Searching for Silverheels

by Jeannie Mobley

  “Have either of you ever seen her?” Frank asked.

  Neither of us had. The story had always finished with the suggestion that people had seen her, or her ghost, but I’d never put much stock in that part of the legend.

  “Let’s go over and see if she’s there now,” Willie suggested.

  We pulled off our shoes and socks and waded across the cold creek. On the other side, we climbed the slope to the cemetery, where the picket fence leaned crazily, first one way, then another. There was no gate, or if there had been it had disappeared years ago, so it was easy to enter the little graveyard. Many of the graves had no markers, consisting only of a rectangular outline of stones nearly hidden among the weeds. Others had simple wood crosses made of two weathered boards nailed together. Names and dates had been carved or painted on the cross boards. Only a handful of graves had actual headstones. I took the paper and pencil from my pocket and began writing down the names I could read.

  “What are you doing that for?” Willie asked.

  I wasn’t sure what Willie would think if he knew I had a bet with Josie, so I just shrugged. “I’m just curious, that’s all,” I said.

  “Curious about dead people?” Willie scoffed, as if it was the craziest thing he had ever heard.

  “Curious about who might have known Silverheels,” I said. “Maybe some of them still have relations around here.”

  Frank’s face lit up. “Do you think so? That there might be people around who remember her?”

  “Maybe,” I said with another shrug.

  “I’ll help you,” Frank said. Willie stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched, while Frank began reading names off crosses for me to write down.

  Though it was early in the year and the grasses and weeds were not yet tall enough to completely hide the graves, the place looked overgrown and forgotten. In places Frank had to push aside snarls of weeds or thorny raspberry thickets to read the names. Gradually, we worked our way toward the back corner of the cemetery, to the very oldest graves, the names and dates getting harder to make out as we went.

  “This is where the victims of the smallpox epidemic are buried,” I said when we reached the very back corner. Frank nodded as we examined the tilting wooden crosses. Few of the names were legible, but here and there the dates still stood out.

  “They were all so young,” Frank said in a quiet voice as he moved from grave to grave. His playful mood from earlier had become subdued here in the most overgrown and forgotten part of the cemetery. “Imagine coming here thinking you’d get rich, and dying of smallpox instead.”

  “Maybe they would have died of smallpox at home, too,” Willie said. He was leaning against a tree nearby, watching but refusing to help.

  “But if they’d stayed home, they would have had their families around them. Their wives and mothers to take care of them,” Frank said.

  “That’s why Silverheels was so beloved,” I said. “She gave that feminine comfort to ease their suffering.”

  Frank nodded as he moved from cross to cross. “Why do you suppose she stayed?” he asked.

  “She knew they were far from home and needed her,” I said.

  “Maybe she was hoping for a big reward,” Willie said. “After all, some of those miners must have had a big stash of gold.”

  Frank frowned at Willie. “That spoils the story, don’t you think?” He squatted down beside the last cross in the row.

  “Hey, look at this.”

  I bent over his shoulder. The cross had recently been straightened and supported by a fresh pile of dirt at its base, and someone had scratched into the shallowly carved name on the cross slat so that the fading words were once again clearly visible:

  BUCK WILSON 1840–1861

  Frank looked up at me and our eyes met.

  “Why do you think Silverheels stayed?” Willie asked from his tree across the little graveyard. He couldn’t see what we were looking at and was still thinking about Silverheels.

  Frank ran his fingers lightly over the name that someone had so carefully preserved. “I think,” he murmured, “that she did it for love.”

  CHAPTER 7

  We were quiet in the trap on the way back to town. I imagined Frank was thinking about Silverheels, and about love that endured all. Willie was probably thinking about going fishing. I was thinking about my first good clue, and how I might use it to convince Josie my version of the story was right. I had to find out more about Buck Wilson and who in Park County remembered him, and I was delighted to have found both an ally and an alibi in Frank. After all, he wanted to know the truth about Silverheels as much as I did. I could enlist his help investigating her and no one would suspect I had a wager with Josie. And I liked Frank, even if he wasn’t as handsome or charming as George. Searching for Silverheels with Frank would be fun.

  As we arrived back in town, Willie said he wanted to stop in at the mercantile, so we dropped him off. Normally I would have gone into the store too, in case George was there, but I had an idea of how Frank might help me, so I went on alone with him.

  “Would you like to come by the café tonight and talk to the old-timers?” I suggested. “They can remember back to the mining boom days. They might be able to tell us more about Buck Wilson and who tends his grave.”

  “Do you think any of them remember Silverheels herself?” Frank asked, his voice eager.

  “I asked this morning. They didn’t think anyone was still around from back then, but someone must be. Otherwise, who would have tended that grave?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper on which I’d written down the names from the grave markers. “Maybe if we show them this list they will recognize the family name of someone still around.”

  “Okay, I’ll come by after supper. Maybe you could save me a piece of your mother’s pie.”

  “Sure. Mother makes the best pie in town,” I said.

  Frank pulled the horse to a stop at the hitching rail in front of the hotel and we climbed down. I was brushing the dust out of my skirt when Imogene came bursting out of the hotel.

  “Hello, Pearl. Hello, Mr. Frank. Did you have a nice buggy ride in the park?”

  Frank smiled back. “It was a very pleasant day,” he said politely.

  Imogene gave him a little curtsy, then linked her arm through mine and began walking me toward the café. When we were just a few steps from Frank she started talking again, her voice lowered.

  “George came by the café looking for you earlier today. I thought he might be coming by to ask you to the picnic, so I didn’t tell him you’d gone off on a buggy ride with another boy. You should be extra sweet to George next time you see him. You don’t want to miss your chance because of Frank, do you? He’s just going to forget you the minute he gets on the train, you know.”

  I pulled my arm out of hers. “Imogene, we dropped Willie off at the mercantile. I bet you could catch him walking back to the café if you hurry,” I said.

  Imogene’s face lit with a smile so big I thought her teeth might fall out. “Thanks, Pearl!” She hurried off up the street to pester Willie with her feminine charms and left me to continue on into the café. She was my best friend, and I knew she was right—I didn’t want to give George Crawford the wrong impression. But I had to keep working with Frank to gather information about Silverheels. I’d rather George had the wrong idea about me and Frank than know the truth about me and Josie. After all, as Imogene had said, Frank would be gone in a few days. Surely George wouldn’t think I was doing anything improper. I spent time with tourists every summer, and Willie had accompanied us the whole way.

  When Frank arrived in the café later that evening, I took him to the old-timers’ table and introduced him all around. “Frank would like to know more about Silverheels and the mining days, and I told him you all remember a few things.”

  “That we do, lad. A few things,” Orv said, sliding back an empty chair and inviting Frank to sit down. As soon as he did, they all launched into stories of the glory
days, when gold and silver flowed out of Park County like water, and everyone dreamed of getting rich. As they talked, the nuggets seemed to get bigger and the saloon girls prettier. Frank listened eagerly to everything. Either he was truly interested or a very good sport.

  “What about Silverheels? Did anybody stay around who knew her?” Frank prompted after hearing several of their personal stories.

  “Most all of the fifty-niners were gone a long time ago,” Russell said.

  “But there must still be someone around who knows people buried in that cemetery. Relatives, or old friends? Pearl and I made a list.” Frank retrieved the list from me and started running his finger down it, reading out names:

  “John Gordon

  Theodore Birchum

  Elijah Weldon

  Zachariah Stuart

  Edwin Carlisle . . .”

  Russell snapped his fingers. “Carlisle. That’s Mae Nelson’s family name. Her father and one uncle are buried up there. She moved down to Fairplay when everything closed down in Buckskin Joe. She’d be the one to talk to.”

  “That’s right,” Orv said. “She’s one of the ones who saw the Veiled Lady in the cemetery.”

  A prickle of goose bumps broke out along my arms. “And she’s in Fairplay?” I asked.

  “Is that far?” Frank asked.

  I shook my head. “We could go in the afternoon tomorrow.”

  “Does she still go to the cemetery to tend the graves?” Frank asked.

  “Don’t rightly know,” said Orv. “Old Mrs. Carlisle, her mother, moved on down to Denver a few years back. Couldn’t take the mountain winters in her old bones anymore.”

  “Why?” asked Harry. “Have the graves been tended lately?”

  “Maybe it was the Veiled Lady, come back tending the grave of her lost lover,” said Orv, mischief in his eyes.

  “Well if it was, she’d be in the back part of the plot. That’s where the smallpox graves are,” Russell said.

  “There was one fella back there she was supposed to have been sweet on, right?” Harry said.

  “Buck Wilson,” said Orv. “I remembered after you asked this morning. Some folks say they were engaged to be married, but he was one of the first to die from the pox.”

  Frank looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “Did you know that?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I had heard versions of the story in which she had been in love or engaged to various miners, but if I had ever heard the names of the men, I’d forgotten. Tourists only needed enough to get interested in a tour.

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked Orv.

  He shrugged. “Don’t rightly recall, but that’s what I’ve heard. Why so interested? Did you see the Veiled Lady?”

  “No,” Frank said, “but someone has cleaned Buck Wilson’s grave recently. We saw it when we were there today.”

  The old-timers all stopped talking or eating and stared at Frank.

  “Buck Wilson? Really?” Russell said.

  “Do you know who around here might have known him?” I asked.

  “I don’t rightly know,” Russell said. His brow wrinkled and he looked like he was thinking hard, but he didn’t say anything more.

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Harry into the silence that followed. “Maybe the Veiled Lady’s been to the cemetery, tending her beloved.”

  “You ought to talk to Mae Nelson. She can tell you if it was the Veiled Lady or not. She’s seen her,” Orv said.

  “Who knows,” Harry continued. “You two may be the ones to find Silverheels at last, after all these years.”

  The goose bumps I had felt rising on my arms spread with a little shiver all over my body. It looked like we had a new mission for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 8

  I was in a good mood the next morning, looking forward to another outing with Frank. I was just sure Mae Nelson would be able to tell us something useful. I was refilling coffee and daydreaming about my triumphant return from Fairplay with all the proof I needed to win my bet, when Josie walked into the café. I tried to ignore her, but she stumped to the counter and banged a coffee cup against its saucer so hard I was afraid it might crack. Her idea of a polite request for coffee. I hurried to her and filled the cup before she could do it again.

  “Well, girl, are you ready to help me pass out leaflets today?” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “You haven’t proven anything,” I said. “In fact, I happen to know your story was all false.”

  “And how do you happen to know that?” she said. She was smirking in a most unpleasant way, waiting for my answer. Waiting for me to admit that I had fallen into her trap and made a fool of myself by asking about Lou Bunch. I glanced around the café to see who was listening. At least the Crawfords weren’t there, but I could tell the old-timers were pricking up their ears. I leaned in close to Josie and answered in a whisper.

  “Because I found out who Lou Bunch is, and she couldn’t have known Silverheels. Which you knew.”

  Josie waved a hand in the air, as if my point was a pesky fly that could be waved away. “Lou Bunch doesn’t matter. My version of things could still be true.”

  “How could it be, when we both know you put someone into the story who couldn’t possibly have been there? You can’t just put anyone into the story willy-nilly.”

  “Can’t I? I don’t remember that rule being made when you took the wager.”

  “I’ve got work to do,” I said. “Do you want hotcakes this morning?” I hoped no one took note of what she said. If word got back to my mother that I had taken a bet, I would be in big trouble.

  “Of course. And hurry up with it,” she said. Then she took a long noisy slurp of her coffee and opened a newspaper as if I wasn’t there. That was fine with me. I didn’t speak to her again until she finished her breakfast and demanded another cup of coffee. By then most folks had cleared out of the café, but I kept my voice down all the same.

  “We didn’t make any rules, but you won’t prove anything by making up stories and characters that we both know aren’t true.”

  “You made up a cruel father for her,” Josie pointed out.

  “That was different,” I insisted. “That was just a possibility. I was trying to show you that there could be a logical reason why a girl would keep her name a secret, even with those who loved her.”

  “And I was showing you that the kind of women who strike it rich in gold camps have their own methods. Being a sweet, addle-headed romantic didn’t get them anywhere. And it won’t you, either.”

  Being called addle-headed stung, but I refused to rise to the bait. Instead, I tipped my nose up with an air of superiority, and I spoke as haughtily as I could.

  “Anyway, I don’t have to make up names or people any more. I know Silverheels was in love with Buck Wilson, and I know I can prove it. Real proof.”

  At this, Josie’s face changed. Her smirk disappeared and her eyes narrowed into a glare. “Buck Wilson?” she growled. “You are going to bring Buck Wilson into this?”

  It was written all over her face—I had hit a cord. I was onto something important with Buck Wilson’s story, and she knew it.

  “What do you know about Buck Wilson?” I asked.

  “None of your business, girl. If you want to find out about Buck Wilson, don’t come bothering me about it. I’m not giving you any help in this.”

  Now it was my turn to smirk. “I know exactly how I’m going to learn all about Buck Wilson. And from someone who really knows.”

  “And who exactly would that be?” she demanded.

  I only smiled at her and went to clear plates from a table, pleased to have gotten under her skin for a change.

  A few minutes later, Frank arrived and took a seat at the counter, a few stools down from Josie.

  “I was talking to Mr. Sorensen at the hotel and he says there’s a train coming through around one thirty this afternoon that takes on water here before going on to Fairplay. He says that’s the best way to ge
t there, if you can afford a ticket.”

  “I can work out a trade with the stationmaster, Mr. Orenbach,” I said.

  “Do you think Mrs. Nelson will see us if we just drop in unexpected?”

  “I hope so. Mother says she’s a widow, so I’m hoping she’ll be glad of some company. Mother is making a raisin cake for me to take to her.”

  Josie gave a sudden loud bray of laughter. “Mae Nelson? That’s where you plan to learn all about Buck Wilson?”

  I lifted my chin defiantly. “Russell says she grew up in Buckskin Joe and remembers a lot of what happened up there,” I said.

  “And they say she saw Silverheels in the cemetery,” Frank added. I wished he hadn’t. That fact wasn’t going to make her seem one bit more credible in Josie’s eyes.

  “Mae Nelson makes her living selling postcards and candy on the platform while the train takes on water,” Josie said. “She’d say anything to sell another nickel’s worth of her wares.”

  Frank smiled at Josie politely, something only my mother and strangers did. “What about you, Mrs. um—”

  “Gilbert,” I said.

  “Mrs. Gilbert. Have you lived here all your life?”

  “I’ve lived in Como for nigh on twenty years. The lovely Silverheels was long gone by the time I came here.”

  “But that’s long enough to have heard people say they’ve seen her in the cemetery up there,” Frank said.

  “You only have to be in Park County a few hours to hear that,” Josie said. “Especially if you happen to run into Miss Perline Rose Barnell at the Silverheels Café. The sooner you meet her, the sooner you’ll hear the story.”

  Frank glanced at me, but was gentlemanly enough to pretend he couldn’t see my irritation.

  “But have you met folks who say they have actually seen her up there?”

  “There are plenty of crazy folks in the world. I don’t have time to listen to what they are saying.” She slid off the stool, dropped a nickel on the counter, and left, throwing open the screen door so hard it banged against the wall.

  Mr. Orenbach was happy to let Frank, Willie, and me ride the train to and from Fairplay in exchange for my sweeping and dusting the station every evening for a month. It seemed to me that Willie should do his own work for his ticket, but he refused. He was only going because Mother insisted Frank and I couldn’t go alone, so I had no choice. If I didn’t work for Willie’s ticket, he’d refuse to go, and then Frank and I couldn’t go either.