Page 77 of West Wind

She sighed. “All I ever wanted to do was sing. I never cared about the money or the fame, and I certainly never asked for this.” She indicated the papers at her feet.

Bart dropped the San Francisco Chronicle and leaned forward expectantly. “I’d love to hear the entire story.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about what happened.”

Obviously disappointed, Bart sat back in his chair. She rolled onto her side and faced him. “Why don’t you tell me about Shelley? I don’t understand him at all. Why doesn’t he live here in San Francisco? Why is he so… so stubborn?”

Bart flashed a grin that was much like Shelley’s, easy and charming. “I have an idea. You tell me about your adventures of the past several months, and I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Travis.”

“You really are his brother, aren’t you?” she accused. “Always wanting to make a deal, a trade.”

Leaning back in his chair, his legs thrust forward, he continued to smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

She kept her eyes on Shelley’s brother. They were so alike, and yet so different. Bart was darkly handsome, and impeccably dressed in black and gray, his suit perfectly fitted, his black boots polished to a high shine. He crossed his feet at his ankles and his arms over his chest just like Shelley. It was eerie.

He was happy to relate to her all the transgressions of his brother’s youth, proving that Shelley—Travis—had always been stubborn and willful. Her spirits were lifted when she pictured him as a young boy, defying his father at every turn, horrifying his mother with daring feats and bloody accidents. None of them life-threatening, all of them unnecessary.

“Are your parents living?” she asked.

Bart lost his smile for the first time. “No. They both died several years ago.”

“Why did Shelley leave all this behind for the life he leads?”

Bart leaned forward. “Not so fast. Your turn.”

She rested her head against the pillows and stared at the ceiling as she told him how they’d met. How he’d pretended to be drunk and punched the Pinkerton agent. She told him about the huge black dress and the pasty makeup she wore, and how Shelley had tossed her makeup into the pond.

“Tell me why he left San Francisco,” she said, turning to look at Bart again.

His smile faded. “What if I tell you about the time he tried to climb the Mintons’ trellis to get into Melody Minton’s room? He was fifteen…”

“No,” she said sternly. “I want to know why he left San Francisco.”

Bart stared at her. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you,” he said with resignation, moving the chair to her bedside. “Did you know Travis fought in the war?” he asked in a low tone.

She shook her head.

“I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Of course, he fought for the Union. He was only eighteen when he left. Got himself engaged before he left. He wanted to go ahead and get married, but his fiancee Dorothea was just seventeen, and her parents urged them to wait. They didn’t think he’d be gone more than a few months, none of us did, but it was four years.

“Dorothea wrote faithfully, or so she said. Travis never mentioned if her devotion was as undying as she claimed it was. It was Sarah who missed him the most.”

“Who’s Sarah?”

Bart smiled, but it wasn’t his easy grin. It was a sad smile of remembrance. “Our little sister.”

A sister…

“Travis and Sarah were so close, and he…” Bart combed his perfectly styled hair with restless fingers, mussing it slightly. “God help me. Travis will kill me.”

“Finish what you’ve started.”

“Travis didn’t have much of a homecoming. Sarah had been shot the day before he arrived. The day before! It was so senseless. She was shopping, and these men came storming out of the bank, firing at everything that moved. Sarah took a bullet in the chest.”

Tears filled Annabelle’s eyes. “How terrible.”

“She was still alive when Travis got home, but she died a few hours later. I think she was just waiting to see him again. Travis was…” Bart searched her eyes as she held her breath expectantly. “He was devastated, and furious. He blamed himself for not arriving sooner. Said if he’d been home it never would have happened.”

“That’s not fair.”