Before the Dawn (7 page)

The tone of Helene's voice and the blankness in her eyes gave Leah a chill. “Good night, Miss Sejours.”

“Good night, dear.”

Later, as Leah climbed into bed, she found it hard to rid herself of the effects of Helen's parting words. Were they meant to be a threat? Surely coming here wouldn't get her killed. She reminded herself that two women involved with Monty had met untimely deaths here under mysterious circumstances. Leah had no doubts Helene had planted that seed deliberately, just to make her worry. She'd done a good job. Now, not only did Leah have the court summons and Cecil's whereabouts to worry about, concerns about her own safety had been added to the pot. Leah couldn't wait to leave Denver.

 

Leah awakened the next morning, bleary-eyed and stiff. She'd had a restless night and hadn't slept much at all. Dragging herself over to the basin she'd filled last night, she splashed water on her face and rinsed her teeth. Slowly
dressing, she wondered if Cecil had returned during the night. She hoped so.

Downstairs, the house was silent. Sunbeams streamed playfully into the rooms. The house held the same quiet the Swan always had at this time of day, and it made her think of home. The only thing missing was the tantalizing smell of fresh coffee. Having spent her life around seamen, Leah had developed a fondness for the brew and become accustomed to having a cup or two to fuel her morning. It was especially needed this morning. In a few hours she'd be at the courthouse to answer the summons, and she needed bracing.

When Leah walked into the kitchen, Mrs. France was seated at the table. The housekeeper glanced up from her coffee and oatmeal with a glare.

Leah offered up a hasty apology. “I didn't mean to impose. I'm accustomed to rising early, and—”

“Is there something you want, Mrs. Montague?”

So much for apologies
, Leah thought testily. “Coffee. If there isn't any, I can brew it myself.”

The housekeeper's steady stare made Leah feel as if she'd been magically transported back in time to her school days and was once again standing before the headmistress of Miss Caldwell's School for Young Women of Color for committing yet another infraction. “If this is your private time, I can come back later.”

The woman's demeanor didn't change. “Coffee's over there on the stove. Miss Helene doesn't usually come down until ten.”

“Ten?” Leah echoed loudly. Realizing how rude she sounded, she shut her mouth and went over to the coffeepot. Leah had never slept that late in her life. First of all, her mother wouldn't've tolerated such laziness, and secondly, there'd always been chores to do or school to attend.

As Leah poured herself a cup of coffee, she wondered if small talk would make the woman unbend at bit. “Did you know Mr. Montague?”

“Yes. My husband and two brothers were killed in one of his mines thirty-two years ago.”

Leah sloshed hot coffee all over her skirt. It was not the answer she'd been expecting. Hastily setting the cup on the counter, she grabbed a nearby dish towel to dry herself. Still reeling, she also saw that she'd made a mess of the kitchen floor. Not knowing what else to say, she asked, “Where's your mop?”

Mrs. France pointed toward the kitchen's door. “Out on the porch.”

The cold air felt good on Leah's face. She took in a few bracing breaths to steady herself, then went back inside to take care of the spills.

A few quick swipes of the mop's rag head returned the wood floor to its previously pristine state.

Upon viewing Leah's handiwork, Mrs. France cracked, “You handle that mop like you've actually seen one before.”

Leah stiffened. “Why wouldn't I have?”

“Fancy women like you usually have hired help for that.”

Leah's chuckle held no humor. “I've been mopping floors since I was eight. There's nothing fancy about me.”

Mrs. France looked skeptical, but Leah saw no reason to try to change the woman's mind. “I'll put this mop back.”

After returning the mop to the porch, Leah stepped back inside and poured herself another cup of coffee. Under Mrs. France's suspicious eyes, she left the kitchen without another word.

Upstairs, Leah changed out of her wet skirt. She stood in front of the windows and sipped her coffee. She thought back on her encounter with Mrs. France.
Fancy woman
. Leah shook her head and wondered if the housekeeper had
meant
fancy
as in rich, or
fancy
as in kept? Although neither description fit Leah, she could just imagine what she'd be called once it became known she'd married Monty less than a day before he died. What a mess. Leah could still hear the bitterness in the housekeeper's voice. It was fairly obvious the woman held Monty responsible for the tragic demise of her husband and son. How many others were holding on to grudges from the past? Leah had many more questions than she had answers.

A knock on her door broke her attention. When she called, “Come in,” Cecil entered. She was certainly glad to see him. “Good morning. What time did you return?”

“Late. You were asleep, I could hear you snoring.”

Leah's hands went to her hip in mock indignation. “I do not snore.”

“Whatever you say,” he responded with a smile.

“So, what did you learn?”

He shook his head grimly. “Nothing. The people I could've gone to for information are either dead or have moved on. A few of Louis's former business partners are still around, but when I approached them they claimed not to know me and turned me away from their doors.”

Leah didn't like the sound of that. “So we go into the courtroom blind?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Leah didn't like the sound of that either. “Okay, well, I need to dress. I'll be down directly.”

After his departure, Leah wanted to fuss at him again for leaving things here to fester for thirty years, but knew it wouldn't do any good. The past couldn't be changed. She was embroiled in a conundrum not of her making, and there was nothing to do but try and unravel it head-on.

Leah dressed herself in black. As a widow it was what society expected. Since she had no idea whom or what she
might be facing, she hoped her attire would remind them that she'd just buried a husband and should be dealt with accordingly. Of course Leah knew that those rules didn't necessarily apply to a woman of color, but it didn't hurt to hope.

Dressed in a plain but well-made black gown, Leah looked at herself in the mirror. The woman reflected back looked less tired than Leah remembered, probably because she wasn't up at dawn hauling kegs or scrubbing floors and tabletops at midnight. After working herself to the bone for the past twenty years, Leah admittedly enjoyed this simple life of leisure Monty's generosity had provided. She hoped she wouldn't have to fight to keep it.

Downstairs, she was surprised by the sight of Seth talking quietly with Cecil. Both men looked up at her as she descended the stairs. Cecil nodded, and Seth inclined his head. He had on a nice brown suit and a snow-white shirt that appeared fresh from the laundress. Leah wondered what he was doing there.

“Good morning, Leah,” Seth said.

“Good morning to you, too, Seth. Are you here to see your aunt?”

“No, I thought I'd go to the courthouse with you and Mr. Lee. Hoped it might help.”

Leah smiled. “Why thank you. What do you think, Cecil?”

“Don't see how it could hurt.”

Leah didn't either. Before this was settled she might need all the support she could find.

She then looked to Cecil, and asked, “Are we ready?”

He nodded.

Seth gestured toward the door. “My carriage is right outside. Shall we?”

Leah brought her veil down over her face and allowed
herself to be escorted out. As Seth handed her up into the expensive-looking rig, Leah glanced back at the house. In an upstairs window she could see Helene Sejours looking down on their departure with such a predatory smile on her white-powdered face it raised the hair on the back of Leah's neck.

L
eah sat in the backseat of Seth's fancy carriage wondering where the morning's sunbeams had gone. The once-bright sky had now turned ominous and dark as if rain were on the horizon. Leah hoped it would hold off. She was already anxious enough—arriving at the hearing soaked and bedraggled would not help matters.

They soon reached their destination. Guided by Seth's hand, Leah stepped down onto the plank walk in front of the courthouse. She fought to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, but couldn't. Her hand, enveloped in Seth's, shook with nervousness. He must have felt her shake because he looked down into her tight face, and said kindly, “Hopefully it will be over soon. Keep your chin up.”

Leah smiled as best she could.

Inside they were shown into a dimly lit judge's chamber and told to take seats and wait. Moments later, seven well-dressed White men filed in, silent as a jury. Leah wondered
who they were and why there were in attendance, but none of them uttered a word nor acknowledged Leah's party. Their silent presence increased Leah's anxiety.

She leaned over and asked Cecil softly, “Do you know any of them?”

“Two. Neither were friends.”

Leah closed her eyes in reaction.

All other questions were set aside as the judge entered the room. His name was Andrew Moss. He was a big man. His flaring white moustache coupled with the large build made him resemble a walrus. Everyone stood at the request of the bailiff, and when the judge sat, they all retook their seats.

The judge looked up and said, “Would the representatives of the Montague estate please stand.”

Cecil and Leah rose to their feet.

The judge appeared surprised. Leah wondered if he'd dismiss the case solely based on his response to their color. She knew he could. In many areas of the country, members of the race were unable to have their day in court due to the legal shackles of Jim Crow. Testifying against Whites was forbidden as was being able to sue. Because of the times, this judge had every right to void the estate altogether if he wished on the grounds that she, as a Black woman had no rights to inherit. If he did, she'd have very little recourse.
Monty, what have you gotten me into?

He scrutinized Cecil first, then the veiled Leah. “Where's your counsel?”

Cecil said, “We haven't had time to engage anyone, your honor. We just learned of the suit yesterday.”

“I see.” The judge scanned the documents before him. “It says here that this judgment was rendered more than thirty years ago, but that the estate was only attached three weeks ago because Mr. Montague couldn't be found.”

Cecil raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware of the judgment, sir.”

“Are you Louis Montague?”

“No. Mr. Montague passed away recently. I'm Cecil Lee, his former business agent, and this is his widow, Mrs. Leah Montague.”

The judge's attention shifted to the veiled Leah. “Sorry for your loss, ma'am.”

“Thank you, your honor.”

“Well, Mr. Lee, those gentlemen over there represent folks who say you and your boss left them high and dry thirty years ago. Say you left unpaid bills, swindled them in a fraudulent stock scheme, and slunk out of Colorado in the middle of night so you wouldn't have to pay the piper.”

Cecil stiffened. “Not true. We prided ourselves on settling our debts, sir. Any losses these gentlemen may have incurred were also incurred by my employer, and we didn't sneak away in the middle of the night.”

From behind them one of the men interrupted in an impatient voice. “Your honor, this is all irrelevant. The judgment has already been rendered in a Colorado court of law. The estate should be made to pay.”

Leah forced herself to breathe slowly.

The judge then asked Cecil, “Did Mr. Montague leave a will, Mr. Lee?”

Cecil nodded. “He did, Your Honor. Mrs. Montague is the sole heir.”

“Did you bring the papers with you?”

“No, sir. They're in a bank vault back East.”

The judge took a moment to peruse more of the documents before him. “According to what the plaintiffs have discovered the estate's worth about seventy-five thousand dollars in land and cash. That sound correct to you?”

“Yes sir, it does.”

“Well, the judgment owed is ninety-thousand. How do you propose to pay the other fifteen thousand, ma'am?”

Leah's world began to spin. Not only had she just forfeited seventy-five thousand dollars, she now owed fifteen thousand dollars more! She had no proposal; she couldn't even think. “I'd like to have a few days to talk with Mr. Lee about my options, if I may.”

One of the men drawled amusedly, “Pay up or go to jail, those are your options honey.”

Chuckling could be heard. Leah's jaw tightened.

The judge snapped. “You will show respect, sir.”

Once the silence resettled, he said to Leah, “Unfortunately, the gentleman is correct. The estate is hereby taken from the heirs by the court as partial payment for these debts. If you can't make good on the rest, you'll be sentenced to the territorial prison for women. You have until noon, day after tomorrow. Court dismissed.”

Had Leah been the fainting type, she would have slumped to the floor right there. Instead she kept her head high as she gathered up her cloak and bag. She was escorted to the door by a somber Cecil and Seth.

On the ride back to Helene's, Leah cursed the fates that had brought her all the way to Colorado just to send her to jail. All she'd wanted was a life free of drudgery and filled with a little joy. Had she been wrong to want something so inconsequential?

“They're not going to put you in jail, Leah,” Cecil told her reassuringly as he looked back at her in the seat.

Leah had no such illusions. “Does Monty have more money?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Can your personal finances cover the difference?”

He shook his head solemnly.

“Then I am going to prison.”

Seth had been driving silently, but now said, “The judge
said that settlement was thirty years old. I can't believe the court still intends to collect.”

Leah couldn't believe it either.

Upon entering Helene's house, Leah felt as brittle as a piece of glass. The thought of incarceration loomed like a gathering storm. She could see nothing but dark clouds and terror ahead.

Helene took one look at Leah's face, and said, “I take it the hearing didn't go well.”

Seth answered for her. “The judge threatened Leah with prison.”

“Whatever for?”

Cecil replied bitterly, “A thirty-year-old settlement I knew nothing about.”

“Why don't we go into the parlor?” Helene told them all.

Leah wanted to go straight to her room but followed the others into the parlor and took a seat on one of the overstuffed burgundy chairs.

Helene leaned forward and said, “Now, tell me everything.”

Seth gave her the details. When he finished, Helene looked over at Leah and shook her head sympathetically. “Now that's a shame, and the women's prison is such an awful place.”

Leah's chin rose. Helene's false smile and triumphant eyes weren't improving her mood.

Helene then added, “Now that I think back, I do remember a judgment against Louis. It was right after the two of you disappeared, Cecil.”

“Why didn't you say something about this yesterday?” he demanded.

“I told you. I just now remembered. Messy affair, too, if my memory serves correct.”

Leah wanted to shake the woman.

“Then tell us now,” Cecil replied evenly.

“Let's see, there were miners in Central City who were never paid. Timber cutters in Boulder, suppliers from Virginia City to St. Louis. Then there were those mining stocks you and Louis advised everyone to buy. Turned out to be worthless. Many people were quite angry when they learned you two had slunk off in the middle of the night like thieves.”

Leah thought that for a woman who hadn't remembered anything yesterday, Helen sure had a whole trunkful of memories today, now that it was too late.

Cecil shook his head in contradiction. “Louis and I both lost money on that stock deal, and you know as well as I that we didn't slink away in the middle of the night. And we did not leave unpaid bills behind.”

“That isn't the story your workers and business partners told the court. Three months after your disappearance some of your White associates brought suit against Louis for all those unpaid bills. Since he wasn't here to defend himself, and no one knew his whereabouts, he was convicted of swindling. Hundreds of people added their names to the list of injured parties.”

Leah's eyes widened. This conundrum was becoming more and more convoluted.

Helene looked to Leah and cooed, “By now, the judgment must be higher than Pikes Peak.”

Seth answered. “It is, and Louis's estate doesn't hold enough to pay it off.”

“Isn't that too bad,” Helene replied, voice dripping with insincerity. “I'm certain that Louis is somewhere anguishing over the mess he's left you, my dear.”

Cecil cast Helene a cold look. “Well, we have a day and a half to try to right this. I'm going back into town to talk to the judge. Maybe he'll listen to reason.”

Seth stood. “I'm headed back. I'll give you a lift.”

Seth then turned to Leah. “Try not to worry, Leah. Mr. Lee and I, we'll figure it out.”

Leah gave him a weak smile.

Cecil added, “Seth's right, don't worry.”

She knew that she would worry, but told Cecil, “I won't. I know you'll fix this.”

Helene chimed in, “Of course he will. He's Satan's Butler. In his prime he could fix anything.”

Cecil ignored her. “I'll see you later, Leah.”

Seth promised Leah, “I'll see you later as well,” then followed Cecil to the door.

Since Leah had nothing further to say to the sly-eyed Helene, she left her sitting in the parlor alone.

That afternoon, after a silent lunch in her room, Leah began to pace. Since returning from court, she'd tried to come up with a solution, a way out, but no matter where her mind turned, prison stood. Where in the world would she get fifteen thousand dollars, and in two days no less? She could sell the Swan, but even if she could find a buyer in a day and a half, the proceeds wouldn't come close to covering the balance due. She contemplated selling all of her new clothes, but doubted that would be enough either, even if she could find someone to sell them to. The Swan and the clothes were all she owned; she had no jewelry or other valuables she could convert to cash. In her past, such items had been beyond her grasp. Soon, freedom could be beyond her grasp as well.

 

Seated in his office at the Damien Mining Company, Ryder read over the figures from his upstate copper holdings and found them troubling. Mineral veins in Colorado were petering out. Having to strip the tiny bits of metal from the base rock was becoming more and more expensive, thereby making the digs less and less profitable. He'd been thinking
about selling his shares for weeks. Looking at these reports sealed the matter. Ryder was still reading when Sam came in, as usual without knocking, and challengingly slapped a newspaper down on his desk.

“Have you seen this trash?” he demanded.

Ryder picked up the paper. It was the one of the city's dailies.

“It's this afternoon's edition,” Sam snarled disgustedly.

Ryder scanned an announcement of an upcoming recital in Denver, and another on the two-headed calf born a week ago to a milk cow owned by a farm couple up in Boulder. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Sam jabbed his gnarled brown finger at an item at the bottom of the page. “This!”

Ryder began to read:

The article went on to relate the scandals surrounding the deaths of Monty's first wife, Bernice, and Ryder's mother but Ryder didn't read the rest.

Setting the paper aside, he looked up into Sam's angry face. “Why are you so upset?”

“That little lady doesn't have anything to do with this.”

“She's his widow.”

“What if she doesn't have enough money?”

Ryder shrugged.

“Are you going to stand by and let her be thrown into prison with a bunch of prostitutes and murderesses?”

“They aren't going to throw her into prison. Those claims are thirty years old.”

“Do you think the judge cared about how old those bills are? A Black woman? They'll put her in prison, and you know it.”

Ryder had to admit, Sam had a point. Granted, there were two levels of justice being meted out in the country nowadays, but money had a justice all its own. Many of the men who'd done business with Louis were still alive and were as predatory in their business practices now as they'd reportedly been back then. He had no idea how much Louis had left his widow, but if the estate held any value, Louis's old enemies would feast on her like wolves.

Unsettled by those thoughts, Ryder tossed the newspaper back down on the desk. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Something.”

Ryder searched Sam's lined face. “Why? She's done nothing but give me the back of her hand since we met.”

“And she had no reason?”

Ryder chose not to answer that. “Since when did you become a knight in shining armor? You've known her less than a week.”