by Ann Parker
As the evening progressed, Inez kept an eye on her lapel watch. Finally, she turned to Abe and Sol. “I’m going out for a bit,” she told them. “I’ll be back within half an hour.” She exchanged her apron for her winter cloak, a shawl, and a thick muffler and walked down Third, heading toward the mountains and stopping well short of the train tracks. She pulled the cloak and shawl tighter, closing out the wind, and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard the whistle and saw the light of the train. Inez watched it approach, feeling the thunder under the soles of her shoes, the rush as it passed. The cinders flew, painting the dark sky with streaks of light. She watched the train recede, carrying Reverend Justice B. Sands away from Leadville.
She didn’t need to see any more than that. They had already said their good-byes. Their lives, close for too short a while, were now like two trains departing from the same station, but traveling in different directions, the distance between them growing. Inez hoped their intentions held fast, through all that was to come, and that the necessary distance between them would eventually disappear. Wrapping the night around her shoulders, she turned and walked back toward town and the Silver Queen, feeling his presence as clearly as if he kept pace beside her.
Chapter Thirty-five
Wednesday started early and passed quickly. It was Mark’s day to tend the saloon, so Inez planned for an early breakfast and a full day. Breakfast in the kitchen had a rocky start. Bridgette, who had apparently worked up her courage to talk to Inez about the impending divorce suit, had burst out, “But ma’am! Why would you and the mister—?”
One look from Inez stopped her right there.
After an uncomfortable silence, which Inez refused to break, Bridgette finally said, “Well then, will it be ham or bacon with your eggs this morning? And perhaps some cheese atop your sunny-side up?”
After breakfast, she spent a fair space of time in the saloon’s office, pulling together certain papers she wanted to be sure she had at the ready to show her lawyer and Mark, when the time was right. She signed for and added three telegrams which arrived from back East and kept her mind studiously turned away from Frisco Flo and all that was going to unwind on Thursday.
Finally, when she couldn’t stand being inside any longer and Mark’s voice downstairs heralded his arrival for the day, she went into her rooms and changed for riding into her discreet tailor-made split riding skirt. Inez passed through the saloon with a cool nod and continued on to the stables where she kept her horse, Lucy.
“Here comes Isabella Bird,” said the livery owner good-naturedly. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age, Mrs. Stannert. Your girl here has missed ya.” He saddled up the black horse and handed her off to Inez. Lucy was jumpy, shying at the crack of whips directed from drivers of wagons and carriages at their teams.
“I’m sorry, girl,” Inez said, one hand tight on the reins, the other smoothing the coal-black neck. “I’ve neglected you sorely. I shall be sure I leave you in hands better than mine and hopefully more attentive to your needs.”
She directed her equine companion to The Boulevard, the wide and smooth road leading down Third Street, across the railroad tracks, and onward to Soda Springs. Once they were out of town, traffic thinned to near nothing, and Inez let Lucy have her head. She cantered, then galloped a stretch, Inez reveling in the rush of air, the cold stinging her cheeks and making her ears and nose burn. Lucy’s rhythmic chuffing sounded in time to the pounding of her hoofs on the macadam and Inez relaxed into the motion, momentarily letting go of all her worries and concerns. After a while, they pulled up, Inez turned Lucy, and they headed back to town at a trot and finally, at a walk.
It was nearing time for the final act. Inez could only hope for a future in which she and Tony were clear of their troubles and the victims received justice.
***
“Here we are,” Mark said to Inez. “Thursday evening, nine o’ clock, the Tontine, the two of us, just as planned.” He stopped her at the door to the Tontine Restaurant on Chestnut Street and offered her his arm, saying, “For appearances’ sake, darlin’?”
Inez had noticed “darlin’” creeping back with some regularity as the day had advanced toward the supper hour. However, she simply replied, “For appearances’ sake, Mr. Stannert,” and took his arm.
He smiled at her and pushed the door open so they could enter together.
It was the busy hour of the evening for Leadville society. The fashionable restaurant was filled with many familiar faces, including County Court Judge A. K. Updegraf and his wife, who were supping with church board member Mr. Johnson and his missus. Johnson saw them first, and he paused, soup spoon hovering at chin level, horrified eyes pinned on Inez, his sallow complexion building toward a flush. His supper companions stopped chatting and turned to see who had entered, for indeed the conversation level throughout the room had dropped precipitously.
The headwaiter took Mark and Inez past the judge, who nodded to them both. Mark tipped his hat, full of gentlemanly bonhomie. No one watching would guess he was slated to appear a few days hence before the judge and stand as defense to a suit brought by the woman at his side. Updegraf returned his gesture with a courteous smile, but Inez noted his eyes narrow as he regarded them both.
The Stannerts continued to their table. Mark held out the chair for Inez, adding, “I made inquiries earlier about the menu tonight.” He rounded the table and sat, smoothing one end of his meticulously waxed mustache. “And if my choices meet with your approval, we need not worry about being interrupted by waiters nor wine stewards.”
Now, sitting across from him, she could see Mark had prepared himself with special care for their dinner together. His trousers and frock coat were a restrained black, well-tailored and of expensive wool, and freshly pressed. The broad-brimmed black hat had been brushed with similar care. Inez suspected he had even taken a side trip to the barber earlier that day. His thick, light brown hair, gleaming with macassar oil, looked recently cut, and his fingernails, when he removed his gloves, were squared off and buffed.
Handsome is as handsome does, Inez reminded herself, spreading the heavy linen napkin across her lap. Right now, the word “handsome” just about summed him up, although a few other descriptors vied for consideration, such as serious, successful, wealthy, honest as the day is long, and sober as a judge.
Inez folded her hands upon the spotless white tablecloth, assuming an attentive pose. “And what choices have you made, Mr. Stannert?”
“We’d start with soup, fresh oysters in chicken broth.”
She nodded.
“Then, baked trout, turkey and quail pie, prairie chicken on toast, green peas. Potatoes, lobster salad, nuts, coffee, and pound cake.” He shifted in his chair. “If you’ll trust my judgment on the wine?”
“Certainly.”
He seemed surprised at her compliance but didn’t question it. Mark looked at the waiter, hovering at an unobtrusive distance, and nodded.
Mark leaned back in his chair, his gaze roving over the room. It was only through the faintest of tells—the smoothing of the mustache, a slight twitch of the free hand on the table as if he was refraining from drumming his fingers on the damask tablecloth—that Inez could discern his tension. She kept her hands clasped, her expression composed, doing her best to offer no hint of the turmoil playing havoc with her stomach.
“Busy for a Thursday night,” he said. “Even the good judge and his wife are here.”
“I saw,” said Inez. The soup bowls appeared, redolent of the salty scent of chicken and steamed oysters. She viewed the oysters, half-submerged, determining which one would be the first.
“I have been thinking about Lord Percy,” she said, picking up her spoon. “Poor fellow. I do believe he honestly thought his little rabbit’s foot, knocking on wood, avoiding ladders and so on would bring him good fortune. Alas, no sooner did Lady Luck smile upon him then the Devil took it a
ll away.” She sighed. “You know, do you not, that the revolver,” she shot him a look, and he nodded to show he understood, “was found by Percy’s body? However, although Percy was shot, I heard a garrote was the ultimate means of his demise.”
“I heard as well.” He picked up his spoon, then put it down, uncharacteristically restless. “I also heard told he died in the same shack.”
“Heard tell from whom?”
“Sol.”
Inez chose an oyster, chewed slowly, and swallowed. “Have you talked to the deputy? Do you know what was used to strangle Percy?” She thought of the corset laces around Drina’s neck.
Mark shook his head.
Inez added another task to her list.
“Your soup is getting cold,” she pointed out.
They ate in silence, the sound of cultured conversation, subdued laughter, and cutlery on fine china washing over them.
He finally put down his spoon, soup only partially consumed. “Inez—”
The waiter glided in, picked up Inez’s soup bowl, and turned to Mark. “Don’t the soup meet your satisfaction, sir?” He sounded like he was trying for proper, but stumbling a bit in the process.
“It was fine,” said Mark.
The soup was whipped away to be replaced by…“Baked mackinaw trout!” announced the waiter proudly, as though he’d caught, gutted, and cooked it himself. Inez made admiring noises about the presentation and the waiter departed, satisfied.
The trout lay on its bed of parsley and lemon, its mouth agape as if astonished to find itself in this predicament. One glazed fisheye glared accusingly up at Inez. She selected her fish knife and fork, and separated the head from the body with an incisive cut. Pinning the trout with the fork as if it might leap, headless, from her plate, she used the sharp knife to slit it from head to tail and opened it up. With the focused delicacy of a surgeon, she nudged the tip of the knife under the backbone, lifting the skeleton with its many small ribs with the fork, and placed it in the bone dish, then removed the skin.
Mark cleared his throat. Inez looked up from her flayed fish.
He leaned forward and Inez sensed he was gathering himself to make his case. “I’m glad we have this time together, Inez. It’s been difficult for both of us for a while now to just hold a civil conversation. I hope we can take some time, talk our situation over, clear the air and let everything settle now that—” He stopped short, evidently aware of where his speech was heading.
“Now that.” She set the fork on the plate, tines down, and retained the knife. “Now that…what?”
Now that Reverend Sands is gone.
The words hung between them, unsaid.
Mark sidestepped, saying, “Darlin’, let’s see if we can’t talk reasonably. You say I broke our contract. However, it wasn’t drawn up until we’d been a while in the Springs. Since we signed, I’ve been an angel, I swear to the good Lord above, that is the case.” She could hear him maneuvering, getting ready to move forward with his argument. “But, in the interest of full disclosure, I will confess to certain behaviors of mine occurrin’ before I came down to the Springs to meet you. Try to see it from my point of view, Inez. I came home, after a long time away, to find my wife besotted with a man of the cloth who is a wolf in lamb’s clothing.”
Her hand tightened on the wicked little fish knife.
He must have seen that, because he added quickly, “Well, let’s face it, darlin’, you have a soft spot for black sheep. After all, you married me. As for the reverend, I didn’t do anything other than voice my concerns, as a member of the congregation. That’s all.”
“I doubt that was all,” said Inez, and began on her trout.
Mark changed direction again. “You have to admit, darlin’, while we were in the Springs, it was like old times. The good old times.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It was. For a short while.”
“It can be that way again. I acted rashly, I know, but I did it because I love you, I didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t let you just walk away. I hope you can see my thinking. We can put all that has happened behind us, darlin’, and mend whatever’s broken between us. You and I, I know we can. Hang the past, what happened while I was gone. We can just work at forgivin’ each other and agree to move forward, as if that part of our lives never was.”
He was all earnestness. Despite herself, Inez found herself leaning toward him over the table.
A sudden fervor commenced from the front of the restaurant, a rising tide of whispers that grew into a wave of audible murmurs. Inez, sitting with her back to the door, saw Mark’s eyes go wide in disbelief. The glibness, the smooth talk, the warm, inviting gaze, the earnestness—it all slid away, vanquished by whatever, or whoever, was approaching.
“Mark Stannert!”
The throaty feminine voice had a commanding timbre which carried to the far corners of the dining room.
The murmurs increased, wreathed in speculation. Inez shifted around so she could see the speaker. A petite woman of impeccable posture, skin all peaches and cream, hair as bright as a new-minted gold piece, was making her way toward their table, her gaze as fixed on Mark Stannert as a sharpshooter’s rifle sights on his target. Her furled parasol was a deep, shimmering violet that matched her dress and echoed the color of her eyes.
Even though they had never met, Inez knew without a doubt this must be Josephine Young, whose fame in treading the boards was legion in the West. Inez knew her best as the traveling actress who, according to Mark, had played a leading role in rescuing him, near death, from a savage back-alley beating in Leadville. According to Mark, Josephine had spirited him, unconscious, out of town with her retinue of actors and nursed him back to health from his lingering injuries.
However, it was clear to Inez and anyone else in the dining room with eyes in their head and sense to see, a lot more than just “nursing” had been going on during his lengthy recovery.
Josephine was obviously in a family way.
And, by all appearances, she had been so for some time.
The actress advanced leisurely, seeming completely unabashed about exhibiting her “delicate condition” in such a public venue. Everyone in the dining area watched, rapt, their attention fixed upon her. Everyone, that is, except for Inez, who was watching Judge Updegraf. The judge, after taking Josephine’s measure, had turned his gaze on Mark. If that gaze were a knife, Inez thought, Mark would have been as filleted and deboned as the trout upon her own plate.
Mark, who at first had looked as if he wanted nothing more than to hide under the table or dash out the restaurant through the rear door, appeared to have collected his wits at last. “Miss…Miss Young,” he stammered. He began to rise from his chair as Josephine came within striking range.
The brass tip of the purple parasol came up, settled on the center of his chest, and guided him back into his seat. She spared Inez one cool glance, a quick sweep that summed her up and dismissed her, all in one. Josephine returned her attention to Mark and said as sweet as a box of chocolate-covered cherry cordials and as loud as if she was saying her lines in the Tabor Opera House, “Mr. Stannert. Now that I’ve found you at last, you will do right by me and our unborn child. And you will do it as soon as legally possible.”
Inez addressed Mark, who for once was speechless, saying, “I find I have lost my appetite for our dinner and for any further conversation with you.”
She stood and, holding her handkerchief to her mouth, walked toward the entrance through the gauntlet of diners, frozen at their tables and watching her every move. A waiter hurried to her side, solicitous, offering her his arm as if he was afraid she might faint before she made it to the door. Inez leaned upon that steady support, giving the impression the kindly waiter’s arm was the only thing keeping her upright and moving. She kept her eyes cast down, shoulders drooping, the very picture of a wife whose husband’s e
rring ways have left her too shamed and embarrassed to hold her head up in public. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Mrs. Updegraf ’s expression of horror slide into sympathy, and her hand creep over to cover the hand of her husband, the county judge.
Once outside, the waiter seemed unsure what to do. “Madam, do you wish me to call someone for you? A doctor? We have a telephone connection, I know doctors Hewitt and Miller are on the exchange.”
“No need,” she murmured from behind her handkerchief. “I will walk from here. It is safe enough at this hour. Thank you for your kindness.” She started moving up Chestnut, not giving him a chance to protest and act the gallant to a lady in distress.
With her back to him and the mountains, she started toward Harrison, blowing out a hard, deep breath. It had been more difficult than she had thought it would be, this maneuvering and game of chance. Yet, it had played out well. Better than she could have imagined. So why did she feel so empty?
Her head in a muddle, it took a moment for her to hear the faint cries of alarm ahead and to discern the distant, dreaded shout, “Fire!”
She tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve and quickened her pace. At the corner of Harrison, she stopped a harried fellow coming from the direction of the noise and asked what was happening. “It’s all done now,” he assured her. “A small fire of some sort up on East Third. They put it out fast. Everyone jumped on it, the minute smoke was spotted. Good thing someone sent up the alarm so quickly. I’m off to find a physician. One of the little chaps is having difficulty breathing, because of the smoke, I expect.”
“Little chaps?” she asked, her own internal alarms now ringing loudly. “Where was this fire?”
“In a shed behind The Independent offices.”
Inez didn’t stay to hear another word. She raced as fast as her narrow skirts and the uneven Harrison Avenue boardwalks would allow, almost turned her ankle on the corner of Third, and puffed her way uphill, hand to her side to ease the stitch begging her to slow down. A crowd milled around in front of The Independent building. Smoke scented the air, thinning, but still enough to clog her throat.