“Because Charles was drunk, Mr. Morgan. I don’t mean a little drunk. I mean he was rip-roaring drunk, near to staggering.”
“But this is amazing. In all the time I knew Charles, I never saw him take a drink.”
Thomas shrugged matter-of-factly. “Neither did I, but Charles Tinsley was off on a bender that day, and that’s the truth. You can see why I didn’t want to say anything in front of his sister.”
“And this was directly before he disappeared?”
“They visited my store in the middle of October, the fifteenth to be exact. Is that when he disappeared from his claim?”
Garth took a moment to recall. “Like always, I was busy at the Alhambra. Toward the end of October, I realized Charles hadn’t been around for a while, but I wasn’t alarmed. He didn’t keep a regular schedule. At least another week passed before I noticed he hadn’t come into town like he usually did to pick up supplies. Even then, another week went by before Mathew and I got alarmed enough to hike up to his claim to see what was wrong. But why…? What was he doing in San Francisco? You’re sure of the date?”
Thomas nodded affirmatively. “Mathew bought a couple of shirts that day. I looked up the receipt. It was dated October fifteenth, so the date seems to fit with his disappearance. That’s all I can tell you.”
Garth left Fitzpatrick’s store alarmed and in a hurry. Too many things were wrong. Lillian’s lies loomed large. God only knew what that cunning, deceitful woman had said to Letty. And Mathew? He couldn’t believe his faithful employee could be guilty of anything underhanded, yet what was he doing getting drunk in San Francisco with Charles, who never to his knowledge had taken so much as a sip of alcohol? But wait, come to think of it, Tom hadn’t said Mathew was drunk. Only Charles was on a bender. Something was wrong.
Garth urged his horse forward through the heavy traffic on Market Street. He must speak to Mathew immediately.
The moment Garth walked into Mathew’s office, he uttered a curse. Papers scattered about…desk open and empty. His trusted employee was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. That settled it. Garth had no proof, only suspicions, but his gut feeling told him Letty was going to need him. He must get to Empire now, the sooner the better.
Chapter 19
Letty’s patience was just about at an end, and so was her money. For days she’d waited for the Gilmore Brothers to get back from their trip, had checked every day at the High Sierra Hotel to no avail. If they didn’t come back soon, she’d hire a guide to take her to Charles’s claim. The problem was, that would cost money and she hadn’t much left. Even though she’d done her best to be frugal, Mrs. Del Vechio and her outrageous rent had just about done her in. She hadn’t panicked yet, but knew for certain her sloppy, tobacco-chewing landlady was a woman of her word. Since she’d been there, Letty had seen more than one tenant without funds evicted without notice, possessions tossed into the front yard mud. Letty had no illusions that because she was a lady, she’d be spared. She needed more money, and soon.
She’d walked the streets every day, inquiring about Charles. The stables, the blacksmith shop, banks, general stores. Many remembered him and what a gentleman he was, friendly to all, but no one had the faintest notion where he could be or why he disappeared.
At least Doc and some of the other boarders made her life bearable. Each night at dinner, she enjoyed the miners’ rousing conversations, carefully devoid of curses in her presence. Tales of spectacular finds of gold flew around the dining table every night, unfortunately accompanied by tales of fatal illnesses and accidents, drownings, and other tragedies that befell miners much too often. Every man present showed an interest in her search for Charles, but despite the encouragement she’d received, today would be the last day she’d try. She’d been everywhere, done everything. There was no place left to look.
If she couldn’t get up to Charles’s claim, and soon, she may as well go home. Even if she did get up there, what would she find? Charles had noted on the map that his newly discovered gold vein wasn’t far from his claim. But which direction? How could she count on an arrow, a bluebird and an ‘X’ to find Montezuma, if indeed it existed? How could she count on anything anymore? These past days, she’d battled with a sense of despair, just thinking of all that had gone wrong with her life. What irony that not so long ago she was bursting with happiness—going to marry a man she’d fallen madly in love with—and now, thanks to Lillian Belmont, her dreams were shattered. But how could she blame poor Lillian? Garth was the one at fault, although somehow she couldn’t hate him, or even dislike him, and that was because she loved him still.
For the last time, Letty started walking up the main street of Empire. She would stop at any place she hadn’t already covered, even though that didn’t leave much since she’d been just about everywhere. What a fool she’d been, thinking she could find Charles on her own. Like looking for a needle in a haystack, someone had said, and they were right.
She was walking past the High Stakes Saloon when she heard a male voice calling, “Miss Letty Tinsley, is that you?”
She turned. There stood Phineas Strauss, the flamboyant man she’d met on the Panama. Some characters were unforgettable, and he was one of them with his top hat, plaid suit and vest, a heavy gold chain draped across his ample middle.
“Mr. Strauss? I can’t believe it’s you.” She gave him a hug—poor manners indeed, but she was so happy to see a familiar face, she didn’t care.
Phineas hugged her back, gripped her shoulders, and held her at arms’ length. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss Tinsley. Tell me, what are you doing in Empire?”
Phineas listened with great interest while she explained her presence in this isolated gold mining town. When she finished, he put on a serious face and intoned, “Indeed a sad affair. May I extend my heartfelt condolences concerning your brother? I do hope you find him. Meanwhile”—his countenance brightened—“it’s fantastic that you’re here, whatever the sadness of the occasion. Have you seen my saloon?”
“Why no, Mr. Strauss, I haven’t.” As if she would have even thought to visit Phineas’s saloon or any other. Charles was a teetotaler, so a search of the saloons hardly seemed necessary.
“Well, you happen to be standing directly in front.” Phineas proudly pointed toward two swinging doors. “The High Stakes is my finest achievement. You must come inside, my dear.” He must have noticed her hesitation. “Not to see the saloon, but my theater at the rear.” He took her arm. “Come, I insist.”
She wasn’t particularly interested, but with his booming voice and grandiose gestures, Phineas made it difficult to say no. “I would love to, Mr. Strauss.”
“Splendid.” Phineas guided her through the double doors, into a saloon that looked similar to Garth’s Golden Phoenix Saloon in San Francisco with its thick carpeting, mirrored walls, and long, mahogany bar. “It’s the theater I want you to see.” Phineas guided her past the gaming tables, mostly empty at this early hour. Beyond, at the back of the saloon, the entrance to the theater would be hard to miss with its big sign overhead reading, “Phineas Strauss’s Egyptian Theater,” and the big papier-mâché replicas of the Sphinx guarding each side of the arched doorway. Phineas led her through the entrance into a good-sized theater with a large, raised stage. “Not bad, eh? I pack ’em in every night. I’ve got a team of acrobats, three belly dancers, a dog act and a juggler. Up to last night, the world famous Tyrol Brothers were my star act. Fine singers, all five of them. Wore those short pants and funny suspenders. Had those hats with the little feathers. The crowd loved ’em, but they’re gone now. Up and left without a by-your-leave. I heard they had enough of Empire and went back to Tyrolia. That’s in Europe, up in the Alps. Next to Austria, or some such place.” A pained expression crossed his face. “Hated to lose ’em.”
“What a shame, Mr. Strauss. Who will replace them?”
Phineas broke into a triumphant grin. “God works in mysterious ways. I truly believe it w
asn’t just chance that led me to be standing outside my establishment this morning, just as you were passing by.”
“And why is that?”
His eyebrows raised as if he was startled she didn’t know. “Who will replace the Tyrol Brothers? Why, you will, Miss Tinsley. With that wonderful, sweet voice of yours, you’ll take this town by storm.”
“Me?” She struck her hand to her chest.
“You.” With a grand gesture, Phineas looked upward, as if he were envisioning something grandly significant written above. “Miss Letty Tinsley, newest singing sensation,” he intoned. “Uh, let’s see now…yes, that’s it…The Song Bird of the Golden West.”
Letty opened her mouth to protest, but he seemed not to notice and took her elbow. “Come. We have work to do.”
* * * *
Just amazing. Letty had never been in a hurricane, but throughout the rest of the day and into the next, the force of Phineas’s unbounded enthusiasm and supreme self-assurance made her feel as if she’d been swept away by an overpowering storm—a helpless victim unable to defend herself. When she protested she’d never sung on a real stage before, only in front of the altar at the First Presbyterian Church, Phineas returned an indifferent shrug. “Do you think I’d be hiring you if I didn’t think you could do it?”
When she claimed she had nothing to wear, that every dress she owned was faded and threadbare, Phineas simply grinned. “Nothing to wear? Not a problem. Fanny, one of our…uh…hostesses, is about your size. She’ll loan you something.”
Not having been born yesterday, Letty suspected Fanny was more than a hostess. Prudish disapproval would be laughed at in this wide-open town, though, so she wisely kept her mouth shut. She did, however, put her foot down at Fanny’s first offering, a red spangled, ruffled affair with such a low décolleté Letty was sure she’d pop out at the shallowest of bows. At least Fanny’s next offering was far more suitable—a more modest lilac silk with puffed sleeves, to be worn with long, white gloves. The gown fit perfectly, and she didn’t look half bad, she had to admit.
Most of all, she worried that her voice wasn’t good enough. “I am not The Song Bird of the Golden West, Mr. Strauss. The minute I open my mouth, they’ll laugh me right off the stage.”
“Stop worrying, my dear. To these lonely miners you’ll be the greatest singer in the world.”
Finally, she stopped arguing. If Phineas Strauss, entrepreneur and experienced showman, thought she was good enough, then maybe she was. Besides, if truth be told, she’d missed those Sunday performances at church when she savored all those admiring eyes upon her as she sang. Had Mother known, she would have disapproved. “Pride goeth before a fall,” she was fond of saying. Even so, Letty would never reveal that small, immodest part of her that loved the limelight. So, yes, she’d take the job, partly because, she had to admit, she loved to entertain, but mostly because she needed the money. Mrs. Del Vechio’s threat to toss her out had loomed large in her mind, but with Phineas’s splendid offer of one hundred dollars a week, she’d no longer have to worry.
Despite her new boss’s powers of persuasion, the one thing Letty refused to do was move. He’d offered a suite of rooms in his hotel, directly next to the theater, but she declined. She’d made fast friends at the boarding house, friends who cared and offered encouragement, especially Doc. Her landlady might not be the most gracious hostess in the world, but Letty wouldn’t dream of leaving her crude little room at Mrs. Del Vechio Boarding House for a fancy suite in a place where she didn’t know a soul.
Phineas gave his new singing star one day to rehearse four songs. For the first three, she would stand by a grand piano and sing with an accompanist, a young man from England named Percy. For the fourth and last song, “Annie Laurie,” she would sit at the piano and accompany herself.
On her opening night, Letty stood waiting in the wings for the juggler to finish his act, her stomach clenched tight. What was she doing? How had it happened that she, the picky, straight-laced spinster from Boston was about to stand in front of a group of rowdy miners, dressed in a prostitute’s borrowed gown, and sing? How totally unbelievable that she, Letty Tinsley, who’d lived her whole life worrying about what was proper and what was not, now stood beside Phineas, waiting to perform before an audience known to hiss and boo at any act they didn’t like. Just about everyone from the boarding house was here tonight and rooting for her. How she’d hate to let them down.
The juggler caught the last of his torches, bowed to his applause and left the stage. She drew in a shaking breath and hoped she wouldn’t collapse before she even got started. Phineas bent toward her and whispered in her ear, “They will love you, my dear. You have my word.”
A swell of music from the band accompanied the showman as he walked to the center of the stage and in a booming voice announced, “It is my pleasure to present our new singing sensation from Boston. She has just completed a grand tour of the Continent, performing before all the crowned heads of Europe, and now has graciously agreed to perform for the lucky citizens of Empire. And so, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you the Song Bird of the Golden West, Miss Letty Tinsley!”
Letty gulped and muttered, “He can’t be talking about me.”
A stagehand gave her gentle nudge, and she walked onto the stage. At the sight of her, tremendous cheering, whistling and stomping arose from the crowd, a far cry from the decorous church audience in Boston who would never dream of applauding or, for that matter, uttering a sound before, during, or after her performance.
Phineas gave her a quick bow and left. She stood beside the grand piano, placed in the center of the stage, and nodded at Percy. A hush fell over the crowd as he played the introduction to a rousing version of “Sacramento.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she started to sing, but soon, just as in church, they subsided as she concentrated on making each note she sang as round and true as possible. An enthusiastic burst of applause greeted the end of the first number. With confidence, she began the second, “I Often Think of Writing Home,” and was pleased when the audience started clapping to the beat. By the time she sang the third, “Clementine,” she was actually enjoying herself. How could she not with a crowd that seemed to hang onto every note she sang? At the end, when she sat at the piano and sang “Annie Laurie,” many in the audience furtively wiped a tear away. Tough as these men were, they’d likely been reminded of home and loved ones, and how very far away they were.
When Letty walked off the stage to thunderous applause, a beaming Phineas Strauss grabbed both her hands and pumped them vigorously. “You were great. Absolutely marvelous. Listen to that applause.”
She remembered his embarrassing introduction. “That’s nice to hear but really, Mr. Strauss, I did not appear before all the crowned heads of Europe.”
Phineas smiled and waved a hand in dismissal. “Think nothing of it. That’s show business.”
Letty said no more, but later, back at the boarding house when she was talking to Doc, she expressed her true feelings. “Granted, I couldn’t help but love all that wild applause tonight, but I know my limitations, and I’m not fooled. I will never let that applause go to my head. Those men liked me because I reminded them of home, not because I’m a great singer.”
Doc beamed his approval. “But you did a fine job, Letty. We all enjoyed your singing.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’m grateful my voice is good enough that I can pay my rent, but I’m not forgetting why I’m here.”
Doc gave a nod of understanding. “To find what happened to your brother.”
“That’s all I really care about, and if the Gordon Brothers don’t come back soon, I’ll find another way to get up there.”
* * * *
Letty may have had a modest opinion of her voice, but a packed and appreciative audience greeted her the next night, and the night after that. After each performance, Phineas sent along a guard to escort her back to the boarding house. Letty had no objec
tion. A woman walking the streets alone in the rip-roaring town of Empire would indeed be asking for trouble. After her third performance, her guard was escorting her home when a bearded man dressed in mining clothes appeared out of the darkness. “Miss Letty Tinsley?” he called.
Letty flinched. The guard drew his gun.
The man threw up his hands. “I was a friend of Charles Tinsley. Are you related?”
“I’m his sister,” Letty replied, instantly relieved. She waved to the guard to put his gun away. “You knew Charles?”
The man removed his hat and nodded respectfully. “Yes, I did, ma’am. My name’s Chester Kent. I was a good friend of Charles while he was here. No finer man ever existed than him, and I felt terrible when I heard he’d disappeared.”
They talked for a while. To Letty’s disappointment, Chester couldn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. He wasn’t even sure where Charles’s claim was. “Somewhere high up around Coyote Creek, I think. Charles didn’t say much. Kept it a secret, if you know what I mean, and I don’t blame him. All I know is, Golden Hill was hard to get up to. Of course, nobody goes up that way anymore. That section was all worked out some time ago.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to wait for the Gilmore Brothers to return,” she replied. “They owned a claim close to my brother’s, so of course they’d know.”
“Golly, ma’am”—Chester rubbed the back of his neck—“the Gilmore Brothers ain’t coming back. I saw them two weeks ago in San Francisco. Had a couple of drinks together. They was leaving next day on the Oregon, bound for Panama.”
“They’re gone?” Letty tried to keep the consternation from her voice.
“’Fraid so. They’d already sent a sizable shipment of gold back east. Said they had enough and just wanted to get home. Can’t say I blame them. A man can take only so much of this crazy search for gold.”
With a sinking heart, Letty thanked him.
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