Ghosts in the Gulch: An Evergreen Cemetery Mystery (Evergreen Cemetery Mysteries Book 1)

by S. L. Hawke

  “Ah yes, Melinda, well, old chap— this is my new wife, Caroline.” Liam took his wife’s gloved hand and I nodded, cheeks flaming with embarrassment as if Miles (or Melinda as was her proper name) and I had just been caught in our compromising positions. But Caroline smiled both innocently and sweetly.

  “Alas, Melinda is teaching school. She teaches women of ill repute how to have new lives. It’s most Christian. I sometimes wonder if she will take the veil of the Sisters of Charity.”

  “Well, Aunt Melinda has a big heart,” Andrew said coming up from behind me. He was greeted with too many kisses from Caroline. Liam began to cough again. He then popped something in his mouth. I put a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s all right old chap. Come on inside. Edward has a lot to say.”

  Dinner was oysters, crab, large shrimp the size of eastern lobsters, and scallops, tiny and tasting of fruit. There were several wines, I was told, made in a valley north of here. Bread was soft with a chewy crust and slightly sour, a taste I found most enjoyable. And then strawberries, apples, peaches, and of course, rice, made well. Everything on the straining table was fresh and delectable, especially the strawberries that seemed coated with a dark sweet and savory sauce similar to a French wine, but without the alcohol.

  Dorcas and Sweeney had arrived separately, Dorcas looking at ease in her deep maroon silk gown and a gold nugget necklace that defied all images of frugality. Sweeney looked uncomfortable among the party, although he did eat enough for all of us.

  Edward was still unmarried. He was thin, like his brother, but tensile and healthy. He was running the legal business and over cigars and brandy, I learned he had acquired a thriving gold mine by playing cards. Such was the nature of his north state “investments.”

  In the corner while he was re-pouring his brandy (and mine), he whispered: “Miles is quite the man, wouldn’t you say?” He gave me a brotherly pat, but I did not feel happy about such news. I tried to remember that Miles had told me she was not interested in me, per se, but my gut turned at the thought of her legs parting for my cousin as well. The shame of the thought, that I would think so low of her, caused me to finish my brandy. “Did you know she was once a concubine to a Japanese Royal?” Edward added with a whisper, then walked away, leaving me more than shell shocked.

  “Well, let’s get down to it, shall we?” Sweeney said as he put down his brandy and lit his cigar.

  “Anndrah is proving he can hold his own?” Edward asked Sweeney. “Cynthia our cousin has told us Rufus Ingram made a stop at a brothel. Seems the man has a penchant for Sade et Masochisime as they call it in France.”

  “How—” I started to object, as I was horrified that my sister, God fearing, church attending Cynthia would even go near brothels or know the movements of any man who did. Edward held up his hand.

  “Relax, cousin. Cynthia tends to the women who become pregnant by customers and she helps place their unwanted children with families who want them.”

  This news startled me. Cynthia was always strong willed, but I had not imagined that she would be so involved with the Marshals and be their sole contact for information. What was that willy nilly, spineless husband of hers up to? The idea that my sister placed herself in danger made me feel anger at what I had done, running away, forcing my family to do things that sank them lower than they could ever imagine. When I put down my brandy hoping the strength of it would cover this pain and anguish, I saw Art watching me.

  “A.J., you have to understand, a lot has changed. Your sister is integral to all of our plans. Dorcas and she are true friends. Cynthia is a driven woman and gets things done.”

  “Looks like the family underground railroad experience is helpin’ all of us,” Andrew added.

  Underground railroad. I did most of that. But she and Pa always were close. Once she had met us, not Pah, at the ‘station’, during one of his heart illnesses. I should have known.

  Both pride and anger filled me. My sisters were truly a force to be reckoned with. My father’s voice reminded me of why.

  “Don’t ever cross your mum or your sisters, Anndrah. The Sloan women are a lot smarter than the two of us put together.”

  “But Pah—we’re the men of the house. They have to do what we say,” I peeped.

  “Well then, but they don’t tell us none. Not till they need us to do what they want. And boy, I don’t mind. A strong woman is what builds a family. We men are here to bring in what we may, but have ya not noticed that although I may bring in a cow or two, or a bushel of apples, it’s your Mah and your sisters that make—”

  “Meat pie for the belly, apple pie for the soul,” we said together as he tussled my dark red mop. “And that’s why you should always take a woman smarter than you boy. For she’ll love ya for your stomach and teach ya how to build a soul.”

  “Well, I see it’s time for us to bring our new member up to date.” Sweeney made a filling gesture at his empty glass to Edward.

  “I think I’d best do that, being a family member and all…” Edward interjected, and stood in the middle of our gentlemen’s gathering as if he were about to announce a party amusement. He generously refilled Sweeney’s glass with premium old country whisky. “Dear cousin, we thought all was well until Elijah, poor sot, got himself killed after seeing a young southern lady about buying her necklace.“

  “Well at least he didn’t get a bullet between the eyes and a slave brand that says ‘traitor’ in Latin on his backside. Still, who is to say they didn’t do it?” Andrew said with some sarcasm. I started at the remark. He appeared to know something.

  In a briefing before I came here tonight, one of the periodicals I was reading stated that certain Confederate hunters used that technique to send a message to abolitionists. But was he helping or diverting the Southern cause? My memory of Elijah was not a good one. He was a hot head, and made bad decisions for my sister’s future. What had Elizabeth seen in him? Why was he buying a necklace from a Southern sympathizer?

  “Well consumption is the cover story in all that mess,” Arthur added.

  “Elijah never was a bright kid,” I spoke, but not with confidence. “So how did Cynthia get involved with prostitutes?”

  “Jonathan saved one of our Marshals during a bank robbery up near the Sacramento. He didn’t want to carry a star, since his wife was on her way, and he had already invested some capital into a business, but he saw we had a communication problem.” Arthur took a deep swig of his brandy.

  “That still doesn’t explain Cynthia.”

  “She had some training as a nurse. Helped the Marshal recover but they kept him in the only location no one thought to look.”

  “The brothel?” I was incredulous. That would have been the first place to look in any mining establishment.

  “Cynthia had the presence of mind to hide our young man in plain sight. She also made sure that the brothel received due compensation for hiding him…” Sweeney let the silence have its impact then continued, “motivating, I might add, their cooperation in future operations of a law enforcement nature.”

  “That doesn’t explain much, Art,” I said none too kindly.

  “Now Anndrah, think about it. Cynthia came with some former slaves. They set about building a store. While they were building the store, they also made sure the local community could rely on them to safeguard their secrets.” Edward was gesturing with his hand to try and get me to understand how all of this could turn my sister into a conspiracist.

  “A.J., when Dorcas and I arrived in town, your sister knew all the ins and outs of San Francisco’s underbelly simply by extending Christian charity to the downtrodden. Those ‘downtrodden’ turned out to be servants and employees of some of the wealthiest nonwhite and non-American people in the State.” Art tried to look patient as I put the facts together despite the image of my bonnet-wearing, Bible-carrying, scolding sister who could flip an egg without breaking a yolk and make a toast lighter than air. “That’s how she met Dorcas,” Sweeney s
aid with finality.

  “Mom was visiting the brothel under the guise of a seamstress. She was trying to find her sisters. Cynthia helped locate Aunt Melinda and Aunt Caroline. She found for Dad the building that holds the ‘Belly of the Whale’, ” Andrew added. “Mom and your sister worked on getting Aunt Melinda well. Aunt Melinda let herself be used to pay for Aunt Caroline’s boarding school.” Andrew watched me. Miles’ story began to make sense. It made me angry at her circumstances, at the men who hurt her. “Both of them work to help abandoned women, slaves, and Asians.” Andrew said with finality.

  “–teaching them how to protect themselves, physically and financially, from some of the men who thought to control them,” Liam contributed. He had stopped coughing but seemed to be in a stupor only opium could bring. His poor wife. She would be widowed before any form of married life cemented them. Edward was watching me. Well, maybe all was not lost for Caroline. Miles surely would see to that as she had always done. Now I saw why Hiru could not stay with my cousins. There was difficulty to come for Caroline, Miles, and Edward. I wished deeply that I could stay.

  “You mean she replaced the pimp with a madam,” I commented. Edward rubbed my shoulder as I sat down in my chair. Sarcasm seemed the only thing I could contribute to this whole story. “The next thing you’ll tell me is that Sophie runs an underground gunpowder supply house.”

  The moment of silence stunned me. Pah was right. The Sloan women were a force of change for California.

  “Cynthia was always the smarter one of us boys.” Edward lifted his glass to change the subject. To my relief and pride, the men in the room joined him.

  “Better than some of us?” Liam added. “Com’on old chap, she’s always won at hoops.” Liam gave me a weak brotherly punch in the arm. “Besides, Jonathan her husband is no slacker.”

  “Yes, and that reminds me. A.J.–you aren’t taking a steamer down. Your first order of business is to investigate the New Almaden mine. That order comes directly from the President.” To make his point Arthur pulled out a cable from his boss, Charles Rand.

  “Is it a gold mine?”

  “Cinnabar,” Edward added, taking a deep draught of his brandy. Cinnabar, the mineral that gave us mercury, which leached gold out of dirt making large scale mining for the precious metal faster and easier. Men died, though, from the poisonous exposure to it, but they didn’t care. Gold fever spared no one.

  “So why the interest?” I asked, swirling my brandy but not interested in drinking. I wasn’t much for spirits in general, except rice wine, known as sake in Japan, and of course red wine, preferably from France. I was still marveling over the quality of the wines at our table, especially those from a region called Napa. Another Mexican war survivor, Captain John Ray, was the vintner. When this was all over, perhaps distilling wines was the calling I could keep.

  “The President noticed that the mine might be a possible place of Confederate activity. We’d like you and your old War buddy, who just happens to be Sheriff in that county, to check out what is really going on,” Sweeney drawled.

  “Lots of money flowing out and getting lost,” Andrew commented. “Tom Poole was recently sighted there as well,” he added. “I hear the Californios frequent the area and just recently folks were murdered on the main route through the town of Lexington. Well Fargo Stage Lines transports cash and mail from Santa Cruz to Nevada once every two weeks. They’ve asked us to beef up our presence there.”

  “You call one Marshal who can’t show his badge a show?” Now I took a swig of my brandy. The fruit was heavy in it, and the heat welcome.

  “No, the Chief Marshal himself will be at a dinner nearby. You two will be the footmen.” Sweeney took out his watch and looked at it, avoiding his son’s delighted but slightly scared face. “What you do on your off time, well, hopefully will be informative.” Andrew could not get the grin off of his face. “Looks like you will go alongside the Cavalry on this one. Rand will meet you there. After that’s all said and done, you can just slip on off to Santa Cruz whenever you please.”

  The room was getting warm despite the fog outside. My bullet wound was telling me that it might rain. A long trek on a wet road was not what I was looking forward to. I thought again about Hiru. He couldn’t go with me. That much was clear. I couldn’t send him by himself to a place that most likely would be unsafe and unfriendly to him despite my large family presence. Andrew was talking excitedly to Edward about some of the weapons he might include in his saddlebag. But Arthur was watching me with some trepidation.

  Now I knew what Dorcas had wished to talk to me about. This job had no place for my son and she and Arthur were about to lose their only one. They would care for Hiru while I, in whatever manner I could, would guarantee their son Andrew’s safety.

  6

  Sweeney and I spent the day outlining procedure, marshal protocols, and comparing Asian and American war ideas. This had a familiar feel to it, the wearing of the star, like stepping into a comfortable pair of shoes.

  “Just follow your gut, A.J. You’ve got good sense. That will guide you through. I’m not worried about you out there.” We shook on this, but the gaze Sweeney gave me was one of responsibility and trust. I could only think of losing myself within the embrace of a “lesson” from Professor Miles Lane.

  Miles sent me to the main classroom for our second series of lessons. Disappointment was the keenest of the emotions in me. Our time together was coming to an end.

  Six Marshals were there, three of whom had been part of my escort when I had first arrived in San Francisco. We all looked at one another in bewilderment, and the irritation I felt made me ready to break the desk I was trying to sidle into. Miles had spent time with all these men. In ways that I tried hard not to think about. Then I felt guilty. Tomiko’s memory was distant. Even now I had trouble recalling her face. Miles’ soft swollen lips and delicate pink nipples were all I could imagine. The Marshal next to me let out a resounding fart.

  “Shit, Pete. Do that outside,” another Marshal complained next to me. Pete answered with another fart that shook the floor. I had a hard time keeping a straight face. Two of the younger Marshals behind me were laughing and coughing and adding to the general stench and smell with their own symphonic vibrations. Then the door opened and the tallest, largest man I have ever seen entered the room wearing a long coat, clean collar, huge peony on his lapel, and two silver guns. His mustache joined his sideburns but his head was as shiny as a polished table.

  Everyone went silent and looked down at the floor, except for me, who simply stared, astonished at his overall size. No desk would hold him, so he took a chair and sat against the wall.

  Miles entered the room.

  We stood, in unison, at attention, like a well-trained garrison. Miles wore her mustache, and her suit. I felt confused by this appearance and then realized perhaps she did not part her cleft for anyone else here, except me. The thought cheered me greatly. The rest of the men looked at Miles with respect, some disgust, as I had initially, as well as annoyance. The big gentleman looked at the floor.

  “Marshals,” Miles said as she put her books on the teachers’ podium.

  “Sir,” we all answered. Miles gestured for us to sit. We did.

  “Marshal Kincaid. Please set up the lamp.”

  Marshal Kincaid went over to the lantern. We were about to be treated to a magic lantern show. I tried not to show my excitement, but I wondered how appropriate this type of display would be in a classroom.

  Miles came forward and looked at all of us.

  “The first Marshal to make inappropriate remarks of any kind will be immediately removed from the Service. Any and all comments about the subject matter I am about to introduce to you will be contained. If you have questions, you will raise your hand. If I find your questions to be offensive in any way, you will be REMOVED FROM DUTY. IS THIS CLEAR?” There was a silence as we digested her remarks. “IS THIS CLEAR, MARSHALS?” Her voice was not high, shrill, or angry. It was p
owerful, the kind of kiiai that Master Aimen said could control an opponent.

  “Yes, Professor Lane!” I said in my best trained answering voice, waiting for the others to join me. It was as if we, Miles and I, were shaking a tree free of apples.

  “Yes, sir!” the remainder of the class answered. The fear in the room was thick. The big Marshal still looked at the floor. I noticed he held a notebook in his huge hands and a pencil. He proceeded to open his notebook and take his pencil, and began to write, carefully, like my son did with English.

  “The first slide, Marshal Kincaid.”

  The first picture illuminated the wall in front of us. A few of the Marshals gasped, then silenced themselves. I simply could not stop staring, in horror, at the image in front of me.

  “How many of you have experienced this? You may not have seen your attacker, or you may have been a young boy at the time.” The room was hot. “This is no different an attack than, say, this picture.” The image changed but for many of us, this image would have been considered erotic. “Very good, gentlemen. I’m glad none of you are out on the street. Now, let’s look at a loving behavior…”

  The first picture had shown sodomy. A man taking a man. The second picture was of a man taking a woman. The next picture was incomprehensible to me, women hurting a single woman by a means I could not look at, as well as men ganging up on men. I looked away and saw many of my classmates either unable to, or in one case, trembling. Miles continued with her assault on our senses, showing men kissing men and men kissing women. Women kissing women. Then the images stopped. I looked down at my desk. I was shaking at it, not understanding why I felt the way I did.

  “Not very erotic.” Miles walked across the images. “That’s good. That means there is hope for you. Why am I showing you these things?” No one dared answer. We feared losing our jobs mostly. The big man held up his hand.

  “Marshal Mosley.”

  “There is loving sex and there is violence that is sexual.”