Chapter 21
Chapter
James had trouble keeping his eyes on the spectators instead of Noreen as the parade wound through town.
Never had he seen her so vibrant or confident.
When he did manage to tear his gaze away from her, he remained attuned to her voice.
Strange how he could pick out her alto from among all the other voices.
Or maybe not so strange, considering how dear she’d become to him of late.
A good number of townsfolk had come out to see the temperance brigade and hear the band. A pair of ladies trailing the parade handed out pledge forms to anyone who would take one, targeting not only men but women and older children as well.
As they rounded the courthouse, pledge forms waving in the breeze, a new temperance song began, this one to the tune of a song he’d sung in church many times—“Happy Day.”
“All you that would be sober here,
Come join our cause with hearts sincere;
Forsake strong drink without delay,
And you will surely win the day.
“Happy day! Happy day! When drinking times are done away.
Come sign our pledge without delay,
And live rejoicing every day.
Happy day! Happy day! When drinking times are done away.
“The children, too, will take a part,
And join our cause with hand and heart,
And help to send strong drink away,
So shall we surely win the day.”
The chorus began again, and a few spectators joined in the song.
At least the parts they recognized from church.
Things could not be going better, and James thanked God for working things out for good for Noreen despite the couple of hiccups she encountered earlier this afternoon.
As they turned down Main Street, however, James hurried his step to move ahead of the parade, determined to head off any trouble that might be brewing down the road.
The Salt Fork Saloon stood only a block and a half away, and even from here, James could see a group of men gathered in front of the building.
Praying they didn’t intend anything too menacing, he broke into a jog to scout out the hostile territory.
It seemed the half-price drinks came with a catch.
Taggert had propped his batwing doors open and set up a temporary bar directly inside the doorway.
Chairs lined the boardwalk against the walls on both sides of the entrance, most filled with men holding pints in one hand and signs in the other.
Signs that read, My Money, My Choice; Jesus Drank Wine; and Wet Whistles Make Jolly Gents.
“Hey, Paxton? You here for a drink?” Taggert grinned at him from behind the table he’d dragged against his doorway. “Beer’s half price till six.”
A hurrah erupted from the men gathered in front of the Salt Fork, followed by the clinking of glasses. Taggert smirked.
“No, thanks.” James kept his demeanor calm and friendly. “Interesting setup you got here.”
Taggert shrugged, his eyes glittering with cockiness. “Didn’t want the fellas to miss the parade, so I decided to offer outdoor seating.”
“Along with printed commentary, I see.” James picked up a sign that had been leaning against the wall to the left of the door. “‘Eat, drink, and be merry’?”
“What?” Taggert widened his eyes in mock innocence. “It’s in the Bible. Thought all those self-righteous temperance folk liked spouting Scripture.” His expression hardened. “I got just as much right to promote my views on the issue as they do.” He nodded toward the approaching parade.
Noreen and her band had reached the billiard hall and were closing in on the saloon.
James turned back to Taggert, a note of warning creeping into his voice.
“You’re right about your freedom of speech, but I expect you to keep things civil.
If any of your patrons gets out of hand, I’ll shut down this little outdoor operation of yours and cite each man here for public intoxication. Are we clear?”
“You hear that, boys?” Taggert raised his voice to a near shout as his glare bored a hole in James’s forehead. “The deputy here wants us to keep things civil. I say we welcome our parading friends with a cheerful song.”
The patriotic sound of “America” echoed from the temperance band as Noreen and her group marched onto the scene.
“Here let poor drunkards come,
We’ll burst their chains from rum—”
A loud, discordant harmonica overpowered the approaching voices and instigated an off-key rendition of “Old Dan Tucker” among the boardwalk throng.
“Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man
He washed his face in a frying pan
He combed his hair with a wagon wheel
And died of a toothache in his heel.”
What Taggert’s band lacked in musicality, they made up in enthusiasm. They belted the old folk song at the top of their lungs. A pair of grizzled fellas even decided to dance along, linking elbows and kicking up heels as boots stomped and hands clapped.
James had to give Taggert credit. The man had done his homework.
Not only had he anticipated the tactics Noreen would use, he’d turned them against her.
James had faith in Noreen, though. If she could manage to keep Taggert from crawling under her skin, she’d come out on top.
He’d be keeping a close eye on these whiskery saloon singers, though.
Drink could both embolden a man and dim his wits, a dangerous combination when one hoped to keep the peace.
What was that horrendous noise? Noreen tried to sing over the cacophony coming from outside the Salf Fork Saloon, but after marching and singing for the last thirty minutes, her voice had weakened.
As if responding to a clamorous gauntlet being thrown, Connor Reed’s trombone doubled in volume.
The other musicians joined suit, one of the clarinetists squeaking occasionally due to the increased airflow.
The horns grew so loud, Noreen could no longer hear her own voice, let alone the voices behind her.
She pivoted to walk backward so she could signal Connor to quiet the instruments, but before she could do more than wave to get his attention, Lonnie Wilson with his washboard breastplate cut ranks.
“Is that ‘Old Dan Tucker’? Boy, howdy. I love that song.” He and his spoons dashed toward the saloon, his cackling voice singing out,
“Get out of the way, Dan Tucker.
You’re too late to git your supper.
Supper’s gone and dinner cookin’.
Old Dan Tucker’s just a-standin’ there lookin’.”
“Lonnie!” She called after him, but only once. She recognized a lost cause when she saw one.
As they drew alongside the saloon, her heart sank. Men—lots of men—in high spirits. Clapping hands. Stomping feet. Brandishing signs. Signs that minimized the dangers of drunkenness and even justified its practice.
She fell out of step with the drum’s cadence.
She’d been prepared for a crowded saloon, but she’d not anticipated that Taggert would take the fight to her with song and dance and frivolity.
Who wouldn’t be attracted to what appeared to be harmless fun?
Smiling faces, dancing feet, overloud singing.
Clever man. Daring her to lose her temper and play the shrew for all to see.
She knew she had to resist, but the desire to storm the saloon and bash him over the head with her sign was so strong, she handed her pasteboard weapon to Martha, fearful she’d succumb to the urge despite her better judgment.
“Take the group around the corner for the prayer meeting,” Noreen instructed Martha. “I’ll see if I can bring the noise down.”
Martha’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “Don’t do anything rash. You’ll undo all the good we’ve accomplished today.”
Noreen smiled. “I won’t. I promise. I’m just going to hand out some temperance pledges.”
“Taggert won’t like it.”
“That’s never stopped me before.”
Martha raised a brow. “That’s what worries me.”
Luella leaned into the conversation. “I’ll go with you.”
Martha and Noreen answered in unison, “No.”
“Please. My father’s there.” She tipped her head toward the far end of the group of chairs lining the boardwalk as she dropped one edge of her sign in order to pull a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “He needs this, Miss Evans. I’ll just talk to him and no one else.”
“It would be better for you to talk to him at home, Lu,” Martha said.
Trusting Martha to dissuade Luella, Noreen glanced behind her and noticed her tidy ranks morphing into an indistinct blob. She signaled for the group to move past, then caught Mr. Cowan’s attention. The preacher worked his way toward her.
“I’m going to do my best to quiet their singing,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over what had to be the fifth verse of “Old Dan Tucker.” Good old Dan must’ve had quite an eventful life.
“Hopefully, it won’t be so loud on the other side of the wall.
Do you think you can make yourself heard for the prayer meeting? ”
Jane’s father smiled. “I’ve been orating sermons into dull ears and distracted minds for more than twenty-five years. I know how to make myself heard. Besides, the Lord will calm this storm. Remember, he’s in control.”
“I know.”
She did know. She didn’t doubt God’s sovereignty for a moment.
What she doubted was his willingness to intervene on her behalf.
Yes, it felt as if the Lord had been more active in her life of late, blessing her with James’s friendship, the support of the spinster society, and all the wonderful people who’d joined her parade.
Her heart had swollen from all the gratitude swimming around inside her today.
Nevertheless, memories of her childhood tempered her optimism.
How many times had she prayed for God to save her and Mama from her father’s drunken temper?
Why hadn’t he intervened then? No one had a good answer for that question. Not even Mr. Cowan.