The Gold Miner's Wife: A Young Woman's Story of Romance, Passion and Murder

by Creek, Amethyst

  Susannah sat there in front of the wood stove, thankful for the warmth it radiated. She lit the oil lamp and turned to the bookcase, thumbing through the volumes of books on mining, geology and minerals. Today she had developed a new appreciation for those who would venture into this uncertain business. And she was grateful to Jack for so many things. Before too long, he returned with a warm bowl of stew. She savored every delicious bite.

  “This snow is the first of the season. It certainly caught me by surprise,” he said. “I hope it does not turn out to be a shovel buster!”

  “Well, the ground is still warm and it will probably melt away tomorrow if the sun comes out,” she observed.

  “Nevertheless, I am sorry you got stuck here Susannah. We will catch the first train in the morning,” he assured her. He put a few more logs into the stove and retrieved some blankets that were neatly folded in the cabinet. “For you,” he said, handing her one.

  “Where will you sleep?” Susannah asked.

  “I have a cold night ahead of me, but it serves me right,” he said. “I will be sleeping just outside the door.” She was horrified but knew it would be no good to protest. They were alone together with no one else around to dictate their behavior, but he would not allow their awkward situation to sully her reputation. She gave him a disapproving frown. “I’ll be alright,” he assured her. “The porch is covered. It was not that long ago when I was an investor in a cattle ranching business. Spent a number of nights sleeping outdoors then.”

  Later, she was snuggled under the warm blankets on the cot, in the business office of the mining camp on a cold, snowy night. Jack was on the other side of the door, no doubt miserable. Headstrong cowboy, she thought. But he had done it for her. Jack’s consideration for her feelings and careful distance from her person confirmed he was a gentleman.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Susannah returned home to Denver with a cumbersome treatise on mining in one hand, a lace parasol in the other, and also with a renewed sense of purpose and much to think about. Her visit to the mine had not been the sorrowful experience she had originally feared but rather had been a remarkable and eventful day. Although her absence from home had been only for a short duration there was a message from her friend and neighbor, Eleanor Gibson concerning the Ladies Aide Society that begged her attention as well as a letter from Grandmamma.

  Denver had received but a dusting of snow. The storm that had briefly paralyzed Pine Creek brought mostly an outflow of heavy winds to the area, having depleted most of its moisture in the mountains. Catori and Mrs. Sheppard, while concerned about Susannah, correctly attributed her delayed return to the unanticipated storm, and reasoned that she was safely in the care of Mr. Simmons.

  “I am sorry you encountered bad weather,” said Catori. “We all need a dose of unsettled weather now and then lest we take fair weather for granted.”

  “An unexpected turn in the weather gives the neighbors something new to grouse about.” quipped Mrs. Sheppard.

  Susannah refreshed herself, quickly changed her clothes, and soon was seated at her desk reading the long-awaited letter from Grandmamma. The mail was always three weeks behind.

  My dearest Susannah,

  Happy news! Today I had the loveliest visit with Charlotte and Edward Mansfield. They called here at three o’clock and we all had tea in the back garden as the weather was quite agreeable. It is so enjoyable to take tea in the sunshine and talk about the flowers.

  Edward is the most thoughtful and considerate man. He presented me with a gift, a souvenir from his recent travels. It is the most exquisite silver letter opener, with an ivory handle, and is inscribed Philadelphia Exhibition, 1876. You know how much I enjoy surprises! He and Charlotte kept me thoroughly entertained with their stories of the Exhibition. I was sorry to see them depart, but they promised to call again next week. Mr. Mansfield is all politeness. He helped the parlor maid retrieve a porcelain vase I needed from an upper shelf.

  I have little else in the way of news to impart. There continues to be a general expectation in the neighborhood that we may have a happy announcement very soon concerning Miss Parker and Mr. Griswold. They were seen in church together last Sunday.

  Edward confided his heartfelt concern for your wellbeing. He fears you are on a very solitary path and laments that your continued separation from those who care about you will delay the restoration of your inner peace and contentment. Please come home and spend some time with me at Larkspur.

  Your loving Grandmamma

  Her conscience prickled her. She really should go home. She would have to arrange it before too much longer. And how could she ever adequately thank Edward for his many kindnesses?

  It was afternoon when Susannah called on her friend and neighbor Eleanor Gibson in response to the note sent to her the previous day. Eleanor was also a loyal member of the Ladies Aide Society and her message had a sense of some urgency to it. Susannah’s home was at 56 Grant Street. Mrs. Gibson, her husband John and their daughter Evelyn, resided at 70 Grant Street. It was an easy walk.

  The maid ushered her into the parlor where Eleanor greeted her warmly. “Susannah!” she exclaimed as she hurried over to her friend and hugged her. “I am so glad you have come. We have some catching up to do and things to discuss.” She rang for tea and soon the ladies were comfortably seated with steaming cups of the fortifying brew. But Susannah knew this was not entirely a social call.

  “The Ladies Aide Society had an emergency meeting yesterday,” Eleanor declared.

  “Oh?” said Susannah, raising a brow.

  “We have been called upon to help a family in need,” she said.

  “Please tell me what happened,” Susannah urged.

  “Two days ago, a wood frame house on the edge of the city caught fire. Under normal circumstances the fire brigade might have arrived in a timely enough manner to save the structure.”

  “But this time?” asked Susannah.

  “The pumper was on the way in short order, traveling swiftly down Pearl Street with all due haste, only to find the street blocked by an idle and very long freight train. The precious minutes it took before the train was moved were just enough for the blaze to go completely out of control,” Eleanor explained.

  “Oh no, how horrible,” said Susannah. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Thankfully, no,” said Eleanor. “But the home was a total loss and a family of eight has now been displaced. Everything gone and up in smoke in a matter of minutes.”

  “What is the plan to help them?” Susannah asked.

  “We are gathering donations of basic household items and some furniture, beds especially, along with children’s clothes in all sizes. There are six children in the family.”

  “You may count on my help,” said Susannah. “I am afraid I have not been a very reliable member of late.”

  “We are to meet again here on Tuesday to see where we are. It is important that we help this family quickly,” added Eleanor.

  “Of course. The sooner the better. We must all count our blessings mustn’t we?” Susannah observed.

  “Yes,” said Eleanor, “and help each other when we can. The good news is that our fundraising event scheduled for November 14th is coming along.”

  “Oh yes, I was going to ask you about that.”

  Eleanor picked up a small notebook from the side table and turned a few pages. “We have sold all but twenty tickets,” Eleanor told her enthusiastically.

  “Out of three hundred? That is wonderful news,” Susannah agreed. The Ladies Aide Society had arranged for a Viennese String Quartet that was touring the country to give a performance of classical music at the Grand Hotel. This would be followed by coffee, tea, champagne and cakes in the salon. The fundraiser would provide the bulk of the money the society was counting on to assist needy families through the hardships of winter.

  “And our goal for this winter season?” asked Susannah.

  “Let me see,” said Eleanor, consulting the note
book again. “We would like to purchase one hundred blankets, fifty winter coats, ten dozen pairs of wool socks and twenty five pairs of shoes.”

  “Well we certainly have our work cut out for us,” Susannah observed. She would find in the weeks that followed how very much the act of helping others replenished her own soul.

  Later that evening as she prepared to go to bed, Susannah considered the misfortunes of the family now displaced by the terrible fire. She pondered the difficulties Gerta Schultz and her little boy Otto now faced without a husband and father. She contemplated Madam Delilah’s brothel house in Pine Creek and the dire circumstances that would induce some women to pursue such a wretched path. Was it some random or cosmic uterine game of chance that had spared her from such a fate? Perhaps more than ever the world needed the Denver Ladies Aide Society.

  She reflected on her wonderful grandmother who was anxious for her company and recalled Edward Mansfield’s thoughtfulness. And finally, her meditations turned to Jack. He was her resolute friend; would he ever be more than that? She wondered where his thoughts lay, not to mention her own. The book on mining was on the nightstand next to the oil lamp. She did not want to contemplate any more today. But she picked up the heavy book and peeked inside and in the lamplight she began her journey into the unfamiliar domain that had been her husband’s livelihood. Mystifying new terms such as adit, stope, winze, coyote hole, alluvial, and headframe, meandered through the text like an exotic foreign language. The language she was familiar with consisted of words such as contrapposto, pigment, splattering, texture, composition and color harmony. Two different worlds, she thought, driven by a different energy. And she was privileged to have a place in both of them. Sometime later she turned down the lamp knowing she had many reasons to feel blessed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the weeks immediately following their visit to the mine, Jack Simmons had called on Susannah several times. On one visit he updated her on recent events and discussed a proposed timeline for winding down operations until spring. On another occasion Jack delivered the monthly ledger sheets so that she and Mr. Hoyt might examine them. That Susannah seemed to be eminently involved in the charitable work of the Ladies Aide Society, he interpreted to be an encouraging and positive sign. It was good for her to meet regularly with her circle of friends and he knew she derived great pleasure from helping others.

  It was now late October and the mine would, of necessity, be shuttered in another four weeks. But there were several invoices requiring her signature and on this afternoon, Jack found himself calling at number fifty six Grant Street once again. He was surprised when Mrs. Sheppard directed him to the carriage house as Susannah was in her studio. Another encouraging sign, he thought.

  When he opened the door, he found her seated near the window. With the easel turned toward the window to take advantage of the natural light, she held a color pallet in one hand, as she carefully concentrated on her brush strokes. She wore a light green day dress, not the severe black to which he had grown accustomed, with a white smock to protect her clothing. Her cheeks had more color, her healthy glow had been restored. Her breasts strained against her bodice as she labored over the canvas. Although he was certain she heard the door open, he nevertheless knocked gently on the wood frame as he stepped inside.

  “Susannah?” he called.

  “Jack?” she replied, glancing over.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked. “You look like you are very engrossed.”

  “Please come in,” she encouraged him. “I had a moment of inspiration this morning and have been busy on this project since noon. It is time for a break.” It was true, she needed to take a little pause from her work, but she was also aware that his presence would make it impossible for her to concentrate. “I am glad you are here,” she continued, “as there are a couple of things I have been meaning to ask you.”

  Her comment was unexpected. He wondered what questions she would have. Jack walked to the easel and stood close to her. He towered above her, she could feel his nearness, his frock coat brushed gently against her dress as he moved closer to survey the superb artwork and her. “Your painting is exquisite,” he said softly. “That landscape looks familiar.”

  “You recognize it then?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “I would know that valley anywhere. It is not far from the mine.”

  That earned him a smile. “You are right!” she said, highly satisfied that the details were a faithful representation of the area. “I am finishing this painting for the Purfields. We had many picnics together near this spot. I always brought my sketch book along and they patiently indulged me no matter how long I dawdled. I regret that I was not able to have the painting finished before they left.”

  “This painting, the proportions, the shadowing…it is almost as if I could step inside of it and be in that place,” said Jack with genuine sincerity.

  “Thank you, Jack,” said Susannah.

  “Before she left, Ella Purfield mentioned to me that her memories are what she treasures most in life. Your painting will be a wonderful surprise for them,” he said encouragingly.

  A warm fire radiated from the pot-bellied stove. She put the pallet and brush on the table and offered him a seat near the stove. He removed his frock coat and sat next to her. “It is good to see you working in your studio again,” he said honestly.

  “Today is the first time since…” she began. But he interrupted, quieting her with his hand upon hers.

  “You are a talented artist, Susannah. You add beauty to our world.” It was true and she needed to hear it, but his declaration made her uneasy. Of course, her personal attractiveness, her vibrant soul, also increased the beauty of the world. It was difficult to separate the two. He moved his hand away and changed the subject. “I have a few invoices for you to sign,” he said, clearing his throat and handing her a sheaf of papers. “You are busy now; send them back tomorrow once you have had a chance to look them over.”

  “Of course,” she replied, laying them aside.

  “What were your questions?” he asked.

  “Well, you know I have been doing some reading,” she began. “The mining treatise you loaned me; reading it has broadened my understanding. There is a chapter on methane. It causes explosions, does it not?”

  “Yes, it causes explosions, but more often in coal mines. Coal dust is highly combustible,” he said.

  “Where is methane found in a mine?” she asked.

  “Along the roof and in dead ends,” he answered. “It will accumulate in any inadequately ventilated place. Mine shafts provide that ventilation.”

  “You do not think Thomas and Mr. Schultz were killed by a methane explosion?” she asked matter-of-factly. Her suspicions about methane were not merely idle musings. In her mind, the belief that a build-up of gas could have caused the explosion was an idea that had grown legs and sprinted away.

  “No, I do not. But I can understand why you would wonder about it. Methane has the potential to asphyxiate miners. It is odorless and colorless. It is also very combustible, you are correct. All it takes is one spark, firedamp. But remember Susannah,” he said, “our mine is not a deep one and it is well-ventilated.”

  “I just wondered,” she said thoughtfully.

  “If enough methane accumulated in an area to cause an explosion, the miners, unprotected from such a high concentration of gas, would be overcome before it happened,” he added.

  “I had not thought of that,” she agreed. “A worker who was incapacitated by the gas would not be able to cause the spark that would lead to an explosion.”

  “That is correct. I am glad we talked about this,” he answered. “Methane gas is something we must be acutely aware of. I am impressed that you have been reading the book. Are you satisfied with my answer?”

  “Yes, I am satisfied,” she said. “It is always on my mind to wonder if it was preventable. Now, there is one other question, on a different topic altogether,” she
continued. “The Ladies Aide Society is holding a fundraising event. We have invited a string quartet from Vienna to perform at the Grand Hotel on November 14th. After the concert, champagne, coffee and cakes will be served in the salon. We are raising funds to purchase blankets and winter coats for those in need.”

  “Susannah, if you would like me to purchase a ticket, you know the answer is yes,” he said, anticipating her question.

  “And you will attend as well?”

  “I don’t really think…” he hesitated.

  “I would consider it a great favor if you would escort me,” she bravely declared. “I do not wish to go alone, nor do I wish to bother the Gibsons.” There, she had said it, she had asked him to accompany her to a social event. It would be mortifying to her if he said no.

  Susannah was full of surprises this afternoon. He had no intention of turning her down. A string quartet might not be as appealing as an opera or symphony, but Jack would sit through a public reading of the Magna Carta if it could be with Susannah.

  “I would be delighted to serve as your escort,” he told her. “Besides, I believe someone told me when it is a leap year the ladies are in charge” he quipped, recalling the dance held in July. “I look forward to the evening very much.” Jack walked to the stack of wood that was piled by the door and selected a few logs. He placed them inside the stove and secured the door. “I should go,” he said. “I am keeping you from your work.”

  “I am glad that you came, Jack. The concerns I had – about the methane I mean, it has been much on my mind,” she said.

  “It is understandable,” he said. “Any time there is an explosion, we need to discover the cause. I look forward to the concert, Susannah,” he added, and then he left.

  *****

  For the fifth time in as many weeks, Edward Mansfield found himself descending the green Connemara marble steps of Lady Alice Carlyle’s elegant mansion. As he made his way to the waiting carriage he contemplated the dismal and unsatisfactory afternoon it had been. There was no indication that he was any closer to the news he needed to hear. This put him in a very black mood. He would angrily vent his spleen on the next luckless soul to cross his path.