Henry held out his closed fists to Edith. "It needs a little encouragement to appear," he said. "Please, blow on my hands."
Edith did as he asked, puffing a gentle breath of air onto his knuckles.
Henry slowly opened his hands. A silver harmonica lay resting in his palms.
Edith's eyes went wide. She knew he was a magician, but the sight of it was still stunning. If not for a sliver of remaining decorum, she would have snatched his hands to inspect them.
Henry smiled. "A song for a summer afternoon, with family," he said, and brought the harmonica to his lips.
A beautiful, moving melody filled the garden. Soon, it wasn't just Edith listening, but Andre and Becky, who came running over, followed by Madeline and Linda.
When the song ended, the small audience applauded.
"That was 'Dreaming of Home and Mother'," Edith said. "You play it so well." The song, with its beautiful melody and poignant lyrics, had been immensely popular with soldiers on both sides during the Civil War.
"That was incredible, Henry," Linda added. "I never knew you could play like that."
"Thank you, Linda," Henry said with a smile. "This next one is for you, and for Becky and Andre."
A lilting, cheerful melody filled the air. It was the Spanish waltz, "La Partida." After three minutes, he finished the song to another round of applause, this time joined by Richard, who had just returned.
Becky ran over, tugged on his shirt, and when he leaned down, she planted another kiss on his cheek.
"A brilliant performance, Henry," Richard said.
"Thank you."
"I'm so glad that Steinway will be in your hands," Linda said happily.
"It's a gift I will treasure," Henry replied.
Just then, the butler, Pierce, stepped into the garden. "Sir, dinner is ready."
Richard invited everyone, including Pete and Mary, to join them. As they went inside, Pierce handed Henry a letter and a telegram. "These arrived for you this afternoon, Mr. Bruce."
Henry waited for the others to go ahead, then opened the telegram. It was from Mayor William, asking him to meet his granddaughter, Alice, in New York and escort her back to Frisco. The letter contained her address.
The dinner was a formal affair, following the traditions of high society. Richard and Madeline sat at opposite ends of the long rectangular table, with the men and women seated alternately.
Henry, as the male guest of honor, was seated to the right of the hostess, Madeline. Linda, as the female guest of honor, was seated to Richard's right, with her two children beside her. The seating arrangement was a bit unorthodox, as couples were normally separated to encourage conversation, but with only two other men present, allowances were made.
Aside from Pete and Mary, who were visibly uncomfortable with the complex array of cutlery and strict etiquette, everyone else was perfectly at ease.
As they enjoyed the sumptuous meal, Richard made an announcement. "Henry, Linda, the butler has purchased sleeper tickets on a Pullman car for the 7:25 AM train from Denver to Chicago tomorrow. From there, we will book passage to New York."
"That's wonderful news," Henry said. "Pullman tickets are hard to come by."
In 1865, a man named George Pullman had invented a luxurious new type of train car. It was spacious, comfortable, and even had its own kitchen, revolutionizing long-distance travel. The opulent "sleeper cars" had made train travel the preferred choice for the upper class.
"Henry," Madeline asked, "aside from music and shooting, what else are you skilled at?"
He just shrugged. "Madeline, you've stumped me. It would be an easier question to ask what I'm not skilled at."
Meanwhile, after a long day of investigation, "Mad Dog" Thomas had finally found a lead. The other bartender at the Hamlet Saloon remembered seeing a very tall, bearded man walk past the bar at the exact moment the head bartender had been killed. But the witness couldn't be sure he'd recognize the man again.
Thomas knew about the ten-thousand-dollar bounty on Henry, and he knew of his legendary duels. But the lack of concrete intelligence meant he couldn't yet connect Henry to the two massacres.
Still, his gut told him something was wrong. An armed force that powerful doesn't just appear and disappear without a trace.
And then there was the matter of the Sheriff. Killian was Irish. His preferred partner in the Vigilance Committee, Liam, was also Irish. The McKinleys were Irish. And yet, for this incredibly high-profile and dangerous case, Killian hadn't given the job to his crony, Liam. He had given it to him, a Dutchman who had no love for the Irish.
Thomas smelled a conspiracy, a setup. He wasn't about to be the pawn in some rich Irishman's game.
He decided then and there to drop the investigation.