smiled flirtatiously at Hawke. Ian ordered two beers, then teased Hawke.
“Too bad he’s with us,” he said. “I do think that young woman was taking a shine to him.”
“Ian, have you been married so long that you can’t remember?” Hawke responded. “Women who work in places like this take a shine to everyone.”
The others at the table laughed.
“Mr. Hawke?”
Looking up, Hawke saw that the piano player had come over to the table.
“Yes?”
“My name is Dexter Manley, Mr. Hawke. I’m the piano player here.” He extended his hand and Hawke took it.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Hawke said.
“No, sir, it’s my pleasure to meet you,” Manley replied. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hawke. I know that you are a real pianist…not just a piano player.”
“I may have been at one time,” Hawke said self-deprecatingly. “But now I just play the piano like you and thousands of others.”
Manley shook his head and snorted what may have been a laugh. “No sir, there is no way you are like thousands of others,” he said. “I understand that you played it the other day when I was gone.”
“Yes,” Hawke said. “I apologize for such presumption.”
“No, sir, I’m only sorry that I missed it,” Manley said.“And I was just wondering if you would do me the honor of playing it now?”
“Well, I’m with my friends here and—”
“Play it, Hawke,” Ian said.
“Yes, play it,” Ed Wright said.
Hawke nodded. “All right,” he agreed.
“Ladies and gents,” Manley called out.
“What are you talkin’ about? There ain’t no ladies in here. There’s just a couple of whores is all,” a big man at one of the tables shouted. There was a smattering of nervous laughter in the saloon.
“That’s Johnny Carlisle,” Ian said under his breath. “He’s Rome Carlisle’s son, and nearly as big a troublemaker as Lonnie Creed.”
“Ladies and gents,” Manley said again. “I am honored to introduce to you Mr. Mason Hawke. Mr. Hawke is a wonderful pianist, and I have presumed upon him to play a number for us.” Manley looked over at Hawke and held out his hand. “Mr. Hawke?” he said.
“Thank you,” Hawke said.
There was absolute silence as Hawke walked over to the piano. Except for the bartender, there was not one person there who had heard him play before. A few, however, had heard about his piano playing, as well as hearing how he had disarmed Lonnie Creed.
Hawke stood beside the piano for a moment before he sat down.
“This piece is especially for the ladies,” he said pointedly, looking at Johnny Carlisle.
Hawke sat at the piano for a moment, then began playing “Lorena.”
Though nobody knew quite what to expect when he first sat down, this was a song that all of them recognized. Many of them remembered it as a haunting ballad from the CivilWar, and a few, recalling those dark and dangerous days, and perhaps where they were then, turned their heads away in embarrassment as they wiped away a tear or two. When the song ended, Hawke stood and shook Dexter Manley’s hand again, then returned to the table.
“You know,” Ian remarked, “all the time we served together, I never heard you play the piano.”
“Yes, well, the war didn’t exactly put me in a playing mood,” Hawke said.
“I understand,” Ian replied. He lifted his glass of beer and looked at the others around the table. “Boys, I know that some of us fought for the North and some for the South. But we are all united in our memories. I wonder if you would all join me in a toast to all our friends, those that are separated from us now by distance, and those who gave their last full measure of devotion.”
“Hear! Hear!” Wright said. Ed Wright had been a sergeant in the Pennsylvania 9th.
“I’d be glad to,” Hawke said, touching his glass to Ian’s.
Everyone at the table touched their glasses, then took a drink.
“Bartender!” Johnny Carlisle shouted then, his voice booming out over
“Too bad he’s with us,” he said. “I do think that young woman was taking a shine to him.”
“Ian, have you been married so long that you can’t remember?” Hawke responded. “Women who work in places like this take a shine to everyone.”
The others at the table laughed.
“Mr. Hawke?”
Looking up, Hawke saw that the piano player had come over to the table.
“Yes?”
“My name is Dexter Manley, Mr. Hawke. I’m the piano player here.” He extended his hand and Hawke took it.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Hawke said.
“No, sir, it’s my pleasure to meet you,” Manley replied. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hawke. I know that you are a real pianist…not just a piano player.”
“I may have been at one time,” Hawke said self-deprecatingly. “But now I just play the piano like you and thousands of others.”
Manley shook his head and snorted what may have been a laugh. “No sir, there is no way you are like thousands of others,” he said. “I understand that you played it the other day when I was gone.”
“Yes,” Hawke said. “I apologize for such presumption.”
“No, sir, I’m only sorry that I missed it,” Manley said.“And I was just wondering if you would do me the honor of playing it now?”
“Well, I’m with my friends here and—”
“Play it, Hawke,” Ian said.
“Yes, play it,” Ed Wright said.
Hawke nodded. “All right,” he agreed.
“Ladies and gents,” Manley called out.
“What are you talkin’ about? There ain’t no ladies in here. There’s just a couple of whores is all,” a big man at one of the tables shouted. There was a smattering of nervous laughter in the saloon.
“That’s Johnny Carlisle,” Ian said under his breath. “He’s Rome Carlisle’s son, and nearly as big a troublemaker as Lonnie Creed.”
“Ladies and gents,” Manley said again. “I am honored to introduce to you Mr. Mason Hawke. Mr. Hawke is a wonderful pianist, and I have presumed upon him to play a number for us.” Manley looked over at Hawke and held out his hand. “Mr. Hawke?” he said.
“Thank you,” Hawke said.
There was absolute silence as Hawke walked over to the piano. Except for the bartender, there was not one person there who had heard him play before. A few, however, had heard about his piano playing, as well as hearing how he had disarmed Lonnie Creed.
Hawke stood beside the piano for a moment before he sat down.
“This piece is especially for the ladies,” he said pointedly, looking at Johnny Carlisle.
Hawke sat at the piano for a moment, then began playing “Lorena.”
Though nobody knew quite what to expect when he first sat down, this was a song that all of them recognized. Many of them remembered it as a haunting ballad from the CivilWar, and a few, recalling those dark and dangerous days, and perhaps where they were then, turned their heads away in embarrassment as they wiped away a tear or two. When the song ended, Hawke stood and shook Dexter Manley’s hand again, then returned to the table.
“You know,” Ian remarked, “all the time we served together, I never heard you play the piano.”
“Yes, well, the war didn’t exactly put me in a playing mood,” Hawke said.
“I understand,” Ian replied. He lifted his glass of beer and looked at the others around the table. “Boys, I know that some of us fought for the North and some for the South. But we are all united in our memories. I wonder if you would all join me in a toast to all our friends, those that are separated from us now by distance, and those who gave their last full measure of devotion.”
“Hear! Hear!” Wright said. Ed Wright had been a sergeant in the Pennsylvania 9th.
“I’d be glad to,” Hawke said, touching his glass to Ian’s.
Everyone at the table touched their glasses, then took a drink.
“Bartender!” Johnny Carlisle shouted then, his voice booming out over
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