Brophy was cordial to the other miners, he followed directions, he put in a full day’s work, he watched and learned. He was careful to observe the number of men who worked there and their comings and goings. By the third day, a Mr. Flynn, another Irishman, showed him how to use the spiral drill bit which one cranked using a u-shaped handle. Brophy made a mental note of remembering where the blasting caps were stored. His time at the Five Nuggets Mine was going according to plan and would soon be ending.
Jade was hot and wet when he thrust into her. He soon flipped her on top of him and held her thighs as she rode him. Jade leaned over him, her long hair tickling his shoulders, her generous breasts caressing his face. He sucked at her nipples as he slammed into her, each upward thrust more intense than the last. He exploded inside her, flooding her with his warm seed. He was still inside her, stiff as a pike, she could feel him pulse, when there was an unexpected knocking at the door. A man’s voice called out his name. “Brophy,” the person said.
Jade climbed off him. She stepped behind the screen to the chipped wash basin and refreshed herself. Brophy answered the knock. A well-dressed man stood there. He had brown curly hair and a thin mustache and spoke with an English accent.
“Is it done?” he asked cryptically.
“Yes,” was Brophy’s brief reply. “Tomorrow.”
“Excellent. I am to Denver,” said the stranger, “and will await the news.”
He handed Brophy a wad of bills, then turned and left. Jade observed from behind the screen as Brophy put the money in his coat pocket. It was a great deal of money. He returned to the bed and Jade joined him. Maybe she could earn a little extra tonight.
“My cock is still in need of your attention,” he said.
“I must do a better job for you then,” said Jade.
He relaxed against the pillows and spread his legs, his thick erection jutting upward. She kneeled on the bed between his thighs, bent her head over his engorged penis and set to work with renewed optimism.
Later, he lay on the bed, spent, sated and blissfully relaxed. His mind wandered as he recalled the events of the past week. He had done his job, he thought with smug satisfaction. It was only a matter of time. He turned to the woman, Jade, and fondled her breasts. He would have her again before the night was through.
“That man who was here before,” she said innocently, “was he from the mine?”
Brophy’s reaction was swift and brutal. He came over her, pinning her legs between his muscled thighs, his penis hard against her belly. He could not have this stupid woman blabbing about what she had seen.
“What man?” he bellowed, giving her face a hard slap. She cringed and cried out, covered her face with her arms and hands. He lifted her arms over her head and held them there with one strong hand. “What man?” he repeated, slapping her hard again.
The blows to her face were forceful, there would be bruising, swelling, maybe a broken tooth, or worse. She tasted blood in her mouth. She was terrified and didn’t want any more. “No man, I saw no man,” Jade pleaded desperately, writhing to get him off her. “Let me go, please,” she begged. “I’m sorry. I saw no man.” He let her up and she fled the room like the devil was at her heels.
It was the next afternoon when Madam Delilah drove her buggy through Pine Creek at a furious pace, then straight up the hill to the office of the Five Nuggets Mine, her horse kicking the loose gravel and creating dust clouds along the way. Her appearance in the camp drew everyone’s immediate attention. If some of the men did not already know who she was, her crimson gown conveyed the clear message. Delilah glided up the wooden steps, her back ramrod straight, and opened the office door without knocking. Jack looked up from the account ledger and knew he was in for trouble. The fiery sparks darting from her blue eyes could have ignited the papers on his desk at ten paces.
“What kind of jackals, no, let me begin again, what sort of human hyenas do you employ at your mine, Mr. Simmons?” she asked with an intensity that put him on his guard. Among his men there might be a few who were guilty of some misdemeanors, but this sounded serious.
“Calm down Delilah,” he said, offering her a chair. “Please sit down and tell me what this is about.”
“I’ll tell you what it’s about. One of your men took his fists to one of my girls last night. She was so frightened we spent most of today trying to get answers from her. Her face is bruised, her lower lip is horribly split and the bruises around her eyes have swollen the lids shut. I will not stand for it. As Colorado is still a Territory, I will involve the Federal Marshal if I have to.”
Jack looked stunned and he was also bewildered. On one point he knew she was bluffing, the Federal Marshal would never involve himself with something as trivial as an allegation of brutality from a mere prostitute. Still, Delilah’s claim was so unexpected it took him a moment to regain his power of speech. “How do you know it was one of my men?” he asked.
“He identified himself as a Mr. Brophy from the Five Nuggets Mine,” she answered icily. “He was burly, stocky and sounded Irish.” Jack was having no luck dredging up the unfamiliar name. The mine managers frequently hired new men and oftentimes they did not last long.
“I am sorry, who,” he asked?
It was moments like this when Delilah hated the helplessness of being a woman. She had run into a brick wall and his name was Jack Simmons. “You know, Mr. Simmons,” she said to him as the bile rose in her throat, “I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Don’t sit there and try to tell me you’ve never heard of this person. You’re protecting him and I want justice.”
“I assure you, I am not,” he insisted. “Let me call in one of the mine managers and see if we can’t sort this out.” But Madam Delilah’s troubles would have to wait until another day. Jack pushed back his chair, stood and was heading for the door when a very loud explosion rattled the windows.
*****
You have never seen dark until you have seen dark inside a mine. Like the pitch-black bottom of a murky well, it is a darkness as thick and oppressive as death. Thomas Sprague held his oil lamp aloft, the lamp emitting a moving pool of light that delineated the darkness beyond and behind. His breath fogged out in front of him and he narrowed his eyes to peer into the darkness ahead. The lamp cast only a small pool of light in the immense chamber. He was here to inspect the progress on the new vein. In an incredibly short time his Five Nuggets Mine was processing thirty tons of ore per day.
Thomas and his partner, Jack Simmons, employed about forty men. They were strong, hardy-looking fellows with plenty of muscle and snap. But at this altitude, workers would frequently come and go. Some averaged only a week or two before the altitude got them down. It was a rough existence, dangerous, isolated, and in an area known for nine months of harsh winter followed by three months of cold weather. Gold ores from the mine averaged from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five dollars per ton.
Thomas Sprague and Jack Simmons had made remarkable progress in only three years’ time, starting from the discovery of the first placer (surface) gold in the area along Russell Gulch in 1873. They had established a very good dirt road leading up from nearby Pine Creek, as well as a bunkhouse, a store house, a few cabins and a washhouse. Other profitable placer strikes in the area added to the boom and soon the town of Pine Creek could boast twenty three saloons, three banks, a telegraph shack and a newspaper. A single church existed for a time, but it seemed as out of place as a cow on a front porch. Pine Creek had gained a rather rough reputation for itself. Thomas Sprague and Jack Simmons both carried Colt single action 440 caliber revolvers. They were excellent weapons. The Colt carried a big charge of powder and would shoot like a rifle if held straight.
Extracting the gold ore had not been without its share of headaches. Loose stone, underground water and decomposed granite were persistent problems. Costly twelve by twelve beams of California redwood timber were brought in to shore up the whole shaky proposition. They intended to work the mine
until the tremendous snow packs of winter would make passage impossible. On this day, while Jack was working on invoices in the nearby mining office, Thomas was to make certain that the beams were solidly in place in the new chamber. Thomas had also spent the morning in the office. Tomorrow he would return home to Denver, some 35 miles east, where Colorado statehood festivities were in full swing. Susannah needed his help with the crush of guests they were hosting. Edward Mansfield was one of those guests. He had returned to Denver yesterday afternoon, having been given the tour of the mine as he had been promised.
His mouth was gritty with dirt, it had been a long afternoon. Thomas lowered the lantern, robbing the chamber of its halo of light. A steady pounding could be heard nearby. A more superstitious person might have thought Tommy Knockers were up to their devious tricks. But Thomas knew his foreman had the men laying another charge. He took a step up, supported by some loose rubble, teetering for balance as he tested a beam. There was a white flash and then a deafening crack split the air. He dove sideways and rocks crashed all around him, while someone else, shrouded in darkness, melted safely back into the shadows.
Chapter Ten
It was late when a great pounding on the mansion door awakened them all. Jack stepped into the foyer, his hair was wild and his eyes were bloodshot, he had mud on his clothes, his jacket was torn and his lips were colorless. Dr. Reed was with him. Something bad had happened. Susannah stood there in the lamplight with Catori and Mrs. Sheppard, Edward and Charlotte when Jack spoke the words she feared most.
“Thomas is dead,” Jack said without preamble. She gaped at him, looked at him in disbelief, wondering if perhaps she had misheard. The raw words stung, like a slap to the face. “There was an unexpected explosion at the mine this afternoon. Thomas was working close to it. He and one other lost their lives. We are investigating, trying to piece together what happened. I am so very sorry.”
The words were sinking in, tears flooded Susannah’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She was incapable of speech. Catori embraced her, held her friend close, while they both wept. Jack’s heart clenched. Charlotte and Mrs. Sheppard were also crying, but Edward Mansfield had questions.
“How could this happen?” he asked sharply. “You were supposed to take precautions. Where were you?” he continued, his tone accusatory.
“Not now, Mansfield,” Jack said tightly. “All of us who loved Thomas, especially Susannah, deserve answers. We will have our answers, but not tonight.”
But Mansfield would not be gainsaid. “You barge in here with news like that and cannot tell us why?” he said angrily.
“Right now we all have more questions than answers. There will be a thorough investigation, of that you can be sure,” said Jack.
Dr. Reed stepped forward. “Now is not the time for this discussion, gentlemen,” he said sternly, calling a halt to their bickering. Susannah was now sobbing hysterically. She was battered by the news. She wanted to scream, but there would be no point. Nothing would ever be the same. Like Edward, she wanted to know more, but her mind was spinning. It was too much to bear. Dr. Reed gently took her elbow and with Catori’s help, and aided by Charlotte Mansfield, guided her away. A haze of silence settled over them.
Jack turned to Mrs. Sheppard. “Dr. Reed will see to Susannah. There is nothing more to be done tonight. I must deliver the terrible news to the other family who also lost a loved one today. I promise to return first thing in the morning. If you need anything at all, anything, you know where to find me,” he said reassuringly.
“Of course, Mr. Simmons,” she replied.
“The days ahead will be impossibly difficult for everyone. We must all try to help Susannah get through this, even as we deal with our own personal grief. We all lost a very good man today, a good friend,” Jack said thoughtfully.
“We can handle it from here, Simmons,” said Mansfield in a surprisingly clipped tone. “Charlotte and I have known Susannah and her family for many years,” he said with an air of supreme self-confidence. “She is like family to us and we will help our dear friend through this crisis.”
Jack gave no reply. Had he possessed a more suspicious nature, he might have wondered at Mansfield’s unemotional reaction, almost as though he was prepared for such an unexpected tragedy. Mansfield seemed to be spoiling for a fight. What was his game? But Jack would not give him the fight he was looking for on this night. Ignoring Mansfield he said, “I will call again tomorrow, Mrs. Sheppard.” And then he left.
Once in her bedchamber, Dr. Reed spoke with Susannah at length. He counseled her like a father would, offered comfort, was kind, steady, helpful, but her tears kept him off balance. He insisted that there had to be some perfectly sound explanation, but to Susannah, what did it matter? Thomas, her love, was gone and her world was tilting sideways. Her life had unraveled. He was not coming back. He would no longer hang his black Stetson on the peg in their foyer. There would be no more days spent exploring lush alpine meadows for the most perfect spot for sketching. There would be no more lovely, clear nights spent counting the shooting stars. Eventually, there was nothing left to talk about. Misery and exhaustion claimed her. The laudanum blotted out the pain. The last thing she remembered was Catori covering her with her serape.
Catori had slept in a chair near Susannah’s bed throughout the night, keeping vigil over her friend, wanting to be nearby if she was needed. At first light, she went outdoors and gathered some juniper branches. It had been a very long time since she had performed the ritual. She arranged a few branches into a pile on the graveled area behind the carriage house, then lit them. Catori sat close to the fragrant juniper fire and chanted the words of her ancestors over and over. The cleansing smoke bath was intended to purify her soul and the souls of those she loved. She loved Thomas as a brother. The journey of his spirit to the next world must not be hindered. She remained seated there, chanting the words, until the last embers died out and the sun brought forth a new day. As she made her way from behind the carriage house, she was quite surprised as she glimpsed Mr. Brophy slipping inside the back door of the mansion. He unceremoniously shoved Fluffy Lucero away from the door with his boot. Wherever he had been all these days, he had returned now, and she thought the timing of his activities most curious. Before the sun would set that day, he would be observed leaving again, this time nicely dressed and carrying a suitcase.
By afternoon, Susannah was up and dressed and seated in the parlor. She looked pale and the severe black dress made her complexion more ghostly. Her eyes were red and swollen, she fidgeted nervously with her lace handkerchief. She looked weary. Susannah mostly listened as Edward and Charlotte offered suggestions for the funeral arrangements. Her minister, Reverend Fineran, was there also and led them all in a quiet prayer. As they talked, she felt a painful lump in her throat and knew that at any moment she might lose the one fragile thread of composure she had left. So she allowed herself to be carried along with the tide, saying very little, nodding in silent agreement when it was necessary.
Jack was seated near Susannah and watched her with growing admiration. She was dignified, serene, as she allowed the others to guide her through the many decisions. Jack knew there had to be a very public church service, everyone expected it. But he had serious doubts about Mansfield’s genuine sincerity in helping to arrange it. Something told him the man was guilty of false piety and he was putting on a very good show, listening to Susannah’s comments with all the patience of a parish priest. Going to church didn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a barn made you a horse. Jack ached to gather Susannah into the warmth of his arms and tell her that her broken heart would mend. But it was too soon. She would only hear empty words of hopeful optimism. As she sat there, staring ahead blankly, she wondered if Thomas had known how much she loved him and she wondered how she would carry on without ever seeing him again.
News of the accident travelled quickly through the city, even before the notices were published. The next couple of days bro
ught many well-meaning callers wanting to pay their respects. The Purfield’s were among the first to visit and express their most heartfelt sorrow. It was the Purfield’s after all, who, it could be argued, were largely responsible for the chance meeting between Susannah and Thomas. As their romantic relationship had blossomed, the Purfield’s carefully watched over them as chaperones would. Ella Purfield was so overcome with emotion she did little to aid Susannah in her grief. Professor Purfield soon removed his wife to their home so that she could rest and recover herself.
While Edward Mansfield threw himself into the arrangements, it was Jack who steadfastly remained by Susannah’s side, untiring in his commitment to share some of her awful burden and see her through the crisis. At the funeral, while Mansfield fussed about the placement of the flowers and the selection of the hymns, it was Jack who offered up the eulogy. He remembered his friend’s spirit of adventure, his perseverance, his antics, his honesty and excellence in all he did. After the service, when so many mourners descended on the house, it was Jack who shielded Susannah from those who would strain her already fragile emotional state with lengthy interviews. He had observed how steady she appeared throughout the ordeal. Now he noticed when she squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, as if summoning some inner strength to continue. For Susannah, the room suddenly seemed to be full of intruders; her throat ached with unshed tears. It was Jack who intervened. Placing his strong hand on her shoulder, he escorted her from the parlor.
“I think you have endured enough, Susannah,” he said kindly.
“Perhaps. But those who have come to pay their respects are also mourning Thomas. I must accept their condolences for his sake,” was her knowing response.
“We all mourn in our own way, Susannah,” Jack replied. “There are others here who will see to your guests. I knew Thomas, and he would not want you to break down under the heavy burden of so much stress.”
The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder Page 6