was caught in a tight bun at her nape. She’d better be a damn good singer.

With no introduction or word to the audience, she began to sing. Shelley was instantly entranced. He knew nothing about music, but he could tell that her voice was perfection. Sweet, strong, and somehow up-lifting. She began with ‘Annie Laurie’ then went directly into a rendition of ‘Lorena.’ Several patriotic songs followed.

Shelley shifted his attention from her to the crowd. All eyes were on the stage. Miners, cowhands, even the gamblers had left their cards behind and stood congregated in the doorway to the gaming room. The only faces that were less than friendly were those of the three women who found themselves suddenly ignored. Cherry, in particular, seemed put out by all the attention Mrs. Brown received. Her red mouth was set in a pursed frown, and when at one point she leaned over to speak to Summer, she was shushed by a nearby admirer of the singer.

Ann Brown sat on a three-legged stool, her voluminous skirt spread around her, her hands folded in her lap. Her dark eyes were fixed on a far distant place above the heads of her audience, as if she were singing to an empty room.

When Mrs. Brown finished the evening’s entertainment to shouts and whistles and uproarious applause, she left the stage with little visible awareness of the commotion she’d created. She walked with her head down, exiting through the side door. Only after she’d left the room did the gamblers return to their cards. Oscar’s girls became the center of attention once again.

Shelley was about to put the odd Mrs. Brown out of his mind when he noticed a well-dressed and impeccably groomed man, who’d been sitting alone near the back of the room, rise and follow her.

He leaned over the bar and grabbed Oscar’s arm. “Who’s that fella?” He nodded to the door as the man passed through it.

“Stranger. Showed up here yesterday. Spent a lot of time with the girls.” That observation brought on a smile.

Shelley sauntered toward the side door that opened into a narrow alleyway. It was none of his business that the man had followed the pale singer, except that she didn’t look like the kind of woman who could look after herself, if it came to that.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Cherry stepped between him and the door, and he almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t seen her coming, and that wasn’t like him. He prided himself on being observant, always aware. In his business awareness was crucial.

He gave her a charming smile. “Just going out for a bit of fresh air, darlin’.”

She winked at him. “How about I keep you company?”

He looked over her shoulder to the door. “Not this time. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He brushed past her but she stopped him, fingernails digging into his arm through the thin fabric of his shirt. “If you’re following her you’re wastin’ your time.”

“I’m not following anybody.”

“There’s been a fella in here asking about her. I think he’s an old friend or something. You don’t want to interrupt them, do you?”

“I just need some damn air,” he snapped, removing her hand from his arm to open the door and step into the alley.

To his right was the main street. Straight ahead a mere five feet was the side wall of the general store. To the left a flight of stairs led to a small room Oscar sometimes rented at an exorbitant rate. It was quiet, hidden from the street. That was likely where Mrs. Brown lived, so he turned in that direction.