“Tell me something you knew of Thomas,” she asked, surprising him. “Anything.”
“After you married, you can understand that I was not interested in long conversations about wedded bliss, but I heard so many times from Thomas how much he loved you. Your love, bestowed on him, was what he lived for. You changed his life.”
Jack’s words washed over her like a warm caress. “Thank you for that,” she breathed, giving him a half smile.
“You must always remember, Susannah that Thomas was my friend too,” he said with feeling. “I must leave you now,” he added. “There is another grieving family expecting me today. We also lost Heinz Schultz in this tragedy. He and his wife and child emigrated only a year ago from Germany.”
“I must do something for them,” said Susannah as Jack turned to go.
“I know you will, Susannah,” he said.
As the last vestiges of the day etched their vibrant colors upon the deepening splendor of an indigo sky, Susannah was in her bedroom, with Catori helping her. Susannah was grateful for her company. Catori possessed an aura of calm, an inner peace. She was suffused with serenity and abiding tranquility.
“How do the Navajo mourn their loved ones?” she asked.
“Among my people, when a loved one passes, those left behind must help the spirit continue its journey. There is not much crying,” Catori explained. “We believe that showing too many emotions will hinder the journey of the spirit to the next world.”
“Do you think I am wrong to want Thomas’ spirit to remain with me, in here,” Susannah asked with her hand over her heart.
“I don’t have any special wisdom,” she replied. “But surely you must know in your heart that you could not have been more loved or more worshipped or adored than you were by Thomas.”
Chapter Eleven
A few days following the funeral, Jack returned to the Five Nuggets Mine. He was most anxious to interview the men and learn all he could about events leading up to the deadly explosion. Jack had doubts, was not convinced it was an accident, wanted answers, and worried that the passage of too much time would compromise an investigation and reduce his chances of getting to the truth. He had remained in Denver as long as he could, wanting to lend his support to Susannah. She was emotionally spent, adrift, and fragile. However she had Catori and Mrs. Sheppard as well as her friends the Purfields and the Mansfields close by to assist her. He promised to return again as soon as possible.
With Jack gone, Edward Mansfield stood in the Sprague’s dining room and swallowed another hefty swig of brandy. He felt the liquid burn, like fire, from his throat all the way down to his belly. He was pleased with the progress made thus far. He was rid of Simmons for now. Mr. Brophy was on his way home to England. Susannah was now a wealthy widow, even wealthier than she had been as Miss Carlyle. Mansfield was living as a guest in her home and his daily interaction with Susannah aided his cause immensely. Although propriety called for him to remove himself soon to avoid any hint of scandal, Mansfield devoted his energy to building her trust. Because his sister Charlotte was there as well, he had a bit more time to delay his departure. He capitalized on every opportunity to offer Susannah advice and he preyed on her grief-stricken condition to become her confidant. Mansfield created a situation in which he would play the champion and he played his part with conviction. By his steady influence, he would win her by using logic and reason.
On this day the solicitor was to call on Susannah to dispense with the formal reading of Thomas’ will. As Edward might have predicted, Susannah asked him to be present. She was coming to rely on him more and more.
Catori showed Milton Becker, Esq. into the study where Susannah and Edward were waiting and closed the door to give them privacy. Susannah had met Mr. Becker before. He was middle aged, and balding with silvery grey hair and white bushy eyebrows. He wore spectacles and was pleasant, but after introductions were made, he got right down to business. There was nothing about this meeting that surprised Susannah. She and Thomas had discussed his wishes when the will was prepared. Thomas made some financial provisions for his mother and sisters in Ohio and left the house, his worldly possessions and his half interest in the Five Nuggets Mine to Susannah.
It was the thought of the daunting responsibility of being co-owner of the mine which troubled Susannah greatly. She had no notion of how to be an equal partner in such a venture and therefore had many legal questions for Mr. Becker. Mansfield sensed that Susannah might be inclined to dispose of her half by selling it, probably at some ridiculously low figure, to Jack Simmons. He would do everything he could to kill that baby in its crib. As the discussion between Susannah and Mr. Becker continued, Mansfield spoke up.
“If I may,” he interrupted, clearing his throat, “I believe, Susannah, that your financial decision about what to do with your half interest in the mine is a weighty one. You must carefully consider all of your options. Whatever decision you reach must not be made in haste. Might I suggest that a good starting point would be to review the account books? You might hire a professional bookkeeper to examine the ledgers. This way you can determine if the investment is sound. It may be a way forward.”
“An excellent suggestion, Mansfield,” Becker chirped.
As always, she could count on her friend Edward to give sound advice, but Susannah was not bolstered by their enthusiasm. She was weary and she did not know if she was up to the task. This was not what she wanted, in fact she didn’t want any of it. How she longed to return to her formerly happy life and all that was familiar. Susannah looked down at her left hand. She now wore a memorial ring where her wedding band had been. Her face clouded and tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision.
“Why don’t you think on it,” said Mr. Becker gently, sensing her distress.
“Yes, Susannah,” echoed Mansfield. “There is no rush. If you would like, I can help you with whatever you decide.” And that was where they all agreed to leave the topic for now.
With so many tasks before him, Jack decided it would be best to address what he viewed as his lesser problem first – that of the serious accusations made by Madam Delilah. It was shortly after his return to the Five Nuggets when he called on her in Pine Creek.
“Son of a gun,” Madam Delilah thought to herself, seeing Jack through the parlor window as he approached on horseback. “Good afternoon, Mr. Simmons,” she said pleasantly when she answered the knock on the door.
“Good day, Delilah,” he said. “I have only today returned from Denver and thought it important that we finish our conversation from last week. Is now a good time,” he asked?
“Yes, please, won’t you come in,” she replied, holding the door open. She led him to the parlor and offered him a comfortable seat in a blue damask wing chair. The room was tastefully decorated, not at all what he expected to find in a bawdy house. When she offered him a glass of brandy, he recognized an olive branch when he saw it.
“I am here to listen to what you have to say,” he told her, his tone conciliatory. “Also, I have information to share with you.”
“Well thank you for taking me seriously. There are some who would not,” she replied honestly. “And I am very sorry about what happened at the mine, and the loss of life. Everyone must be taking it hard. You have my condolences.”
“Thank you,” he answered. “The events of last week, well, it was a shock. Thomas Sprague was a good man, a solid friend, and a trusted business partner. We are all devastated, most especially, his widow, an English woman. I don’t know what she will do now. We are to conduct a thorough investigation into the events of that day. I have news that will interest you. One of my managers informed me that the man you spoke of, Mr. Brophy, did work very briefly at the Five Nuggets, but disappeared mysteriously the day of the accident. He was employed with us for only six days. By all accounts, he was a good worker. But no one has seen him since the afternoon of the explosion.”
“Do you suppose he might have been a casualty of the explosion a
nd is thus unaccounted for?” Delilah asked.
“Not likely,” was the answer. “The brass check bearing his number was not hanging from the board at the mine entrance. He evidently left and told no one. Nor did he collect his final wages.”
“That is mysterious,” Delilah agreed. “I, for one, am glad he is gone. Jade is doing better. She will recover physically, but she is undecided about remaining here. Mr. Brophy was quite the brute. A real sidewinder, that one was. I think she fears it could happen again with another customer.”
“I will be talking more with the men about this Brophy fellow and will make it my business to try and track him down. He must be brought to justice.” Jack reached into his coat pocket and withdrew two slips of paper. “In the meantime,” he continued, “please accept these as some small compensation for you and the young woman, Jade. Perhaps this will help in her recovery as she decides what she wants to do, and you must be compensated for your trouble.”
“This is most generous of you, Mr. Simmons,” Delilah said, looking at the bank drafts.
“I want to make amends. The best way to do that is to bring the scoundrel to justice. After all, we were responsible for hiring the man in the first place. It is not always easy to read people. The mine manager who hired him was impressed with the fact that he was a diligent worker. We do not make it a habit of involving ourselves in what our employees do with their time after hours. I am so sorry this happened and I hope it never happens again.” It was generally true, what Jack had said about the managers leaving the mine employees to their own diversions after their shifts. Exceptions had been made however, such as the day when a few of them thought to amuse themselves by firing six shooters on Main Street.
“The women who find themselves in this business have learned to be cautious. However, one cannot always be prepared for every circumstance. Jade had no notion that the man would turn violent. As far as finding him, he may have decided his adventure here in the mountains not to his liking. Who knows? He may be halfway back to Ireland by now,” was her thoughtful observation.
“We have had workers before who have not lasted long. Sometimes the altitude gets them down. But this is the first one who neglected to collect all of his wages. It is very mysterious indeed,” said Jack. “Well, I do not want to take up any more of your time. If there are any further developments on this matter, I will let you know,” he added, as he stood up.
“You have been most considerate. Thank you for settling this and for trying to help Jade. She will always remember your kindness,” she said, as she accompanied him to the door.
In thinking about how to proceed with his investigation into the explosion, Jack decided to begin by reviewing what he knew. The mining operation at the Five Nuggets was still in its early stages. The mine had only been fully functioning for a few years. Excavation of the shallow parts of the veins containing gold ore had not yet been exhausted and had been fairly easy to reach. Because this was true, the intensity of the blast that had been so deadly was at odds with what was needed for excavation. The charge that went off that day, to loosen gold ore near the surface, was much larger than required. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that the powerful blast was deliberate. The questions remained, why had someone done this, how did they accomplish it, and who was responsible?
Miners who worked solely at moving ore were paid for each load, not for the hours they worked. The mine managers would see that a miner’s tag went up with each load he extracted, thus giving him credit. Eventually, the blasting would go deeper below the surface. This would become more expensive for the mine owner who was trying to turn a profit. And hard rock mining, as opposed to the easier surface mining, was always a more back-breaking challenge for the miners. The three managers, Marroney, Jones and Trentham were trusted employees. They had been with him from the beginning, as had quite a few of the miners. There was a clear division of labor. Some men only moved ore, others had the additional duty of drilling the holes to prepare for blasting. Still others, after they had been properly trained, were in charge of setting the blasting caps. On the day of the explosion, the men were working at their assigned tasks. They were where they were supposed to be.
Several days of exhaustive interviews with everyone in the camp revealed only one unexpected bit of information. The big Irishman, Mr. Flynn, had taken Mr. Brophy under his wing. They both hailed from the same region in Ireland, County Tipperary, and had fond recollections of the area, memories in common to compare. Thinking him to be a good worker and someone eager to learn more, he showed Brophy the proper technique for applying the hand-held auger used to drill the holes into the rock. That was a couple of days before the devastating explosion. And then, the day of the catastrophe, Brophy had mysteriously vanished into thin air. Flynn was as surprised as anyone at Brophy’s abrupt departure. Evidently they had less in common than Mr. Flynn had previously thought. Jack had a great uneasiness about Brophy and his possible involvement. But for now he seemed to have reached a dead end. Maybe it was time to call in a private detective agency.
Chapter Twelve
In Denver, the Rocky Mountain Detective Association was located on the upper floor of a sturdy brick building on Colfax Avenue. One of the associates, Daniel Cookson, had experience investigating mining incidents of all types, from discovering the instigators of crippling strikes brought by disgruntled mine workers to allegations of sabotage from competing mine owners.
Jack arrived for his appointment on time and was ushered into Mr. Cookson’s office. It offered a fine view of the distant mountains. Cookson sat at a large mahogany desk, and behind it, on the wall, was displayed his Civil War saber as well as a framed photograph of him in his Union Army uniform. He was part of the 130th Illinois Infantry and had attained the rank of captain. The American Flag hung from a stand near the window. The room also contained bookcases with many leather-bound volumes and a row of filing cabinets which took up one wall. Papers were scattered across the desk along with one of the books, “Official Record of Livestock Brands in Colorado Territory, 1875”. Some of the loose papers were anchored in place by an old deck prism – an unusual antique probably salvaged from a vessel that sailed long ago. A Colt revolver with holster was hanging casually from a wooden peg and the room itself smelled heavily of tobacco smoke. From the looks of the place, Cookson had more business than a cranberry merchant.
Mr. Cookson quickly stood and offered a firm, warm handshake. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall and fit, with light brown hair, a receding hairline and bright blue eyes. He was clean shaven, wore a brown sack coat and black string tie.
“It is a pleasure, Mr. Simmons,” Cookson greeted him. “How can I be of help to you today?”
“I understand you specialize in mine investigations,” said Jack, taking a seat. “My gold mine is the Five Nuggets near Pine Creek. I’m afraid I have troubles.”
Cookson’s eyebrows rose. “Trouble is my middle name,” he remarked with a grin. Jack liked him already.
Jack related the whole of his story to the detective, including his suspicion that the size of the fatal blast pointed to sabotage. “We are still only mining ore close to the surface,” he felt compelled to explain. Jack was pleased to see Cookson writing down pertinent details. He also interrupted him with questions. It was almost as if he was pushing the puzzle pieces around in his mind. This man would be his ally in discovering the truth, he had no doubt.
“In any investigation, our starting point must be with the concept of ‘motive’. We must examine all the facts and ask the question, who would stand to benefit from the damage done by this catastrophe? To be blunt, one person’s disaster can sometimes be another person’s opportunity. Money can be a powerful motivator,” Cookson observed. “Are you in any kind of dispute with the adjacent mine owners over your claim?”
“Our claim is proven. We have the deed. This has never been questioned,” was Jack’s answer.
“You said your partner was one of those killed. Since
you believe this was no accident, you think he was murdered?” Jack nodded. “Did he owe anyone money? Did anyone hold him a grudge?”
“Not that I am aware. He never gambled. He was a family man and was very honest and trustworthy.”
“And what of the other man who lost his life?”
“Heinz Schultz. He had been with us for over a year. A German immigrant. Never a problem. A personable fellow. Left behind a wife and child,” Jack replied.
“And your partner, Mr. Sprague, he was happily married, I assume?”
“Yes, very happily married,” said Jack as he recalled how despondent and miserable Susannah looked the day he left Denver to return to the mine. Susannah was never far from his thoughts, helping her in any way he could was always foremost on his mind. He also believed she would always be off-limits to his desires and tender affections.
“Who are his relatives?” Mr. Cookson continued. “Do you know who the beneficiaries are of his estate?” As the questioning continued, Jack was impressed with how relentless Mr. Cookson was in ferreting out important details. Eventually he came back to the curious appearance and disappearance of Mr. Brophy and the strange timing of these events.
“From your description of how your employee Mr. Flynn instructed Brophy in the use of the auger, is it safe to assume that this Brophy fellow had limited experience as a miner?”
“I believe that is the consensus among my men, yes,” said Jack.
“And are you certain he has left the area? Is it possible he is working at another mine? Have you checked with the other mine owners?”
“Of that I cannot be certain. No one has seen him however. I can ask around.”
“Were you able to interview the prostitute he assaulted?”
“No.”
“And what was her name?” Mr. Cookson asked.
“Mary Dempsey, but she goes by Jade. She is one of Madam Delilah’s doves.”
The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder Page 7