Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04)

by Ann Parker

  Inez sniffed, and crossed her arms. The marshal started walking back to the hotel, and she matched his stride. “So, that is it?”

  He looked at her, wary, a bit bemused. “What’s it?”

  “You’re not asking more questions? You are not going to pursue the circumstances of Mr. Pace’s death any further?”

  “Now ma’am. I’m not one to pass the buck nor play to the gallery.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if to a child. “At the same time, I’m not going to kick up a row where there’s nothing to be gained. Gentleman comes a cropper on the stagecoach out of Leadville. Out of my jurisdiction, but Mr. Lewis says, real desperate-like, can I spare the morning to come down and give the matter some attention. So, I come. I ask questions. I listen to the answers.”

  He stopped speaking as Nurse Crowson approached with her charge, wheels clacking and squeaking. He stepped to one side on the gravel path to allow her to pass. Inez did the same. As the nurse headed toward the clinic, she nodded a greeting at the marshal. He ran a finger along the rim of his bowler in acknowledgment.

  After nurse and patient had turned the corner, the marshal resumed. “For witnesses, we got a distraught widow, a passel of young’uns, a servant girl who won’t say nothin’ that doesn’t sound like a quote from the Good Book, and that other gal, Miss Carothers, who admits she doesn’t remember what-all because she was too worried about the young’uns and tryin’ to keep them from stampeding into panic. And then, there’s you. I gotta say, Mrs. Stannert, I credit your testimony as observations of the first water, but I also respect Dr. Prochazka as being simon-pure when it comes to matters of doctoring.”

  Doctoring. Healing. Tonic.

  A sudden thought struck Inez, and she slowed, trying to sort it out. “Marshal. Mr. Pace’s troubles turned deadly right after he drank the bottled tonic. Is it possible, could there have been something more than or different from just the medicine in the bottle?” As she heard herself say the words, the natural conclusion loomed—a storm cloud in a darkening sky. “If that were the case, could the intended victim have been Mrs. Pace, and not her husband?” The thought sent a shiver through her. “Because that would mean she could still be in danger.”

  The marshal, who had stopped to hear her out, held up a hand to cut her off. “Whoa, whoa. That’s a pretty wild idea you’ve roped there. No proof, for any of it, and no sense behind it. The bottle was sealed, you said so yourself. Besides, why would anyone want to strike at a woman like her? You’re riding way out in front of the herd. I say it’s time to wind up this business and move along.”

  She backpedaled. “Well, perhaps it wasn’t intentional. Maybe it was a mistake. A miscalculation by the doctor or his assistant—too much of this, not enough of that—could be enough to turn a healing draught deadly.”

  The marshal, shaking his head, was already moving, putting distance between himself and Inez, as if her odd theories might be some infectious disease that he had no intention of catching. “The doctor does his own tonics. I know that for a fact.”

  Inez rolled her eyes. “Tonics, nostrums, sirups. Quackery and flimflammery. Probably all comes down to cheap whiskey and a touch of laudanum.”

  “It ain’t like that, ma’am,” he said stubbornly. “Dr. Prochazka’s no quack or purveyor of patent medicines, and he doesn’t make mistakes of the kind you’re suggesting.”

  “What makes him such a saint? Did he breathe life back into your lungs and cure you of consumption?”

  The marshal stopped again and pinned her with a steely eye. “No ma’am. But my wife was on the point of meetin’ her Maker when we came to Manitou to take the waters out of sheer desperation. The doctor took her in as a charity case. I couldn’t pay his fees on a lawman’s salary. He saved her life. So sure, I suppose you could say he gave me my breath back. Without my Mary, you might as well ready my resting place in the bone orchard. Without her, I would’ve been a goner. My life, over.”

  Inez felt a flush rise to her cheeks, his rebuke stinging like a physical slap. “My apologies, Marshal. I didn’t mean to pry. I should not have said all that.”

  “No ma’am. I guess you shouldn’t’ve.” He tugged on the brim of his hat, bringing it further down his forehead and shadowing the tightness that had appeared around his eyes. Without waiting for her, he moved briskly through the last of the winding garden path, up the porch stairs to the back veranda of the hotel, and disappeared inside.

  Inez shook her head. The bitter scent of some strong herb and the drone of bees in a nearby rosebush filled her head as she tried to collect herself. Birds shrilled, and the temperature, she noticed, had climbed appreciably since her rising just a couple hours earlier.

  She was without a hat, having left it in the dining room at the initial summons. The heat weighed heavily, like a clothes iron on a cotton drape, pressing her down. I should have kept my suspicions to myself. Stepping on the toes of the local law, even inadvertently, was most unwise. I hope I don’t have cause to regret my remarks any further than I do at this moment.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Inez!”

  Harmony’s voice brought Inez out of her guilty reverie. Her sister was coming down the back steps, hurrying toward her. “The children are back! Come. Your son will need to rest soon.” She took Inez’s arm. “We try hard to keep him to the schedule the doctor recommended.” She peered at Inez. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. It’s…” I’ve been insulted by that pernicious quack. I’ve alienated the town’s lawman. I’d give a small fortune for a stiff iced lemonade. “It’s just so warm,” Inez finished, lamely. “In Leadville, the air isn’t quite so oppressive. So where is William?”

  Harmony guided her toward the hotel. “If you think the air here is oppressive, then you have forgotten what it’s like back East in the summertime. Even in Newport, the air is so thick I can barely move when visiting Mama and Papa. The hotel’s children just returned from their morning outing. The hotel is wonderful in keeping them entertained. This morning, Lily and William joined the others on an excursion on the little donkeys, the burros. The sweetest animals, so patient! They are all out in front.”

  While talking, Harmony and Inez had walked through the dim interior of the hotel, almost startling in its coolness after the trapped heat in the garden. They emerged onto the front porch. The rocking chairs on the ground-floor veranda were well occupied, and the squeaking of their gliders combined with the general confusion just beyond. The burros huddled, as if by sheer numbers they could prevail against the whistling and urgings of the stable staff to move them along. Inez gathered the stable boys were taking the burros to someplace other than the stables, because surely the pack animals would otherwise be stampeding toward home. Sweet animals indeed. Everyone in Leadville knew of the obstinate nature of the beasts, and their simple stubbornness in the face of switch or curse, if they were not inclined.

  Mingling with the stable boys’ shouts were the excited and tired voices of the children. Much like the donkeys, the children stood in a pack, with nursemaids, governesses, and nannies hovering, wiping a dusty face here, calming a sobbing girl in a smudged white smock dress there.

  Inez cast an anxious eye over the swirling mass of knee-high urchins clinging to older children or adults as she and Harmony moved down the front steps. All of the very youngest children were half hidden in long skirts. She spotted Lily, just as Harmony lifted a hand, and Lily responded. Slowly, Lily, with William in tow, moved out of the crowd.

  He was rubbing his eyes with a pudgy fist, leaving dirt smudges across his face as he did so. A straw hat dangled from his neck by a leather string. Inez’s heart was pounding so hard and fast, the crash of blood through her veins seemed to cloud her vision. Unable to wait a moment longer, she rushed toward William and scooped him up in her arms. Inez buried her face in his hair, noticing, as she did so, how it had lightened, how it was now the same golden brown as Mark’s hair. “William, it’s me, your mama.”

  William
reared back, smacking Inez’s nose with the sudden movement, and screamed as if he was being scalped. Those nearby—adults, children, burros—hushed and stared at the spectacle. William’s booted feet lashed out furiously against her skirts, and he twisted violently, trying to escape, howling the entire time.

  Shocked, Inez nearly dropped the wiggling bundle of fury that was her son. Even as she attempted to grapple with his physical and verbal rejection, the observation flashed through her mind: There’s certainly nothing wrong with his lungs right now!

  Lily rushed forward, arms open wide. William screamed, snot running down toward his mouth, and held his arms out to her in return. He tilted dangerously, sliding from Inez’s grasp. Inez felt as if she’d grabbed a wild cougar cub instead of the child of her own flesh and blood.

  Lily snatched the toddler from Inez, saying with vehemence, “He doesn’t know you! You scared him!” She turned away from Inez, as if shielding William with her body. “Shhh, shhh, little Wilkie,” she cooed. “Lily’s here. Lily’s here.”

  Inez wrapped her empty arms around herself, in an unfilled hug, staring at Lily’s back. Her snuffling offspring peered at her over Lily’s shoulder. His eyes, lashes plastered together by tears, were suspicious, fearful replicas of the ones she saw in her mirrored reflection every day. She felt as if her heart had been ripped from its cage of bone and trampled in the dirt.

  “Wilkie?” She sounded out the unfamiliar nickname. “His name is William!”

  Harmony hurried up to her, saying, “What with Jonathan’s brother William, his son Will, our stable boy Billy, and the D’Andelots next door with their little Guillaume, it just seemed prudent to give him a nickname.”

  “You might have told me.”

  William had turned his head away. One cheek now lay against Lily’s shoulder, one arm dangling. The other was curled around her neck, the chubby fist gripping a long mousey strand of Lily’s hair that had escaped her bonnet in back. Lily bounced him slightly, soothing him with a low murmur.

  Harmony flushed. “It was an oversight. In our letters, you always referred to him as William, and I, I just followed suit without thinking.”

  “He doesn’t remember me.” Inez hardly could say the words.

  “I show him your picture every night,” Harmony insisted. “Inez, I’m sorry. I should have warned you that lately, Wilkie, that is, William, has been afraid of strangers.”

  “I’m not a stranger!” Inez snapped. “I’m his mother!”

  “Of course you are.” She closed her eyes, as if praying for patience, then opened them again, speaking slowly and carefully. “When you gave him into my care, he was eight months old. How much does a child that young remember? I don’t know, but it has been that length of time and half as much again. I show him your photo, talk of you to him every day.”

  Harmony approached Lily and William. “Wilkie.” Harmony gently stroked his back. He raised his head at her voice. Harmony guided Lily around, so William was facing Inez again. “This is your mama,” she continued. “Remember the pictures of the pretty lady I show you every night? Mama, Wilkie. Mama.”

  For one heart-stopping second, William’s hazel-eyed gaze touched Inez—a brief examination that burned to her soul. His scrutiny returned to Harmony, who was smiling and nodding encouragingly, as if willing him to say the word Inez had been longing to hear.

  Lily’s hair still clenched firmly with one hand, William reached for Harmony with the other, saying with triumph:

  “Mama!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Inez turned and blundered away into the crowd, fighting to control her distress.

  “Inez!” Harmony hurried after her.

  Inez scrubbed at her eyes, denying the tears that threatened to overwhelm, before taking a deep breath and facing her sister. She forced herself to speak calmly. “You were right. I should not have approached him like that. I’m certain he’s tired, probably hungry. I need to be by myself for a while, Harmony. Please. I will join you later.”

  Harmony laid a detaining hand on Inez’s sleeve. Inez fought the impulse to shake it off.

  “He has never called me mama. That is, he did early on, but I and Lily have corrected him at every turn.”

  Inez didn’t want to hear any more. “I need some time to myself. I will see you in a while. I will begin again with William after he is rested.”

  She began walking away, blindly, and nearly crashed into one of the small donkey carts.

  “Whoa, ma’am!” The donkey wrangler leading the head burro hurried back to her. “Are you all right?”

  Steadying herself on the lip of the cart, Inez looked up. The first thing that registered was the red kerchief tied around the wrangler’s neck. Even so, it took a moment for Inez to see, through her misery, that the man in a much worn corduroy jacket and an equally worn short crown derby was Gene Morrow, the driver of the ill-fated stagecoach.

  Morrow, who had taken her elbow to steady her, squinted at her, the dust caking up into the wrinkles around his eyes. He stepped closer, a concerned frown barely visible beneath his drooping mustache. “Mrs. Stannert? Are you feeling faint, ma’am?” Alarm was in his tone. He turned away, cupping his mouth, preparing, Inez was certain, to call for reinforcements to help her into the hotel. Seeing Lily mounting the steps, with William still in her arms, Inez knew that was the last place she wanted to be right then.

  “Mr. Morrow, no,” she said quickly. “I am fine, just a little overcome by the heat and dust. I was not watching where I was walking.” She swiped at her eyes, grateful to have a reason to wipe the telltale tracks away. “I was just seeking some fresh air. Is there a place to walk, somewhere quiet and cooler?”

  Morrow studied her for a moment longer. Apparently satisfied that she wouldn’t keel over if he released her, he pointed around the far side of the house, toward a tangle of darker green. “There be a walking path over yonder, Lovers’ Lane, with plenty of places to sit. It runs from here to the Cliff House, and beyond to the Manitou House.”

  With a murmur of thanks, Inez began to move away.

  “Ma’am.”

  She turned.

  He reached into the cart, saying, “Sun is pretty strong here. Addles the brain without a body even realizing.” He pulled out a large-brimmed straw hat, adding, “Mr. Lewis insists I bringst extra headgear for the tykes and ladies who aren’t prepared.” He held the hat out to her.

  She hesitated, then realizing that wandering outside without a hat would only serve to draw unwanted attention, accepted it from him. “Thank you.”

  He watched as she tied the ribbons under her chin before touching his hat brim and saying, “Anything else you need, just ask.”

  He stopped, as if contemplating saying something further, but in the end, simply touched his hat brim again and returned his attention to the lead donkey.

  Inez headed around the far side of the house, toward the shadowed break in the wall of trees and bushes. She entered the cool dimness, and a sigh escaped. The light was softer, tinged with green, and the air carried a hint of moisture. Wild clematis and trees with peeling, scrubby bark hugged the path, shadowing it with their leaves and branches. Birds twittered and there was the muted plashing of a small creek or waterway, hidden beyond the green curtain.

  It had been a long time since she was surrounded by so much green. In Leadville, trees were sparse, having been cut down early and reborn as buildings and boardwalks for the rapidly growing boomtown. Outside of town, evergreens of various types and size still existed, but nowhere was the growth as dense as what surrounded her at that moment.

  Inez walked, eyes downcast, letting the sounds fill her and guide her thoughts. I should not have assumed he would remember me. I was foolish to swoop down upon him like that. Getting to know her son again was probably more than she could hope to accomplish in two weeks. Inez stopped in the path, realizing that she wouldn’t even have William to herself for that long. Mark would arrive within the week and everything would cha
nge yet again. She had no doubt that she would then have an additional rival for William’s limited attentions and affection: William’s father, Mark.

  As it is, we may both lose out to Lily.

  A wave of jealousy, more intense than any she’d ever experienced, swept her from head to toe, leaving her shaking and shaken. She stood still, in the center of the path, until the wave subsided. With a clearer head, she decided that whatever was done would be done for William’s sake.

  Her attention returned to the world around her, and she became aware of another sound, weaving through that of birds and water. Somewhere, nearby, a woman was sobbing.

  Inez followed the sound around a bend in the path. The path opened to allow room for a rustic bench with an intimate view of the previously unseen creek. The bench was occupied by Mrs. Pace in her somber, travel-worn black ensemble. An abandoned black travel hat with a puddle of net lay on the bench next to her. Head bowed, she gripped a pair of dark gloves in one bare hand, tight to her lap. With the other hand, she wiped her eyes with a lace handkerchief, then crunched the delicate cloth savagely into a wad.

  Inez paused, uncertain whether to melt back around the corner without saying anything or to venture forward and disturb Mrs. Pace’s solitude.

  The decision was made for her when Mrs. Pace swung around, red-rimmed eyes wide, and said, “Oh, Mrs. Stannert, it’s you.” Her shoulders sagged.

  “I’m, I’m so sorry for your loss,” stammered Inez, falling back on courtesy. “I apologize for intruding. Excuse me.” She started to back away.

  “No, please, after that ghastly interview with the marshal and the doctor, I thought of trying to see you this afternoon.” Kirsten Pace moved the hat to her lap. “If you would, just a moment of your time.”