She put her head back and then, quickly, abruptly, she brought her fists together, bent her elbows, brought her fists to her forehead and down!
She stopped and for a moment she thought she might collapse, but she gasped for air like a person drowning—and the crowd went wild. They cheered and fired pistols, rifles, and shotguns into the air. They grabbed one another’s arms and danced around. They might be uneducated and their morals might leave something to be desired, but they certainly recognized when something miraculous had just happened.
When Maddie recovered herself, she looked over the heads of the jubilant miners to where Captain Montgomery stood at the back. His eyes were as wide with wonder as the men’s. She gave him the smuggest smile she could manage and pointed skyward. He smiled back, then put one hand in front of him, one in back, and bowed deeply. When he straightened, she gave him a condescending nod that any queen would have been proud of.
After that, those lonely, tired, half-drunken men belonged to Maddie. She sang and they listened. It often annoyed her that the American people had such odd ideas about opera. They seemed to think opera was for kings, for people with great education, but the truth was, opera had started out being very common: common stories for common people.
She told the miners of poor Elvira not being able to have the man she loved, then sang “Tui la voce sua soave,” where the young woman goes mad. At the end there were some tears wiped away.
She sang “Una voce poco fa” after telling them that Rosina was vowing to marry the man she loved no matter what. They thought that was more sensible than going mad.
After six arias the men were making requests for repeats. She hadn’t sung for such a genuinely appreciative audience since she’d left her parents’ home.
“Go mad again,” they called.
“No, marry the country man,” someone else yelled.
She sang for almost four hours before Captain Montgomery walked onto the little stage and told the men the show was over. He was booed and hissed and at first Maddie started to tell him that she would decide when she’d stop singing, but then common sense won over pride and, gratefully, she took the arm he offered as he led her through the door and out to the tent that served as a dressing room.
The applause behind them was thunderous—helped by the explosion of many firearms. The audience no longer consisted of a mere three hundred men, but, while Maddie had sung, hundreds more had quietly, respectfully, tiptoed into the building, and when no more people could be held inside, they climbed the walls and sat on them. They opened the doors and stood, sat, lay, outside to hear her sing.
“I have to do an encore,” Maddie said, but Captain Montgomery held her fast.
“No, you don’t. You’re tired. It must be enormous work to sing like that.”
She looked up at him, saw his eyes were wide with wonder and appreciation. “Thank you,” she said, and leaned a bit against him. Her former manager had never cared whether she was tired or sick; he felt that the singing was Maddie’s concern and not his. He never quarreled with her if she said she was too ill to perform—which she rarely was. His interest was booking her and in how much money she made from the box office.
Now it was rather nice to have someone realize that she was tired. She smiled at him. “Yes, I am rather tired. Perhaps, Captain, you’d like to join me in a glass of port. I always carry the finest Portuguese port with me, and I always have some after singing. It soothes my throat.”
All around them were hundreds of shooting men, but they might as well have been alone. The moonlight glistened off the rose pink of her silk dress, and her bare shoulders were white and round and smooth. “I would like that,” he said softly.
He held back the tent flap for her, and Maddie started inside, but then she saw that hideous man inside, the man who knew where Laurel was. His gun was pointed straight at Maddie, and she realized that if she didn’t get rid of ’Ring, they’d probably both get shot. She turned around and jerked the flap out of Captain Montgomery’s hand.
“Tell me, Captain, are you trying to seduce me?” she snapped at him. “Is that why y
ou wanted me off the stage?”
“Why, no, I—”
“No? Isn’t that what all men want? Isn’t that why you carried me through town today? Isn’t all your concern for me so you can have what you want from me? I’ve dealt with men like you all over the world.” With each word she saw his back stiffen until he was standing at a soldier’s attention. She didn’t like herself much for what she was saying because, if she were honest, she had to admit that so far all he’d really done was try to protect her. But she had to get rid of him. The man inside could shoot one or both of them and no one would notice, what with all the noise surrounding them.
“Is that it, Captain? Do you think that a traveling singer like me is a woman of easy virtue?” Since just a few hours earlier he’d said he believed her to be a virgin, she knew the statement made no sense. “Is the hope of gain what is keeping you from returning to the army?”
He looked down at her, his face cold and hard. “I apologize for having given you such an impression of my character. I will wait for you to…to have your port, then I will escort you to your camp.” He touched the brim of his hat, then turned on his heel and walked smartly away.
Maddie refused to think about what she’d said. She had done what she had to. The man was waiting for her inside, slipping his pistol into his belt.
“Quick thinker, ain’t you?”
“When necessary.” She went to the little trunk Sam had moved for her and from under the lining she took the letter. He pulled another one from inside his shirt. The letter was folded to make an envelope, and there was nothing written on it, but it was sweaty and crumpled from being next to the man’s skin. She had to resist holding it by one corner and at arm’s length.
He smirked at her as though he could read her thoughts, then pulled another paper from inside his shirt and handed it to her.
She took it to the lantern light which she left turned low so the shadows inside the tent couldn’t be seen clearly from the outside. What she saw was a map. Tomorrow she was to sing in a place on Tarryall Creek, and two days later she was to sing in an isolated little town called Pitcherville. At Pitcherville she was to use the map and go fifty miles up into the Rockies, where she was to deliver the next letter.
“And Laurel will be there?” she asked the man. “I was told I’d see her after the third camp.”
“If you can find the place.”