Iron Ties (20 page)
The bell tinkled over the front door of Susan’s studio as Inez entered. The studio appeared empty—not, Inez hoped, an indication of the current state of Susan’s business.
Susan popped her head out of the back room, looking expectant, then surprised. “Hello Inez! I’ll be there in just a minute.”
She disappeared into the back.
Inez sat down in the waiting area, set a pine gun case on the floor, and flexed her aching fingers. She’d lugged the heavy case from her home to the post office, where she’d mailed a letter addressed to “Postmaster” at Eli and Lillian’s small Missouri town. Inez had included information of Eli’s almost-certain demise—at least, she felt, deep down, that Eli was dead, no matter what others said—and asked about the identities of the mysterious Mr. D and Mr. H of Lillian’s letters.
If I can get a name, perhaps I can move another step forward in all this. Or maybe not.
Anxious for a distraction from Eli and the mystery of his life and death, Inez picked up a copy of E. Butterick and Company’s summer catalogue. She flipped through it, pausing to examine the walking skirts.
Susan reappeared, wiping her hands on her stained apron. “I was just gluing some prints to their mounts. I expect the customers will be around for them later today.”
Inez nodded, then frowned at the catalogue. Rows upon rows of tiny engravings of skirts bedecked with tucks, horizontal folds, pleats, shirring, flounces, and other draperies marched across the page. “The skirts are narrower every season. It’s beyond me how we’re to walk around in skirts so tight they don’t allow one to take a decent step.”
Susan crooked her head to see what Inez was looking at. “Oh yes. A customer recently arrived from New York brought that in. I thought some of the ladies would like looking through it while waiting.”
Inez tossed the catalogue onto a nearby low table. It slid across the surface, coming to rest at the farthermost edge. “How nice it would be if there was a single catalogue that would allow one to buy all kinds of things—clothes, rugs, cabinets, watches, stoves—all from the comfort of one’s home and deliver them as well!”
“Are you thinking of buying a new stove, Inez?” Susan dropped into a nearby chair.
“Eventually. Certainly before winter. We’re finishing the gaming room upstairs in the saloon. Besides the warming stove, I’d like a new sideboard. And a cabinet. I was lucky enough to find suitable rugs at Daniels, Fisher and Company. A mine manager had placed an order and then left town after the strike, so I was able to buy them on the spot. But ordering furniture is likely to take quite a while. Although the railroad’s arrival will speed the delivery.”
Susan half rose. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, no. I’m just making my rounds. I need to stop at Evan’s store next. But I have something to show you.”
She pulled the vaguely ominous missive to Eli from her pocket. “This came to Eli Carter, who owns the C&H Livery with our own ex-marshal, Bart Hollis. Eli was probably one of the fellows you saw on the track. He rode the horse from his own stable and was apparently leaving town for good that day.”
Susan read the scrawled note and frowned. She handed it back. “An oath. What kind of oath?”
“I’m not certain. But I do think it’s significant that it mentions a general. Particularly given the ‘kill the generals’ statement you heard before your accident. Had you ever met Eli?”
Susan shook her head. “When I hired the horse and burro, I spoke with Mr. Hollis.”
“So you wouldn’t have recognized him if you saw him on the track,” Inez said, more or less to herself.
Susan played with one of the curls fringing her forehead, pulled it straight and allowed it to spring back into shape. “I can’t remember what they looked like anyway, so it wouldn’t help even if you described him. Sorry, Inez. Are you going to show the note to Marshal Ayres?”
“I’m afraid he’d just pooh-pooh it all. As he reminded me, without a body, there is no crime. And I don’t think he’s in town at present.”
“How about the city marshal? Or someone at the railroad?”
“The city marshal could care less since this whole business happened outside city limits. But the railroad. Now that’s a thought. I wonder who would be the right person to notify. Mr. McMurtrie? He’s chief engineer. The lawyer, Mr. Snow? He’s out of town, I gather. Maybe the professor—he works for the lawyers. Hmmm. Mr. Holt.” She perked up. “He’s a payroll guard, but I get the definite impression that’s not all he does. In any case, he might know who would care about this note. If anyone would, that is.”
“Oh!” Susan jumped up. “Speaking of the railroad. Let me show you something before you go.” She hobbled into the back room and returned, holding a stack of cardboard-mounted cabinet cards. “It’s my latest work. Here are a couple of the boarders.”
Inez recognized Terry O’Loughlin next to an urn set on a pedestal. She rested an elbow on the urn, which trailed ivy and held a plant with spiky fronds.
“Mrs. Flynn had her sitting recently.” Susan half smiled. “She brought a half dozen outfits, all very up-to-date and proper, and wanted photographs of herself in each and every one. It took nearly an entire day to do them all and paid for a good portion of a week’s room and board. I haven’t mounted those photographs yet, but I think I’ll put a couple in my display window when they’re done. They should be a good draw for the genteel women in town. Mrs. Flynn’s very photogenic, what with those dark eyes and brows, and her light hair….Oh! Speaking of very proper, you’ll never guess who’s been at the boardinghouse ‘to call’ twice this week. With calling cards flying back and forth and all.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Braun. And guess who he was calling on.”
Inez thought back. On Widow Flynn’s smiles and sidelong glances in the wagon and as she settled herself on the blanket at the picnic. “Your landlady?”
“None other! Now, here’s one of the men from the railroad.” Susan passed another cabinet card to Inez.
“Why, that’s the professor!” exclaimed Inez.
“You know him?”
Inez looked at her curiously. “He drove the wagon that brought you to the hospital.”
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“You don’t remember?”
Susan shook her head. “The first thing I recall is waking up in the hospital. It was night, but one of the Sisters was there, keeping me company. Anyhow, I eventually had to confess I didn’t remember him at all. I don’t think he quite believed me. He was nice, though. All the time I was setting things up, he kept inquiring about my health.” She handed Inez the last card. “And here are the Holts. You can certainly tell they’re related, don’t you think?”
Preston and Reuben Holt—jackets buttoned up, collars straight, hair slicked back—sat in matching chairs, the spiky plant and urn between them. Each held a rifle, muzzle up, butt to the floor, the long lines of the barrels forming a vertical frame. The plant, its fronds reaching for the sky, looked for all the world like a hostage. Preston was to the left, Reuben to the right.
Inez examined the photo closely, remembering the kitchen episode, with Preston reaching for his pistol on his left. Then, Reuben at the poker table, reaching for the cards with his right hand. “They’re differently handed.”
“Ah. That explains it. I originally had the elder Mr. Holt on the right, but they wanted to switch sides so they could hold the guns like that. Makes them look rather formidable.”
Inez privately thought that Reuben’s fierce scowl was overdone.
At sixteen, it’s probably more important to look tough and threatening than civilized.
Preston stared into the camera, face impassive, gaze steady. His eyes seemed to look straight through her. A small thrill trickled down her back.
Inez shook herself. “Very nice, Susan.” She handed the cards back. “When do you expect they’ll return?”
“They were in town last Saturday, so I suppose they’ll be in town tomorrow.” She looked up from her handiwork. “Would you like me to show Mr. Holt or the professor that letter?”
Inez hesitated, then said, “Maybe just let them know I’d like to talk with them.” She stood and tucked the letter away. “The other horse belonged to a railroad man. I would like to know who.” She reached down and retrieved the long pine case. “That man must have known Elijah Carter. The letter was posted from Colorado Springs, where Palmer’s headquarters are. So there might be a connection. One never knows.”
***
Inez stopped in at Evan’s mercantile, only to learn that the storeowner was in his mining supply store next door. Business had been so good over the past year for him that he had bought the building next to his original store and split the business into general merchandise and mining-related goods. She found him in deep discussion over the relative merits of pack animals. “No question about it,” he was saying. “If you’re headed to the Ten Mile District, with the amount of supplies you’re handling, a burro is the way to go.”
After the customer left, Inez stepped forward and set the pine case on the display case. “I need you to tell me about this gun.”
Evan grunted as Inez unlatched and opened the lid. “Oh yes. The Sharps rifle. My newest clerk mentioned that no sooner had we put it up for display than a woman came in and bought it.” He looked at her soberly. “I didn’t realize that woman was you, Mrs. Stannert. It’s not a gun for a woman, you know. It was made specifically for Berdan’s Sharpshooters, a Union regiment in the war. This is an excellent rifle for long distances, but no good for the situations you’d encounter here in Leadville. Your Smoot pocket revolver is practical up close, your husband’s old Navy Colt for intermediate distance, and your shotgun or a standard rifle for distance. Should that be necessary.”
“So I’ve been told. Did you buy this from Elijah Carter? The clerk had no idea of its provenance. He thought the owner had been a prospector, trying to raise a grubstake.”
Evan adjusted his spectacles. “That new hire of mine isn’t the brightest star in the sky. Recent to town, and I think he’s got a bit of the itch to stake a claim himself. But you’re right. I bought this from Eli Carter. He left town recently. I’ve heard there’s a suspicion of foul play.” He shook his head. “His horse was found riderless south of town. I’m betting road agents had a hand in that.”
“Did he say where he was going? Or why he wanted to sell this gun?”
Evan picked up the rifle, hefted it, as if testing the weight. “Breechloader. Uses .52 caliber linen cartridges.” He opened the breech, checked it, and sent a sharp glance over the top of his glasses. “Did you get the cartridge tins?”
“Oh yes, your clerk sold me the whole kit and caboodle, including the case. So, Eli didn’t say anything about where he was headed or why?”
Evan shook his head. “I was surprised. Thought he had a going business and was planning to bring his wife up here. He talked about it once. But, I suppose the coming of the Rio Grande changed that. The railroad is all good news for me, but for Eli and the others in the livery, hauling, or staging services, it’s a different matter. Too, there’s the business of the right-of-way.”
A-ha!
“What business, exactly?” She tried to sound merely curious.
“The railway’s lawyers—Lowden Snow and the rest—are still having trouble clearing the ownership titles to some privately held city lots. I think the livery’s one of those that’s holding things up. Can’t be making Snow very happy.”
“I heard Eli sold the business to Hollis. One wouldn’t think he needed the money from selling the gun. Did he seem happy to be leaving?”
Evan set the rifle down gently in the case. “Now that you mention it, he was kind of low. I didn’t know he’d sold the business to Hollis. At any rate, he didn’t haggle over the price. Almost seemed glad—or at least, indifferent—to get rid of it. He mentioned he had one last bit of business to set right. Once that was done, he said, it would be time to move on.”
Time to move on.
“Thank you.” She began to close the case lid.
Evan stopped the lid. “Do you want to sell that rifle back to me? I’ll give you what you paid for it. Can’t see what good it’ll do you.”
She looked down at the gun. The metal had a dull sheen, the walnut wood of the stock shone as if it had been polished regularly, not neglected. A deep scratch and nick along the edge of the stock-mounted patch box had been partially filled in as well. The double-set triggers reminded her, incongruously, of lovers spooning front to back. Of Eli and Lillian. Of her and Sands.
“Perhaps later.” She closed the lid.
Saturday evening, Doc was late to the game. Inez wondered whether one of his patients had taken a turn for the worse and half expected to see him arrive, brow furrowed, mouth downturned. But when he finally limped in, he was beaming and flourishing a copy of
The Independent
. “Masterful article, my dear Elliston. Now the town knows that The Citizen is on his way, as promised. General Grant in Leadville. ’Twill be a visit to remember.”
“Well, Grant’s going to have to walk from the Boulevard,” said Jed. “Snow’s not having any luck clearing ownership titles to those lots north of town. I understand the grading and track-laying crews have come to a dead halt.”
Doc harrumphed.
Inez tensed.
“Snow’s doing all he can,” said Doc. “A sorry state, when a few can hold the city and railway hostage. Not a good showing for our guests.”
“That means more decorations,” Inez cut in, seeing Jed bristle. “Mr. Evan, have you any more bunting?” The only piece left in the saloon was still hanging over the buffalo, the rest having disappeared long ago, along with the dried and brittle pine boughs.
Evan sucked in his upper lip. Inez could almost see him mentally scanning his inventory. “I did order extra, Mrs. Stannert, knowing that Grant’s visit was a possibility. A gamble, but I believe it’s paying off now. I’ll save some for you. I’ll bet anything in red, white, and blue will be worth its weight in silver over the next couple of weeks.”
“How long will Grant be staying?” Cooper asked.
“About five days.” Doc headed for the sideboard. “We’ve got a full plate for him. Events and tours from morning to the wee hours. And Mrs. Grant as well. A sterling company is arriving with him. Governor Routt, Governor Hunt, Governor Smith of Wisconsin, General Palmer, and others. The Union Veteran Association will be handling the hospitality. And as I have some small voice in organizing the schedule…well, Mrs. Stannert, I can’t promise, but I will do my best to see that you have the opportunity to meet the Great Man yourself.”
“Me?” Inez nearly dropped her cards.
“Don’t forget your local press, Doc,” Jed interjected.
“Of course not, of course not.” Doc brought over a brandy for himself and set a second in front of Inez. “For our lovely hostess.” He raised his own glass to the table. “To General Ulysses S. Grant, commander in chief of the Union army during the war and former president of these United States.”
Inez hoisted her snifter with the rest. Her goblet and Doc’s met, ringing with crystal clarity.
“Seen the good reverend of late, Mrs. Stannert?” Doc settled in his chair.
She pursed her lips and made to study her hand intently. “I believe he’s out of town.”
“So soon?” Doc appeared to catch himself, then looked around at the table. “Well, since you’re deep into this hand already, I’ll just wait until the next.”
Soooo, does Doc know something about this mysterious trip? I’ll need to find a time to pull him aside and ask him a few questions
.
It was good that the saloon was doing well of late and didn’t require Inez’s winning that night to pay the bills. Her mood turned blacker and blacker and her attention wandered, with the expected results that she lost more than she made in the house rake.
“I’m afraid we must end for tonight, gentlemen,” she remarked at one thirty. “And, I have good news for you. In one week, well before General Grant’s scheduled arrival, our room upstairs should be ready for us.”
“Excellent.” Evan peered at her over the top of his glasses. “It’s been a long time coming, for you and Abe.”
“And I do hope that, those of you who are not otherwise engaged, might drop in tomorrow—or should I say later today—and see the Fairplays. They’ll be doing something special from
Henry the Fifth
at three in the afternoon, a sort of salute to the military man I gather, to honor Grant’s impending visit. You can come and spend a little of that money you all won from me tonight.”
“I’ll be here, without a doubt.” Doc ran a hand over his hair. “Assuming, of course, there’s no sudden crisis that demands my attention.”
***
Sunday afternoon, Inez paused from her bartending duties to wipe the perspiration from her forehead and look around. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that the Silver Queen was the only saloon open that day, for it seemed that a goodly percentage of the male population of Leadville was crammed into the large room.
Mindful of last week’s successes with the Fairplays, Abe and Sol had banged together rough benches and a makeshift stage that could be brought into position between the kitchen passdoor and the piano. “Y’know,” Abe had said, jingling a handful of nails in one hand. “We might think about doin’ this sort of thing on a regular basis. When the upstairs opens, we could knock out the wall of your gamin’ room down here and put up a stage. Get the acts comin’ through town. Musicians and such.”
Inez held up a hand. “Whoa, Abe. You’re going too fast for me. Let’s get through July and see how things stand.”
Still, looking around, she had to admit that Abe had a point. On the days that the Fairplays performed, the crowds came early, waiting impatiently for them to open at noon, and lingered afterward. They drank and ate more. And, there was the dollar a head charged at the door for the performance, which, even when split with the Fairplays, made a tidy sum indeed.
“Ma’am, ma’am.” A small voice at the end of the bar caught Inez’s attention. Maude Fairplay’s maid was standing by the bottom of the stairs, looking frightened, but determined.
A couple of the drinkers nearby looked at her askance.
“A Chinee in Leadville,” muttered one. “Thought we ran ’em all out of town last year.”
“Gentlemen, you are talking about Mrs. Fairplay’s private maid,” said Inez haughtily, sweeping around to place a protective arm around the tiny woman’s shoulders. “I’ll thank you to be civil.”
The maid whispered, “The missus, she has need of a….” She blushed. “Lacing, if you please. Broken. No extras.”
Inez turned to Abe and shouted to be heard above the noise, “I’ll be back shortly.” She headed upstairs with the maid.
Maude was in the dressing room, staring at her reflection in the mirror, high tragedy written on her features.
She swung around, holding her black-satin-trimmed corset up to her torso, giving an excellent view of the swell of her breasts. “Thank you for coming to our aid. The extra laces are somewhere, who knows where, and I will never fit into my dress without some tight lacing.”
Inez flung open her wardrobe, pulled out a drawer and hunted through extra shoelaces, a spare buttonhook, various ribbons, and lace cuffs.
She heard Maude’s gasp and turned around to see her staring into the wardrobe. Inez followed her gaze and realized she was staring at Mark’s clothes, all hung neatly. Waiting.
“You kept his clothes,” she said faintly.
Inez reached out and touched the silver-and-gold threaded waistcoat, his favorite. “I suppose, in the back of my mind, I keep expecting him to return. But it’s been a long time now, and I no longer know if I really want him.” She froze, realizing what she’d just said, and looked back at Maude.
Maude’s face was frozen as well. “So. He’s not dead.”
Inez, cursing herself for the slip of the tongue, closed the wardrobe doors firmly, and handed the lace to the maid. “He may as well be. He walked out, more than a year ago, and I’ve not heard a thing from him since. Left me and our son to fend for ourselves.”
Maude looked as if she might faint. “You mean, he may be out there, somewhere? That might explain….” She stopped.
The maid laced the slender cord and began pulling it tight.
“Explain what?” Inez felt an uneasy dread.
“I…hesitate…to say,” gasped Maude. Her waist contracted, her breasts plumped up above the frilly edging topping the corset as her maid jerked and pulled. “Oh…Mrs. Stannert…I don’t…wish…to fuel any hopes…or fears…on your part, but….”
“Tell me!” Inez gripped the handle of the wardrobe, willing Maude to spit it out.
“It…was…Central City. Two…months ago? C.A. thinks…I…was having an…attack of the…vapors. A bit of female…hysteria.”
The maid tied the cord and backed away to the trunk.
Maude took a shallow breath, then a slightly deeper one. “I need to be able to breathe, if I’m to project my voice.” She stopped, seeing Inez’s expression.
“All I can tell you is, I’d only seen him once that time in Dodge, several years ago. But there, in Central City, in the first row, was a man who…well, I thought…although he was thinner in the face than I remembered. I nearly fainted dead away on the stage. But I’m a professional, and I’m proud to say I carried on and no one knew. Except for C.A. He sensed something was wrong. We talked about it later.”
“Central City.” Inez stared at the sunburst carved on the wardrobe panel, its lines burning into her mind as if she gazed on the actual sun itself. “Less than two days’ journey from Leadville.”
She wrenched open the door of the wardrobe and began yanking Mark’s clothes off the hangers, pitching them with venomous energy into the corner of the room.
“Mrs. Stannert!” Maude rushed forward and grasped her arm. “Please. Don’t listen to a silly woman’s babbling. One face, among so many. The focus of the stage, my imagination—”
“Oh, you’re not the first to report a possible sighting.” Inez ceased her flinging and stared stonily at the heap of trousers and fancy dress shirts, piled higgledy-piggledy in the shadows.
“Please, talk to C.A. I’m sorry to have said anything at all. C.A. and I, we talk about everything, there are no secrets between us.” Her face softened from despair to a sad smile. “He knows about all my…peccadillos. My weaknesses. He will tell you, it was no doubt a phantom of my imagination.”
Inez closed the closet door firmly and said, “You need to finish getting ready. The audience will be getting restless, and when men get restless in a bar, it means nothing but trouble.”
And trouble is what my life seems to breed these days. Nothing but.