Printer in Petticoats Read Online Free PDF Page B

wasn’t oppressive. The walls were painted a soft cream color, accented by dark wooden beams. Oak, he thought. Nice.
    About two dozen townspeople sat on benches around the perimeter, waiting for the tryouts to begin. Including, he discovered with a jolt of pleasure, Jessamine Lassiter.
    Tryouts, he discovered, involved singing alone, and Cole immediately felt uncomfortable about that. Trapped would be a better word. Maybe he should give up the idea. He had started to rise when the choir director, Ellie Johnson, impeccably dressed in a black skirt and a soft pink shirtwaist, clapped her hands and everyone sat up straighter.
    â€œLet’s start with the women’s voices.”
    The women sang selections from church hymns for their tryouts. Ellie selected four altos and three sopranos that blended with each other. One of the sopranos was Jessamine, who had spent all evening studiously ignoring him.
    The tenors tried out next. The director chose five, including Whitey Poletti, who had a whiskey-smooth tone and an extraordinarily high range. Whitey had launched into “Santa Lucia,” but got no further than the first stanza before Ellie smiled and nodded at him.
    By the time the director got around to the baritones, Cole was ready to bolt. He couldn’t sing like Whitey. He had no musical training, never sang in a church or any other choir and he hated the thought of doing it in public.
    He looked for the exit, but just then Ellie pinned him with an expectant look.
    He maneuvered to sing last, praying that those already chosen, including Jessamine, would go on home.
    No such luck.
    â€œCole Sanders? Your turn.”
    Cole stood up, wishing a trapdoor would open beneath him. The director smiled encouragingly. “What would you like to sing, Mr. Sanders?”
    He felt Jessamine’s cool green-gray eyes on him, and his throat closed up tight. The director waited.
    â€œUh, could I do this outside? Just the two of us?”
    She shook her head, and the onlookers began to whisper among themselves. Shoot sake! This wasn’t any worse than facing down a rabid mob of pro-slavery demonstrators back in Kansas. He drew in a deep breath.
    Jessamine waited. She’d bet the country bumpkin from Kansas couldn’t sing a note. Then he opened his mouth and started in.
    â€œâ€˜Oh, my darling, Oh, my darling, Oh, my darling, Clementine...’”
    Suddenly the room was so quiet she could have heard a hatpin hit the floor. She sat straight as a ramrod and stared at him.
    â€œYou are lost and gone forever ... ”
    She’d never heard a more beautiful male voice. Rich and full, like a hot mince pie warm from the oven. The director stopped him after “dreadful sorry, Clementine.”
    â€œMr. Sanders, do you read music?”
    Aha! Jess would bet a million dollars in gold that he couldn’t. That was why he’d chosen a simple folk song for his audition, and besides that, his voice was entirely untrained.
    â€œYeah, some,” he said. “My momma taught me when I learned to play the guitar.”
    â€œThen we would be honored to have you in our community choir. We’ll be performing selections from Handel’s Messiah at Christmas. Are you familiar with this work?”
    Cole shook his head.
    â€œIn addition to the choral numbers, there is also a mixed quartet of voices included—soprano, alto, tenor, baritone. Perhaps you would consider—?”
    â€œJust four voices singing by themselves? ’Fraid not, ma’am. I—”
    The director stepped up close to him. “Please, Mr. Sanders. I am short one good baritone voice.”
    Jessamine clenched her fingers together in her lap. Say no , she urged. Ellie had chosen her to be the soprano singer in the quartet. The last thing she wanted was to stand next to Cole Sanders and sing. The very last thing. The thought made her cold and then hot all over.
    She caught Cole’s eye and subtly shook her