Searching for Silverheels

by Jeannie Mobley

  “You should contribute too,” I said.

  “I prefer to put my money into something I believe in.”

  “If you knew what they were saying about you—”

  “You think I don’t know what they’re saying? I’ve got ears, girl. But I’ve got a conscience, too, and I do what it tells me.” With that, she stumped off in the opposite direction from George, leaving me feeling ashamed for no good reason at all.

  * * *

  For the next two weeks, the Liberty Bond drive continued everywhere people in town gathered. It seemed like you couldn’t step out of your front door without being accosted by George or Mrs. Crawford. George had taken to asking for contributions on the platform when the noon train came through, always approaching the pretty girls who couldn’t resist his charm. Mr. Orenbach didn’t like it, but he didn’t dare oppose the Crawfords.

  The only person in town who resisted them outright was Josie. She hadn’t contributed at the picnic, and she hadn’t bought so much as a penny’s worth of Liberty Bonds. While Mrs. Crawford seemed to have everyone else in town cowed with accusations of un-Americanism and the threat of writing the governor, Josie only became more stubborn and more vocal in her opposition. She wouldn’t support a president who didn’t support the rights of citizens, and she made sure everyone heard her say it.

  While a small part of me admired her courage, a larger part of me wished she would give in and buy a bond, or at least be a little quieter with her opinions. I didn’t want her to get into serious trouble, and I didn’t want to end up in trouble through association, since she was back to campaigning daily in the café. I still hadn’t asked her about the story, either. I couldn’t risk a private conversation and the gossip it might start.

  More than ever, I was anxious for a letter from Frank. If he could get the truth from Tom Lee, I could put an end to the wager and get Josie and her seditious talk out of the café once and for all. My other clues had produced nothing, and I’d come only to dead ends in my search for whoever had been at Buck Wilson’s grave.

  I looked nightly at the photo I had received from Mae Nelson, hoping it held a secret I hadn’t seen before—a shadowy lady in the distance or in one of the windows of the dance hall. I even imagined that the blurred schoolmarm in the photo was Silverheels. Perhaps Silverheels had come back to Buckskin Joe, disguised as a humble teacher, just to be near her beloved Buck, and she had avoided being captured in the photo to keep her secret. That seemed too far-fetched even for me to believe. I thought it would have made a fine, tragic ending for a penny dreadful, but I knew it would only make Josie laugh.

  Josie did not ask about my search, or say anything at all about Silverheels. As the weeks progressed, she fell into an increasingly foul temper, until her mood could no longer be ignored. One evening she stormed into the full café and slammed the newspaper down on the counter hard enough to slosh coffee cups two seats away.

  “What’s eating her?” Orv said to his associates at the old-timers’ table. Josie spun on him instantly.

  “What’s eating me? I’ll tell you what’s eating me! It’s living in a country that’s willing to send men to die in the name of freedom overseas, but doesn’t grant that same freedom at home to its own citizens. That’s what’s eating me!”

  “Now, Josie—” Russell said in a reasonable tone, but she cut him off.

  “Don’t you patronize me, Russell! I say we impeach Wilson if he doesn’t support the principles at home that he claims we defend abroad!”

  A gasp went up from several tables.

  “Impeach Wilson!” Mrs. Crawford said in horror. Even Mr. Crawford came out from behind his newspaper and gave Josie an angry frown.

  “You don’t really mean that, Josie,” Russell said.

  “You can’t impeach the president when there’s a war on,” said Harry. “We’ve got to stand behind him. Stand united to win the war.”

  “I will not stand behind a president who arrests his own citizens for fighting for freedom!” Josie shouted.

  “I won’t have you spreading sedition in front of my child! It’s indecent. Cover your ears, George,” Mrs. Crawford said.

  George did not cover his ears. On the contrary, he seemed to be taking in the whole spectacle with delight.

  Josie glared at the Crawfords, but Russell stepped between them.

  “Come on, Josie. I know you have strong feelings, but folks are eating their supper now. Let’s sit down, you and I, and we can discuss this between ourselves.”

  He took her elbow politely, but she jerked out of his grasp. “I’ve told you before, Russell, I’ll not be silenced by you. If you all won’t listen, I’ll find those who will.”

  She stomped toward the door.

  “Good riddance!” Mr. Crawford said. George nodded.

  “You forgot your paper,” Orv called after her.

  Josie’s only response was to slam the door on her way out.

  “What’s got her on the warpath?” Tom said.

  Russell looked at the newspaper. He gave a low whistle and read:

  “ ‘Suffragist Alice Paul and six of her so-called National Women’s Party have been arrested once again from the picket line before the White House. Officials tell this reporter that there will be no leniency this time. Prosecutors will be asking for the maximum sentence, six months to two years in prison, if convicted.’ ” He shook his head. “No wonder she’s spittin’ nails.”

  He set the paper on the counter and I could see the picture—a line of well-dressed ladies standing before a large gate, holding American flags and a banner that read Mr. President How Long Must Women Wait for Liberty? I knew there was a war, but this still didn’t sit right with me. Wives and mothers to be sent to prison, when all they had done was stand before the White House with signs and flags? For doing what Josie did daily in our café?

  My thoughts were interrupted by George. “I think it serves them right, don’t you?” he said. He was talking to me. I bit my lip and looked away.

  “Of course, we all do, George dear,” said Mrs. Crawford. “That’s why everyone around here is supporting the Liberty Bond fund, except that awful woman. Now, Pearl, bring George a piece of that cherry pie. And I’d like another cup of coffee.”

  I did as I was told in silence. After so many months of wishing I could get rid of Josie and her campaigning, why did I feel outrage at this news? And why was it making me worry so much about Josie, when she refused to worry about herself?

  CHAPTER 23

  Frank’s letter was waiting at the post office the next day when I checked after lunch. Relief swept through me. With the proof it contained, I would be able to stop Josie from campaigning in the café, which would be best for all of us. Of course, Josie wouldn’t see it that way, but I couldn’t shake the growing fear that Mrs. Crawford could do real harm. Josie needed to lie low for a few weeks, until the Liberty Bonds were all purchased. I rushed home, sat down at the first table I came to, and tore open the letter. My heart pounding, I read.

  Dear Pearl,

  How delighted I was to receive your letter! With the festivities for the Fourth of July and Robert shipping out for training, you must forgive my delay in responding. Robert, you will be glad to know, was a perfect gentleman and very good to Annie until he left, though I still do not trust him. Annie has not breathed a word to Mother of what happened, nor have I. After all, Robert has gone off to war now, and we all must pray every day for his safe return, along with all the other boys who have gone to France, as Mother reminds us daily.

  I wrote Mr. Lee at once after other matters were dispensed with. He is in frail health, but was eager enough to tell his story. Last Wednesday I went to his daughter’s house, where she takes care of him, and he told me what he knows.

  I have been trying since to think what to write you. Pearl, I am sorry to say he says the whole story as you know it is not true.

  I drew in a sharp breath in shock. This was the worst possible news, but I could not stop r
eading now, so I plunged ahead.

  Mr. Lee first came to Buckskin Joe in 1868, so he was not there during the epidemic, but he says that tales of it have been greatly exaggerated. Silverheels never had smallpox, nor did she disappear from town. She had many suitors after the epidemic, but she chose Jack Herndon, the saloon owner. Miners were leaving town after the free gold played out, and the saloon business was drying up, so they staked a homestead claim in the valley and settled into ranching. They built up the finest spread in South Park, and had a pretty little baby girl named Marian. They stayed on a few years after that, until Mr. Herndon’s father passed on in Kentucky and they inherited the family farm down there. They sold their spread to Mr. Lee and haven’t been back to Colorado since.

  Are you very disappointed, Pearl? I hope I have done the right thing to tell you this. It is not really a very exciting story after all the rest, but I suppose the truth of life is never quite as thrilling, is it?

  Please write me back and tell me what you think. I suppose there is not much to think if Mr. Lee actually knew her. He must be right. But do write me back all the same. Has Orv recovered from his fall? How is Russell? Have you seen Mrs. Nelson again? I want to know everything that goes on there and hope every day for a letter from you or Willie. Things are dull here in Denver without you.

  Sincerely, your friend,

  Frank Sanford

  I stared in disbelief at the letter. I was defeated! Now I saw the secret clue in Mae Nelson’s photograph that I should have seen all along. The picture was taken in the 1870s, and Tom Lee was only a child. He could not have remembered the epidemic of 1861. The only way he could have known Silverheels would be if she had stayed on. And if she hadn’t disappeared, chances were the rest of the story was false too. There was nothing at all to the story I had believed all my life. How could Silverheels have been just an ordinary person—a ranch wife—who had led an ordinary life? This was worse than Josie’s version of the story. At least Josie had allowed her to be clever and conniving. A ranch wife? I’d never get Josie to stop campaigning now!

  I was still staring at the letter, trying to decide what to do, when the front door burst open and Mrs. Crawford came thundering through, shouting my mother’s name. Mother came out of the kitchen, her eyebrows raised.

  “Margaret Barnell, how dare you!” Mrs. Crawford said.

  Mother calmly wiped her hands on her apron. “How dare I what, Phoebe?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know! I was just down in Fairplay, where I ran into Mr. Merino from the mercantile.”

  “Oh?”

  “He tells me that he has sold all of his Liberty Bonds. He’s collected over one hundred dollars. And some folks are well on their way to fulfilling their subscriptions. Well, of course I wondered how he had managed that feat so quickly, and you know what he told me? He told me that the butcher’s wife from up in Como came down with thirty-five dollars. Not only did she buy her bond, but she contributed to the subscriptions of some of her friends in Fairplay!”

  Mother smiled. “Well, that’s fine news. I’m glad to hear that so much has been raised for the war effort.”

  “Don’t pretend innocence with me,” Mrs. Crawford spat back. “I know you talked her into selling her frankfurters at the picnic, after I expressly forbid it! And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you told her to take the money down to Merino’s store. You are both traitors to this town.”

  “It seems to me, Phoebe, that you said you wouldn’t take Mrs. Schmidt’s money. Besides, what difference does it make where we buy our Liberty Bonds? They all support the same war effort, don’t they? Aren’t we supposed to be thinking first of our boys over there?”

  Mrs. Crawford’s eyes narrowed. “I am writing the governor, letting the authorities know you conspire with the Germans and with the National Women’s Party. Mark my words, Maggie Barnell. There are two sides to this war, and you’ll be sorry you picked the wrong one!” With that, she turned and marched out the still-open door.

  Mother watched her go. Then she sighed and turned back to the kitchen.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, following.

  “Start supper,” she said.

  “No, I mean about Mrs. Crawford. She thinks we are traitors!”

  Mother looked me in the eyes. “Are we traitors, Pearl?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then we have nothing to worry about.”

  “But she’s writing to the governor! And she has evidence. Everyone knows you told Josie she could campaign in here at lunchtime. And now you are helping the Schmidts?”

  “Mrs. Gilbert,” she corrected. “And if I wasn’t standing by the Schmidts, I really would be a traitor.”

  “But—”

  Mother held up a hand to stop me. “Pearl, listen to me. These are hard and confusing times. The best I can do is to be true to what I know is right. It’s the best any of us can do.” She touched me over my heart. “What’s right in here is more important than what someone like Mrs. Crawford tells you is right. Try to remember that.”

  I understood what she meant, but I knew that it wasn’t practical advice. After all, the suffragists at the White House were doing what they believed in their hearts was right, and they had ended up in jail. I couldn’t let that happen to my mother, so I slipped out the back door and went looking for George.

  I found him relaxing on the front steps of the mercantile, and I asked him to take a walk with me. He agreed, taking my hand in his as we set off toward the creek. When we were out of sight from town, he pulled me to him and kissed me on the lips. I let him, reminding myself it was what I’d always wanted, even if his lips felt like they were smothering me and his breath smelled like onions.

  To my relief, George pulled back for air and I was able to speak before he could trap my mouth again. I told him what had happened in the café that afternoon. He wasn’t a bit surprised.

  “Can you talk to your mother?” I asked him, after I had told him of her threat. “Ask her not to write to the governor about my mother?”

  “But Pearl, you know it’s all true. Your mother has invited Josie to spread sedition in the café, and she did conspire with Mrs. Schmidt.”

  I remembered the day my mother went to talk to Mrs. Schmidt about the picnic, and I knew he was right. “But that was all harmless.”

  “That’s for the governor to decide.” He brought his lips close to mine for another kiss. “Don’t worry, Pearl. I don’t blame you.”

  I pulled back. “Don’t worry? How can I not worry when your mother is trying to get my mother arrested?”

  He stared at me for a moment with a small smile at the corner of his mouth. Then he slid his hands around my waist and pulled me close, imprisoning me in his strong arms. “Maybe they will let your mother off easy, since your father wasn’t here. She hasn’t had much guidance this summer. And you’re so sweet and naive, no one will blame you.”

  “I’m not a child, George!” I said, annoyed.

  He smiled a mischievous smile. “I know,” he said and pressed his lips to mine again. I jerked away, breaking his grasp and stepping out of his reach.

  “What? Isn’t this why you brought me here, out of sight from town?”

  “I brought you here to talk, George! Your mother is trying to cause us trouble when my mother hasn’t done anything wrong, and you know it! How can you think of kissing at a time like this!”

  I ran back to town and into the café. I didn’t look back to see if he followed, and he didn’t try to stop me. I hoped he would see reason and come make up with me that evening, but he didn’t. In fact, virtually no one came in for supper. I was certain Mrs. Crawford’s threats were keeping everyone away. The next morning, however, the usual group of old-timers was there, minus Josie. She didn’t come in for lunch, either. A tiny spark of hope kindled in me. Perhaps Josie had heard of Mrs. Crawford’s anger and had decided to go easy on us until things smoothed over. Mother suggested we take her breakfast when she didn’t come
the next day, but the old-timers insisted she was in a snit, and it was better to leave her alone.

  When she still hadn’t surfaced for breakfast for the third day in a row, it could no longer be ignored.

  “It’s not like Josie to stay away so long,” Russell said. “I reckon it’s time we checked in on her.”

  “Maybe Pearl could go over after we eat,” Mother said, coming out of the kitchen with our breakfast.

  “I’ll go with you,” Russell said.

  I loafed over my breakfast, in no rush to visit Josie in broad daylight, but at last we had to go. Her house was closed up tight as always. Her boots sat outside the back door, but there was no sign of life from within.

  “Her boots are here, so she must be home. Unless she’s gone out barefoot,” Russell observed. He rapped gently on the door, but there was no answer.

  “Russell, look,” I said, pointing to the boots. A spider had built a web across the opening of one of them, as if it had been sitting there undisturbed for a while. All the lines of Russell’s face tightened and hardened with worry. He raised his hand, and this time when he rapped on the door, each knock was loud and crisp.

  “Jo, are you in there?” he called. There was no answer.

  “Josie?”

  No answer.

  Impatiently, he called louder. “Josephine Gilbert! Open this door!”

  Still, there was no answer.

  Russell took the doorknob and jerked the door open. Together we rushed inside.

  The house was neat and tidy—the bed made, the dishes all washed and put away, the table wiped clean. Even the old printing press in the corner, which had been cluttered by stacks of leaflets when I had last been here, was tidy. The papers themselves were gone, and so too, apparently, was Josie. Just like the Silverheels of legend, she had disappeared without a trace, leaving only her tidy cabin and her shoes behind.

  CHAPTER 24

  The news that Josie was gone did not really cause much of a stir back at the café. Perhaps if it had been winter and the weather posed a danger, or if there had been signs of feeblemindedness it would have been different. As it was, they all figured Josie could come and go as she pleased, which of course was true. And most of them really preferred the idea of her going to the idea of her coming, so there was no fuss there. The problem was, she had never gone before, not like this.