like he did anything to earn it,” Brady persisted. “Hell, he doesn’t even know it’s there.”
Hank continued to watch him.
Brady hated that. Hated how Hank played him like a trout with those watchful silences. “Jesus. You’re one hardheaded sonofabitch, you know that?”
Still no response.
It wore Brady down. With a sigh of defeat, he thunked his empty glass onto the desktop and rose. “Okay. We’ll wait until Jack comes. He said he’d be home in a year and it’s been almost that long. Then we’ll ask him. Meanwhile, I’ll try to come up with another plan to raise the money.”
“Whatever you think best, Ma,” Hank said.
“Go to hell.”
His brother just smiled.
If he wasn’t so damn big, Brady would have hit him.
San Francisco
“HOW LONG DO I HAVE?” DAISY ASKED FROM THE DOORWAY of the stage office the next morning.
Markham looked up from a stack of papers. “For what?”
“To make a decision about the tour.”
“The troupe leaves New Orleans the end of May. Two months. Why?”
Daisy stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “I’ve got an idea, a way to come up with enough money for Kate.” She had lain awake most of the night on her narrow cot in the storage room at Saint Michael’s, reliving Johnson’s death and thinking about Lucy’s suggestion. And the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. It wasn’t really coercion. Just a friendly request for a little money. She truly had no choice. Now that Johnson was dead—she shuddered, remembering that ghastly scene—they had to leave. And since she had no family of her own to run to, where else could she go but to Jack’s?
Markham took the stub from his mouth, removed a piece of tobacco from his tongue, flicked it away, then replaced the stub. “And do what, missy? Leave her in the wings while you’re on stage? What kind of life is that for a kid?”
“I’m thinking to bring someone along to watch her,” Daisy said, refusing to be discouraged by his lack of enthusiasm. “A nanny.”
“A nanny. And how you going to pay for all that?”
“Her pa.”
The stub dipped. His eyes widened. “I thought he was in Australia.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But his family is in New Mexico.”
“New Mexico.” His chair creaked as he tilted it back on two legs, hand planted on the armrest, elbow pointing out at a sharp angle. With his other hand, he took the stub out of his mouth, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, then studied the unlit end as if he saw something there of great importance.
He had an entire routine going with that cigar butt, Daisy thought, watching him in amusement. He ought to take it on tour with them.
“Do you even know where New Mexico is, missy?”
The pastor had shown her a map. “It’s between here and New Orleans. And since I’m headed that way anyway, I thought I’d stop off and say hello.” And beg for help. The idea was distasteful, but again, what choice did she have? “I take a train to Santa Fe, then a coach to Val Rosa, and a buggy from there. It’ll take about a week.” And almost every penny of her meager savings. Still, she had to try.
“That’s Indian country, you know.”
“I heard.”
“Dangerous place for a woman on her own. Especially one with a kid.”
Daisy felt a tug in her heart. Mr. Markham really was a kind man, despite his touchy ways. Mentally she added his name to her list of guardian angels. “You worried about me, Mr. Markham?” she asked with a smile.
His gaze slid away. He leaned forward and the chair thumped back to the floor. “I quit worrying about fools a long time ago,” he muttered, the cigar back in place as he riffled through the papers on his desk. “Go on if you’re leaving. I got work to do.”
Daisy studied the dusty bowler hat that hid his face from her. A sad, regretful feeling moved through her, and she realized this good-bye would be almost as painful as the one to Lucy. This man had been kind to her. He had given
Hank continued to watch him.
Brady hated that. Hated how Hank played him like a trout with those watchful silences. “Jesus. You’re one hardheaded sonofabitch, you know that?”
Still no response.
It wore Brady down. With a sigh of defeat, he thunked his empty glass onto the desktop and rose. “Okay. We’ll wait until Jack comes. He said he’d be home in a year and it’s been almost that long. Then we’ll ask him. Meanwhile, I’ll try to come up with another plan to raise the money.”
“Whatever you think best, Ma,” Hank said.
“Go to hell.”
His brother just smiled.
If he wasn’t so damn big, Brady would have hit him.
San Francisco
“HOW LONG DO I HAVE?” DAISY ASKED FROM THE DOORWAY of the stage office the next morning.
Markham looked up from a stack of papers. “For what?”
“To make a decision about the tour.”
“The troupe leaves New Orleans the end of May. Two months. Why?”
Daisy stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “I’ve got an idea, a way to come up with enough money for Kate.” She had lain awake most of the night on her narrow cot in the storage room at Saint Michael’s, reliving Johnson’s death and thinking about Lucy’s suggestion. And the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. It wasn’t really coercion. Just a friendly request for a little money. She truly had no choice. Now that Johnson was dead—she shuddered, remembering that ghastly scene—they had to leave. And since she had no family of her own to run to, where else could she go but to Jack’s?
Markham took the stub from his mouth, removed a piece of tobacco from his tongue, flicked it away, then replaced the stub. “And do what, missy? Leave her in the wings while you’re on stage? What kind of life is that for a kid?”
“I’m thinking to bring someone along to watch her,” Daisy said, refusing to be discouraged by his lack of enthusiasm. “A nanny.”
“A nanny. And how you going to pay for all that?”
“Her pa.”
The stub dipped. His eyes widened. “I thought he was in Australia.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But his family is in New Mexico.”
“New Mexico.” His chair creaked as he tilted it back on two legs, hand planted on the armrest, elbow pointing out at a sharp angle. With his other hand, he took the stub out of his mouth, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, then studied the unlit end as if he saw something there of great importance.
He had an entire routine going with that cigar butt, Daisy thought, watching him in amusement. He ought to take it on tour with them.
“Do you even know where New Mexico is, missy?”
The pastor had shown her a map. “It’s between here and New Orleans. And since I’m headed that way anyway, I thought I’d stop off and say hello.” And beg for help. The idea was distasteful, but again, what choice did she have? “I take a train to Santa Fe, then a coach to Val Rosa, and a buggy from there. It’ll take about a week.” And almost every penny of her meager savings. Still, she had to try.
“That’s Indian country, you know.”
“I heard.”
“Dangerous place for a woman on her own. Especially one with a kid.”
Daisy felt a tug in her heart. Mr. Markham really was a kind man, despite his touchy ways. Mentally she added his name to her list of guardian angels. “You worried about me, Mr. Markham?” she asked with a smile.
His gaze slid away. He leaned forward and the chair thumped back to the floor. “I quit worrying about fools a long time ago,” he muttered, the cigar back in place as he riffled through the papers on his desk. “Go on if you’re leaving. I got work to do.”
Daisy studied the dusty bowler hat that hid his face from her. A sad, regretful feeling moved through her, and she realized this good-bye would be almost as painful as the one to Lucy. This man had been kind to her. He had given
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