by Ann Parker
Before her aunt could say another word, Inez pulled the door open and slipped outside into the hall. Taking a deep, shaking breath, Inez moved down to the next door and knocked. She heard Jonathan call, “Enter!”
Inez opened the door to find Jonathan standing and facing her, hands clasped behind him as if preparing to address a boardroom of hostile investors. “Thank you, Mrs. Stannert, for coming. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to one of a pair of the chairs.
She entered, closed the door, and moved to the chair, saying, “What did you want to discuss?”
“I must speak with you, frankly, and in confidence, about my wife—that is, about your sister—and your son.”
Inez sat and tried to quiet her anxiously beating heart. “Whatever you say I will hold close and not speak of to anyone, if that is what you wish.”
He nodded once, his magnified eyes behind the spectacles pinned to the far wall, as if he’d taken her acquiescence as a given, and was preparing his words. He finally returned to the empty chair and sat, pushing his glasses up his nose as he did so. He looked straight at her. “Your sister thinks the world of you. More than you probably realize. Back home, she awaits each of your letters, and if there is too long a silence, begins to fret and worry. Although she never says so to me, I can see how she brightens at receiving words from you and pines when she does not.”
“I love her as well,” said Inez. “I cannot imagine a world without her.”
“Yes. Well. That leads to…” He almost seemed to choke, and stopped, clearing his throat. He withdrew his handkerchief and held it to his lips for a moment.
He finally said, “You know we came here not just for your son’s health, but for hers as well. She told you that, did she not?”
Inez nodded, feeling a sudden shroud of fear descending over her heart and stopping her breath. “Of course. She said it was a simple cough. That the mountain air was doing her well along with the exercise.”
“It is not a simple cough.” He said it with such vehemence, such hopelessness, that Inez knew. What she had, at some level, feared all through the visit now loomed before her.
She could hardly say the words. “Wasting disease?”
“Consumption. Phthisis. The white plague. Tuberculosis. Whatever name you call it, it is the same damnable disease.”
Inez was so caught up in his agony and her own, she didn’t even blink at his expletive. “Does she know?”
“Of course not!” Vehemence again. “She is not to know. It would cause her to lose hope. She needs all her strength, her will, to fight. She must fight. Her physicians and I assure her it is a stubborn cough, a non-fatal weakness of the lungs, that with careful attention, prescription, and time will improve.”
Inez stood up, walked to the window to gather her composure, then returned and sat down again. “You haven’t told her. So this is why there is talk of her coming back and staying in Colorado for a longer time?”
“Yes.” His lips tightened below his pencil mustache. “I could not bear to be apart from her for so long, except that it will bring a possible cure. A possible retreat of the disease. That is one reason I agreed we could come here, to Manitou, to Dr. Prochazka. I’d heard from very reliable sources of his work and that there might be a cure, a true cure, as a result. Now, all for naught.”
Inez covered her mouth with her hand, holding back the exclamation of pain and anger. Damn you, Epperley and Crowson! You destroyed his work and have killed my sister as surely as if you put a bullet in her breast.
“I may still set her up here for an extended stay, once I have consulted with the doctors back home,” Jonathan said. “She has improved considerably, perhaps due to the weather, the air, your presence. And, of course,” he pinned her once again with his spectacle-enhanced stare, “due to your son.”
Inez’s heart, which had been beating rapidly, lurched as he continued, “Wilkie, that is your William, has brought her joy. Reason to live.”
“I know she loves him dearly,” said Inez, her mind racing frantically in various directions, looking for alternate resolutions to the one she sensed bearing down upon her like a train.
Jonathan continued, “If you say it is time, and you want to take him back, she would wave good-bye with a smile on her face and her heart breaking. I do not think she would recover from the loss.”
Inez said desperately, “She has such a wonderful way with him. She would be a wonderful mother to her own children. Why don’t you—”
She stopped herself from saying, “have children of your own?”
He answered as if she’d asked. “There can be no children between us.”
“None?” It was a stupid response, but the only word that came to mind.
“None.” His tone said that was all he would say on the subject. “So, I have a request, a plea, an entreaty, to make of you.”
Inez gripped the arms of the chair, but her frantic hold could not stop the words from being said.
“Please, Mrs. Stannert. Inez, if I may. I am begging you.” He removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes with one hand, and looked at her with unguarded eyes. “Tell her that you want William to stay with us.”
She closed her eyes. “Mr. DuChamps. Jonathan. You ask a great deal of me.”
“I do not mean forever,” he added hastily. “But let her know, you will not call for him in a month, a year. That a way will be found such that they can stay together.”
Inez observed him, silent. Then, “I am not the only one involved in this decision. There is William’s father, Mr. Stannert, who also has a say in the matter.”
Jonathan sat back in the chair, and hooked the glasses back over his ears. “I have spoken to Mr. Stannert. He said the verdict is entirely yours, and that he will abide by whatever you say.” He clasped his hands, then unclasped them, and pulled out his pocket watch. “Harmony and Lily will return soon from their walk, and I should wake up William as promised.” He glanced at her and away. “If you cannot offer me your decision now, I can understand you need time. I’m sorry to have sprung such a weighty topic on you at what is essentially the last moment.”
She reached over and placed a hand upon Jonathan’s tailored sleeve. “No. Do not apologize. So much has happened, so quickly, how could you know how this trip would unfold? Besides, I know my decision. It is the only one that a loving mother and sister could possibly make.”
His expression, filled with fear, filled with hope, filled her vision, waiting for the words that would bring him peace or set his world crashing down into darkness.
Chapter Forty-seven
“So, you decided that William could stay with the DuChamps,” said Mark.
The Stannerts, appearing as any normal family of three out for a short afternoon walk, strolled over the small wood bridge leading to the Manitou Soda spring.
“How could I not?” Inez gazed down at the top of her son’s head. Light brown curls escaped his straw hat, curling about his round face. He grabbed one of the bridge rails and squatted, peering down at the rushing Fountain Creek waters. Inez leaned down and grabbed the back of his kilt skirt. “No, William!” she said sharply. “You could fall in and drown!”
Mark chuckled. “You sounded like my own momma when you said that, Inez.”
She hauled William upright, then took his hand. He said, “No!” and tried to pull his hand away.
“Is this how you responded to her as well?” Inez tightened her grip on his hand as he wiggled his fingers furiously, trying to escape her grip. “William, be good. When we get to the other side, I’ll let you climb some rocks.”
“Rocks!” William said happily, his voice almost covered by the sound of rushing water.
“My momma would’ve strapped me good for saying ‘no.’ Probably why I was such a rascal back when. I learned early how to preserve my own skin and still get my way.” He leaned over, bracing himself with the cane, and picked up William with one arm. “On up, Wilkie. Let’s find the rocks.”
“We could come out of the mountains to visit as often as you please,” said Mark. “The Springs are only a short train ride from Leadville.”
Over the bridge at last, he set William back on his feet. William wavered a moment, then started toward the rustic pavilion by the spring, followed closely by his parents.
“About ‘we.’” Inez slowed her step and stopped by William. “We need to discuss that.”
Mark started talking fast, as if hoping to get it all said before she cut him off. “All I ask is that you hold off on pressing for a divorce. Give me a chance to show we can still make a go of it. You know, I told Jonathan DuChamps that the decision about William was up to you. I didn’t insist on paternal prerogative, which he clearly expected me to do. In Manitou, I’ve been here for you, helped you at every turn. I know you, Inez. I’d never make you someone you didn’t want to be—like some men do to their women. We have years, a life, a child together. So all I’m saying is that you give me—us—time. Enough time to see if we can’t find our way back.”
Inez took a deep breath. The fresh smell and sounds of fast-rushing water filled her senses. Even her skin seemed to soften, welcoming the moisture from the air. Her thoughts seemed to be as on the surface of the turbulent water—rushing downstream, whether she willed it or not.
She looked at Mark.
He waited. His blue eyes stayed steady on her face. Stillness waited in his expression, as if he was purposely holding back the charm, the twinkle in the eye, the sly half-smile that toppled hearts so fast they scarcely missed a beat between being free and being captured.
She looked down at his hands, covering the head of his cane. Even through his gloves, she could tell he gripped the silver knob tight. It was the only indication of tension in his immobile demeanor.
She finally spoke. “How long do you have in mind?”
He answered promptly. “Two years.”
She shook her head. “Too long.”
“Well, we’ve been apart a long time, Inez. Keep in mind, we had ten years together, through good times and bad. We had some very good times, along with the bad, and we stuck together through it all. That’s got to count for something.” He leaned over his cane. “I’ll rebuild our house and give it to you. You’ll have a proper place to live. I won’t have a key, it’ll be yours, no matter what you finally decide to do. I’ll sign papers to that effect, if you want.”
She squinted. “Where will you stay?”
“I’ll stay in a hotel or maybe move into the saloon…but not your rooms,” he added hastily. “I’ll work out something. I don’t need much space, after all.”
She looked away. The peaked roof of the rustic pavilion reminded her of the high mountains of Colorado, and she felt a sudden pang of homesickness for Leadville.
“You won’t have a key,” she said slowly.
“That’s right, darlin’. We’ll lead our separate lives.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think you understand.”
She glanced at her husband, and saw Reverend Sands’ face imposed over Mark’s. They did, she realized ruefully, look a lot alike. Thoughts of the reverend sent a wave of longing crashing over her, so intense, that she had to struggle to keep her voice even as she said, “You know about Reverend Sands. This isn’t a fly-by-night, Mark.” She hesitated, then continued, “We have made plans. For the future.”
He tipped his head to one side, considering. His gaze swept over her, evaluated her anew, weighing her words, her posture, her tone of voice. She sensed he weighed other things as well. He didn’t brush her off. He was taking what she said, straight on and at face value, realizing she was serious, and not to be cajoled with a few ‘darlin’s’ and a smile or two.
She said, “Six months. Because six months after you were bushwhacked, you were completely recovered and able to get about on your own. You could have come up to Leadville in person. Sent a telegram. Posted your own letter. But you did none of that, and instead settled into your new life with this Josephine.”
He nodded and smoothed his mustache. “That’s true. But more than eight months ago, you first heard tell I might still be alive. Abe told me about that. And you didn’t ask, you didn’t search. Seems we both have reasons to atone, darlin’, to make amends, and compromise. A year. That’s the least we owe each other, and our son.”
Inez closed her eyes. Exhaled slowly. With her eyes shut, she said, “A year. More time than it takes to birth a child.”
She opened her eyes. “After a year, if I decide I want a divorce, you won’t fight. You will agree to plead guilty of adultery, desertion, whatever charges my lawyer decides will be best.”
His brow furrowed. “What about William?”
“I won’t take him from you, Mark. But neither will I give him up. We will have to work out a compromise of some kind.”
He nodded. “A year, then.”
Her heart lifted.
“But,” he continued, “during that year, you give me an honest chance. I won’t play a rube against the house. You and I, we have one evening a week together, just the two of us. No ghosts of dancehall girls or men of God hoverin’ over our shoulders or whisperin’ in our ears. Once a week, we go over the accounts together, talk about the business, and then…we go out to dinner, or the theater. Sit and talk. Play cards, just the two of us, like old times. It doesn’t matter to me what we do. You decide.” He threw down his last card. “It’s only fair, darlin’.”
Fair. She couldn’t walk away, thinking she’d been unfair.
“How can I trust you?” she finally asked. “A year is a long time. What’s to keep you from ‘forgetting’ about all this and fighting me in the courts?”
“When we get back, we can draw up an agreement. Just between us, dictating the terms. We can have someone we both trust do the witnessing, maybe Abe. We’ll give it to him for safekeeping.”
She nodded slowly. “A year. Very well, Mr. Stannert. We have a deal. You will have your chance, such as it is.”
She held out a gloved hand. He took her hand, but instead of shaking, simply held it. His eyes crinkled up in a smile, the old charm she remembered so well, showing through. “That’s all I asked for, Mrs. Stannert, was a chance.”
“Your odds are not good,” she warned, hand still resting in his. “Whether two months, four months, or twelve, I’m not about to change my mind. Truly, Mark. I no longer hate you, but I don’t love you anymore, and I don’t trust you, really. I wish I could make you see that. It’s just business between us, now.”
He nodded. “Darlin’, I understand. But don’t forget. I’m a gambling man. I’m used to playin’ the odds, and this is too important a game for me to walk away from.” The old grin appeared, with a hint of boyish mischief. “Fair warning, Mrs. Stannert. As you recall, I only play to win.”
Inez couldn’t help but smile back as she slid her hand from his grasp. “Of course, Mr. Stannert. And as you recall, so do I.”
She twirled her parasol, one complete revolution of white lace and fringe. With that, Inez faced forward and, with Mark at her side, strolled down toward the spring and their son.
Author’s Note
To all who turn to the Author’s Note first: Spoilers ahead! If you like to experience a mystery in your mysteries, wait to read this until you’re done with Mercury’s Rise.
You have been warned.
Several forces were at work in the formation of this story. There was the history of Manitou Springs and Colorado Springs. There was my interest in tuberculosis and
the state of medicine during Inez’s time. And, there was the ending to the preceding book, Leaden Skies, and Inez’s admittedly precarious situation. All pitched me forward into new territory.
First, a quick overview of what’s real and what isn’t in terms of places, people, and events in this book. Colorado Springs and Manitou Springs exist. They are five miles apart, and about an hour and a half drive south from Denver, and two and a half hours from Leadville (much quicker by car than stagecoach!). Leadville is a real place (if you don’t know about Leadville, author’s notes in the earlier Silver Rush historical mysteries provide some background). Many of the hotels mentioned in Mercury’s Rise—the Cliff House, Manitou House, and the Colorado Springs Hotel, for instance—existed in 1880. The Mountain Springs House is entirely fictional, although I was so taken with the Cliff House after a couple of stays there that I promptly borrowed many of its features and architecture. My fictional hotel/health resort is situated where the U.S. Post Office now stands in Manitou, which itself is on land once part of the estate of Jerome Wheeler, a former president of Macy’s Department Store and an Aspen mining magnate. Mrs. Anna Galbreaith is real, but a bit of an enigma, despite determined, nearly obsessive Internet research on my part. Since she uses the initial of her given name (A for Anna) on her photographs, I assume she was a widow or divorcee, but have had little luck plumbing her story, except that she was a photographer and also ran the Ohio House, a boarding house in Manitou, in the 1880s. I was so enchanted by Anna and her photos that I decided to nudge her and her boarding house into my story. As for geological features, the mineral springs at Manitou exist today, mostly buried under concrete as the city “grew up and over” them. There is a Williams Cañon or Canyon (although The Narrows aren’t quite as narrow as portrayed here), and the Garden of the Gods is known the world over. Today, you can stroll about Manitou and taste the various mineral waters, walk up Williams Canyon, and visit the Garden of the Gods and gaze upon the majestic sandstone features, just as Inez, Susan, and Harmony do in these pages. If you are lucky, you might even hear a bagpiper playing atop one of the sandstone formations, as I did one day.