Before the Dawn

by Beverly Jenkins

  “I think, I wish I had his money,” Sam answered.

  Ryder allowed himself a sarcastic smile and determinedly put his father’s widow out of his mind. “Let’s get our bags aboard and find something to eat. We have an hour until the train pulls out.”

  Leah walked over to the visibly shaken Cecil leaning against the car. “Are you all right?”

  While Leah looked on with concern, he remained silent for a few moments longer, as if lost in thought. When he finally met her eyes, he quoted grimly, “And so it begins.”

  Leah, still in a state of shock herself, asked, “What did he mean by murder charges? That isn’t true, is it?”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  “Cecil?”

  He reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Louis never murdered anyone.”

  “Then why did he say that?”

  “Because at the time some folks in Denver believed he had.”

  He surveyed the surprise on her face, then slowly, seemingly wearily, got to his feet. “Come, let’s go eat, and I’ll explain.”

  Leah wanted an explanation now, but held on to her questions—the biggest one being: What had she gotten herself into?

  There wasn’t a place near the station that would allow Blacks to enter and eat inside. However, one café did let them order at the back door and take their luncheon with them. Leah knew being angry about the discriminatory treatment meant nothing to anyone who was not of the race, so she offered a brittle smile of thank-you to the woman cashier.

  The grassy field behind the small eating establishment held a few weathered benches upon which they could sit, and it was a beautiful day, so Leah sat down with Cecil. A few other Black passengers had sought refuge here, too, and were eating and talking in pairs and small family groups. Leah unwrapped the brown paper from her ham sandwich. The first bite confirmed the staleness of the bread, but there didn’t appear to be any mold, and the meat tasted fresh. The lemonade they’d purchased held only the faintest hint of lemon, but it was cold and did a fine job of washing down the dry lunch.

  “So, start from the beginning,” she prompted Cecil.

  Cecil looked up a bit wounded. “Don’t I even get to eat?”

  “No.”

  He gave her an indulgent smile and shook his head. “You know, you’re getting more like your mother every day.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cecil knew Leah well enough to know she wasn’t being deliberately disrespectful; she just wanted an explanation, an explanation Leah thought she rightly deserved in light of the startling encounter with Monty’s younger son.

  In the end, Cecil took a couple of bites from his sandwich, washed them down with some lemonade, then said, “Okay, but I have to start at the very beginning, or you may not understand how Louis turned into the man folks in Colorado called Satan Montague.”

  Leah still found that name hard to fathom but nodded for him to go ahead.

  Cecil’s tale began with Monty’s childhood as the eldest son of Emile Montague, a French Louisiana planter and his blue-eyed octoroon mistress, a slave named Faith. Like many of the sons of such unions, Monty was sent to France for schooling in order to circumvent the segregation in the South. When his father died, Monty was manumitted, but the estate went to his two legitimate sons.

  “He got nothing?” Leah asked.

  “Nothing. Louis said he was mentioned in the will only once.”

  “In what way?”

  “To my son, Louis Montague, I leave my best wishes and the hope that the education he has been provided will be enough.”

  “And that was it?”

  Cecil nodded.

  “Was he bitter about not inheriting?”

  “Very much so. His mother had led him to believe he would be treated like the legitimate sons, but he wasn’t.”

  “So what did he do?”

  “Went west in the late forties and staked out a claim in the California gold fields. He was determined to make himself more wealthy than his père had ever been. It took him only two years.” Leah’s surprise must have shown on her face because he added, “There are legends about men who can sense gold. Louis turned out to be one of those legends. He could look at a stream and tell if there was gold in the sediment just by the face of the rocks around it. Most amazing gift I’d ever seen.”

  “Where’d you two meet?”

  “In those same gold fields. Personally, I couldn’t find gold if you led me to a lode,” he added, chuckling, “but I could do numbers, so I kept records for the men who couldn’t read or write. Louis and I became good friends, and when he left California I tagged along.” Cecil paused for a moment, then said, “I was born dirt poor in Louisiana. I’d heard about the fancy, educated Creole men of New Orleans, but had never met one until Louis. He could speak French, Italian, Latin. He was the smartest man I’d ever met. I suppose I was flattered that he even tolerated my presence.”

  “Where’d you two go after California?”

  “Headed east to Colorado, where he bought timber, land, and controlling interests in a number of mines. After that, he built the fanciest house around, then sent off to Louisiana for an even fancier Creole wife.”

  Leah looked on in disbelief. “Please don’t tell me he was still married to her while he and my mother were together?”

  “No. Bernice died about a year and a half after their son, Seth, was born. Many believed Monty killed her, although it was never proven.”

  “What?”

  He nodded sadly.

  Leah had to know. “Now, I heard you say he wasn’t a murderer, but is that the truth?”

  “Yes, it is. Louis was capable of many things in those days…” His voice trailed off as if he were remembering the past. “…Many things, but murdering his wife, no. When she became truly ill, the doctors he brought in from Denver thought she might’ve been poisoned, but they had no real way of knowing. She died a long, painful death.”

  “But why blame Monty?”

  “Because everyone in town knew the arranged marriage wasn’t a happy one. Bernice hated the mountains and everything connected with them, and voiced her displeasure as publicly and as often as she could.”

  “My goodness. How did Monty react?”

  “Badly. He began spending less and less time at home and more and more time acquiring profit. Maybe he used it as a substitute for the love Bernice refused to show him, I don’t know, but I do know he drove his mine and timber workers like mules. He was as rich as Midas in those days.”

  Leah, more accustomed to the menial jobs and wages of the folks she knew at home, found Monty’s wealth hard to believe. “But how could a member of the race accumulate such wealth?”

  “By not declaring himself a member of the race. To the bankers and men he did business with, Louis Montage was a blue-eyed Frenchman from Louisiana, and I, his dark-skinned valet. If they suspected his true ancestry, it was never discussed within Louis’s hearing. They didn’t even seem to mind him opening up some of his land to Black homesteaders as long as his business deals continued to line their pockets with gold dust.”

  Leah was admittedly confused. How could a man some thought guilty of poisoning his wife be the same one who’d taught her to ice-skate and make crepes? “This is all very confusing, Cecil.”

  “I know.”

  “What happened to the baby, Seth, after his mother died? Did Monty raise him?”

  Cecil shook his graying head grimly. “No. Louis gave his son’s care over to his wife’s sister, Helene. She’d initially accompanied Bernice from Louisiana to Colorado for the marriage and stayed on. Monty saw very little of Seth after that.”

  That saddened Leah, and she thought back upon the regrets Monty had confessed about his sons the night before he died. Now, it’s too late.

  “What about this Ryder? When was he born?”

  “About two years after Bernice’s death.”

  “He looks mulatto.”

  “He is. His mother wa
s part-Black, part-Cheyenne.”

  He paused for a moment to ask, “Do you know the biblical story of King David, and how he was able to claim Bathsheba as his own?”

  Leah remembered the story from her Sunday school lessons. “Yes, David deliberately sent Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, into battle, knowing he would be killed.”

  “Well, Ryder’s mother was Louis’s housekeeper. Back then, Louis had the arrogance and power to have anything he coveted, and he coveted her. Her husband worked in one of his mines. Louis sent him into a shaft everyone knew to be unsafe, and, just like David, the rival was eliminated. Louis never married her though.”

  Leah’s whole body went cold. She recalled Monty’s other words: “I’ve cast so much evil in the world, Satan probably has a pit just for me.” An eerie chill crawled across her skin, and she rubbed at her arms, encased in the sleeves of her blue-wool dress. Somebody walking over your grave, her mother would have said in response to the feeling. Leah dearly hoped not. “So what happened to her?”

  “She became his mistress, and then one night, a year or so after Ryder was born, she was found dead at the bottom of that same shaft.”

  Leah slowly brought her hands to her mouth.

  Cecil’s eyes were emotionless. “There was an inquest. Witnesses placed Louis at the scene and testified that the two were having an argument that night. Louis never denied that. He did deny killing her. When the sheriff couldn’t produce a witness to the actual act the charges were dropped. Talk was he’d bribed his way out of them.”

  Leah felt overwhelmed. “Are we speaking of the same Louis Montague we just buried?”

  “We are.”

  Cecil added seriously, “As he freely admitted, he was someone else in those days, Leah.”

  Their eyes met, and the cold truth staring back at Leah sent another chill across her soul. “But he loved my mother.”

  “Passionately, desperately. She was the only thing life ever denied him. Although she loved him in her own way, she wouldn’t marry him. Louis knew women all over the world, but he’d never met one quite like your mother.”

  So many conflicting emotions and questions filled Leah’s head, she had no idea what to think or say. Finally, she asked, “What kind of reception will our arrival in Colorado fetch then?”

  “If there are people still living there who were there when this all took place, not a good one I’m afraid. We left behind a lot of bitterness and much ill will.”

  She stared off into the distance for a moment as she tried to digest all she’d heard.

  He continued in a soft voice. “We were responsible for many many terrible things, he and I: cheating our workers, evicting destitute families even though we knew they had no place else to go. We cut corners on safety and cost men their lives. Profit ruled our existence. Timber, livestock, gold, silver, copper. If it made money, Louis wanted it, and I helped him get it in any and every way I could.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I relished the power I wielded in his name. Like Louis, I also have much to atone for when it comes time to meet St. Peter.”

  Leah paused to watch Ryder Damien and Sam entering the glade. Cecil did the same. Ryder, with his long unfettered hair and sweeping coat, walked as if he owned the earth. She had to admit he was glorious-looking.

  “That’s a very angry man,” Cecil offered quietly.

  “If he’s convinced his father killed his mother, I’d say he has good reason to be.”

  A tight-lipped Cecil nodded agreement.

  The two men took seats on a bench a few yards away. As if sensing Leah’s interest, Ryder glanced her way. Their gazes locked and held for a long moment. He then he turned his attention back to his sandwich and whatever Sam was saying.

  Sam looked across the yard to where Leah Montague and Cecil Lee were sitting and asked his silent companion, “You see her over there?”

  Ryder didn’t have to ask who he was referring to. “I do.”

  “Mighty fine-looking woman.”

  The chewing Ryder didn’t respond.

  “Your brother’s going to be after her like a puma on a hare.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “You’re going to let him?” Sam asked.

  “Nope.”

  Sam stared at Ryder as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. “She isn’t going to give you the time of day after the way you just blasted her.”

  “Sure she will. Adventuress like her will do whatever’s necessary to keep herself in new gowns. Shouldn’t be too hard to get her attention.”

  “Suppose you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not,” Ryder replied confidently, watching her covertly. The fashionable chignon left her beautiful dark face unencumbered. In the prim, high-necked, dark blue dress, she looked like a spinster schoolmarm instead of an old man’s bauble.

  Sam added wisely, “Seth’s going to bust a gut if you two stake the same claim.”

  “That’s why I’m going to do it.”

  “You sure this isn’t about something else?”

  Ryder looked Sam in the eye. “What else would it be?”

  “She was married to your father. You can’t put horns on a dead man, son.”

  “But I can put horns on my brother’s ambitions. Louis has nothing to do with this.”

  “Long as you’re sure,” Sam commented.

  “I’m sure, old man. I’m counting coup, nothing more.”

  “Well, she’ll be a damn pretty addition to the Colorado countryside, whatever happens.”

  Ryder grudgingly agreed. In his grandfather’s day, such midnight beauty would have commanded a bridal tribute of a thousand ponies. Her dark eyes had a feline slant, and the full mouth looked as lush as a field of blossoming columbines, but Ryder kept his full opinion to himself; she’d been married to Louis Montague.

  Sam asked, “How long do you think she’s going to stay in Colorado?”

  Ryder pulled his eyes away from her. “Probably no longer than it’ll take to read the will and get her hands on the estate.”

  Sam’s voice held a hint of disappointment. “Too bad. Woman like that makes a man want to spend a lifetime waking up at her side.”

  Ryder shook his head at his old friend’s musings. “You ought to be saving those pretty words for the widows waiting for you back home. And if you’re not going to finish that last sandwich, hand it here. There’s no telling when we’ll get to eat again.”

  To Ryder’s surprise, Sam handed him the sandwich without a fuss. Sam surprised him further by suddenly rising to his feet, and announcing, “I’m going over there.”

  A confused Ryder looked to the Montague widow and then back to his old friend. “Why?”

  “Just want to talk with her a minute.”

  “Sam! Come back here! Sam!”

  But Sam was already headed across the glade. Ryder cursed silently.

  When Leah saw Sam Waters heading in their direction, she asked Cecil, “What do you suppose he wants?” She wasn’t in the mood for more insults, or any truths for that matter; she’d had enough drama for one day.

  Cecil shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Was he living in Denver when you and Monty were there?”

  “Nope. First time I ever met him was today.”

  As Sam walked up and stopped before them, Leah nodded a greeting. In response, he politely removed his hat, then said, “Don’t mean to bother you, Mrs. Montague, but I just came to say if you need any help while you’re in Denver, let me know.”

  The offer seemed genuine, as did his smile, but Leah felt compelled to say, “I don’t think your friend would like that, but thank you.”

  Sam waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not worried about him. All that different blood gets to fighting inside him sometimes and well—” He shrugged, as if that were explanation enough.

  Leah didn’t understand at all, but replied, “I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to be the cause of a rift. Cecil and I are only going to be in Denver a short while.�
��

  “Well, the offer stands.”

  Cecil had a question. “Sam, how long have you known Ryder?”

  “Ten, fifteen years.”

  “You two good friends?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “Then do you know if it’s true what he said about his father not leaving him anything?”

  “Ryder wasn’t left anything, far as I know.”

  Puzzled, Cecil shook his head. “Louis left them both the Faith Mine. I wonder what happened?”

  Sam shrugged. “Can’t help you on that one.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, but like I said, call on me if you need help with anything else.”

  He tipped his hat to Leah. “Being seeing you, Mrs. Montague.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Waters.”

  He smiled, then left them to finish their lunch.

  Chapter 2

  The conductor gave Leah and Cecil a knowing smirk as they passed him on their way back to the car, but they ignored him. Moments later, the train sounded its whistle, shrilly announcing its imminent departure from the Chicago station.

  Leah, now comfortable in the window seat, watched late-arriving passengers hurrying to board. Ryder Damien and Sam Waters were among them. Leah sighed. She knew they were on their way to Colorado, too, but had no idea they’d be on this particular train. Although she did like Mr. Waters, she planned on avoiding them. One encounter with the acrid Ryder Damien had been enough.

  Cecil’s tale had certainly given her plenty to ponder, the least being the dual sides of Louis Montague. If what Cecil said were true, she understood the bitter feelings Monty had evoked. Evicting families and cutting corners on safety in the name of profit were not the actions of a benevolent man. Had she known him at that time, would she have called him Satan, too? Probably. The Monty of thirty years ago bore no resemblance to the one she’d known and loved.

  As the train picked up speed and the open green landscape began to stream by, her mind replayed her introduction to Ryder Damien. What a handsome man. His compelling eyes could charm a woman out of everything she held dear, but mention of the Montague name had turned him to stone. As she’d told Cecil earlier, if he truly believed the rumors surrounding the death of his mother, his bitter reactions seemed well-founded. Would the other son, Seth, be as angry? Leah could only assume the worst. Monty had made a mess of things, and she had a strong feeling this might only be the tip of iceberg.