Midnight Secrets

by Janelle Taylor

  Ginny looked at the samples of pyrite and gold Frank showed her. “You said silver was harder and more expensive to mine. How is it done?”

  “Ore has to be crushed, calcined, washed, smelted, and cast into bullion. Stop me if I confuse you. Calcine is to convert ore into calx by roasting it in a way that it’s exposed to air and oxidizing. Silver is a pure metal, but it’s embedded in or with other materials, such as gold, quartz, lead, or copper. Most prospectors overlook it because of its color; they discard gray or blackish or bluish rocks without realizing what they’ve found. It requires lots of men, work, equipment, and money to extract it. A company needs furnaces and vats for removing roasted ore, then laborers to cut and haul wood and feed fires. They need smelters and crushers, and diggers and haulers. They require a water supply and trained men to cast silver into bricks. It takes guards for the diggings, company, and transport, plus drivers and wagons and teams. Silver mining is big business, Anna.”

  That explanation helped her to grasp her father’s problems better. “My goodness, it sounds like it. Is that why you didn’t get involved in it?”

  “I haven’t found a promising silver mine to invest in, only gold.”

  “You said you have books I can study?”

  “Yes, over there on that shelf. Take what you want.”

  “I think it would be best if I familiarize myself with all of this since I’ll be working here and living in this area. You’re smart and skilled and I’m very impressed. It’s going to be interesting and fun working here with you.”

  “It’s good to know your surroundings. If you have any questions or problems, come to me. I won’t mind being interrupted by you.”

  “Thank you, Frank. Oh, my,” she said, and feigned a look of dismay. “Shouldn’t I call you Mr. Kinnon at work?”

  “No need. We’ll see few people back here.”

  “What do you want me to do first today? Do I have a routine to follow?”

  Frank related her tasks and schedule, then showed her to her office. “If you need anything, call me. I’ll be back here or out front.”

  Ginny sat down, smiled, and watched him leave. She read over the notes she was supposed to copy neatly into a ledger and glanced at the reports she was to write out afterward. It was going to be a busy day. Before she began her first task, she wondered if Frank had requested information about her from any sources back South. He hadn’t mentioned the half-true, half-false story she had told him about herself last week. If he suspected her of wrongdoing with the Klan or of coming here to seek a rich husband, it didn’t show or didn’t matter to him.

  At least, she realized, there wouldn’t be a pregnancy complicating her life, as her monthly flow began this morning. Yet she wanted to have Stone’s children and, every time he touched her, the last thing that came to mind was worry over getting pregnant. Probably she was lucky his seed wasn’t growing inside her as he might be lost to her forever. Three weeks ago today she had left Dallas. If he had returned home as promised and been told the truth, there had been enough time for him to reach Colorado City, if he wanted to come after her. Perhaps he didn’t and never would. She ordered herself not to think about Stone Chapman right now as it-evoked too many doubts, fears, and pains.

  Ginny closed her eyes and envisioned the bulging leather pouch in the safe with her father’s name attached. She could use that money to search for Matt; rather, to pay a detective to ferret out the truth. She was trapped in a bind: she couldn’t get answers without asking questions, but she couldn’t ask questions without exposing herself.

  Soon, she promised, she would find a way to get at the truth.

  All of Thursday, Ginny knew something was afoot. Frank Kinnon smiled, whistled, grinned, and hummed continuously. He dropped in for little chats. He adored her from head to foot with his eyes. He invited her to join him tomorrow for “a special dinner.”

  Anxiety nibbled at her as she feared he was going to propose. Whatever would she do and say if he offered marriage? She couldn’t marry him just to extract clues. If he was that serious, dealing with him might become difficult. She hadn’t expected her target to fall in love with her. Desire her; perhaps and hopefully. Love her; that was trouble. Propose; that was incredible. He could be her father’s mur—No, Ginny, don’t think such horrible thoughts. You need more time to glean clues but Frank might not allow either one. Better come up with an alternate plan.

  Shortly before quitting time, Ginny was putting away the letters and reports in Frank’s office that she’d done while he finished work in the assay room. She noticed a file marked MM. She glanced into the hallway and heard the man humming, obviously still busy working. Quickly she snatched out the file and read two papers inside. The same notes and figures in her father’s last letter were recorded there, with the conclusion: high grade silver ore, 80 to 90 percent pure. Mathew Marston’s name wasn’t listed nor was a location of the strike, but she was certain this file was about her father. It was dated last June, a year ago. Yet her father’s pouch of gold or silver was still in the safe so a year, according to Frank’s rule, hadn’t passed since its deposit. Her father’s last letter to her had been dated July of ‘66 after Clay’s death and his departure to seek investors: almost a year had passed. Would such a task require that long? And why no word from him since then? Unless he feared the wrong person might be watching her and might get their hands on any enlightening missives…

  Ginny heard Frank coming down the hall, and panicked a moment. Thinking fast, she tossed the two files and other papers to the floor. She muttered to herself, “Look what you’ve done, Anna.” She knelt to retrieve them.

  “What’s wrong?” Frank asked from the doorway.

  Ginny looked up and sent him a wry smile. “I was pulling out the Maples file and another one came along with it. I dropped everything trying to replace it without putting down the stack. I’m sorry, but nothing looks damaged. I’ll have this mess straightened up shortly. Two pages don’t have names, so I don’t know where they go.”

  Frank came over and knelt to assist her. He took the two papers and slipped them into the file marked MM. He chuckled and said, “That’s one claim I’d like to invest in, but nobody knows where it’s located. It could be anywhere in the Rocky Mountains or even in another state.”

  “What do you mean, Frank? Why does it only have initials?”

  Frank squatted and looked at her. “Sometimes prospectors and miners don’t trust local assayers or want news of their findings to leak out prematurely, so they carry their samples a long distance to have them tested. In this case, I understand why. I don’t know where that sample was taken from, but it’s one of the richest grades of silver I’ve seen.”

  Ginny watched him stare at his hands, then ball his fists until his knuckles whitened, that bittersweet vision seemed to bring a greedy and frustrated look to his face. Frank stood and helped her to her feet. He stuffed the file back into place, right where the name Marston would go.

  “If there’s as much silver and gold embedded in the area as the ore they brought me implies, it’ll be one of the biggest and best strikes ever made. That’s how I know nobody’s found it; there has been no big headline in newspapers across the country and it’s been a year. They would have been wealthy and famous men. It’s worth millions, almost pure. Lot of gold, too. It came out easy, so little refining will be required. I’d surely like to invest in whoever’s company finds this strike. It even tempts me to go searching for it myself.”

  “I don’t understand, Frank. It’s already been found. You’ve tested the sample. Do you know the men? Have you seen them in town?”

  “I knew both of them, but they were murdered last summer, probably by common thieves. No claim was ever filed at the local land office by Mathew Marston and Clayton Cassidy. The location of the silver remains unknown to this day.”

  Ginny was relieved she was able to control any outward reaction to his disclosures. He was relaxed and he trusted her, yet she must make sure t
o sound only curious. “Surely someone else will find it one day. There are so many men working the mountains that it can’t remain a secret forever.”

  “But remember what I told you—silver is often overlooked by ignorant and inexperienced men. Matt and Clay recognized it from working a mine.”

  “It’s a shame they were killed; it could have meant plenty of jobs and more progress in Colorado. What happened?”

  “Their bodies were found in a burned cabin. Undertaker said both were shot first. Their mules and gear outside were used to identify them.”

  “Perhaps whoever attacked them forced them to reveal where the strike was located before they were murdered.”

  “That couldn’t have happened, Anna, or it’d be big news by now.”

  “What if this villain staked a land claim and he’s biding his time before mining it until the time he won’t fall under suspicion by the law?”

  “I thought of that. I tried to help solve the crimes by checking to see who registered claims here. But there’s been nothing suspicious to date.”

  Ginny didn’t dare remind him he’d said the strike could be anywhere and ask him if he’d checked with other land offices, such as the one in Denver. “I suppose you’re right: it may never be found or not for a long time; their killers, too. A crime like that must be too old to solve even for a detective.”

  “I actually hired one to see if he could backtrack on them, but it was futile. I even thought for a while that somebody else may have been in the cabin and one of them escaped. That couldn’t be true because nobody’s seen or heard from either man and Marston has a gold pouch in the safe that he wouldn’t leave behind.”

  Ginny gave a sympathetic sigh. “What a shame, to die just before you become rich. Did they have families? Does anyone here try to reach kin following accidents and deaths?”

  “Cassidy had no family. Marston has a daughter in England, but nobody knew how to reach her or even knew her name. And she could be married and have a different one by now. They stayed here after being Galvanized Yanks for years in the state. Seemed like good men to me.”

  “How awful for a person’s father to be dead and not know it.”

  “I wish I could learn more about her. If Matt sent her any news or maps, I could handle a mining company for her. We’d both be rich.”

  Ginny feigned an interested look. “Did you try hard to locate her?”

  “Yes, but without a name or town, it was impossible. I checked with the Army, but they didn’t have any records revealing anything about her. If I could just come up with the right clues, I’d be first in line to take over the claim from a criminal I’d exposed.”

  “You said one of them might still be alive. Why would he disappear?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Nor can I. It would be nice to own a mine of such value. This has given me an idea. You could start another business, Frank: let men register their identities and prospecting locations or claims with you; then, when or if something happened to them, their families could be notified about inheritances. They could carry papers telling whoever found them to contact you for a small reward for their help. You could charge a fee and I could handle the records.”

  “That might be an excellent idea. I’ll think about it this weekend.”

  She turned and finished her filing. She didn’t actually expect him to act on her idea; she had used it to help dupe him.

  A clerk knocked on the door and said, “We’re closed, sir. You ready to check up?”

  “Coming in a moment. You go home and rest, Anna. And don’t forget about our special dinner tomorrow night.”

  She smiled and assured him she wouldn’t.

  Ginny finished her bath and returned to her room. She had eaten with Hattie and two other boarders, as the others were out for the evening. She was ready to turn in for the night, because she was emotionally and physically fatigued from her labors and discoveries today. She dreaded facing Frank tomorrow as she suspected what he had in store for her later that night. She locked her sitting-area door and entered the other room. She barely suppressed a scream as her gaze noticed the man half lying on her bed with his booted feet on the floor.

  Ginny gaped at him as questions filled her head and spilled forth, “Stone, how did you get in here? Did anyone see you? How did you find me? Surely you didn’t ask around to locate me?”

  He sat up, exhaled, and looked at her. Light-brown hair tumbled over her shoulders and drifted to her waist. Hazel eyes were wide with astonishment and suspense. Her lips had remained parted after their rush of words. One hand gripped the edges of a night robe to keep it closed; the other held bathing needs with a damp drying cloth thrown over her forearm. Shu, she was beautiful and tempting with little—yet in another way, a vast—distance between them. He finally managed to speak. “Hello, Ginny Marston.”

  She stared at him and tried to ascertain his mood. The fact he hadn’t leapt upon her and attacked her with harsh words or blows told her he had himself under rigid control. Her gaze took in the image of irresistible manhood. He wasn’t an illusion, this man she loved clad in all black and with a short beard as if in disguise. Yet, neither had he leapt from the bed and taken her into his arms as she’d hoped when they next met. It was hard not to rush to him. At last, he was here. “Your father told you everything?”

  Stone scooted to the end of the bed and propped one elbow on the wooden footboard. He placed his unshaven chin on the backs of curled fingers and drilled his gaze into hers. Before he answered, he wondered why she remained frozen in the doorway instead of hurrying to his aching arms. “Him and your letter. So, I finally meet the real woman. You aren’t Charles Avery’s daughter and you aren’t Bennett Chapman’s daughter. You’ve had a lot of fathers along your route to here. Have you found yours?”

  “No. I was told just today that he and his-partner were murdered last year, but I know—I hope—that isn’t true.”

  “What is true, Ginny?”

  She walked to the bed and sat down near him. After he shifted to face her, she confessed everything to the man she loved and prayed he felt the same about her and believed her. “I know Father wasn’t in that cabin, but I don’t know where he is now or if the killer got to him later. If he’s still alive, I can’t understand why he hasn’t contacted me. I’m sure Frank Kinnon’s involved and I’m slowly gleaning clues from him.”

  “It sounds as if you’re as good at deceptions and investigations as I am.” He saw her wince as if he’d insulted her or struck her a physical blow. “Don’t fret, I didn’t ask about Virginia Marston, because Father told me about your dangerous predicament. I arrived this morning and I’ve watched the bank most of the day after I saw you enter at lunch and not come out again. I followed you here and waited until it was safe to sneak inside. I would have come sooner but we had trouble with rustlers at the ranch.” He explained his meaning. “You might be pleased to learn Father and I have made peace and my parents are getting married as soon as I return home.”

  I return, not we? “That’s wonderful news. I’m happy for them and for you. Please congratulate them for me. How soon are you leaving?”

  He was baffled by her reaction of sadness and anguish to a mention of departure that should delight her and her father if they wanted him out of the way. If only he knew what she knew about the matter tormenting him. He dreaded to ask out of fear she might lie to him again, even if only out of mistrust or caution. He must wait and see how much she revealed.

  Both felt the strain within themselves and the other. Each wanted to reach out but waited for the other one to do it first.

  “I haven’t decided. What you did to me and my family was wrong, Ginny, but I understand your motives. I want to thank you for giving Father a little of Johanna and for halting your ruse before it lasted too long.” He witnessed a look of surprise and relief; then, sadness dulled her eyes again.

  “Is that all you came to tell me, that you won’t seek revenge?”

 
; “No, I wanted to tell you, for one thing, I’m glad you aren’t Johanna.”

  When he didn’t say more, she probed, “Why?”

  “Because she and I, as you discovered, were blood kin. It knifed me badly to learn I had made love with my sister and knew I had to hurt her again.”

  Be bold and brave, Ginny, or you’ll never extract the truth, whatever it might be. “Did you say those cruel and painful things to me that night only to discourage me, or did you truly mean them? Were you only trying to halt things between us because you thought our relationship was wrong and had no future, or were you trying to convince me of your genuine disinterest? Was it just physical attraction for you, Stone, nothing more? Do you still want to discard me now that you know I’m not your sister or Anna Avery? Did my two deceptions destroy all respect and affection you had for me? Did they destroy any hope or chance of us building a future together?”

  Stone gazed at the daughter of the man who had murdered his best friend, a man he’d sworn to kill. That was an impending task she might or might not know about, one that would affect the “chance” she was questioning. Clay’s message had told him that Matt was acting strange. “I don’t think I kan trust him ennymore,” he had written Stone. “He’s balking on filing our klaim. He says we have to keep it a sekret. I’ve had krazy akseedents with only Matt around. He’s been my friend and partner but I’m skared to trust him. If ennything happens to me, my share of the klaim is yours. Here’s the map and paper saying so. You know I don’t have no family and yore my best friend. You saved my life more than once. If Matt balks, force it out of him. It’s worth a fortune, Stone. That’s what the assayer told us. If you kan kome help me with him, pleze hurry.”

  Stone felt there must be valid reasons for Clay distrusting Matt after the two men had been together for years as Galvanized Yankees and prospectors. With Clay dead and the land in the Marston name, Matt believed he owned it all. He had learned that Matt had registered the claim in Denver under Ginny’s initials. He knew the strike’s location, so he didn’t need Matt or Ginny to lead him there. It wasn’t the wealth that he wanted; he wanted Clay’s killer exposed and punished. This thing with Kinnon, he reasoned from experience, was a smokescreen like Indians sometimes used to conceal or protect their retreats across prairieland. If Matt wasn’t guilty, he would have gone to the law; he would have helped them find and punish the killer of his friend and partner. Yet, even if there was a slim possibility Matt was innocent, Matt’d let the murderer go free just to keep the strike for himself. Perhaps he was off searching for investors as Ginny had said and he’d show up one day and plead ignorance of Clay’s death and his own alleged one. Those were points he’d investigate soon.