Tiberius held the gilded knocker and knocked three times. Minutes later, a sulky maid answered and guided Tiberius across the entryway, and down a long corridor to a study at the back of the mansion’s first floor. The room was dim, lit mostly by the uneven glow of the crackling fireplace. Heavy, crimson drapes blocked the bright sun from shining through the room’s two tall windows. .
Tiberius stood on a large Persian rug, beneath a brass chandelier covered in a thin layer of dust. The rug had a beautiful, intricate design, but its colors had long faded, and it was threadbare around the edges.
Two gargantuan redwood bookshelves filled with thick volumes guarded the hearth. The frail Mrs. Whitlock rocked her chair in front of the fire. She had a small book open on her lap, but her tired eyes were fixed on the flames. A big portrait of her husband hung above the fireplace, judging her severely.
Obadiah Whitlock himself sat behind a heavy-looking mahogany desk on the opposite side of the room. He signed document after document, wetting the nib on his quill from time to time.
“Ah, Sheriff Tibbetts. How can I be of assistance?” Whitlock said without looking up from his papers.
“I found your watch.” Tiberius took a last look at the golden timepiece and handed it to his owner.
“You lost your watch, dear?” Mrs. Whitlock asked.
“I’m afraid I was robbed.”
“How awful. I’m glad Sheriff Tibbetts found it then. It was a wedding present from my father, you see. He was a very generous man—”
“Out of curiosity, who was it?” Mr. Whitlock interrupted his wife with such rude familiarity that Tiberius guessed the lady never had much of a say in her own household.
“Who was what?” Tiberius answered with purposeful unconcern.
Obadiah put his pen down. He took off his spectacles, crossed his hands on the table, and fixed his deep, gray eyes on Tiberius for the first time since he’d entered the room. He wore his equally gray hair neatly combed back, showing his receding hairline. His aquiline nose, thin face, and sunken cheeks heightened the harsh, solemn quality of his expression.
“Theft cannot be permitted in our town, Sheriff. Whoever it was, I assume you’ve already arrested him.”
“Or her.”
Mrs. Whitlock giggled. “A lady robber. What an occurrence.”
Obadiah arced his lips in a tight smile, but shifted in his chair as if there were needles inside its cushion.
“Margaret, you look fatigued. May I suggest you get some rest before lunch?”
Mrs. Whitlock closed her book and left it on a marble coffee table. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’d love to stay and chat some more, but my nerves…”
Mrs. Whitlock lifted her languid self from her rocking chair and crossed the room like a lost soul. “Good day, Sheriff.”
Tiberius answered with a polite nod.
Obadiah stood up and closed the door. He waited until he heard the slow steps of his wife mounting the stairs down the hall.
“I don’t enjoy mind games, Sheriff. If you have something to say, say it.”
“Listen Whitlock, you lost your watch, here it is. End of story.”
“May I ask at least where you found it?”
“You know damn well where.”
“I surely don’t know what you mean.”
A mine, a house, a watch. A woman. What was the difference? Everything was a transaction for Obadiah Whitlock.
Tiberius unpinned the silver star from his vest. He brushed it against his elbow, glanced at it, and pinned it back. “I’m no errands boy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who you meet and what you do in your spare time is none of my business. Word of advice, don’t misplace your things next time you visit the Silver Moon. First and last time I cover your tracks in front of your wife.”
Whitlock opened the door and moved away to let Tiberius through.
“You can show yourself out,” Obadiah said icily.
As soon as Tiberius crossed the threshold, Whitlock slammed the door behind him. Tiberius scoffed. Truth was, he enjoyed rattling Whitlock’s cage.
Sarah Anne Whitlock stood in the middle of the hallway. Her brown hair was up and away from her freckled face. She wore a green frock with a square neckline and embroidered, yellow flowers. The corset below the dress accentuated her already slim waist. She crossed her delicate arms across her bosom and frowned.
“What was that about?” she asked.
Tiberius shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Sarah?” Mrs. Whitlock called from the top of the stairs. “Is that you, dear?”
“I’m coming, Mother.” Sarah Anne sighed. “Tiberius, we’ve talked about this.”
Tiberius took a step forward, but Sarah Anne backed away. She walked Tiberius to the front of the house in silence.
Sarah Anne placed her porcelain hand on the door, glimpsed left and right, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re a fool.”
Tiberius breathed in Sarah Anne’s scent: cinnamon, roses, and fresh apples. He tapped his hat and left the house, wishing the soothing effect of her kiss would accompany him for the rest of his long day ahead.
V
Tiberius stared at Sarah Anne’s pale, silky back. She held her white chemise against her naked breasts for a second before putting it over her head. She always dressed slowly after they made love.
Sarah Anne covered her long legs with a pair of pantalets. Her corset lay on the boarded floor. She picked it up and stroked its delicate, satin ribbons.
“I wish you wouldn’t confront him that way,” Sarah Anne said.
Tiberius rolled on his back and rested his head on his arms. “Huh?”
“My father.”
“Confront him how?”
Sarah Anne shook her head, her brown hair swaying over her naked shoulders. “Don’t play the fool, please.”
“Fine. Maybe I shook the old man a little over that silly watch. So what?”
“He was in a foul mood the rest of the day. He was awful to Mother.”
Tiberius sat upright on the mattress. “How’s that my fault, Sarah Anne? The man has a temper. Both you and your mother should stand up for yourselves.”
Sarah Anne turned and fixed her hazel eyes on his. “He’s already difficult, Tiberius. I don’t need you to make it worse.”
Sarah Anne put her corset on. Tiberius tugged the laces on its back. She responded with a soft gasp every time he tightened it.
Tiberius kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry. You know how your father makes me feel. He’s not good for this town anymore. And he’s not good for you either.”
“I still depend on him, whether I like it or not.”
“You don’t have to. I could take care of you. I want to.”
Sarah Anne sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“What’s the problem? I’m an honest man and I love you. I’m the goddamned sheriff. Isn’t that enough for your father? Or for you?”
Sarah Anne moved away. The bottom of her corset was still open, and the laces hung over her buttocks like the tail of a jay. The old floorboards creaked as she paced around the charmless shack. She hugged herself in front of the small hearth. The fire had been out for a while, but the embers still crackled.
“When my father summoned me here to take care of my mother, I was so relieved. I hated my life in Silverton. I did nothing but drink tea with dumb girls whose only ambition in life was to find a husband richer than their fathers.”
Sarah Anne picked up her dress from the rickety coat hanger standing in the corner.
“My father disapproves of me because I dismiss suitor after suitor.” Sarah Anne scoffed. “How could I not? Those men don’t see me as a woman, but as a silver trophy.”
Tiberius left the bed. His lean, naked body gleamed under the warm light of the candles. He hugged Sarah Anne from behind.
“I see you as a woman.”
Sarah Anne placed her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes.
“That house is taking the life out of me. My mother’ss almost a silent ghost. And my father makes no effort to hide his contempt. I feel like an animal in a cage.”
Tiberius caressed Sarah Anne’s hair. It was the color of roasted coffee beans and smelled of fresh columbines.
Sarah Anne broke free from his embrace and slid her flowery dress over her head. She turned her back to Tiberius and combed her hair to the side. Tiberius carefully buttoned the back of her dress.
“Sometimes I envy the girls at the Silver Moon, you know. Nothing is expected of them.”
Tiberius found his clothes scattered around the room. He put his denim pants on. The cloth was cold, and a chill ran from his ankles all the way to his belly button.
Sarah Anne grabbed some pins from her pocket and put her hair up in a perfect bun.
“How do I look? Decent?” She smiled.
“The very picture of decency.”
Tiberius held her tight and spun her around. They fell back on the hay mattress, laughing.
“Let’s run away, Sarah. I’ll build you a palace up in the mountains, where no one can ever find us.”
“You’re a fool, Tiberius Tibbetts.” She kissed him softly on the lips.
Sarah Anne left Tiberius on the bed and straightened her dress. “Look what you did, Sheriff. My dress is even more wrinkled.”
“Tell your pa you fought a wild beast on the way home.”
Sarah Anne laughed melodiously, then peeked through the heavy cloth covering the shack’s only window. “I have to go.”
“Will I see you at the vigil tonight?”
Sarah Anne bit her rosy lips. “I wish we didn’t have to go. Those families hate us.”
“Give it time. People will move on and forget.”
Sarah Anne pointed to the coat rack. Tiberius jumped off the bed, took down her riveted hooded cape, and handed it to her.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll stop ruffling the old man’s feathers.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You can still put him in his place once in a while. You’re the sheriff after all.”
They kissed.
Sarah Anne covered her head with the green hood and left, taking the remaining warmth of the room with her. Tiberius watched her follow the path through the woods from the dirty window of the shack.
Tiberius blew out the candles around the room one by one. Every time the light diminished, he became more aware of the shabbiness of their secret love nest. Some of the wooden paneling on the walls had started to rot. The floorboards were splintered and full of holes. Old ashes scattered from the blackened hearth.
Tiberius threw himself on the hay mattress.
This is all I have to offer.
If only he could fall asleep with Sarah Anne’s scent still fresh on the crisp sheets. But as it always happened, the sheriff came before the man. This would be his only recess, a respite before he had to take his daily duties through the evening and probably deep into the night.
Tiberius gathered the rest of his clothes: a wrinkled plaid shirt, a pair of heavy, dusty boots, and a leather vest with a silver star pinned on it. His holster, duster, and hat hung from the coat rack, like ornaments on a barren Christmas tree.
A woodpecker made a rhythmic racket on the shack’s roof, its pecks a ticking clock reminding Tiberius to hurry. The sheriff got dressed, took a last, long look at the gloomy hideout, then took off.
VI
Long before Obadiah Whitlock set foot on the valley and opened his silver mine, Souls Well was born a tiny colony of trappers and mountaineers. The first settlers told stories about a howling wind that blew from the mountains at night and woke them in their tents. They said it sounded like the laments of the dead, trapped between this world and next, like a well filled with errant, whimpering souls.
But soon the sounds of the picks, explosions, and landslides took over the whining echoes of the dead. Obadiah Whitlock arrived and his small workforce dug tunnel after tunnel until they found the treasure within the rumbling mountains: silver.
After the news of his success spread through the valley, men flocked to that remote spot in the San Juan mountains, convinced that the silver mine represented their chance to start anew. More landowners invested in the area after Whitlock, but no mine produced as much as his.
Every time his miners deepened the tunnels, they found new clusters of precious silver. The mine’s richness seemed to be never ending. More and more families crossed the Gunnison and the Rio Grande, venturing fearlessly into the rocky unknown, following a dream of prosperity.
And prosperity did come. In only five years, Souls Well earned its place on the map. Towns sprouted, grew and flourished fast in the West, but some of them also vanished in the blink of an eye.
Five months ago, the mountains groaned louder than ever before. The peaks roared like cornered beasts with every explosion and hit of the miners’ picks. The miners complained, some of them even left, but Whitlock assured everyone in Souls Well that there was no cause for concern. Until a deathly mass of rolling snow devoured the mine and buried more than forty men alive.
Half of the miners escaped the tunnels before they collapsed and were rescued from under the snow. Twelve of them died overnight. The lucky few who survived wished they hadn’t. And the respect Obadiah Whitlock had so carefully cultivated among his neighbors turned into grievance and spite.
Right before sunset, the townsfolk gathered in front of the buried silver mine. Only the top of the wooden archway of its old entrance was visible under the snow.
The avalanche had transformed the terrain into a rugged, white carpet with streaks of gray where the rock and debris were closer to the surface, the silent landscape a gigantic marble slab, as if nature had created an icy tomb for people to mourn their dead.
The relatives of the deceased lit their candles. Some placed them on the snow, others inside lanterns. Tiberius oversaw the sullen scene from a respectful distance while Father Darley comforted the families. Tiberius looked for Doc Tucker, but he wasn’t there. Probably he’d started his own vigil hours ago, with the sweet taste of rye in his mouth.
The sudden noise of wooden wheels broke the silence. The Whitlocks arrived in their personal carriage, late and unwelcome. Obadiah jumped off the vehicle and walked to the front of the crowd. Mrs. Whitlock followed, taking short, fragile steps, leaning on her daughter’s arm.
Obadiah cleared his throat. “We’re gathered here to remember the brave men whose hard work made our town flourish.”
The townsfolk exchanged quick, uncomfortable glances.
Tiberius kept his eyes on Sarah Anne. She stood by her father, her hands intertwined in front of her waist. She had the regal poise of a queen.
Obadiah ignored the murmuring of his neighbors. “Nature is unpredictable and brings us undeserving tragedy—”
A sharp stone hit Obadiah’s forehead. He staggered. Blood ran down his forehead, dripped over his chin, and tainted the snow red.
Mrs. Whitlock gasped and her knees gave in. Sarah Anne caught her before she dropped to the ground and waved a small bottle of smelling salts under her nose. Mrs. Whitlock perked up a little, placed her head on her daughter’s shoulder and pressed her hand.
“Who did this?” Obadiah hissed.
Every stare pointed at the silver mogul burned with the same spite.
Obadiah waved an accusatory finger. “You’re an ungrateful, shameful bunch.”
Silas the baker, Julian the carpenter, and the sturdy, younger brother of Tim Sullivan stepped forward, their fists clenched. The twin nephews of Buford Jenkins backed them up, blazing torches in their hands. All of them had lost a family member in the avalanche, and none of the bodies of their loved ones had ever been found.
Tiberius would’ve never though any of those men violent, but their stiff poses and fiery eyes told him otherwise, so he placed himself between the men and the Whitlocks.
“We’re done here. Time t
o go home,” he said calmly.
“I won’t forget this,” Whitlock muttered.
Tiberius lowered his voice and turned to Obadiah Whitlock. “These people are desperate and angry. One stray stone is a warning. Shut your big bazoo and leave before things get ugly.”
Mrs. Whitlock cleaned his husband’s bloody wound with the corner of her handkerchief. Obadiah buzzed her off and then Whitlock family started back toward their carriage, but the five men wouldn’t let them through.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” Sarah Anne said sweetly.
No answer. The slightest exhale could have started a tornado.
Tiberius walked to Julian, the tallest and strongest of the group of men. “Move.”
All five men looked at Tiberius with contempt and stood their ground. Tiberius opened his duster. His gun shone under the light of their torches.
“Move,” he repeated without raising his voice.
They did. Obadiah ran to his carriage and leaped inside. Sarah Anne helped her mother up the steps, whispered her thanks, and closed the carriage door. The startled driver whipped the horse, and the carriage rattled down the road.
Tiberius turned to the crowd. “If you’re going to behave like beasts, pack your bags and go live with the coyotes.”
Father Darley gently tapped the enraged men on their shoulder. “We’re all blinded by sadness, aren’t we?”
The old priest’s voice seemed to soothe the furious men. They lowered their torches and began the march back to town. The sun was now low in the sky, the horizon pink and purple. The light of the lanterns grew smaller in the distance until they looked like a trail of fireflies.
“It’ll be a cold night,” Father Darley told Tiberius as he passed by.
“Aren’t they all?”
Tiberius didn’t join the pilgrimage. Dusk turned the snow from white to gray to a dark blue. Tiberius savored the silence. The air still smelled of burned oil, wax, and fear. He thought of the miners, what their last thoughts might have been. He thought of the empty tunnels, how they meandered below his feet, forever cursed.
Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1) Page 3