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mind.”
    Amelia looked at her with surprise, remembering how adamant Mrs. Parks had been. She didn’t have a chance to reply when Mrs. Dorothea Beamguard drew up next to them. “I’ve changed my mind, too, my dear. You can expect to see Daniel.”
    â€œThat goes for Jakey,” Mrs. Luella Spivey added.
    Mrs. Viola Reed chimed in, “Oh, yes. Do count on my Walter and Warren to be there.”
    The twins? Amelia had never seen them with clean fingernails or the bibs on their overalls fastened. Imagining the rambunctious red-haired duo at a piano whacking on the ivory keys frightened her.
    Other women approached as she passed the baptismal font. Students were popping up like spring daffodils.
    By the time she reached the narthex, she’d added ten new pupils. Every boy’s mother who’d turned her down before had a sudden change of heart. They were being so nice, even though some of her lady friends had obviously voted against her. Amelia knew fromattending the Thursday Afternoon Fine Ladies Society canasta games, these women did nothing without gain. If Frank Brody had been anything but a novelty, they would have snubbed him and his stale saloon.
    The closeness of people, the stares, and the heat were all overwhelming Amelia, and she sidestepped her way out of the flowing crowd to rest by the coatracks and cold radiator to catch her breath. She pretended to be engrossed with the visitor’s register sitting on a small pedestal. Rigidly holding her tears in check, she would not cry.
    Amelia felt a light touch on the small of her back, felt the presence of someone standing so close behind her a book of sheet music couldn’t fit between them. The air suddenly smelled faintly of tobacco and . . . peach. She rapidly blinked the moisture from her eyes as he spoke. “I know you wanted the vote to go the other way.” Frank’s voice held a quiet note of apology she found odd. Even though he’d made a gesture of compromise, surely he’d done so to look considerate in front of the others.
    She didn’t dare turn around and face him. She couldn’t. Not without dying.
    â€œI meant what I said. You can use the piano. I’m open from four in the afternoon until two in the morning. I thought we could divide the time into twelve-hour shifts.”
    Amelia stared at a child’s knitted blue muffler left over from winter on the shelf above the coat hooks. She fought hard not to tremble and let him see her so emotional. All she could do was nod. She didn’t have a choice.
    He continued in a low tone. “You can have access to the piano from four in the morning to four in the afternoon. Mostly I’m in bed until noon, but don’t worry about waking me with the noise. I sleep like the dead.”
    Pressing a key into the palm of her hand, he closed her fingers around the warm metal. The mere touch of his hand against the thin cotton of her gloves sent a shiver through her. “This unlocks the front door.”
    She mutely nodded again, wishing she didn’t have to know the details of his sleeping habits.
    Then he left, and she almost stumbled backward from the power his close proximity had on her. The world spun and careened, seemingly taking her with it on its axis and making her dizzy. A man hadn’t touched her in such a fashion since . . . Jonas Pray.
    Amelia stayed in the church long minutes after everyone else had left. She didn’t want anybody to see her when she walked home.
    The burning imprint of the key in her palm reminded her of Frank Brody and the implications of its intimate meaning. The key symbolized a connection between the two of them in a secret, wicked sort of way.
    She’d sworn never to have anything to do with a saloon after Jonas ran off with Silver Starlight, and now she clutched the key to one.
    Being voted down had been bad; having four of her own gender go against her had been worse. How could they