Leaden Skies

by Ann Parker

  Doc had already helped himself to his favorite and stood to one side, beaming, brandy snifter in hand, looking much more like his old self. “Capital, Mrs. Stannert. And we should have time for one or two rounds of cards. As I mentioned to you all,” he addressed the visitors, “sitting at the poker table with a player as lovely and accomplished as Mrs. Stannert is a Leadville experience that none should miss!”

  “I concur,” said Gallagher, who had lit a cigar and was now examining the view out the window. He turned to Tabor, eyebrows raised. “Mr. Tabor, have you had the pleasure of facing Mrs. Stannert across a table?”

  Tabor shook his head. “I remember many a time playing against Mister Stannert, though. In the early days of the camp. He was one damn lucky fella when it came to cards and games of chance in general, as I discovered to my own personal sorrow, a’course.”

  Some general laughter at that.

  “Why, I was at the table when he won this saloon on the turn of a card. Clever man, that Mark Stannert.” Tabor turned his gaze away from the others to focus back on Inez. “Right sorry to hear of his passing on, Mrs. Stannert.”

  The glint in his eye was anything but sympathetic, though. In fact, she thought she detected a combination of calculation and common lechery that made her skin creep.

  Inez murmured something that could be interpreted as a polite demurral and then inquired brightly, “Well, gentlemen, since I know that time is of the essence and, in circles such as yours and mine, time is money,” some appreciative chuckles at this old chestnut, “shall we gather at the table? I shall ask our guest of honor to choose the game.”

  “I think the lady of the house should choose, as I’m but a visitor to your establishment. What do you usually play?” Grant set down the shot glass at the round gaming table and declined a refill from Abe with a polite wave of the hand.

  Doc spoke up jovially before Inez could answer. “We have a regular poker game here most Saturday nights, sir, and I am honored to be a member of that chosen fraternity, as is Harry here. Well, when he is in town, that is. We indulge in fine liquor, pleasant conversation, and simple five card draw.”

  “It’s good to see some things haven’t changed,” said Harry.

  Inez refused to look at him.

  “Poker. The old soldier’s game. Good enough for me,” said Grant.

  They all took their drinks and settled around the table. Harry took his customary seat to her right. Her irritation and unease increased. She tried to smooth the unwanted emotions from her mind as she might smooth out the wrinkles of a shirtwaist with a red-hot clothes iron.

  Abe handed her a sealed deck, saying low, “I’m gonna go get Sol. He can help out up here an’ I’ll work the downstairs with Michael. And there’s been a request for Taos Lightning from the lieutenant governor.”

  Inez glanced up at Horace Tabor, who was smoothing his extravagantly large mustache and grinning at her like a randy fool.

  He winked broadly at her.

  She tried to quell her disgust.

  “Well, gentlemen.” She looked around the table. All were in place, eyes fixed upon her. She made her voice tinkle with disarming feminine charm as she said, “Goodness, this is the first time in my life I’ve had the undivided attention of an eminent Civil War general and former president, two governors, two silver kings, a Congressional-hopeful, and the town’s best physician, all at the same moment. I hope it doesn’t go to my head.”

  She slit the seal with a fingernail, and opened the pack. “Gentlemen, let’s play poker.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “And where were you when these fine dignitaries made their appearances at the Silver Queen?” Inez asked Reverend Sands.

  The company had departed but twenty minutes previous, with Doc, the good shepherd, clucking and herding them along so they wouldn’t be late in arriving at the banquet at the Clarendon.

  “There I was,” she continued. “Having to play poker against Grant, who has to have the most granite poker face of all times. My God, he’s good. I’d love to play him again, under different circumstances. Oh! And I had to jolly along a sulking John Quincy Adams Wesley, no wonder there. And fend off the oily advances of Horace Tabor, who appeared to be deep in his cups already. What’s going on between Horace and Harry? Horace referred several times to that Independent piece, making jokes about Chinese immigration, Chinese workers, and so on. Most boorish of him. Threw in a couple of references to the Grants staying at his hotel, the Clarendon, rather than at Harry’s hotel, the Clairmont. Horace must be ten times the fool I originally thought to push Harry like that.”

  “There was a problem.”

  At his tone, Inez paused in her assiduous extinguishing of the oil lamps. Only one remained lit in a wall sconce, casting long and wavering shadows about the room.

  “A problem? What kind of problem?”

  Sands, who had moved to gaze out the window at the panorama that was State Street, turned and looked at her. He was in deep shadow, his expression unreadable as he said softly, “You are beautiful tonight, Inez.”

  He walked forward, into the light. Took her hand in his. Lifted it to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, just above the diamond bracelet.

  Her heart full, she closed her hand about his. After a moment, she said, “Don’t change the subject, Reverend Justice B. Sands. What problem kept you from accompanying everyone to the Silver Queen? Doc could have used your subtle touch to help get them out the door. They were having such a fine time drinking my liquor and stripping me of funds that I believe they were prepared to forego the banquet altogether. As it was, I had to nearly shove them out myself and promise the lieutenant governor that I would certainly be most honored to sit on his left at the banquet, should the seating arrangements be so construed.”

  As she’d hoped, her prattle caused the reverend’s lined face to relax into a smile. “Don’t worry, Inez. God’s representatives have a certain power over even the head waiters and machinations of politicians.”

  “Good. Now, as to your problem?” She enclosed his hand in both of hers.

  He sighed and withdrew his hand. “One of Grant’s stops today was to be the Silver Mountain Mining works.”

  “Harry Gallagher’s mine.” It was no question. She knew whose it was.

  “By the time we arrived, he had but a little while to visit the offices, examine the main head frame, and then depart. The plan had been to have Grant and Gallagher descend the mine shaft for a quick tour of the underground, but Grant declined at the last moment, due to time constraints.”

  Silence.

  “That was the problem?” she inquired.

  “No. It’s what happened later, after we left.” He walked back to the window, looked out into the night. “When the mine returned to normal working order, the first time the bucket was lowered…”

  “Yes?”

  “The cable snapped.” It was said with a flat finality. “Two men plunged to their deaths down the shaft.”

  Inez’s hand crept up to cover her mouth. “Do you think someone tampered with the cable?” she finally managed to say.

  “So the mine supervisor says. It’s unknown who the intended victim was. Could have been Grant or Gallagher.” He shook his head wearily. “Or even the governor. Pitkin was also supposed to be in the descending party.”

  Inez sank onto a nearby chair. “Who did it?”

  “We may never know.”

  “I’ve heard talk,” she said. “Long before Grant arrived, of course. But even in the last couple of days. And then, there was that attempt at the parade.” She looked up at Sands. “Is it more, do you think, than just a few disgruntled souls? Is there something more organized going on?”

  “At this point, Gallagher has ordered that not a word is to be said of the particulars of the mine incident. No further investigations. Anyone who says anything will be fired.”

  “Knowing Harry, he’d not stop at a mere firing if
someone crossed him,” Inez said under her breath.

  Reverend Sands swung around. “What’s that?” His voice was sharp.

  Inez could almost see a wall of dissension slam down between them, as it often did when Harry was the subject.

  Not that we’ve had occasion to discuss him for a long time. I swear, he’s like the snake in the Garden. All is well until he appears and then all Hell breaks loose.

  “Just talking to myself. This is such a terrible thing to happen. But, to not investigate, to order, for heaven’s sake, that no one discuss the incident! Harry is not well loved at his company. I mean, look at the letter Jed printed in The Independent today. It says Harry has actually considered bringing in Chinese workers to man his mines. If that isn’t fuel to the fire, I don’t know what is. When the strike occurred in May, he was back East telegraphing brutal orders to his mine manager. Oh, I hear things, you know. I heard that he told his manager to spread the word that anyone attempting to stop the strikebreakers would never walk again. I know that you will defend Harry to the death. That you probably did just that in the War, when you were under his command. But does this mean no proper burial and mourning for the men? What of their families?”

  “Inez, Harry is not as black-hearted as you make him out. Of course the men will be mourned and properly buried.” His voice was sharp. “Harry is also providing a generous settlement to each family.”

  “Buying their silence no doubt,” Inez said, louder than she intended.

  There was a long, cold pause.

  Finally, Reverend Sands turned to her desk, picked up her fan, and brought it to her. “We should go. They’ll be opening the doors to the banquet room at eleven o’clock.” He touched her cheek with a gloved hand. “What I wanted to say—before the conversation got derailed—is that I’ve been asked to accompany Grant and his party for the rest of their Colorado stay.”

  She forced herself not to jerk back from his touch. “Hasn’t he bodyguards of his own? Or is he hoping you’ll provide intervention of a more heavenly sort?”

  Sands said nothing.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “At least a week. Maybe two.”

  “I see.” She lowered her eyes. The moonlight glinted off her fan’s silver chasing. “Well, you are correct in one regard. We should be going if we are not to be the last in the banquet hall. I do hope that Tabor hasn’t bribed someone to tinker with the seating.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The banquet and the speeches afterward were just as interminable as Inez had feared they’d be.

  The only good, she reflected, as first one o’clock, then two o’clock in the morning ticked by, was that she had managed to dodge the disaster of being Horace Tabor’s dining partner. It had taken some heavy “iron hand in velvet glove” ministerial persuasion on the part of Reverend Sands to undo the seating arrangements, but place cards were hastily moved around and the untenable conditions rectified to Inez’s satisfaction. However, it did make her a little nervous that the lieutenant governor of the fair state of Colorado directed an occasional drunken and sulky glower her way, as if very much aware of her decision to give him the cold shoulder.

  She was also gratified to see that Serena Clatchworthy was in attendance, particularly since the feminine sex was only lightly represented amongst the hundred or more attendees.

  Despite her defiantly purple dress of differing hues and fabrics and a most becoming clutch of purple flowers in her upswept hair, Mrs. Clatchworthy seemed uncharacteristically subdued. It could be, Inez reflected, the tempering effect of her brother at her elbow. He chatted amicably with his dinner partners but, it seemed to Inez, kept a close attention whenever his sister opened her mouth to converse. As with the other attendees of a journalistic bent, once the speeches began, she pulled out her notepad, retrieved a pencil, and scribbled surreptitiously while the speakers went on. And on.

  Inez hid a yawn behind her fan, as yet another speaker rose and began, “Owing to the lateness of the hour, and after there has been so much said, and so well said, I can scarcely think of anything that I can say that will add to the sentiments already expressed.”

  Oh, but you will come up with something, thought Inez, as the speaker launched into his speech with an enthusiasm that was a sight to behold at three in the morning. He had just begun a long and laborious passage about Colorado and her greatness and welcoming the general on behalf of the whole people of Colorado, except Utes and Chinamen, when one of Mrs. Clatchworthy’s flowers fell from her hair and dropped onto the white tablecloth.

  Mrs. Clatchworthy leaned toward her brother, said something in his ear. He nodded. She picked up the flower, set her napkin on the table and rose, heading toward the ladies’ dressing room. Inez excused herself with a whisper to the reverend, who, focused on the speech, nodded absentmindedly, and hurried after Serena, hoping to catch her alone.

  Luck was with her, for once. A servant sat in one corner, nodding precipitously with an occasional snore that sounded more like a sneeze. Serena, standing before one of the mirrors, was plucking the delicate flowers out of her hair, and attempting to re-tuck them back in so they would stay.

  “Mrs. Clatchworthy, may I lend a hand? I know how hard it is to arrange the back of one’s coiffure without help.”

  She started, then looked up at Inez’s reflection in the mirror. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Stannert. Yes, it is such a bother and I am all thumbs. I actually hired a neighbor to do my hair, never guessing it would begin to shed in such a way. But Willie, Mr. Casey that is, threatened to leave me at home if I didn’t dress up properly and be on my best behavior. Bah! But what could I do? He is the veteran of the War, the one who received the invitation. To hear and observe for myself, it was necessary to acquiesce.” She shrugged.

  A purple flower poised over one ear let go and landed on her shoulder, clinging desperately to a bit of lavender lace.

  “Allow me, then.” Inez untangled the delicate bloom from her collar.

  Serena surrendered the handful she’d collected. Inez set to work, carefully inserting the blooms in the complicated twisted plaits of Serena’s dark brown hair and trying to decide how to broach the topic of Mrs. Wesley and the damning letters published in The Independent.

  Serena, however, saved her from the difficulty of setting a devious conversational trap at three in the morning.

  “Honestly, can you believe these speeches,” Serena said conversationally. “‘The whole of people of Colorado, excepting the Utes and the Chinamen, welcome you.’ Are the Celestials and Indians not men, women, and children as well? Honestly. It just feeds into the fervor over the The Independent paper today. As if the Celestials are not even human.”

  “Ah yes, The Independent.” Inez tucked one blossom between two thick ropes of hair. “And then, there was Mr. Wesley’s views on women’s suffrage.”

  “Oh yes indeed. I will say,” her voice perked up, “I sold every single copy of the Cloud City Clarion today, due to the mention of that letter. I shall have to thank Mr. Elliston for the free advertisement.”

  “So, the letter was real?” Inez tried to sound casually interested, as if this was all just idle conversation to pass the time while she replanted the bouquet in Serena’s hair.

  Serena twisted around to look at Inez, causing the most recent of the replaced flowers to once again loosen and fall. “Why, I have no idea. I never received it. So, I didn’t have the chance to view the contents myself.” She twisted back to the mirror, the wings of her dark eyebrows drawn together. “But I tell you, I will be there at the duel tomorrow to see Mr. Elliston’s proof. If he has a letter addressed to me, it is my property and should be returned. Stealing from the U.S. post is a most grievous offense.”

  “You think that it is not a hoax? Has Mr. Wesley written to you in the past?” Another bloom slid neatly into place.

  “Well, really it’s Lucretia Wesley and I who are likely to hold common correspondence.�
� Serena touched her hair tentatively.

  “No no, don’t touch. That’s what makes them loosen and fall out. So, you and Mrs. Wesley are comrades in arms in the fight for women’s suffrage, and her son’s views are…?”

  She shrugged. “His own. But I would be surprised if he did not share his mother’s opinions. She has been a strong influence on his life, and I certainly agree with him about the plight of the Chinese. Why shouldn’t they be allowed to work? Why should we bar them from this country? Did we bar the Irish during the Great Famine? Did we bar the Dutch when they first came to New York? Did you know that during the famine, a group of Indians, Choctaws actually, put together a collection and sent it to Ireland to help the starving? Now, I ask you, why shouldn’t Indians, Celestials, and yes, women of all races, be allowed to vote and take on honest work?”

  “Why not indeed,” said Inez, desperate to keep the conversation on track as she only had two more blossoms to position. “Speaking of women and honest work, did you know that Mr. Elliston hired a woman typesetter for The Independent?”

  “No!” Definite, genuine surprise and disbelief. “Mr. Elliston? Well, I am speechless.”

  “So, you don’t know this typesetter? A woman named Zel or Zelda…?” Inez watched Serena’s open mobile face in the mirror closely.

  “I’d no idea she even existed! I shall have to find her and hire her away from him. Imagine, a women’s rights paper, created and designed solely by women. How wonderful that would be to put on the masthead.”

  “Well, she’s disappeared,” said Inez.

  “Oh, I am so sorry to hear.” Serena sounded genuinely, completely disappointed. “Zelda. Do you know her surname?”

  “Thomas?” suggested Inez, injecting doubt, hoping to see perhaps a flicker of recognition at the last name.

  Serena looked blank. Not a shred of recognition. “Ah, well. Such a shame. I shall keep an ear out in case she resurfaces.”