Silver Lies (37 page)

Emma froze a moment, her face still. She then shook her head, dipped a spoon into a canister, and sifted a spoonful of flour into the drippings. "Mr. Gallagher wished us a pleasant journey to California. And he apologized."

"Harry
apologized?
" The notion boggled Inez.

"For any distress he might have caused." She added canned milk to the bubbling gravy. "He also wants to buy Joe’s lot downtown. Building and all. I told him to work it out with you and the bank. Ironic, isn’t it. Harry Gallagher ruins our lives, buys what’s left, and finances our new life in California."

"Harry’s buying Joe’s business?" Inez leaned against the kitchen table. Baffled. "Why?"

"Location, I suppose. It’s on Chestnut, after all."

Inez thought of something else. "Too, there’s the assay equipment. I heard he’s hiring a company assayer. Maybe he’ll cart Joe’s furnaces and so on up to Fryer Hill."

Emma stirred the gravy. "He said he’d pay eight thousand dollars. Eight thousand. Is it really worth that much?" She shook her head. "I’ll leave it to you, Inez. I don’t want to think about him or Joe’s business any more."

She filled the gravy boat. "Would you tell Abe and Susan that supper’s ready? Then, you can help me put it on the table."

Inez smoothed her skirt. A bump in her pocket reminded her:
The key
.

"I have a quick question for you first." Inez pulled out the small key. "We found this among Joe’s papers in his office. Does it look familiar?"

Emma’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. She took the key from Inez and examined it briefly. "No. Maybe it opens his desk."

"We tried and it doesn’t. The design and size are unusual. Maybe it belongs to something here at home. A strongbox or—"

The key made a decisive
tick
as Emma slapped it on the kitchen table. "I’ve never seen it before. And unless it’s the key to a fortune, I don’t care. Joe’s gone. Right now, I’m doing what he would have wanted and trying my best to look forward, not back. To make some kind of future for myself, Joey, and…and the baby."

Her mouth began to tremble. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes before tucking a strand of carrot-colored hair behind one ear. "We’ve packed nearly everything in the house. You helped us. Did you see anything that might fit that key? I didn’t. Give it to Mr. Gallagher. It must belong to something in the office, and he’s going to own it all anyway. Let him figure out what it unlocks. Now, please bring the gravy to the table."

She swept out of the kitchen into the small dining area.

Inez looked at the orphan key and swallowed the lump in her throat.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and see something I’ve overlooked.

She slipped it into her pocket as boots rattled up the back steps. Joey burst into the kitchen, eyes shining, cheeks ruddy from cold. "Auntie Inez! Watch!" He set two fingers in his mouth and let loose with a piercing whistle. Emma, who was just entering the kitchen, clapped her hands to her ears. "Not inside!"

"’Scuse me." He didn’t look particularly contrite. "I can whistle! Reverend Sands showed me how!"

Another, heavier set of boots clomped up the stairs, and the reverend walked in, looking pleased. "I heard you all the way to the shed, Joey."

Joey beamed.

Reverend Sands crouched low, his face level with Joey’s. "Now tell your mama. What’s the signal?"

Joey looked up at his mother to be sure she was listening. "Three whistles means help, mama. You blow three times, I’ll come rescue you."

Evening gloves in hand, Inez examined her reflection in the mirror over her bedroom washstand. In the lamplight, the ivory lace bled white, tracing the décolletage of her new evening dress and falling in a straight line down the front of the bodice. Inez stroked the dark green velvet, marveling at its softness and trying to ignore the turmoil in her stomach.

You’d think I was fifteen, preparing for my first dance.

She felt for the strand of pearls wound through her intricately knotted hair and checked that the countless hairpins were all in place.

Inez twisted the two bands, gold and silver, on her ring finger, debating whether to remove them. At the knock on the front door, she hastily pulled on her gloves and quenched the light.

She opened the door to find the reverend in full dress. He stared, then doffed his top hat. "Mrs. Stannert. Words fail me completely."

Inez finished buttoning her gloves and smiled. "Well, this is a first. Thank you, Reverend."

He helped her with her evening cape and escorted her to a waiting buggy.

"You brought a rig." She was pleased she wouldn’t have to navigate through snow and slush on foot.

"Much as I enjoy walking with you, I didn’t want to chance more ruined coats and shoes. Or worse. I intend to deliver you to and from the dance in one piece."

"You sound like Abe." She settled against the cushioned seat, her satin skirt making a satisfying rustle. "When I took the money to the bank Wednesday, he insisted on coming. Said he didn’t want me to mysteriously disappear along the way."

The reverend turned up the collar of his overcoat and shook the reins. The buggy jolted into motion. "That’s one thing that Mr. Jackson and I agree on. No disappearances allowed. Which means I’m your constant companion tonight." He paused, and his tone lightened. "Your dance card is full, Mrs. Stannert. Too bad for the other fellows, lucky for me."

He clucked to the horse, which obediently picked up the pace, turning onto Harrison’s gas-lit street. In front of the Hotel Windsor, a confusion of rigs and enclosed buggies angled for space.

The reverend guided the buggy around the corner. He sat for a moment, scanning the area. Whatever he saw, or didn’t see, seemed to satisfy him. "We shouldn’t have any problems walking this short distance."

"I think you’re making way too much of this." As he eased out of the rig she caught the dull gleam of a gun belt beneath his tail coat. "You came armed to a soiree?"

"As I said, I’m taking no chances." His face softened as he helped her down the steps and they began to walk. "I’m looking forward to a pleasant evening in your company. With no complications. So, you mean to say you don’t have your little Remington tucked in a secret pocket?"

"I left my gun at home."

They ascended the steps to the brick-sided hotel. A wreath of pine boughs framed the heavy oak door while the leaded glass insets twinkled with shifting lights and colors from within. Reverend Sands turned toward her, eyes crinkling at the corners, reflecting her own anticipation. "Ready?"

He released her elbow for a moment to retrieve the engraved invitation from inside his dress-coat. A few tentative snowflakes fell as the reverend opened the door.

The first thing to hit her senses was the unexpected warmth, heavy with the scent of vegetation; the second was the color and light. Flowers of an astonishing variety perched in crystal vases on tables. Fragrant winter garlands twined around the banister of the grand staircase that led to a balcony overlooking the crowded floor below. Potted ferns and small trees, some ten feet high, stood in silver urns along the walls. Their branches held brilliant crepe paper and birdcages with multicolored birds.

These hues couldn’t even begin to compare to the vibrant reds, oranges, and pinks worn by the women who twittered on the arms of their more somber, black-coated escorts. Amid such brilliant plumage Inez felt almost invisible in dark green.

Stepping forward in full evening wear, a stiff collar pinching his long neck, a poker-faced fellow took the reverend’s invitation. "Evenin’ gov’nor, ma’am. Welcome to the Garden of Eden. Not bad for midwinter, eh?" He turned and waved a white gloved hand. "Drinks an’ victuals upstairs. Dancin’ will commence shortly afore everyone partakes o’ too much after-Christmas cheer."

He swayed gently, having apparently partaken already, and added, "Gentlemen are asked t’ leave firearms wi’ th’ overcoats."

After checking overcoats and the reverend’s gun, they headed to the banquet tables on the second floor. Sands gingerly sidestepped the sweeping trains of women engrossed in conversation on the staircase. Down on the dance floor, the string quartet enthusiastically mangled Vivaldi.

Upstairs, the scent of food overwhelmed the flowery perfumes. An army of tables offered chickens with oyster dressing, sugar-cured hams with champagne sauce, and venison with red currant jelly at one end, then marched through all the various courses to halt at mince pies, marble cakes, cream kisses, and chocolate macaroons at the other.

They found a vacant table near the balustrade. As they ate, Inez remarked on Leadville’s illustrious citizenry on the floor below. "Jed Elliston’s with Angel. That fellow with the bristling mustache to the left of Harry Gallagher is Horace Tabor, the richest man in Leadville. Jerome Chaffee and David Moffat are to Harry’s right. They’re major stockholders in the Little Pittsburg Consolidated. Probably all discussing silver prices." A shock of color caught her attention. "Well, well. There’s Mrs. DuBois."

Cat, looking like a flame in red and gold silk, glided up to the knot of men and linked her arm through Harry’s. The men seemed to fade to shadows as she gleamed.

The quartet finished butchering Mozart and began a rousing waltz.

Reverend Sands stood and bowed. "May I have the first dance, Mrs. Stannert? As well as all the rest?"

Inez smiled back and stood. She held her skirts close as they descended the stairs along with other couples bent on the same destination. On the dance floor at last, Reverend Sands pulled her to him with a flourish. As their bodies made contact, a jolt passed through her as if his very proximity was electric. Inez knew from the sudden widening of his eyes that Reverend Sands felt it too. Without a word, he eased his grip on her waist to allow a measure of space between them.

Several quadrilles, lancers, and schottisches later, the musicians announced their intention to break for liquid refreshment.

"Sounds like a good idea." Reverend Sands led her to a chair nestled between two silver potted palms, which met in a kiss overhead. "I’ll find you some of that French champagne." He leaned forward and said in a voice as intimate as a touch, "Don’t disappear."

"And miss dancing more with you?" She smiled.

She watched him wind his way to the bar, greeting others on the way.

Fanning herself lightly, Inez twisted in her chair to gaze out the window behind her. In spite of the brilliant lights within, she could still make out a nearly full moon. At the front of the room, the violins settled into the smooth lilt of another waltz.

"Mrs. Stannert. May I have this dance." It was not a request but a command.

Inez shifted about and eyed Harry Gallagher’s outstretched hand. "This dance is taken, Mr. Gallagher."