Searching for Silverheels (20 page)

“My pleasure,” George said with a grin, and added a dime to our earnings as my face went scarlet.

When all was said and done, there were only fifteen dollars on the table, and many women were saying they couldn't pledge to a bond at all.

“This is not nearly enough,” Mrs. Crawford said. “Mr. Merino down in Fairplay has already collected thirty-five dollars toward pledges, on twenty bonds.”

“There is another option if you want to collect a bigger sum,” my mother said. With my father working in the kitchen, she was able to attend this meeting. “Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt did a lively business selling their franks after the rainstorm, and I believe Mrs. Schmidt is eager to use the proceeds for the war effort.”

There was a murmur of approval around the room.

Mrs. Crawford's eyes narrowed and the line of her mouth hardened. “They had the nerve to serve their Hun food, after I expressly forbid it?”

“I think they saved the picnic,” Mother said.

Under the table, George removed his hand from my knee. I bit my lip and prayed my mother would go back to the kitchen without saying anything more.

“I think it's a fine idea,” said Mrs. Sorensen. “What would we have to do to convince Mrs. Schmidt to donate the money to the Liberty Bond fund?”

“Oh, I don't think it will take much convincing,” Mother said. “But I think it would have to start with an apology.”

Mrs. Crawford's face turned red and she began to splutter. If she'd been a train, she'd have probably had enough steam to
get over the pass and all the way to California. Unfortunately though, she was Mrs. Crawford, and she wasn't going anywhere. “I will not go crawling to a German to ask for money, if that is what you are implying, Margaret Barnell. The fact that she even sold German sausages at a Fourth of July picnic is a slap in the face to our boys over there. If she were a true patriot, she'd be here donating the money for herself. I blame her entirely for this disaster!”

“I hardly think it's Mrs. Schmidt's fault that we had a gullywasher in the middle of the picnic,” Mrs. Abernathy said.

“But she profited from it, and as a result, no one had money to spend on anything else.” Mrs. Crawford got to her feet and looked around at everyone. “I could not take her blood money and sleep at night, and I am surprised that those of you who paid good American dollars for German food can. And I certainly hope that you can all find an equal amount to spend on Liberty Bonds. I think the governor is very interested to know, these days, who is supporting the war effort and who is hindering it.”

With that, she marched out of the café. Without a word to me, George stood and followed her. There was a mutter and buzz of conversation as others gathered their things and left as well, some looking worried, others angry. No one was smiling anymore.

As the café emptied, my father stepped out of the kitchen, where he had apparently heard the whole thing. “I don't know, Maggie. I don't like it. When Phoebe Crawford has a
bee in her bonnet, there's sure to be trouble.”

“I'm not going to sit by and let her ruin good people,” Mother said. “And I'm not going to let her scare me.”

“Maybe I should stay for a while. Till things settle down,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Mother said. “You know as well as any of us, you don't have many months up at the mine before the snow flies. And with tourism down this summer, we need the money. Especially if Phoebe Crawford is going to pressure us all into buying those Liberty Bonds.”

So it was settled. The next morning Father left for the mine, and things went back to normal in Como, or so it seemed at first. In the afternoon I went to the post office, hoping for a letter from Frank. While Mrs. Abernathy checked, I watched Mrs. Crawford trying to sell a Liberty Bond to one of the zinc miner's wives, a small woman with a baby on her hip. The woman was trying to explain that she had spent all her spare money for the month on yarn.

“It's the duty of every American,” Mrs. Crawford replied unsympathetically.

Mrs. Abernathy returned to the window and reported there was no letter. Then her eyes fell on Mrs. Crawford and she shook her head. “She's determined to sell those bonds,” she muttered. Then she leaned closer and whispered, “She talked big to Mr. Merino at the Fairplay Mercantile, so it's a matter of pride to her. She can't stand to be showed up.”

I glanced back at the miner's wife and knew I had better
get out before Mrs. Crawford got her hooks into me, or before George came in and found me. It made no sense, but ever since the kiss in the rain, George felt like a shoe on the wrong foot. I knew it was my fault. I hadn't been romantic enough; I had listened too often to Josie and had been thinking the wrong thoughts. I
did
want to be with George—I had dreamed of it for years! I wanted to set things right with him, but I had no idea how.

As I left the store, I saw Mrs. Engel across the street, putting a second hat in her window for the raffle—not as nice as the first, but still a worthy prize. She looked worried.

I set off toward home, only to see George loitering in the street a block ahead of me. A little flutter went through me when I thought he was waiting outside the café for me, but then I realized that he had his clipboard and a money can to collect people's Liberty Bond pledges. Plus, he wasn't looking toward the café, or toward me at all. He was looking toward the platform at the depot.

I followed his gaze. A train to Denver had only just pulled out, and Josie was standing on the platform watching it go. I remembered her National Women's Party friends at the picnic. I guessed she had just seen them off. Her attention on the train, she didn't see George as he approached slyly along the street, looking like a cat stalking a bird. In this case, I hoped he knew she was a very big bird, with a sharp beak and talons.

I had stopped walking, still about a half block away, but I
couldn't leave. The fascination and dread of what was about to happen rooted me to the spot.

Josie turned at last, only to find herself face to face with George. He flashed his most spectacular smile. Josie scowled.

“Good day, Mrs. Gilbert. It's come to my attention that you haven't yet begun your subscription for a Liberty Bond. And we all know how much you support liberty. How much can I put you down for?”

“Not a red cent,” Josie said. “Now leave me alone, boy.” She tried to push past him, but he stepped in front of her.

“Now Mrs. Gilbert, you know it's in your best interest to buy one.”

“And how do you know what's in my best interest?”

“These are dangerous times,” George said. “It wouldn't hurt to own a little protection.”

At that Josie gave him a look that could have scorched the whiskers off the devil himself. “I wouldn't buy a rope from you Crawfords if I was dangling off a cliff,” she said.

His smile disappeared. “Well you just might be, Josie Gilbert. And we Crawfords might just have enough rope to hang you,” he said. He turned as if to go and caught sight of me. At once his smile came back, but I felt no flutter this time.

“What about you, Pearl? You're a true patriot, right? You'll support the war effort.”

“Of course I'm a patriot. But I don't have much money.”

“What about the money you made taking that city boy on tours a few weeks ago? Every little bit helps the fund. Unless
your loyalties lie elsewhere,” George said. He glanced at Josie.

“Of course not,” I said. I reached into my apron pocket, where I carried a little money for making change in the café, and took out a nickel. I couldn't tell George I didn't have the money from taking Frank on tours. If he thought I'd done it for free, he'd think I was sweet on Frank. “Put it toward my mother's subscription, please.”

“I knew my girl would come through,” he said, giving me a bright smile and a peck on the cheek before writing down my contribution on his list. Then, whistling a tune as if nothing unpleasant had happened, he strode off toward his family's store.

“And here I'd hoped you were finally getting a spine,” Josie said when he had left. “He'll keep taking as long as you give, you know.”

“You should contribute too,” I said.

“I prefer to put my money into something I believe in.”

“If you knew what they were saying about you—”

“You think I don't know what they're saying? I've got ears, girl. But I've got a conscience, too, and I do what it tells me.” With that, she stumped off in the opposite direction from George, leaving me feeling ashamed for no good reason at all.

*    *    *

For the next two weeks, the Liberty Bond drive continued everywhere people in town gathered. It seemed like you couldn't step out of your front door without being accosted by George or Mrs. Crawford. George had taken to asking
for contributions on the platform when the noon train came through, always approaching the pretty girls who couldn't resist his charm. Mr. Orenbach didn't like it, but he didn't dare oppose the Crawfords.

The only person in town who resisted them outright was Josie. She hadn't contributed at the picnic, and she hadn't bought so much as a penny's worth of Liberty Bonds. While Mrs. Crawford seemed to have everyone else in town cowed with accusations of un-Americanism and the threat of writing the governor, Josie only became more stubborn and more vocal in her opposition. She wouldn't support a president who didn't support the rights of citizens, and she made sure everyone heard her say it.

While a small part of me admired her courage, a larger part of me wished she would give in and buy a bond, or at least be a little quieter with her opinions. I didn't want her to get into serious trouble, and I didn't want to end up in trouble through association, since she was back to campaigning daily in the café. I still hadn't asked her about the story, either. I couldn't risk a private conversation and the gossip it might start.

More than ever, I was anxious for a letter from Frank. If he could get the truth from Tom Lee, I could put an end to the wager and get Josie and her seditious talk out of the café once and for all. My other clues had produced nothing, and I'd come only to dead ends in my search for whoever had been at Buck Wilson's grave.

I looked nightly at the photo I had received from Mae
Nelson, hoping it held a secret I hadn't seen before—a shadowy lady in the distance or in one of the windows of the dance hall. I even imagined that the blurred schoolmarm in the photo was Silverheels. Perhaps Silverheels had come back to Buckskin Joe, disguised as a humble teacher, just to be near her beloved Buck, and she had avoided being captured in the photo to keep her secret. That seemed too far-fetched even for me to believe. I thought it would have made a fine, tragic ending for a penny dreadful, but I knew it would only make Josie laugh.

Josie did not ask about my search, or say anything at all about Silverheels. As the weeks progressed, she fell into an increasingly foul temper, until her mood could no longer be ignored. One evening she stormed into the full café and slammed the newspaper down on the counter hard enough to slosh coffee cups two seats away.

“What's eating her?” Orv said to his associates at the old-timers' table. Josie spun on him instantly.

“What's eating me? I'll tell you what's eating me! It's living in a country that's willing to send men to die in the name of freedom overseas, but doesn't grant that same freedom at home to its own citizens. That's what's eating me!”

“Now, Josie—” Russell said in a reasonable tone, but she cut him off.

“Don't you patronize me, Russell! I say we impeach Wilson if he doesn't support the principles at home that he claims we defend abroad!”

A gasp went up from several tables.

“Impeach Wilson!” Mrs. Crawford said in horror. Even Mr. Crawford came out from behind his newspaper and gave Josie an angry frown.

“You don't really mean that, Josie,” Russell said.

“You can't impeach the president when there's a war on,” said Harry. “We've got to stand behind him. Stand united to win the war.”

“I will not stand behind a president who arrests his own citizens for fighting for freedom!” Josie shouted.

“I won't have you spreading sedition in front of my child! It's indecent. Cover your ears, George,” Mrs. Crawford said.

George did not cover his ears. On the contrary, he seemed to be taking in the whole spectacle with delight.

Josie glared at the Crawfords, but Russell stepped between them.

“Come on, Josie. I know you have strong feelings, but folks are eating their supper now. Let's sit down, you and I, and we can discuss this between ourselves.”

He took her elbow politely, but she jerked out of his grasp. “I've told you before, Russell, I'll not be silenced by you. If you all won't listen, I'll find those who will.”

She stomped toward the door.

“Good riddance!” Mr. Crawford said. George nodded.

“You forgot your paper,” Orv called after her.

Josie's only response was to slam the door on her way out.

“What's got her on the warpath?” Tom said.

Russell looked at the newspaper. He gave a low whistle and read:

“ ‘Suffragist Alice Paul and six of her so-called National Women's Party have been arrested once again from the picket line before the White House. Officials tell this reporter that there will be no leniency this time. Prosecutors will be asking for the maximum sentence, six months to two years in prison, if convicted.' ” He shook his head. “No wonder she's spittin' nails.”

He set the paper on the counter and I could see the picture—a line of well-dressed ladies standing before a large gate, holding American flags and a banner that read
Mr. President How Long Must Women Wait for Liberty?
I knew there was a war, but this still didn't sit right with me. Wives and mothers to be sent to prison, when all they had done was stand before the White House with signs and flags? For doing what Josie did daily in our café?