by Ann Parker
The road wound up and up, the horse plodded, slowly, methodically. Inez wanted to grab the reins from Mark and urge the horse to at least a trot.
“So, that was my morning,” she finished. “Did you learn anything about the Mountain Springs House or the clinic that might be useful?”
“Well, I’d say if there’s humbug going on, Dr. Zuckerman is part of it, but not Dr. Prochazka,” said Mark. “Dr. Prochazka is all tied up in his clinic, and his work on consumption and wasting diseases. I’d say he doesn’t give a hoot about the hotel itself, just as long as he can stay king of his own castle and clinic. Dr. Zuckerman, though, he comes on considerable strong about the future of the area. He swears he’s locked up a fortune in Manitou and Colorado Springs and says the area will ‘make money rain.’”
“What’s your take on Zuckerman? He apparently has a physician’s credentials.”
His lip curled. “I’ve been in the game long enough to recognize a bunko steerer. Doesn’t matter if they be pedigreed or half-breed, dressed in silk or shoddy. It’s the same hook and line.”
“Exactly what I thought,” Inez said, feeling vindicated. “So, are you allowing him to reel you in?”
“I’ll allow him to believe he’s landing a sucker with a large bank account. For now.”
Inez couldn’t help it. She threw back her head and laughed. It was such a relief to have someone on her side who understood the game and who could so expertly identify a con in play and turn it back on itself. Until Mark arrived, there was no one here in Manitou I could talk to openly about this.
A sudden image of Reverend Sands blew across her mind. She choked off the laugh, feeling a traitor.
They’d reached the top of a sloping mesa, and Mark halted the carriage. He pointed to a colony a few miles away and below, commenting, “General Palmer’s town, Colorado Springs. That’s where I got off the train last evening. Didn’t have much opportunity to look around. The hotel’s carriage was waiting when I arrived.” Tiny buildings and structures were sprinkled along a grid of platted streets. Small trees showing as a line of faint green dots at distance, courageously guarded the main boulevard. The town appeared very isolated against the open plains to the east. The wide space, which seemed to rush on forever without boundary to the end of the earth, made Inez feel very small.
“Shouldn’t be long before we’re in the canyon, according to the hotel’s driver, that Morrow fellow. Then we can stop somewhere along the water.”
“What about Lewis and Epperley? Are they players as well?”
William’s toy was becoming a major annoyance, as he turned it this way and that, rolling it on his lap and shaking it to make it ring. The corner of the toy’s platform seemed to bump the same spot on Inez’s leg at every jounce along the way. She covered the corner with her hand, to cushion the sharp edge.
“Didn’t hear much from them today. Zuckerman did all the talking, when Prochazka wasn’t. I’ll spend more time with them tomorrow.” He glanced sideways at Inez, then back at the road. “One thing I noticed though, that was passing strange.”
“What is that?”
“Well, the talk turned to the War, as it inevitably does among men of a certain age. Between Mr. DuChamps and myself, we stood up for the blue and the grey. No hard feelings, we agreed, as the time’s long past now. Dr. Zuckerman declaimed that he’d been part of the forces out here in the Far West, and saw not much in the way of action besides an almighty lot of cholera, typhoid, and French pox. Even Epperley spoke up, offering his English opinion on the War Between the States.”
“So?”
“So, Franklin Lewis said not a word.”
Inez squinted in thought. William struggled to remove her hand from the boat, prying her fingers back. She ignored him. “Did Mr. Lewis perhaps not fight at all, then?”
Mark shrugged. “He shifted the conversation back to money, so of course everyone jumped like hounds offered a fresh-killed rabbit. But as we talked about this battle and that, where we were when word of surrender came down—none of us in the War will ever forget that momemt—he looked for all the world like someone had backed him up to a wall and shoved a pistol in his face. I pegged him as a deserter or something of the like. I’d bet a dollar to a dime that he’s hiding something that happened during the War that’s beyond the usual horrors. Something he’s ashamed of.”
She nodded. Men and the War. Even if they don’t talk about it, you can see in their eyes that they are remembering. Just as with Reverend Sands: the War is with him always, like a shadow. Even when the shadow’s invisible—at high noon, or the darkest midnight —it’s there. Inescapable.
Thinking of the reverend induced a muddle of longing, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “Will you meet more with them tomorrow?” she asked.
He nodded. “Your brother-in-law and I will be sampling soda waters from the various springs and hearing of all the plans for the future—no doubt with an eye as to how much they’re hoping to slide from our pockets. Later, we’re scheduled to dine in Colorado Springs with local movers and shakers. It’ll be a long day away.”
“See if you can’t get both Epperley and Lewis to go with you. I’m going to do a little looking around the hotel, and it will be easier if neither of them remain behind.”
“Just where do you have in mind, Inez?”
She hesitated. “Well, there’s a lower floor to the hotel. Mrs. Pace went down there once, looking for her children. She said that, in addition to a storage area, there are rooms, which may include Lewis’ private office and some living quarters. I’d like to see if I can find any papers that might provide an indication of the current financial health of the hotel. If I don’t have to worry about Lewis and Epperley, I’m certain I can fast-talk my way past any other hotel staff.”
“I’m sure you can.” He was quiet a moment, and then added, “Be careful, Inez.”
“Of course. And you be careful they don’t fast-talk our hard-earned silver right out of your pocket.” It was only after the words were out, that she realized she had said our silver. She clamped her mouth shut, annoyed with herself.
The road had narrowed as it entered the canyon, and the air cooled. Fir, spruce, yellow pine rose high above while birds squawked, cawed, and sang liquid songs. A stream of frothy water rushed by, roaring as if demanding to be set free from its banks.
A widening in the canyon appeared as they rounded a generous turn. A buggy with “The Cliff House” lettered on the back was pulled to one side, the horse standing patiently and the driver settled on the ground nearby, back to a large boulder, hat pulled down over his eyes. “This looks like a good place,” Inez said.
Mark pulled to a stop, gazing into the mountains. “Heard tell there’s seven falls tucked further back.”
“We’ve gone far enough.” She pulled the satchel Lily had provided for William from the back seat of the buggy, hopped down, and stretched out her free arm. “Come, William.”
Still clutching the toy, he hesitated, then stepped into her embrace. She staggered a little under his sudden weight. The toy banged into her still aching shoulder. Stifling a curse, she set him on his feet and took his hand.
“Will you get the picnic basket?” she called over her shoulder, and approached the snoozing driver.
“Pardon me,” she said. “Is this the buggy for the Pace party?”
He lifted his hat, looking a little bleary-eyed from his nap. “Yup. Chillun and their nanny’s down by the water.”
“Thank you,” she said, and started down the trail, tugging on William’s hand to encourage him along. “Come along, William. You have some friends down here who will no doubt be happy to see you.”
William had a death grip on the string of his pull toy, it jounced and bounced down the trail, the bell on the horse tinkling fast and violent. The approach was blessedly short, ending in a long, winding bench of gravel by the stream. Inez was happy to see two small figures, dominated by a larger one cradling a baby, about fifty fee
t away.
“Look, William, it’s Mathilda, Atticus, and Edison.” She waved to get their attention.
The two older children ceased poking sticks in the gravel and bounded toward Inez and William.
“Wilkie!” screeched Mathilda.
Inez let go of his hand, and Mathilda heaved him up off his feet a few inches. “Eeeuw,” she said. “You need your nappies changed, Wilkie.”
She promptly set him back down, saying, “Where’s your mum and da, Wilkie?”
Inez started to say “Right here,” but stopped short.
Atticus had circled around to examine William’s toy. He experimentally tapped the bell. Wilkie shouted, “No! Mine!” He yanked the string, causing the horse to flip over. The bell gave up a muffled thunk.
Glad for the distraction, Inez said, “I’d better hold this for now.”
She picked up the toy, ignoring an indignant wail from William, just as the nanny puffed up with Edison.
“Hello ma’am, Mrs. Stannert. Imagine seeing you here. We’re all getting a little fresh air while the missus rests. It’s lovely here, but careful about the water. I’m keeping the children back because it’s quite fast.”
She set Edison down in the gravel on his cushioned bottom and bent over to view William.
“Well now, if it isn’t the little mister,” she cooed, and chucked William under the chin. Addressing Inez, she said, “We’ve moved to the Cliff House, you know. Expecting that we’ll be there for a few days yet. You should bring Wilkie by; the children would love to play.” Then, under her breath she said, “Ma’am, he needs his nappies changed, just thought I’d say.”
“Uncle Eric is coming on the train,” said Mathilda. “He’s going to take us home, now that papa’s gone to heaven.” She stopped, touched one of the black mourning bows attached to the shoulder of her dress, and looked down as if she’d let slip a secret she wasn’t supposed to tell. “I have to wear these on my frocks now,” she said to Inez. “It’s to show respect for my papa. Mama has to wear all black, all the time.”
Mark came up, picnic basket and blanket over one arm, and Inez performed introductions. He spoke as seriously to Mathilda and Atticus as if they were adults, and bowed to Miss Warren. Miss Warren batted her eyes at him; the children stood taller, as if he had conferred some dignity upon them. Inez was glad there wasn’t a family dog or he, too, would have been eating out of Mark’s hand.
“Can we come to your picnic?” asked Mathilda. “We had ours hours ago, and I’m hungry.”
Miss Warren let out a scandalized “Hush! Manners!”
Mark smiled at Mathilda and said, “Give us a little time to recover from the ride. Perhaps you’ll all join us later for dessert? I spied cookies in the packed victuals.”
Thus mollified, the two Pace children allowed themselves to be hustled by Miss Warren to their end of the stream bank.
William began walking after them, apparently ready to abandon his new toy for the children’s company. Mark took his hand and said, “Let’s find rocks to throw at the water.”
“Rocks!” he said, and obediently trotted alongside his father.
Inez followed, rooting around in the satchel for clean things for William. Once Mark had claimed a picnic spot with the blanket, Inez took William off into the bushes to change his diapers. It was an entirely different procedure, she discovered, to change an uncompliant toddler compared to the infant she’d last labored over.
Much messier, for one thing.
Not willing to lie down, for another. William insisted on being changed standing up.
“Have it your way,” she muttered, and pulled off his frock, which would have to be washed in any case, and stripped the soiled pilche and linen diaper from him. He seemed to believe that, freed from clothes, he was also free to return to a pre-civilized state of being, and made an attempt to run back to the beach au naturel.
Inez grabbed his arm. “No,” she said sternly. She searched around, and handed him a stick, saying, “Here. Hit that rock, William.”
Whacking a handy red rock with the stick kept him occupied long enough for Inez to wipe him clean and dress him in clean clothes.
She considered the soiled diaperings, muttered, “We are not carrying these back with us,” rolled them up, and stuffed them under the rock savaged by William’s stick.
By the time she returned to the picnic spot, she was feeling the approach of a foul mood. She deposited William on the blanket beside Mark, pulled a damask napkin from one of the picnic baskets, and went to the stream. She plunged her hands into the icy water, scrubbing vigorously.
The low rumble of continuously moving water filled the space between the canyon walls and washed out all other sound. The stream flowed in a series of small waterfall leaps down to their relatively level area. Inez rested her hands on a submerged rock at the edge, where it was shallow. The racing water made the rock look like rippling silk, but the hard surface beneath her fingers was smooth and slick.
Inez stood and wiped her hands, tingling with the cold, on the napkin. She heard Mark say behind her, “Cold roast chicken, hard-boiled eggs, buttered rolls, jam, strawberries, cookies, and lemonade. I brought a little something that might make the lemonade more to your taste.”
She turned slowly.
Mark was opening a bottle of sherry; two cut-glass tumblers waited next to the lemonade jug. “Ended up smuggling the sherry out from the men’s parlor this morning,” he continued. “Once we return to Leadville, I’ll prepare you a Saratoga Brace Up with bitters, sugar, lemon and lime juice, anisette, one egg, brandy, mineral water. I think you might like it. Best way to imbibe mineral water, which I understand you’re not overly fond of.”
Mark crouched by the tablecloth looking up at her, the blue of his eyes softened by what appeared to be affection. The crinkle around his eyes, the odd dimple that punctuated his lopsided smile, it was all just as she remembered. He had removed his hat, and the water-scented breeze lifted his light brown hair on one side, sending a strand across his forehead. William sat on a corner of the blanket, trying to feed his toy horse a strawberry.
The picture of a perfect family.
It could be us. It could be.
For a moment, she felt dizzy. Dizzy with longing. Dizzy with regret. Dizzy with a sudden lurch in her stomach, as if she’d slipped into deep water and was tumbling away, heading toward the rapids and out of control.
“So did you do to Josephine what you did to us?” The question came out cold, colder than water straight from the high mountain snows.
He looked up, his smile fading. Confusion replaced the smile, followed by a wary cautiousness. “What do you mean?”
“Did you just up and disappear? One day you were there, the next morning, you were gone. As you did to William and me.”
“Inez, we aren’t going to talk about this now.” The caution was gone, replaced by iron determination.
He stood and limped toward her, wiping his hands on one of the napkins. She moved back, away from the blanket and the stream, closer to the trees. “So, it’s up to you to decide what we talk about and when? How very convenient. For you.”
“What do you expect me to do?” He said in exasperation.
“Tell me the truth! The whole truth, even if it hurts, not some abbreviated version. You left me, Mark. As far as I can tell, you left me for another woman. You have been gone for months. Not for a night, or a week or two. This is nothing like what happened in Dodge.” Even as she said it, she realized that the reference to the stormy events in Dodge City, where their marriage had very nearly ended, was a low blow.
Mark jerked back, his face tightening. “I said I’d explain later.”
“Later.” She sneered the word. “It’s always later with you. Don’t bother, Mark, I can read between the lines. You said yourself that after you recovered, you stayed with her. You never even considered coming up to Leadville after that, did you? You could have come up to see, to see…” See if I was there. If we could
rebuild our life together.
“Inez, I told you. It was months before I could move about on my own. By that time, I thought you’d have left Leadville, given William’s health.”
There it was, the accusation: You abandoned our son. You gave him away.
“I was waiting for you,” she said. “Waiting for word, any word. You could have written and posted a letter yourself, after you were better. You could have sent a telegram. But you didn’t, and all I could think was that you were dead, after all that time with no word. But you weren’t. You’d simply decided to set up house with this other woman, this Josephine.” She was throwing the words at him as if they were rocks, pounding him with all the hurt and fury she’d held inside for so long. “You didn’t come back because you didn’t want to, you unfaithful, two-timing son-of-a-bitch!”
Mark closed the distance between them, reaching out for her. She stepped back again, out of his grasp, into the sheltering tree line. He moved with her, finally capturing her arm, forcing her to stop her retreat.
“Are you going to tell me, darlin’, that you were waiting for me from last summer to this—the faithful wife, pining in an empty bedroom, watching out the window with a candle lit for my return?” His voice returned her anger tenfold.
The roaring that filled her ears was no longer the stream, but the hammering of her heart.
Mark continued, “I hope you aren’t thinking of lying to me and saying yes. Because I know about Gallagher last summer. About Masterson—good almighty God, Bat Masterson of all people—last winter. And I know about Justice Sands.”
She gasped, and then demanded, “Who said all this?”
“Well, Inez, I’ve had some time to catch up with old friends since you left Leadville and came down here. It’s not always what people say, it’s more what they don’t say, and how they don’t say it. How they move their eyes when you ask a particular question. How and when they change the subject. You know, darlin’, there are always those who do talk. It’s just a matter of, as you said, readin’ between the lines.”