Wes tucked the book parcel under the seat of the buggy and promised yet another surprise. Already he had exceeded her hopes for this afternoon. His real and kind presence made the Wes she had written to for so long fade by comparison.
When they turned left at the next corner, Millie knew their destination: Wichita’s one and only music store. After checking to make sure the street was clear, she lifted one corner of her dress and briskly crossed the street.
Wes caught up with her in two steps.
“Music.” She breathed the word. “But no more gifts. This time, show me your favorites.”
Wes’s step hitched, as if her suggestion surprised him. “I have something else in mind.” He helped her onto the sidewalk and held the door open for her.
She headed for the displays that held sheet music and collections. She had a liking for Mozart’s operas, even though she found singing Italian as difficult as Wes probably would. But who couldn’t love one of his arias? She hummed under her breath as she looked through the music.
While she browsed, he asked the clerk about music staff paper. She had asked for his interests and then went her own way. Chagrined, she joined them. “Do you write music? Play an instrument?” She put a finger to her cheek. “I know. A guitar.”
“This’s my other surprise today.” After Wes paid for the paper, he asked the clerk, “Do you have a piano we can borrow?”
How did a cowboy learn how to play a piano?
He must have sensed her unasked question, because he said, “My mother was a pastor’s daughter.”
Like Wes Harper’s mother, who taught him how to play.
“She brought a piano to her marriage and insisted on taking it everywhere we moved. She insisted on giving me piano lessons.” He laughed. “I stopped when I had more chores to do but still play from time to time.”
Wes’s mother teaching him music. Was it possible… of course not.
Before she could ask another question, the clerk led them to a corner where several upright pianos stood. “They are all in good tune.”
When the clerk left, Wes ran his fingers across the keys, hearing the melody he had composed in his head the night before. On the music paper, he drew the G clef and added two sharps, in three-four timing. As he hummed the melody he wrote down, Millie sang along with him, until he finished.
Other customers stopped to listen, and she stopped singing, embarrassed. Wes scooted over on the bench and motioned for her to sit down. She appreciated the offer. “That’s a beautiful melody. And you wrote it. Oh my. Are there any words?”
“I don’t have any lyrics yet. I haven’t even written the accompaniment yet.”
“It’s so lovely—is there any chance you will complete it before the dance? I would love to sing it.”
Wes smiled as if she had offered him the greatest gift, something as special as the Sarah Orne Jewett book. “I would be honored to.”
The store clock clanged the half hour. Wes packed his music away. “We have to leave so I won’t get into trouble with your mother for bringing you home late.”
On the way home, Wes asked, “Do you know any cowboy songs?”
The question startled her. It shouldn’t; he had told her about songs around the campfire. “No, I don’t. But I’d love to hear one.”
“I know a song by a man from Kansas. ‘Oh, give me a home where the Buffalo roam…’” Through the lyricist’s words, she saw the beauty of the West in a new way. Although where mountains could be found anywhere in Kansas, she couldn’t guess. She joined him in singing the chorus. As they climbed the steps to her house, she repeated, “‘Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the sky is not cloudy all day.’ That sounds better than a castle.”
“Especially since I never expect to sleep in a castle.” Wes grinned. “So, tell me, Miss Cain, do I take the inside of the step and assist you, or how does that etiquette book dictate?”
His question yanked Millie’s mind from the Kansas plains. “Yes, you assist me up the steps. Much of etiquette is common sense and courtesy. Assist the elderly or disabled first, for instance. Walk on the opposite side of the staircase if someone is coming down the stairs.”
She stood at the door, debating about whether to invite him in, when Father opened the door. “Come in, Millie. Mr. Wesley, join us for a few minutes.”
The two men sat with a few feet between them. Father was in what Millie called his ruffled gamecock mode, ready to peck at any imagined misbehavior by Wes. That attitude of fathers seemed universal; Ellen’s father treated potential suitors in much the same way.
Is that how she saw Wes? A potential suitor?
Millie cast about for a subject the three of them could discuss together. “Father, do you remember the party where we met Sarah Orne Jewett, the author?”
His forehead furrowed, and then he nodded. “You were so excited, since you had read every one of her books.”
“Mr. Wesley discovered she has written a new book. He bought me a copy. Take a look.” She handed him the book.
Wes started forward, as if wanting to stop Father from looking at the book, then settled back. Father opened the book to where Millie had slipped the bookmark. “This sounds like her other writing. Thank you, Mr. Wesley, for discovering one of my daughter’s interests.”
When Millie handed the book to her father, Wes wished himself on the far side of town. His final surprise for Millie lay inside the book, for her alone. He should have known better than to take such a risk. When Mrs. Cain entered the room, Wes took his leave. He stopped in front of Millie. “Thank you for such a delightful afternoon, Miss Cain. Mr. and Mrs. Cain, my appreciation again for allowing me to take your daughter with me this afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Cain.”
As Wes took the buggy back to the livery, he started whistling his new song as well as “Home on the Range,” phrases and verses from hymns. He couldn’t wait to start writing the song for Millie. The one he intended to reveal the truth and to win her heart.
Tex and T-Bone waited for him on the front porch. Wes groaned. His friends would demand an accounting of the afternoon, while he wanted to hug the memories to his heart while he struggled with the song.
Even so, a smile popped on his face as he approached. Tex whooped and T-Bone clapped his hands. “I knew it.”
Wes just smiled, not saying a word as he walked by.
“Come back here!” Tex called.
“Later.” Wes hoped they would take the hint. He ran upstairs and took out the melody, ready to work on the four-part harmony. He started humming “Amazing Grace,” another song using the same meter, and the first line to his song jumped into his mind: “Millicent Cain, how sweet the name.” He had finished the first phrase before Mrs. Babcock rang the dinner bell.
Her method of seating guests didn’t follow Millicent’s, but it worked. Newcomers who wanted to make new friends found other friendly souls. Those who preferred privacy were left to themselves. Mrs. Babcock talked to anyone who seemed hesitant.
Tonight the three friends huddled together at the end of the table. Tex demanded every detail of the visit. Wes shared about hunting down the book, leaving out a detail or two, and mentioned the stop at the music store.
“I wouldn’t know how to put a song on paper. Didn’t know you had to write out the music,” T-Bone said. “Didn’t she think it was strange, that you could?”
Wes shrugged. He’d hoped she might guess, or at least ask him more questions than she had. “Maybe she’s learning that not all cowboys are illiterate bags of dirt.” He grinned. “I told her a few campfire stories that made her laugh. Anyone can enjoy good stories and music, not just gentlemen.”
“That’s good. I’ve learned some good things from this class, but some of it makes me want to howl like a hyena.”
After that, the conversation turned to other matters. Tex had invited Miss Ruthie Hasselblad to the dance, and T-Bone had talked Wes’s cousin Ellen into attending. “If you want to accompany Miss Cain, you’d better ask quick,” T-Bone said.
“I doubt it.” Tex winked. “I passed words among the guys that she’s yours. Besides, everybody knows you like each other.”
Wes wanted to slap Tex. “I doubt it.”
“You’d better tell her the truth soon,” Tex said. “Before someone else does.”
The light banter of the evening drained out of Wes. “I’m trying. If she doesn’t know yet, she will before morning.”
Tex and T-Bone shook their heads. “We’ll leave you be, but we’ll expect a report tomorrow,” T-Bone said.
“I’m meeting with her early, to go over the music,” Wes said. If she hadn’t figured out his clues by then, he’d have to tell her outright.
Wes turned on the kerosene lamp and hunched over the table with a large cup of coffee to keep him focused. After he finished the harmony, he worked on the lyrics. Since he already had the first line, the first stanza wasn’t hard to write:
Millicent Cain, how sweet the name
Our letters made a start
Her grace and faith soon fanned the flames
Until she stole my heart.
The second stanza came painfully, since he admitted his failure to speak the truth. Eventually he penned:
We wrote our thoughts, and feelings stirred
One secret never shared
A cowboy didn’t deserve her
The truth remained unbared.
Tex and T-Bone left him alone, making it to bed before Wes started the third stanza. Should he make a plea for her hand part of the song or not? Yes.
When he arrived, a hope appeared—
A chance to learn her ways
Would studious charm help bring them near?
Would she tell Wesley yea?